by J. A. Huss
“What the fuck are you doing?”
“I’m saving you, bitch.”
I almost crack a smile.
“OK?” he says. “I’m fucking saving you whether you want it or not.” He holds up a brown paper bag with a receipt stapled to it. “And I brought lasagna. So try to say no to that. I dare you.”
“Mateo—”
“No, dammit. No. I’m good for you. I’m good. For. You. And I totally understand what you’re saying. You need space, you need to make your own way. You need all the things I got when I was your age. But you can still do that and be my girlfriend. It’s not a zero-sum game, Shannon. Life isn’t all or nothing, it’s something in between. So here,” he says, holding the lasagna bag out. “I know you’re hungry, so I brought you dinner. You don’t have to come over, you don’t have to let me in, hell, you don’t even have to talk to me. But I’m still here. I’m always gonna be here.” He balances the bag on the window sill. “I’ll just be across the street.”
And then he turns away and walks through my gate, slamming it behind him.
I sit there for a few moments, stunned. But then the smell of lasagna wafts in and my stomach grumbles so loud, and so forcefully, I get up and grab the bag. When I do, I look out onto the patio and see a candle on the little table.
What the fuck?
I take the bag and go out into the living room, staring at the little flickering flame through the slider. What did he do now?
I walk through the door and smile.
It’s set up like an Italian restaurant. Red-checked tablecloth, menu, silverware, plate, and next to the candle is a little mechanical pencil. I sit down, rip the receipt off the bag, and unfold it to reveal a full sheet of paper. Two actually. I hold it near the dim candlelight so I can read it.
It’s a list of fucking trig problems. With a puzzle on the back side that I am supposed to solve. The second sheet is a blank piece of paper that says, Show your work.
“Jesus Christ,” I say. But I say it with a smile.
I work the problems as I eat, and by the time I’m done, I have the message.
I like you, it says. Keep going.
He said that to me back when we first met. It was a way to let me know that what we were doing was real and I shouldn’t be scared.
We’re still real, is what his message really says.
I flip the second piece of paper over. I only used one side to solve the problems, so I make my own code for him to solve. My problems are stupid and easy. Two plus two and three times five kind of stuff. But the problems don’t need to be hard for him to get the message.
I need more than the answer. I need the process.
When I’m done, I walk across the street and find him sitting on his porch, waiting for me. We don’t say a word. I just open the screen door an inch, slip the paper between it and the doorjamb, and then walk back the way I came.
I can hear his chuckle just as I slip through the gate into the apartments that are not mine. And I smile all the way past the pool, out into the alley, back into my own patio, and through my sliding door.
The next morning when I wake up and look out on the patio, the table has been cleared of the Italian restaurant, and there sits another bag and a cup of coffee. I rip the receipt off and open it up.
Another problem. Much harder to solve than yesterday’s.
I look inside the bag. Donuts.
I work as I eat and the message at the end is…
I’ll be back on Tuesday.
He left for Arizona. I’m happy he left. We need to find ourselves right now. Find our places in this world. He worked hard for his PhD and he deserves to move forward. We both deserve to move forward because we passed a milestone in our lives, and now we’re about to start something new.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
I hold Olivia in my arms as we sit in the judge’s chambers. She’s so big now. And she’s turning one next week. She looks so much like Jill with her blonde hair and blue eyes, I want to cry sometimes.
“So the test came back,” I say, picking up our conversation. I’ve been coming to see this judge for almost six months. We meet once a week with Olivia in my arms just like this. “Jason’s not the father.”
“I see,” Judge Otero says. “That was smart, Shannon. No one contested it until you thought to ask for paternity.”
“Yeah, well, his parents weren’t getting her. No way. They didn’t do such a great job with him. What makes them think they’d do any better with her?”
Judge Otero smiles. “The past can certainly dictate the future. But not always.”
“I just don’t like them.”
“Me either.” He laughs.
“I’ll be nineteen in a couple months. I think I can handle it now, Judge.” Olivia does not live with me yet. I had to prove myself and she’s been staying with foster parents. But I see her every day. I want to make sure she knows she belongs with me. “I have a good job designing websites. Have you seen the new Alesci’s Anaheim delivery page?”
“I have,” he says. “My wife and I used it last night. I’m impressed, Shannon. You’ve worked hard. You took parenting classes and CPR. You started your own business, got your license and bought a car.”
“Mateo bought the car, Judge. I can’t take credit for that.” Mateo and I have not talked in person since the night he came to my window, but we’ve sent each other hundreds of messages via codes. If he’s in town, we send messages twice a day sometimes.
Judge Otero smiles. “It’s a nice car. I wish I had one just like it.”
The car was the first present Mateo gave me and it’s brand new. Best safety features on the market, was the message in that night’s code.
“Have you talked to Danny?”
I nod. “Yeah, he stayed with me a couple of weekends ago when he came home from school for a visit. We went out and had dinner and stuff.”
“No regrets there?”
“No.” I laugh. We’ve had many, many long talks about Danny. He did go to jail the same night I did, but he was never charged either. “Just a friend. A very good friend.”
“I like him. He’s worked hard to change his life as well. And I’m glad he and his sister got away from that family.”
“Me too,” I agree. “You don’t get to choose your family, right?”
“Right,” Judge Otero says. “You’re stuck with them until you’re old enough to choose your own. He’ll find a new one. He’s on his way.”
“I think I’m on my way too.” I don’t want to push Judge Otero into a decision. I understand that learning to be a responsible parent takes time. But I really want to move forward and I want today to be the day.
“Have you made a decision about where you’ll live?”
My lease is up in a few days. Mateo paid for the first six months, and that’s just about over. “I… I don’t know yet. I might be seeing Mateo tonight?” It comes off as a question because it’s not really up to me. “His last code said, Congratulations. So I think he’s expecting a celebration. But…” I hesitate. “It’s up to you. And I respect your decision, Judge. So if I’m not ready yet…” I have to stop because I want to cry. But I gather myself together and take a deep breath. “I’ll accept that.”
I’ll go home and sob is what I’ll do, but I’m not going to try to influence his decision with that threat. I’m done skating through life. I want to earn it. I need to work for it.
He looks down at my file and then signs a piece of paper. “I think you’re more than ready, Shannon. I think you’re going to make a great mother.”
He leans forward and takes Olivia’s little hand. She loves him to death and shoots him a smile. “You had a rough start for sure. But your mommy loves you a lot.”
It was difficult weaning her off the codeine, but she’s better now. She no longer cries because of the withdrawal, and the foster family did such a great job with her. I’m eternally grateful.
Judge Otero looks back at me and smiles. “
Tell Mateo that congratulations are indeed in order and I wish you both the best.”
Epilogue - Mateo
My heart thumps like crazy when Shannon pulls into my driveway. We agreed months ago that she needed to do this herself. She needed to find her own solution to this problem. And that when she was ready, and things were in order, she’d come here and we’d talk in person again.
Maybe the codes were silly, but it was the only way she knew how to communicate with me. She wanted to start over and I didn’t. I wanted to keep going. But even though she doesn’t have the wisdom of experience, she’s the smartest person I know. Because she was right.
We needed a new beginning. One where the power was shared and the secrets were over.
She gets Olivia out of her baby seat in the back of the car, and I can see Shannon wiping her tears from the kitchen window. But they’re happy tears. Everything is good right now or she wouldn’t be in my driveway.
I’ve stood here in this spot every Wednesday at six o’clock for months waiting for this moment. And each time she didn’t come, I missed her more. I’d sit down and write her trig problems, trying to find the perfect message to make her feel better about not getting the thing she wanted most.
Her own family.
I wait at the window to see what she will do, and she walks to the back porch.
There are a few moments of hesitation. She chews her lip as she raises her hand to knock.
But she doesn’t knock.
She reaches for the handle and opens the door, letting herself in. I hold my breath as I smile, unable to dare to believe it’s finally time.
But then she speaks and everything is right in the world.
Because she says, “We’re home.”
END OF BOOK SHIT
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Welcome to the End of book Shit, fondly called the EOBS around these parts. This is where I get to say anything I want about the book.
So let’s get right to the point. Is this really a true story? Yes and no. Lots (and I do mean lots) of things in this book are 100% true, but it’s a called a novel for a reason. It’s based on my story when I was eighteen, but it’s obviously been embellished.
The first thing I’d like to talk about is Anaheim High School. Yeah, lots of those things about it were true, that first chapter is 99.9% true. That really happened to me. I was x number many credits ahead, yet they told me I was not going to graduate unless I went to night school and made up math, science, PE, and driver’s ed. Anaheim High School had its problems back when I was there in 87, and I’m sure it’s got its problems today. But that counselor (who was not named Bowman) really did give a shit and really did help me get through it. Also, the girl I insulted never did try and beat me up. I did see her at a party later in the semester, but it was all good. I had no issues with the kids there at all. They were good kids.
The name Shannon comes from my best friend from childhood in Ohio. I saw her a few months ago and after discussing all the crazy shit we got into, told her I was gonna make her a character because we were WILD. Just fucking wild when we were teens. And she said do it. So thanks, Shan. Love ya, bitch. Hope you like the book. If I could write one called 16, we’d both be there, but I’m pretty sure that book would be banned immediately for underage sexcapades and extreme drug use. ;) #FuckingShannon. Jana asks me all the time how the hell I’m still alive when I wander down Memory Lane. Just lucky I got over that wild side early, I guess.
I changed everything about my family life except for where we lived, because honestly, you do not need to know about it. But it was dramatic enough to give me the idea for this book. And I’ll tell you, the only good thing about my eighteenth birthday was Sunday.
He’s real, but it didn’t happen exactly the way I wrote it, and his name wasn’t Danny, it was Geoff. I have two “love” regrets in life, and one of them was Geoff. I talked to him a few years ago on Facebook and that was pretty cool. He reminded me of the “J” he tattooed over his heart and I reminded him of how my 18th birthday really went down. :) And even though he really was a drug dealer, he was Sunday. His whole personality was Sunday. He is forever the guy who took care of me when I had that ear infection. Dr. Geoff, he said. “Just call me Dr. Geoff.”
When he got his first apartment after we broke up he called me on the phone and said, “Come over. I got this place and no one to share it with.” So he picked me up and I went over there. Just writing this makes me smile because we were sitting on the floor and he asks me if I want to see his AK’s under his bed. He’d moved up in the drug world sicne we dated. I was all, “Nah. I don’t think so.” But then he smiled and said, “Wanna see my banana clip, Julie?” #FuckingSunday. We laughed and he did show me his guns. I oohed and ahhed with him. I cannot even picture him the way people must see him today. I only see that smile, that night, sitting on the floor of his bedroom in his very first apartment. I only saw him once after that because we were heading in two totally different directions. He called me right after my daughter was born and came over to see us. And soon after that I left Orange Country and started a new life somewhere else.
Which leads me to the characters. I think pretty much everyone named in the book is a real character, but again, the story was told to keep everyone out of it. So Danny, you weren’t Sunday, but you were still a great friend. Phil was not a big time dealer, he was a fav of mine too, but there was a guy who lived in the house at the end of the alley who smoked me out on occasion. He was a fond memory from my 18th birthday, and not for that reason. And a guy I knew did live across Broadway in that house I gave Mateo, but we never dated. Rocky was real and I described her the way she looked back then. Danny in the book was actually a guy called Mark (I left Geoff out of this story for reasons you can probably imagine), and we were acquaintances. He was the kid sitting next to me while I had a meltdown in the office in Chapter One, and he really did tell all his friends about me, so that’s how I found my people that last semester. The arcade was an ice cream shop called Mr. Happy’s and that owner was also a friend. I ate at that restaurant, that cop did live across the way in my apartments, and I dated a much older man and did lots of dirty things with him, but he was not my teacher for night school and I was not 18 (yet). Not even close. LOL.
I did go to five high schools and the only evidence that I graduated from Anaheim, and not the school I started senior year in San Diego, is the 1987 group photo of the senior class standing out on the front steps. I have a Van Halen shirt on.
I skated though school. I’m smart. I was born that way. Just like Rook in Tragic was born tall, skinny and pretty—I was born smart. But I skated through school because I could. It did me no favors being smart. People still assumed I was stupid and it took me a much longer time to learn the lesson that Shannon learned at the end of this book.
Everything of worth requires effort.
The Colony, as that section of Anaheim is called, was my hood. These people and a lot of this story were real. I wrote Eighteen in two and a half weeks between Anarchy Found and Rook and Ronin HEA (releasing December 16th) because the world was already there. The characters were already there. It was written before I wrote it because I lived it.
Which brings me to why I wrote it. I saw a blog post about a book blogger who said she was breaking up with the New Adult genre. She had a lot of valid points. Too much angst, too much drama, too much of everything. I don’t think she could relate.
But I can relate to that drama. Eighteen was hard for me. It was probably one of the most difficult times in my life because I was adrift. My family was not cohesive. It didn’t pull me together, it unraveled long before I was moved out to California the mid
dle of my junior year. But the drama that had me changing schools in the middle of senior year was real and overwhelming.
This is why I started writing new adult books to begin with. Rook in Tragic was drifting too. And people have asked a few times about which of my female characters I relate to the most, and although there is a lot of Veronica in me, Rook is the closest.
So I wrote this book for people who relate to drama and angst. I write all my books for them. Every book is filled with outsiders and anti-heroes because my whole life I’ve been on the outside, and while all my friends were good (or I wouldn’t be friends with them), it was never in the traditional sense. Don’t get me wrong, I like it here on the outside. I could give a fuck what the world does. I live my life the way I live it because I don’t mind the outside. I like the fringe. And I put every bit of it into my books. People like Rook because they relate to her struggle, they admire her strength, and they want her to find that HEA.
I think I’ve found my HEA in books, just like a lot of you.
When the New Adult genre was just getting started people went crazy for it. It has since died down, but Coming of Age stories will never die down. Coming of Age is something we can all relate to. A few years ago when I wrote Tragic people were even asking if the New Adult genre was necessary and I remember writing a blog post for my book blog, New Adult Addiction, explaining why I thought it was relevant. There is a little bit of this story in that post. The reason it’s relevant is because not everyone wants the sweet story. Sure, people read fiction to escape reality, but not everyone wants the perfect Mary Sue character to be saved by the billionaire and the perfect ending with two point five kids.
People want a little reality in their story. They want angst and drama. They want to read about the risk they never took, the fear they never felt, and the victory when the characters get it right. Or maybe they did take that risk, they did feel that fear, and they did/did not make it right. Maybe they relate the way I relate and just want to know that it’s normal. That other people experienced coming of age that way too. Either way, I write for those people. And if you don’t like what I write, well, there are a billion other books out there. Have at it. I’m gonna keep doing my thing.