Anything Less Than Everything

by Adkins, Heather

  Jill shrugged. “The only thing that ever works for me is to make her think whatever she’s mad about was actually her idea.”

  That completely defeated the point of my new-found confidence. If I was only acting on my mother’s ideas, even if it was just a show for her, how was that any different than staying with Spencer all that time? I needed this to be my decision.

  Jill seemed to understand my unspoken thoughts. “Maybe if you told her what happened...”

  “And give her the opportunity to bring up my shortcomings again? No, thanks.”

  “She just wants you to be happy.”

  “Well, then she should take some time to find out what it is that would make me happy,” I snapped.

  “You’re right, Brooke. I’m sorry she’s being like that.”

  “Have any other ideas?” I asked.

  “Move out. She’ll get over it, especially when her friends start talking about how wonderful it is that you’ve gotten your own place.”

  True. My mother’s liking for things going according to her plans was second only to her desire to maintain the approval of her friends. Maybe I was more like my mother than I realized. No, the old Brooke was. That line of thinking is what kept me with Spencer. I was determined to never again lose who I really was. Or used to be. Who I wanted to be. And though it was not what had driven me to sign the papers, moving away from my mother and her influence was necessary for me to reclaim myself.

  And so I resolved to go forward with my plan, regardless of what my mother or anyone else thought about it. I taped up the box I had been busy filling, thus sealing my decision.

  Chapter 5

  Memorial Day. A time most of the country devotes to cookouts with family and friends. Not my family: we scatter. Mom was working, Memorial Day being one of the biggest days of the year for the botanical gardens. She had to be on hand to answer questions about rare varieties of roses and drum up design business for herself. Dad was playing. Golf, that is. Each year he played in a charity scramble. He claimed that the fact that it was for a good cause excused the fact that his game was less than stellar. Jill was off somewhere with Dave, as usual. That left me alone, something I was used to and no longer minded much.

  Since I was going to be moving in just a couple of days, I decided to check out a local home boutique for decorating ideas. The holiday meant sales galore, and before long I had filled my cart with pillows, art, tchotchkes, you name it.

  I tried not to over think my decisions as I chose the items, determined just to buy what I liked and not what I thought the magazines, or my mother, would approve. I’d somehow chosen lots of grays and yellows, colors I didn’t realize I liked, especially not together, but it seemed to work.

  “You must be starting from scratch,” the woman at the register observed.

  “I am,” I answered. “I’ve finally decided to leave the nest. You’d think after twenty-three years I’d have enough stuff to fill a small apartment, but apparently not,” I said, indicating the pile now sitting on the counter.

  “Well, you’ve got good taste,” she said. “All of these things will work wonderfully together. Just don’t rush trying to get it all put together. Take your time.”

  “Thanks,” I replied. “But I’m a teacher, off for the summer, so I really want to try to get it feeling complete before I go back to work in August. Besides, decorating will give me something to do.”

  “Are you looking for something?” she asked, one eyebrow arched. “To do, I mean. Because I really need to hire someone part time to help with the seasonal change over. Summer is our busiest time in terms of design. The schedule is flexible and I’ll give you a fifty percent discount.”

  A summer job was the last thing I’d been looking for when I walked into the store that day. After all, part of the appeal of teaching was having the summers off.

  But what good was a summer off when everyone else was working? I’d been looking forward to summer break, but hadn’t really thought about how I would fill the days.

  I eyed the pile of things I was purchasing. Half off would make a huge difference, and I did love the items in this store. I had never worked retail, always preferring office type jobs during college breaks. But that was in the past. And since I was re-creating myself, it seemed like a great time to tackle a new project. Besides, it was just for the summer. “Sold,” I said, extending my hand across the counter to shake hers.

  “Wonderful!” she exclaimed. “I’m Caryn. Welcome to Dwell.”

  I drove straight to the empty apartment, making three trips to get all of my purchases upstairs to my unit. I carefully unpacked each item, placing them all in the living room so I could sort out where I wanted things to go. What seemed like a houseful in the store now looked incredibly sparse. The problem was furniture. I had none. At home I had a bedroom set--bed, dresser, nightstand, desk--but it reeked of fifth grade girliness. Mom picked it out, and I had never been in love with it. I decided it could stay at Mom and Dad’s. I grabbed a notebook and pen from my purse and started making a list of all I would need. Replacements for the bedroom furniture I was leaving behind, of course, but also a table and chairs, bar stools, rug...I wasn’t even through the dining room, and already the list filled an entire page. I needed back up. Marcie. Our friendship had cooled some, what with my hiding from everyone after the breakup. Now that school was over, and I didn’t see her every day, I knew I was going to have to reach out to her if I wanted to salvage the relationship. And since she loved a project and shopping more than pretty much anything, I thought asking for her help filling my new space might be the perfect way to reconnect. The old me--the original one--had been an initiator when it came to friendships, and if I was trying to reclaim that self, then that was something I needed to do.

  "Brooke! I wondered if I would ever hear from you again!"

  "I just saw you two weeks ago," I replied.

  "But do you realize how long it's been since you called to make plans with me?" Or anyone, I thought to myself. I winced at how much I had abandoned my few friendships, how I had pushed everyone away. At the same time, though, I saw a little bit more of the old me--the real me--peeking through.

  "I'm sorry," I said. "I just..." I trailed off, not knowing where to go next.

  "No worries," she cut in. "And yes, I would love to help you with your apartment! Can I come over now?"

  Her enthusiasm was contagious, and twenty minutes later she was sitting on the floor of my living room adding to the list I’d begun.

  “Okay,” she said in a matter-of-fact, let’s-get-down-to-business voice, “you’ve made a good start here. Where did you find this?” she said, holding up a goldenrod colored vase.

  “This place called Dwell,” I replied.

  “Oh, I love that place! I should have known.” I decided to wait to tell her about my very recent new job there. I wasn’t sure she’d be able to handle it. “Okay, I can definitely see where you’re heading in terms of color and style.”

  If you say so, I thought.

  “Let’s go room by room and list big items first and then go back and add the other accessories you think you want. You won’t really know until you get into the store and see, of course.”

  “Of course,” I said, mimicking her tone. She rolled her eyes in reply.

  Two hours later, the list complete, gossip caught up, Marcie stood up to go. “Tomorrow, eleven o’clock,” she said firmly. I nodded. I was now officially excited about filling my new home, and the day of lunch and shopping ahead would hopefully end with a firm move in date.

  My room at my parents’ house was filled with boxes half-packed, bags ready for the trash or donation slouching among them. That’s the worst part of moving--the time between packing and leaving, when nothing is where it should be and everything is a mess. And so my bed had become an island of sorts. With music playing softly in the background and pen poised over notebook, I pondered the words I had just written on the page between scribbles and cross outs. Wri
ting was something else I’d lost along the way, and getting back to it was like the first workout after months of skipping the gym: painful. The metaphor I was attempting to weave into the poem I was writing was not working. It was coming across as forced, fake. Words were just starting to come to me when the buzz of my phone pulled them away back into the recesses of my brain. “Darn!” I said under my breath as I checked the number. I didn’t recognize it, and the unfamiliar area code could only mean telemarketer.

  “Hello?” I answered, trying to make my annoyance clear.

  “Hey, Brooke. It’s Aaron.” He paused. “Is this a bad time?

  My heart skipped, the image of us on the swing immediately coming to mind. This was completely unexpected. Aaron Davidson called me. Me. But why? “No, of course not!” I replied, recovering. “I thought you were someone trying to sell me something. How are you? How’s camp?” Pause. “Um, how did you find my number?”

  He laughed that slow easy laugh that made me feel so at ease. “Okay, let’s see. I’m good. Camp’s tough but I’m learning a lot. And I got your number when you texted me the other night, telling me you made it home.”

  “Ahh...so that’s why you were worried about my well-being,” I said, a bit of mischief in my voice.

  “Just an added benefit,” he said, and I swear I could feel him smiling over the phone.

  “So, what’s up?” I asked. “I thought they kept you running and passing twenty-four-seven, with only an occasional break for a few drops of water.”

  “Feels like it,” he said, and I could hear the tiredness in his voice, could imagine him wincing as he stretched out his throwing arm. “Most of the guys went out, you know, dinner, looking for girls.”

  “And you didn’t join them because...”

  “I had to stay here to ice my leg,” he replied.

  “You got hurt?” I didn’t mean for my voice to sound as panicked as I’m sure it did. “Are you okay?”

  “I’ll be fine. Just a pulled hammy. A slight pull. Nothing a night of ice and rest won’t fix. Besides, it gave me a good excuse to bow out of their plans and call you instead.” I felt a smile twitching at the corners of my mouth. Aaron wanted to talk to me instead of picking up girls. Aaron Davidson called me.

  “Well, I’m glad I didn’t hang up on you like I usually do the telemarketers.”

  “Me, too.” We each sat there in silence for a few seconds, but like before, it wasn’t awkward. “So, what have I missed in your life over the past two days?” he finally said. Two days. Saturday night on the swing seemed a lifetime ago. So much had changed in my life in just forty-eight hours. So much had changed in me.

  “Well,” I said, “I found a part time job to keep me busy over the summer.”

  “Job? I thought the whole point of becoming a teacher was that you didn’t have to work in the summer,” he said.

  “That certainly is a benefit,” I replied. “But it’s at a home decor boutique, and the discount will help me fill up my new apartment.”

  I let those words hang in the space between us.

  "Did you mention that this weekend?" I could picture him scanning through our conversations, looking for some mention of my plans.

  "No," I replied. "It was sort of a recent decision. Like, yesterday recent." I told him how it had all happened, about how I planned to buy out a few furniture stores the next day. About how shocked everyone in my family still was about my plans.

  "Why are they shocked?" he asked, a note of confusion in his voice.

  "Well, I guess they're just used to me asking their opinion before I make big decisions."

  "And you didn't this time?"

  "Nope. I just woke up and knew it was the right thing to do. And so I did it." Saying it that way made me feel more powerful than I had in years.

  “I haven’t technically moved in yet, but I signed the lease. It’s mine. I’m going furniture shopping tomorrow and hope to be sleeping there sometime this week. It’s closer to school and brand new and just all around awesome.” All around awesome? Did I really just say that? The pause on the other end at first made me think Aaron was thinking the same thing, but then he spoke.

  “I’m really proud of you, Brooke.”

  “You are?” He was? No one else had said that. They questioned my reasoning, my timing, everything. Some were excited about the material side of a new place. But no one had acknowledged that this was not an easy thing for me. I might have been feeling stronger, but I was far from being completely together again. And maybe, just like Humpty Dumpty, I never would be.

  Except for when I talked to Aaron. Talking to him made me feel normal. He didn’t give me the sad smiles of assumed understanding that everyone else did. He didn’t offer advice on what I could have done differently. He was just there. For me.

  “Of course I am,” he broke into my thoughts. “I know what it’s like to feel like life is happening to you, Brooke, like someone else is behind the wheel.” I wondered what he meant by that, but he didn’t elaborate. “You stepped up and took control. A lot of people just keep letting others make their choices for them. And judging from my brief interactions with your family, I’m guessing you got some resistance.”

  “You guess right. Well, maybe not resistance exactly, but definitely questions.” I sighed. “But enough of my drama,” I said. “Tell me about camp.”

  “It’s good,” he said. “I know a lot of these guys from playing and other camps, so it’s fun to see them. Plus some of the staff have NFL contacts. That’s always good. And the cable here has at least 400 channels, which helps pass the time when you’re icing your leg.”

  “Wait--so you chose talking to me over a television dream come true? Are you sure that guy just hit your leg?”

  Aaron laughed softly. “You’re much more interesting than any show I’ve ever seen, Brooke. Besides, I couldn’t have you forgetting who I was.”

  “That’s likely,” I replied. “It’s not every day that I meet a Famous College Athlete.”

  “Except that I know you could care less about my so-called celebrity status,” he said. “I mean, I know you care because you’re a fan of the team, but I also know that it has nothing to do with why you’re talking to me right now.” He had me there. I would be having this conversation with Aaron even if he didn’t know a first down from a fumble because of how I felt about myself when I was around him, or his voice, as it were. There was no pressure to flirt or make a good impression like I might feel with most available guys. Aaron and I were friends, and his calling cemented that fact for me. But I couldn’t tell him any of this. Instead I gently steered the conversation to lighter topics.

  “Well, I hope they at least feed you well there. I mean, with roommates on the prowl and drills that cause you to hurt yourself, there ought to be something good in it.”

  He must have heard the smile in my voice, because he laughed a little before answering. “It’s not bad, but they are seriously lacking in the beverage department.”

  “What? No Dr. Pepper??” I teased back, remembering how he had added a bottle to our pizza purchase.

  “None. Not at our group meals, not in the vending machines. Nowhere.”

  “How do they expect you to perform to your full potential without adequate hydration?” I asked.

  “See, that’s exactly what I was thinking. It’s tragic, really.” I laughed at his mock seriousness.

  “However will you survive the next two days?”

  “It’s going to be tough. A bruised hamstring I can handle; a day without DP...I don’t know.” We laughed together and the conversation moved to other topics about as serious as the lack of Dr. Pepper. It wasn’t until I heard my parents coming back into the house that I looked over at the clock on my nightstand. It was eleven o’clock. We’d been on the phone for nearly three hours.

  “I hate to end this,” I said, “but it’s late, and I have to mentally prepare myself for an entire day of shopping with my friend Marcie.”

  “
You’re right,” he replied. “My alarm will be ringing before I know it to get me up for morning drills.”

  “Talk to you soon?” I asked. Hoped.

  “Absolutely,” he replied. “Sweet dreams, Brooke.” He was gone before I could reply.

  There was no way I was going to fall asleep, so I went into the kitchen to find something to drink. Mom was sitting at the counter, the newest issue of Heritage Rose in front of her. She looked up, smiled slightly, and then returned to her magazine flipping. “Who have you been talking to all night?” she asked. So she’s talking to me again, I thought.

  “A friend of mine.” Vague is always best with parents. It gives them the information they want without necessitating long drawn out conversations. Unfortunately, by answering her question I had also admitted that I had, in fact, been on the phone all night. I tried to backtrack, and said something minimizing the time spent on the phone, but Mom wasn’t buying it.

  “Brooke. I tried to call you at 8:30 and your phone went straight to voicemail. I get home at 11:00 and you’re still talking. That’s what I’d call all night.”

  I sighed, exasperated.

  “I was talking to my friend Aaron Davidson. You met him at Nana’s house the other night. He’s in town at a camp for elite college athletes. He was stuck in his room icing an injury, so he called to say hi. That’s it.”

  “That’s it?” Mom asked, accusation thick in her voice. I knew what she meant, what she wanted to know.

  “Yes, Mother, that’s it. Aaron and I became friends over the weekend. But that’s it. Friends.”

  She turned back to the article she was reading. “Just be careful, Brooke. Making friends with cute boys is not going to help you patch things up with Spencer.”

  I could not believe what she was saying. No words came; I just stared at her in disgust. I assumed Jill had told my parents about the fiancée, the cheating. Apparently I was wrong. Still, her words stung like I’d been slapped. Now I had a choice: to defend myself, explain Spencer’s indiscretions or go back to my room and pack faster. I chose the latter.