by ANDREA SMITH
So much had gone on in both his life and mine over the past several months that we had no way of knowing. It hadn’t really gone the way I had hoped it would under the circumstances that had been forced on the both of us.
I thought back to that flight from California last December. Once Mama and I had gotten settled at my grandparents’ home, I’d called him to let him know my new address and phone number.
After that, we’d call one another as often as possible. Then my grandparents had grumbled about their phone bills being sky high, so I wasn’t permitted to call him anymore. I had to wait until he called me. So our phone chats went from every day to about three times a week.
Still, we had tried our best to make the best of the long distance. It was strange. Even when I lived up the road from Seth, it wasn’t as if we needed to see one another every day. But the fact we knew that we could was something that had been ripped away from us just as our relationship had risen to a new level. That part sucked.
I felt as if I’d been on the threshold of something so emotionally charged with the promise of it becoming some life-altering experience that I would forever cherish, and then suddenly, I was cheated out of it. Something I knew I was on the precipice of discovering; some unknown rite of passage I’d yet to experience, but was eager to taste. Well, all of that had hurt me terribly. I had ached for something I’d not yet fully known.
But the raw reality was that school, extra-curricular activities, and the three-hour time difference between us, had put a serious damper on our ability to communicate with one another as often as we would’ve liked.
Still, we had made a promise to write a letter to one another once a week, and we had both lived up to that pledge.
Seth had always typed his letters up on his mother’s computer and mailed them to me in a manila envelope where he would include some sand from the beach, or tiny sea shells wrapped in tin foil. Once he’d included a cassette tape with music he said totally reminded him of me.
My heart and tummy had fluttered like a thousand butterflies had been let loose when I’d listened to his music choices for me.
The Right Kind of Love by Jeremy Jordan; What is Love by Haddaway; Baby Come on Home by Led Zeppelin; Walking in My Shoes, by Depeche Mode; Take This Heart, by Richard Marx; When I Look Into Your Eyes, by Firehouse; When Can I See You, by Baby Face.
From that point forward, I kept my Boom Box on my nightstand, and every night I played the cassette and fell asleep listening to the songs he’d recorded just for me.
“Hey, Tennessee,” he said, his eyes now open, gazing up at me, shaking me back to the present. “What you doing, babe? Staring a hole through me?”
“Oh stop,” I said, my foot kicking at his leg. “Just watching you sleep and thinking I guess.”
He sat up, pulling his knees ups, and resting his arms across them. “Thinking about what?”
I shrugged, picking a piece of lint off of the blanket, my eyes not meeting his. I didn’t really want to share what I’d been thinking, because, let’s face it, some of it was kind of pitiful.
“Just that it seems kinda strange with us in some ways. I mean, you’ve changed in the last seven months. It’s like you’ve grown up and I don’t feel like I’ve kept up with you, that’s all.”
“Neely,” he said, taking my hand into his larger one, “it’s only been seven months, how much could’ve changed?”
I looked up at him. “You tell me, Seth. What has your life been like since I left? Who do you hang out with? How’s school going? Do I still fit into your life even though I live thousands of miles away now?”
He was thoughtful for a moment. “Well, I’ve tried to keep you up to date as much as I can over the phone and with my letters, there’s not much else to tell.”
I knew what I wanted to say to him—what I needed to find out, but the truth was, I was chicken.
“Come on, Tennessee,” he prodded me with his drop dead gorgeous smile, which made me wonder when I started thinking of him in those particular terms. “Tell me what’s really on your mind.”
“Okay,” I said with a sigh, “you’ve gotten kind of…well, kind of handsome since I last saw you. You’re sixteen now which is supposed to be kind of a magic age...”
“Magic?” he asked, giving me a nudge this time with his foot, and an eye roll, “Define magic, please.”
“Don’t make fun of me, Seth Drake,” I snapped, clearly irritated that for some reason it seemed as if he was getting cocky with me.
“Hey now,” he replied quietly, “I wasn’t, Neely. I’m just trying to get a handle on where your head’s at right now. You’re…I don’t know, kind of being standoffish with me. All I’m trying to figure out here is why.”
“I just told you why, Seth. I know it’s not been that long, but you just seem older and different.”
“Well, we’re both a little older. You’ve grown too, babe. In all the right places, too,” he whispered, scooting closer to me on the blanket.
I blushed at his reference to my chest expansion. It was true, I’d gone from a ‘B’ cup to a ‘C’ practically overnight it seemed. But it wasn’t as if Seth had ever touched them. I hadn’t missed the fact that his eyes strayed there several times while we’d been on the beach though.
“I’m not just talking about physical stuff, silly,” I said, trying to get past the mention of my breasts. “What kind of people are your friends now? Do you…” I faltered for a moment, casting my eyes away from him, “do you ever go out on dates with girls?”
Seth scrambled up to a crouch beside me. “Is that what’s bugging you?”
I nodded. “You turned sixteen the day after I left. You drive now. Even have your own car. You’re starting your Junior year of high school. I know how social it gets when that happens. School dances, the prom. All those things are happening for you and I’m not here to share them with you.”
“Yeah? Well think about the fact that I’m starting at a brand new school this fall where I will know zero people, huh? And what about you? You’re going into your sophomore year at a school where at least you spent a couple of semesters at so you won’t be totally clueless going in, right?”
“It’s not just that, Seth,” I persisted. “How can we maintain a long distance relationship? It’s funny…when Daddy first moved us out here I hated it. As beautiful and golden as California was—and is, I ached for the rolling hills, lazy creeks, and dirt roads of Tennessee. I felt like I would never fit in here. But I did. And the reason I did was because of you.”
“Me?”
I smiled and my eyes met his. “Yes, you. The nosy, asked-me-a-million questions boy that kept popping over to my house whenever he felt like it—you. And I guess I thought I’d met a friend for life.”
“You have, Neely. I promise. Nothing will ever change that between us. Yeah, I get that we’re both too young to commit to anything serious. We both know that. But it doesn’t mean we can’t spend these next few weeks together. Hanging out. Having fun. And not dwelling on anything other than that. Because if we do, it will only bum the both of us out.”
He was right, of course. Here I was, the first afternoon back and I was getting all weird and uptight on him. This was just the cards that had been played. I was fifteen and a half. My future, for the moment, was not in Southern California. It might never be. But I wasn’t going to waste one more precious moment dwelling on that.
This was about the here and now. Living for this moment in time and enjoying the boy that had been my best friend for the past five years. Anything other than that wasn’t in the cards, and I knew it. I could accept it because really, I didn’t have any other choice now did I?
“Hey,” I said jumping up, “come on! Let’s go for a swim in the pool. Then Daddy said something about grilling out. Can you stay for dinner?”
Seth jumped up and pulled the blanket with him. “Now you’re talking. And don’t worry, Neely. I’ll talk your old man into l
etting me drive you around in my car. We’ve got wheels this summer and we sure as hell are going to make the best of them.”
Chapter 10
Present Day
I glanced around my bedroom, a feeling of déjà vu draped over me like a shroud. It had been two years since I’d done the same damn thing. The last time I’d been here. I had been fifteen (and a half). I smiled to myself. For some reason, that ‘and a half’ had seemed a big deal back then. Maybe because I was counting the days until I hit sixteen.
Sixteen. One of those special milestones.
Eighteen. The next milestone.
Twenty-one. The next special milestone after eighteen.
They each had their reasons for being special. Getting to drive, getting to vote, getting to drink legally.
Big fucking deal.
I’d gotten my driver’s license. I’d even been drunk a couple of times with my girlfriends back home. And yes, I got how risky that was what with my mother’s affliction and all, but I figured the odds were at least fifty percent in my favor that I didn’t inherit that particular gene from her.
So here I was. Seventeen and in the same bedroom where I stood in two years ago and reflected in fifteen-year-old terms how my life had changed, but my room hadn’t.
This time it was different.
My room had changed.
Completely.
There was nothing familiar here except for the oil painting that had hung over the bed. Now it was hanging on the opposite wall.
The walls were no longer a pale pink as they had been. They’d been repainted a soft cream, with a border of dark teal, maroon and ivory geometric patterns at the top of each wall where it met the stuccoed ceiling.
My double bed with the maple frame had been replaced with a queen size bed, with a wrought iron headboard. The duvet was a deep teal, and the mountain of throw pillows clustered at the head of the bed was in various shades of teal, maroon, and gold.
The room still smelled of fresh paint and new carpeting. I looked down at my feet. The new carpeting was thick champagne-colored plush. Each step I took, I felt myself sink into the rich luxury of it.
There was a new dresser and matching nightstands. Jewel toned tiffany glass lamps were placed on each one. My bed was in a different corner of the room.
My corkboard wall was gone. It didn’t matter though. I’d taken every piece of artwork off of it when we’d left.
As far as I knew, it was all still boxed up in the cellar at our apartment. I hadn’t thought about those paintings in forever. I hadn’t painted anything in forever. Not since the summer and into the fall that I’d come back early from my visit with my father.
I glanced over and saw that the bedroom curtains had been replaced by ivory colored blinds. The room was dark with no sunlight coming through, so I quickly remedied that by twisting the wand to open the slats.
There. That was much better.
Mama had always said that sunshine was the cure for anyone’s gloom. Funny, I thought, that sure as hell hadn’t been her first choice in chasing away the blues, had it?
Is that what I was feeling standing here right now?
Was I feeling blue?
I wasn’t sure why I would be. If anything, I should be overwhelmed with relief, gratitude, the intervention of the Almighty for saving my mother and, maybe, in the process, for saving me as well.
Just then there was a soft tap on the door. “Neely?” a feminine voice called out from the other side, “it’s Tiff. May I come in?”
Of course it was Tiff. Who else would I have expected being that she was now my father’s wife?
“Sure,” I called out, grabbing one of my suitcases and tossing it up on the pristine duvet. The one she no doubt had selected when she decided to give my bedroom a complete facelift.
I turned back around to face her as she came through the door. “Hey, honey,” she said, her voice carried a nervous lilt, which I found kind of fascinating. She was an actress after all, how difficult could it possibly be for her to play this role?
Her breath caught in her throat when she saw me. Had I been giving her the evil eye or something?
“I’m sorry, I mean hello, Neely. I just wanted to check in to see if you needed anything at all.”
“No. I’m good. Thanks.” I didn’t turn away. She was studying me. Whether to read my mood or my mind, I wasn’t quite sure, but I wasn’t about to break eye contact. She was beautiful in a painted up, Hollywood glitz sort of way I suppose.
“You are so striking,” she commented, walking closer as if to see if it was merely the lighting in the room that prompted her comment. “I haven’t seen any recent pictures, but you are stunningly beautiful.”
“Thanks,” I murmured, wondering if I was supposed to return the compliment. Was this a new California thing? “I can’t take credit for how I look though. It’s just the way I turned out I guess.”
“Well, you’d be a natural in the business,” she replied, her index finger now tapping her cheek as if deep in thought. Planning my future? Setting a path for me?
No damn way.
“The business?” I asked, pretending not to know what she was getting at here.
“Hollywood. Films. Television. Modeling. My goodness, there are a plethora of opportunities for a young woman like yourself.”
“No thanks,” I deadpanned. “I’ve seen firsthand what that kind of career choice does to people.”
It was a slap in her face, but that’s okay, because it was supposed to be. If Tiffany Blume…sorry, Tiffany Evans thought she could win me over by remodeling my room and taking me under her wing so that she could mentor me into showbiz, she was plum out of luck.
“Look, Neely,” she said, her hands now clasped together, “I know you’re not here under the best of circumstances. And I know that you’ve got no reason in the world to like me or even allow me to be your friend. But I would like to at least try, wouldn’t you?”
I dropped the tee shirt I’d been folding onto the bed and crossed my arms, locking my eyes with hers. “I promised my dad I’d be polite and civil, and I will. Beyond that Ms. Blume, you hold no sliver of interest for me. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to finish unpacking here.”
She visibly bristled, and a coldness swept over her face. “No problem. Dinner is at seven. Your father will be back around then. In fact, he’s bringing you a surprise, so I hope you don’t spoil that for him with an attitude.”
She was at the doorway now, looking back over her shoulder at me. I stalked over to where she stood, my right hand bracing the edge of the door.
“Just as long as it’s not a fucking puppy,” I said, shutting the door slowly in her face.
As it turned out, my surprise was a ‘96 Mustang. Convertible. Cherry Red.
“I—I don’t know what to say, Dad. I mean, I love it. Can I take it out? Now?”
He chuckled, “Of course, Neely. That’s why I got it. You’re almost eighteen. You need your own ride living here in the boonies.”
“Yeah, right,” I said laughing, taking the keys he dangled in front of me. I dropped a kiss on his cheek. “Thank you, Daddy.”
“You drive carefully, you hear? Tomorrow we’ll have to get you a California driver’s license.”
“I will,” I replied, starting the engine and revving it up. “And tomorrow we have to get me enrolled in classes, don’t forget,” I called out as I put the car in gear and headed out onto our road.
As I passed Seth’s house, my eyes naturally gazed over at the circular drive in front of it. Three cars were parked along the drive. None of them his, unless of course, he’d changed vehicles in the last couple of years, which I suppose was a possibility.
I focused my eyes back on the road as I blew past their estate, my long hair blowing out as the wind whipped through it, giving me the first feeling of elation in a long, long time. It was invigorating. It was therapeutic. It was just what I needed to surviv
e this part of my young life.
And I would survive. I knew that now. My time spent being my mother’s keeper was done. It was over.
No more cleaning up vomit from wherever she happened to puke while she staggered around our apartment, trashed from the liquor and cursing everybody she deemed responsible for her current situation.
No more changing her wet sheets when she was too drunk to get up and use the bathroom; or listening to her rants about how things should’ve been instead of getting off her ass and taking ownership of her life, and mine, like a parent was supposed to do.
I loved Mama, I truly did. But I wasn’t what she needed right now. I wasn’t equipped any longer to see her through the drunken binges. Or the ranting and raving they brought, along with the fits of rage that sometimes had her swinging her fists my way because, damn it, I was a part of him.
I could forgive my father for what he’d done, because I knew he truly fell in love. But that didn’t mean that I would ever warm up to Tiffany Blume, because yeah, I did not see that happening at all.
For now, my job was to finish school, and then continue on to college. I would never hang my hat on one man like my mama had done. I would support myself, and my lifestyle, whatever that happened to be, on my own.
I would never need anyone other than myself. If I loved someone, I would make damn sure that person was worthy of my love.
And if down the road it turned out that I wasn’t enough for him, or he wasn’t enough for me? Then so be it. I would move on and not look back and I would expect him to do the same.
I wanted no emotional chains binding me to someone I no longer wanted to be with, nor would I want to bind someone to me that wanted or needed to be somewhere else. What would be the point? Hadn’t I already learned that lesson earlier?
I would never waste years of my life getting wasted like Mama had, still allowing herself to be tortured over something that just wasn’t meant to be.