Mom. I’m not there enough for her. I’m not working hard enough for her. I’m not being strong enough for her. I should be forcing her into surgery, but instead, I’m watching her fade away. I haven’t held a conversation with her in a month because it’s too painful, not for her–for me. It hurts too much to watch her wither away–to watch her struggle to say one sentence, so I visit her when I know she’s sleeping to avoid the pain.
Dad. He’s there for mom less than I am. Sometimes I wonder why he sticks around. How come all he does is sit around and watch television? I wonder why he doesn’t put more effort into his life. He’s completely given up on everything. Himself. His wife. His daughter. Nothing matters to him, so I avoid him because I don’t want to see the disinterest written across his face. I wonder when he stopped loving his family.
Choices. I’d like to think I’ve made the right decisions in life. I stayed to take care of my mom. I choose to get along with my dad–sometimes–to appease my mom. I work to keep all of us going, and I draw to keep myself sane. But did I really make all the right choices? Regret eats me alive every day when I think of all the opportunities I missed because I made the choice to stay exactly where I am.
Today fucking sucks because all those thoughts are bouncing around in my head, and no matter how fast or hard I work, they won’t shut up.
But I try to drown them out, wiping the table harder, making it feel my frustration, begging it to make the noise in my head stop. My forehead is slick, sweat dripping onto the clean table, so I scrub harder, mad that the table is making me sweat.
I bang my hand on the table, letting out a frustrated yelp, drawing the attention of a nearby customer, but I ignore him. I swipe the empty beer glasses from the table and walk back to the bar where two new customers wait to place their order.
“Whiskey neat,” the blond guy orders, holding up three fingers, indicating he wants three.
I snatch three short glasses and the half empty bottle of whiskey from behind me. I pour the amber liquid into each glass before placing the rest of the bottle behind me, ignoring the thoughts swimming through my head.
“You bang your guy yet?” Kristy questions, coming up next to me with an empty tray in her hand.
“Psh, no,” I blow out.
“That explains it.”
“Explains what?” I backfire with my hand on my hip.
“You’re all worked up.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’ve been saying that a lot lately,” she deadpans.
I compose myself as much as I can. “I’m good. See?” I plaster on a big, fat smile, praying she buys it.
“That’s the fakest smile I’ve ever seen.” She leans against the back of the bar, crossing her arms as she stares out at the lack of people here tonight. “And that’s saying something because you know as well as I do that all the women who come traipsing in here show off their fake smiles while displaying their cleavage to get free drinks from the guys.”
“Ha, you’re right.” I pat her on the shoulder. “Thanks for cheering me up.” I don’t know why her comment pulled me out of my sour mood, but the thought of myself looking like a desperate chick, roaming around the bar for her next victim is pretty damn funny.
“Whatever works for ya, babe.”
“I bet I know what works for you,” I joke, jerking my head toward the door where her six-foot-tall rock god of a boyfriend is stepping into the bar.
A smirk slips across her face, and I can only imagine all the dirty thoughts running through her head. “You’re right. I need me some of that.”
Jason stops in front of the bar, leaning over it as far as he can and snatches Kristy’s wrist, yanking her closer to him. He lays a kiss on her that is only appropriate for the bedroom, but they put it all on display, not caring what anyone around them may think.
They wrench away from each other, and Jason hops on a nearby barstool, making himself comfortable.
“What’s up, Jade?” he asks, drumming his hands on the bar.
“Nothing much, just enjoying the show,” I say sarcastically.
“We can arrange for a much better version for–”
“No,” I say sternly, pointing my finger at him.
He laughs, unable to contain himself. “All right, all right.”
Kristy steps around the bar, sitting next to Jason, apparently thinking she’s allowed to have a break. Kidding. She is, we just never have time for a break, but we’re experiencing a weird lull tonight.
“Jade’s feeling a little sexually frustrated.”
“I am not.” Seriously I’m not, but I don’t bother to tell her the real reasons for all my frustrations lately. I should because then she might get off my back, but then she’ll give me that look of sympathy people give you when they find out someone close to you is dying. I’d rather avoid that all together.
“You know that’s really an easy fix. I mean you could even join us if you want.” Kristy glares at him and throws her elbow into his stomach. “Ow, what the hell!” he yells.
“You know what that was for.” She stalks away from him to help another customer, dramatically swinging her hips, catching the eye of every guy in the bar.
She knows Jason’s just playing around, but it doesn’t mean she won’t dish it back at him. Their relationship is flawless. They joke with each other and have no insecurities, well, apparently, except for the whole getting engaged thing. But other than that, they’re my model for a perfect relationship. What I think is a perfect relationship anyway.
“I’ve got this friend–”
“No,” I say automatically, cutting him off once again.
“Hey, you don’t even know what I was going to say,” he argues, throwing a pout at me as if it will change my mind. That only works on Kristy, not me.
“You have a friend who can help me out.”
“Well, yeah, kind of, but he would at least buy you dinner first,” he explains, fixing his blue Mohawk so it stands up straighter. I don’t know how he gets his hair to stand straight up, but he does, and it’s perfect every time.
“No.”
“How about a beer instead?” he compromises with a smile, showcasing his polished white teeth.
“Now that, I can do.” I pop the cap off a beer and slide it over to Jason.
He gulps down half of it before he places it back on the bar. He slightly turns his head and watches Kristy out of the corner of his eye. A genuine smile slides across his face, one I would give anything to have directed at me. Not from Jason, but from anyone. To have someone who watches me from afar with nothing but affection in their eyes. Kristy’s crazy for not wanting to get engaged to Jason.
That’s how we spend the rest of our night. Kristy flits around the bar with Jason’s eyes glued to her, and I watch, envious of what they have, while I help customers who wander up to the bar.
I’m counting down the seconds until I can leave the shop. Seconds not minutes because Harry has been riding me all damn day.
He decided I didn’t have enough of a workload already and stuck me with a transmission repair. Never mind the three guys sitting around doing nothing, he had to ask me. Me, who was already on her sixth oil change for the day and about to replace an alternator and battery.
I wish he would fire everyone here, including himself, and start from scratch.
7,200 seconds. Two hours. That’s all that stands between me and a shower.
“Jade, come back here,” Harry huffs as he scratches the underbelly of his…belly. Gross. So gross.
I stalk over with a scowl on my face, not happy to be interrupted when I’m trying to get as much done for the day as I can.
I step over the threshold of his office and stand with my arms crossed, waiting for him to dish out his criticism on how I could have done better today.
He sits down in his chair, causing it to cry in protest with the weight of his body crushing the small frame. He shuffles through the thousands of papers on his desk, and I tap my
foot impatiently, wanting to get out of his office that smells like rotting trash.
“Here.” He holds out an envelope that used to be white, but is now covered in mysterious stains. “Take it.”
I step forward and rip it out of his hand. I haphazardly rip open the top of the pesky envelope, mad at it for it giving me such a hard time.
I take out the single piece of paper and unfold it. A check. He’s giving me a check. One that’s worth one month of my pay. I clench my jaw, my lips in a tight line. Am I being fired? Is he trying to buy me off?
“What is this?” I snap.
“A check,” he says as if I’ve never seen a check before in my life. I have, but not one for this much.
“I know, but why? Are you letting me go? Because if you are, you’re an idiot. This place will go under–”
“Jade,” he interrupts me, but I continue like he never said a word.
“In less than a month. You won’t make it without me.”
“Jade!” he yells. “You’re not being fired.” He coughs, clearing his throat. “It’s a bonus.”
“You’re giving me a bonus?” I question, my face wrinkling in confusion.
“You’re the best employee I got. You need to fix that mouth of yours, but you’re a hard worker.” I stare at him, dumbfounded. “And I know about your Mom, so I know you could use the money.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “What are you talking about?”
“Your dad called after you left a couple days ago. He was rambling about your mom going to the hospital.” He scratches his hairy chest. “But you were already gone.”
I throw the check on his desk. “I don’t want your pity.”
I don’t understand why my dad would have called here when he could have called my cell. He never uses his damn head, like when he called for a cab instead of an ambulance.
“That’s not what this is.” Harry picks up the check, holding it out to me. “It was made out a week ago.” He nods toward his hand. “Look at the date.”
My eyes scan the check, landing on the date on the right-hand side. He’s right. The date is before Mom landed in the hospital.
“You deserve it.” He thrusts the check toward me, and my shaky fingers take it. “Go, before I change my mind.”
I skitter out of his office, holding on to the check for dear life.
I’ve never gotten a bonus before. Hell, I’ve never even gotten a raise. This check…I could do so much with this check. I could use it as a down payment on a car. I could take time off from one of my jobs.
But I know neither of those things will happen because I just had to use several thousand dollars from my savings to pay for Mom’s last hospital bill, so I know exactly where this money is going…in my savings account to replace the money I just spent. It will go towards Mom’s surgery. Because I’m a responsible adult who knows exactly what she has to do with every penny she earns.
I’m going to save my mom.
I’m a responsible adult.
Being an adult blows.
JUNE 2014
I pick at the hem of my blouse as I wait in the cramped office at the auto shop that I discovered down the road from our trailer.
A burly man invades the office as the door slams behind him. I keep a straight face, not allowing my nose to wrinkle at the smell of body odor that entered when he did.
“How can I help you?” he asks, smoothing the sparse amount of hair on his head as he sits in the chair behind a small wooden desk.
“I’m here for a job,” I explain. “I saw the Help Wanted sign outside.”
He smirks. “You,”–he points to me–“want to work here?”
“Yes, sir.”
He leans back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest. “Sorry, girl. I’m not looking for a receptionist. I need a mechanic.”
“I can work on cars,” I assure him.
He laughs. “I’ll tell you what,”–he stands from his chair and indicates for me to follow him into the garage–“if you can change the oil on this car in ten minutes, I’ll hire you.”
The guys in the garage turn to me, sizing me up, thinking I have no business being here, but I don’t let their judgement faze me.
“Okay.” I nod my head and get to work.
I spend three minutes searching for the supplies I need and set everything down next to the car. I kick off my heels and push up the sleeves of my blouse before I get to work.
By the time I finish changing the oil, it’s been nine minutes–one less than what he gave me. I ignore the grease smears across one of the only nice shirts I own and wait as the guy who promised me a job checks my work.
When he’s done with his assessment, he moves to stand in front of me, stunned. “How do know how to do that?”
I shrug. “I learned from my dad. We used to work on cars together when I was a teenager.”
I hated every second of working with my dad on his car because he would yell and gripe at me the whole time.
I only remember my dad being encouraging when I was little, and even those memories are a little fuzzy.
Dad isn’t who I want him to be, and he sure as hell doesn’t act like he loves me.
The guy across from me grunts, seeming mad he has to honor his word to hire me. “You start tomorrow. I’m your boss, Harry. You’ll work six days a week, no benefits, no raises, and no complaining.”
“Thank you.” I reach out and shake his hand.
Picking up my heels, I quickly vacate the garage before he has a chance to change his mind.
A job…I finally have a job.
One hour.
I’m giving up a nap, shower, and drawing. There’s no way I would have had time to do all three of those things, but I could be doing any one of them instead of sitting on the edge of a metal slide at a broken-down park.
Is Hudson worth it? Is he worth giving up an hour?
He appears before me like a gust of wind, suddenly and all at once. His overpowering stance looms over me, blocking out everything else in the world. He looks the same as yesterday, but his face is etched with more worry than before as if today had beaten him down. His black shirt matches his gloomy appearance, exposing his inner thoughts for anyone to see, but would anyone but me notice? Can anyone see the war waging in him in a split second? I don’t think so.
His hair sweeps across his forehead, resilient to move when a breeze swoops through the air. His eyes hold me like nothing else ever could.
He’s worth my time. He’s worth way more than one measly hour, and I selfishly wish I could give him more, but I can’t.
He sits on his skateboard at my feet, making him eye-level with my knees, and as I look down on him, he isn’t as intimidating with his shoulders slouched and head hanging.
I imagine my hand running through his hair, feeling the silk like strands slipping across the palm of my hand. I bet it feels as soft as cashmere.
I inwardly groan as I shove my hands under my legs to ensure they don’t accidentally wander into his beautiful hair.
He glances up at me with a forced smile on his beautifully rugged face, and I study him, wondering if he’s going to tell me what’s on his mind or play it off like it’s nothing at all.
“You smell like grease,” he states, lifting his chin to see me fully.
Ignoring it is.
“Perks of being a mechanic.”
“How did that happen? How did you end up a mechanic?” he asks, wondering the same thing all the other guys do, but I don’t feel annoyed by his question like I do when anyone else asks.
“My dad wanted a boy, and my parents never had another kid, so he was stuck with me. When I was younger, he made me help him when he worked on cars. I learned a lot, but I hated it,” I admit. “Long story short, I ended up working at Harry’s Garage.”
“Hmm,” he replies. Then he’s silent again, looking to the sky for answers as if everything he needs will wash over him, bringing him the comfort he’s so desperate to find.
“Is everything okay?” I ask stupidly because of course everything is not okay.
“Today’s the anniversary of her death–Chris’s mom—and it’s his birthday. Isn’t that cruel to do to a child? To have your birthday mark the same day as your mother’s death?” He lets out a strangled laugh as his eyes move back to my face. “Chris doesn’t understand, but I dread the day he does because he’ll blame himself, and he’ll hate the day he was born–the day she brought him into this world and she left it.”
My stomach drops thinking of a little boy who lost his Mom before he had a chance to know her. He’ll never know the undying love she would have had for him, and he’ll never know the comfort of her arms wrapped around.
I know how it feels to have a mother’s love, and I think that’s the worst part in losing my own Mom.
I push all that aside, focusing on Hudson, who seems to be fighting his own war.
“You know what you can be grateful for?” I ask, leaning closer to him, mere inches separating us.
“What?” he whispers, seeking answers about the fate of his little boy, but I can’t give him that.
“He didn’t have to watch her die. He didn’t watch her suffer and have to live with those haunting memories the rest of his life. She died before he knew her, so that leaves the story up to you.” I place a hand on his shoulder. “You can tell him all the wonderful things about her, or you can remind him that she died today. You can help guide his thoughts into something positive. Tell him she gave you him, and you’re grateful for that. Right now, all he’s going to remember is what you tell him.”
His eyes search my face before he says, “Are you free Sunday afternoon?”
“Umm…” My grip increases on his shoulder, and when I realize I’m holding on to him, I remove my hand, placing it in my lap.
“Chris’s birthday party is at one, and I’d like if you’d come.”
Is it bad that my body sags in relief that he wasn’t trying to ask me on a date? Don’t get me wrong, being with Hudson would be something out of a fairytale. A weird and twisted fairytale, but it would be my fairytale, and it’s safe to say any girl would jump up and down with excitement if he asked them out. But me? I’m a little weird because when that question came out of his mouth, my body locked up. If it hadn’t, I would have fallen in his arms and never looked back.
The Truth About Falling Page 8