Hold On To Me

by Taylor Holloway

  Still, I couldn’t imagine pursuing Rosie, even with Jen’s imagined permission. Jen was the woman who once insisted that it was a good idea for me to jump off a cliff. Off an actual cliff. Ok, so we were going cliff diving at the time, but still. Jen’s advice was suspect. All the more reason to resist Rosie.

  My resistance lasted only about as long as it took me to get down the stairs and enter the kitchen. Rosie didn’t see me at first. She was dancing in front of the stove I’d never turned on before, shifting her hips from side to side as she sang. I settled into the bar stool behind her after getting a cup of coffee as quietly as I possibly could. I was totally content to just watch her.

  Who knows the reason?

  Who knows the cure?

  Who knows the answer?

  Who knows the cause?

  Who knows the pain?

  The pain when we're apart

  Hold on hold on

  Keep holding on to me

  I will love you from the bottom

  No one holds you better than me

  Hold on hold on

  Doing the best we can

  I will love you on your birthday

  I will love you better than them

  The song was ‘Birthday’ by the Bird and the Bee. It seemed wildly appropriate.

  Rosie’s singing voice this morning was soft, absentminded, and beautiful. It had the pure, bell-like quality I associated with Disney princesses and opera singers. I could listen to it all day. A tiny, treacherous part of my heart yearned to wake up to her singing to me every morning. I hadn’t realized until that moment how used to being totally and completely alone I’d become. The last real relationship I’d had was so distant I could barely remember it. Waking up to someone else again was a revelation.

  Rosie turned around and almost dropped the plate she was holding when she saw me. I smiled at her from my position on the breakfast bar and toasted her with my coffee cup. I hoped I looked sufficiently non-threatening in a rumpled t-shirt and flannel pants to avoid scaring her.

  “Good morning,” I said happily, not mentioning her singing to avoid making her more embarrassed. She had turned a bright, vivid pink. It was almost as bright pink as her cute flamingo-patterned pajama shorts. “Did you sleep well?”

  She nodded uncomfortably. Her mouth, which had been hanging open in shock, snapped shut again. She shoved her long hair behind her shoulders. “Um, good morning. Do you want some pancakes?”

  “Yes please,” I watched in amused silence as she slid a few onto a plate and shoved them across the breakfast bar at me. “This looks fantastic.”

  “I figured making you breakfast was the least I could do since I was your punishment and all.” She made a wry face at me.

  I honestly couldn’t remember the last time someone had made me breakfast. It had been a long time. Maybe since before Jen died. The memory of her serving me cheerios in our run-down Dallas apartment when I had the flu made the first bite of my pancakes taste bittersweet. Then Rosie sat down next to me at the breakfast bar, and happiness suffused through me instead. She banished the pain back into my memory. Having her close to me seemed to do that. It was like magic.

  “Well it certainly wasn’t necessary, but I’m not going to complain, either,” I told her. “And I don’t think of you as a punishment, Rosie. Please don’t think that I do.”

  She smiled at me hesitantly. “I’m glad you don’t think of me as a punishment. And I hope they taste ok. I’m not sure how old that butter was.”

  I took a delicious first bite of my breakfast. The pancake was perfection—fresh, warm, tender, and sweet. Just like Rosie’s smile this morning. “They’re absolutely fantastic. I didn’t know I had enough ingredients to make real food.” The last time I’d made real food in my kitchen was… um, never. I couldn’t cook. I’d never learned, so I didn’t try.

  She smiled at me a bit more brightly. “You definitely eat like a bachelor.” Her gentle teasing made me feel better. I hadn’t mortified her into total silence. That was good. This way, maybe, I could finally talk to her.

  “I eat a balanced diet. I’ll have you know that I’m extremely good at ordering takeout,” I argued.

  “You sound just like Trina,” she teased.

  “Your roommate?” I vaguely remembered meeting her the night before. I’d been so focused on Rosie that I barely remembered her. Blonde. She’d been blonde. And tall, too. Beyond that, I couldn’t remember any details.

  Rosie was nodding, oblivious that my fascination with her was compromising my short-term memory. “Yeah. She’s not much of a cook either. She thinks microwaving leftovers is cooking.”

  Microwaving leftovers isn’t cooking? I felt like adding heat to food was cooking no matter what. I decided not to argue the point.

  “How long have you two lived together?” I asked instead. I wasn’t just making conversation; I was genuinely curious. It seemed odd to me that Rosie would be living in such a rundown place, especially if she had a roommate. With combined rent they ought to be able to live somewhere a lot less… sad and wet.

  “We lived together freshman year in the dorms. We got randomly assigned but it magically worked out.” Rosie grinned. “We’ve been friends ever since.”

  I thought back to my first randomly assigned roommate, Dylan. He was a very weird, eerily quiet and withdrawn kid. He kept turtles in our dorm room, and they’d smelled musty and gross. He’d also given me head lice. I’d never been happier to move out.

  “You were lucky,” I told her. “Random assignments can be a real craps shoot.”

  Rosie grinned and doused her plate in a diabetes-producing amount of syrup. Rosie had a serious sweet tooth. “Oh, for sure. I’m not sure what I would have done without Trina. She let me stay with her all summer long.”

  “You stayed here over the summer? Why didn’t you go home to LA?” I tried to think of a good reason. Summer school? An internship?

  Rosie blinked. “LA isn’t my home.”

  “It isn’t?” That was a surprise.

  She frowned like she was considering telling me the truth. Finally, she sighed. She pushed her pancake bite around the syrup mote she’d created morosely.

  “No. I grew up in Rhode Island with my mom.” She paused. “You didn’t tell me you were a music agent.”

  I shrugged. “You didn’t ask.”

  “I want to be a singer one day.” She grinned. “I don’t expect your help or anything, but I wouldn’t turn it down, either.”

  I was halfway stunned that she would come right out and say it, but the Ross tendency to be direct when it suited them was strong in her.

  I smiled at her as gently as I could. “I don’t think your dad would let me represent you.”

  She laughed, and I felt immeasurably relieved. “I’m sure he wouldn’t. I didn’t know my dad even worked in the music industry though. I thought it was just film.”

  I was genuinely surprised. “He’s got his tentacles in all sorts of things. I run the music wing of the talent agency, but not all of his ventures are even entertainment related. In the past few years he’s acquired a criminal and family law firm in the Midwest, a private eye in Ohio, and a tax shop in New Hampshire. I have no idea how big the total network is, but your dad has all sorts of operations. You really didn’t know?”

  Rosie had smirked at the word ‘tentacles’, but then she just shook her head. “Wow. I mean, I knew he was really rich, but he doesn’t always share details with me. Plus, I actually didn’t even talk to my dad for a solid decade. My parents’ divorce was uniquely nasty. They despise one another. Now that I’m talking to my dad again, my mom won’t talk to me.”

  “I’m sorry,” I told her, hoping that I hadn’t poked an open wound. My parents had divorced, too. I’d been eleven and Ian had been fourteen. It had made both our adolescent years much more difficult than they needed to be. Being caught in the middle of warring parents meant you lost—no matter what. The fact that Rosie’s parents were making her choose be
tween them for their own selfish reasons sounded especially cruel.

  Rosie merely shrugged. “It’s not your fault. You couldn’t have known.” She tucked her unruly hair behind her ear again. It had a tendency to break free of wherever she put it. It was wild and free. Like her.

  Rosie was half right about not knowing about her family drama. If I wracked my brain, I could actually recall Ross talking about his shrew of an ex-wife sabotaging his relationship with Rosie. He’d lamented how difficult it was to get Rosie to listen to him because of her meddling mother’s influence. Only he hadn’t used language half as nice to describe his former wife. Apparently, the drama was much deeper and weirder than I realized.

  “Your dad talks about you a lot,” I finally admitted to her. “I almost feel like I know you.”

  Rosie’s eyes widened. “He does?” She sounded flattered.

  I nodded, smiling at the reaction. If she knew how much he talked about her, she might really be embarrassed. “He’s very proud of you, Rosie.”

  “He is?” She sounded shocked. Shocked. Far more shocked than I would have thought.

  “Yes. He thinks you hung the moon. He’s always talking about how great it is that you’re in the University of Texas’ honors program.”

  Rosie looked away. “That’s nice I guess.”

  “Rosie, is there something weird going on with you and your dad? He seemed really excited to have heard from you yesterday.”

  Rosie frowned, and her full mouth became a thin, stubborn line. “We haven’t been talking much lately.” Her tone said, ‘move on, weirdo’.

  I ignored the obvious warning signs. Like someone choosing to edge themselves right off a cliff because they wanted a better view, I couldn’t keep my mouth shut. “Did you two have a fight? I mean, it was your birthday yesterday…”

  Something hardened behind her eyes, turning them from soft and vulnerable to guarded and suspicious in the time between one blink and the next. “I’d rather not discuss my personal business with a stranger if you don’t mind. You might feel like you know me, but I don’t really know you at all.”

  There were moments when she really did remind me of her father. She had definitely inherited his ability to be haughty and superior. She stared down her nose at me like I was a particularly loathsome cockroach. That being said, she was completely within her rights to assert some boundaries in this situation. I was glad she knew how. And it wasn’t any of my business, either.

  “Sorry. I promise I didn’t mean anything by it. I’m just curious.”

  She shrugged but didn’t soften at my apology. Her eyes were still extremely suspicious. “Do you think I can go home today?”

  I’d pissed her off. That much was obvious. And now, she’d totally shut down. There wasn’t any warmth in her expression at all. She clearly didn’t want to chat with me anymore. She’d gone from cautiously friendly to ready to bolt.

  Good going, dumbass. Only five minutes in and she’s already annoyed with you again.

  I attempted not display my enormous disappointment. “I don’t know. After breakfast we can go check out the repairs if you want.” I tried to look a non-threatening as I could.

  “I can go by myself.” She was looking anywhere but me again. Her eyes were fixed on her mostly untouched pancakes. I feared she wasn’t going to eat because of me. I’d already wolfed down my breakfast. I didn’t like the idea that she would forgo breakfast because I weirded her out. I waited until she took at least one more reluctant bite before speaking.

  “You don’t have a car,” I reminded her when she finally shoved a bit more pancake in her mouth. How she existed without a car was a mystery. It was also incredible, because Austin is not a town with good, effective public transportation. The idea that Ross would leave his daughter without a safe and reliable means of getting around was baffling. There was something seriously weird going on between the two of them.

  “I’ll get an Uber,” she replied. Her tone was flat.

  “I don’t mind driving you. Plus, I need to talk to the property manager.”

  Her eyes rose from her pancake just long enough to dart around my face. I wondered if she was debating the safety of getting into a car with me. Considering the fact that she’d slept in my house last night, it bothered me a bit. Clearly, I’d really pissed her off with my questions about her dad. It was obviously a sore subject, and honestly, nothing I should have been prying into. I could tell she couldn’t wait to be away from me and my invasive questions.

  “Alright,” she said to me eventually. Her voice was free of any hints about what she was feeling. “I’m going to take a shower first if you don’t mind.”

  I shifted uncomfortably. “Of course. Go ahead. I’ll clean this up. Thanks again for cooking.”

  She nodded and disappeared up the stairs before I could get another word in.

  10

  Rosie

  My phone chirped before I had a chance to get in the shower. I snatched it up, already knowing exactly who was texting me. It was my hetero-life-mate, Trina. We usually didn’t go two hours without talking, so the fact that it had been almost twelve was highly unusual.

  Did I use her as an emotional crutch? Maybe. But at least it was a co-dependent relationship. She needed me just as much as I needed her.

  Trina Schmidt [9:00 a.m.]: Hey early riser, where’d you end up last night?

  Rosie Ross [9:00 a.m.]: I stayed with Ryan.

  Trina Schmidt [9:00 a.m.]: Holy shit! When’s the wedding?

  Rosie Ross [9:01 a.m.]: Don’t start. Jeez. I only stayed there because all the hotels were booked for SXSW.

  Trina Schmidt [9:02 a.m.]: Uh-huh. Right. Sure.

  Rosie Ross [9:02 a.m.]: It’s true.

  Trina Schmidt [9:o3 a.m.]: Ok. So, how was he?

  Rosie Ross [9:04 a.m.]: What do you mean?

  Trina Schmidt [9:04 a.m.]: Wait, you two really slept in separate rooms?!

  Rosie Ross [9:05 a.m.]: Of course.

  Trina Schmidt [9:05 a.m.]: So, nothing happened at all between you two?

  Rosie Ross [9:05 a.m.]: Absolutely nothing.

  Trina Schmidt [9:05 a.m.]: But you like him. And by the way he stares at you, the feeling is very mutual. You didn’t even flirt with him? Make out? Nothing?

  Rosie Ross [9:06 a.m.]: No. He works for my dad.

  Trina Schmidt [9:07 a.m.]: So?

  Rosie Ross [9:07 a.m.]: The only reason he’s nice to me is because of that.

  Trina Schmidt [9:08 a.m.]: You’re nuts. He wants you. It’s obvious.

  Rosie Ross [9:10 a.m.]: Maybe. Maybe not. Either way, nothing is going to happen between me and Ryan. I am going to go look at the apartment in a bit though. Assess the damage and all that.

  Trina Schmidt [9:11 a.m.]: Ugh. Speaking of which, Chris said if we don’t get everything dry right away, we could get toxic mold in our walls. Some of the toxic mold can even give you hallucinations. Some can grow in your lungs and kill you.

  Rosie Ross [9:12 a.m.]: Oh that’s delightful. That’s just what we need.

  Trina Schmidt [9:12 a.m.]: I know right?

  Rosie Ross [9:13 a.m.]: Well, I’ll remind Ryan that he should get someone to assess the place for mold.

  Trina Schmidt [9:14 a.m.]: Maybe don’t phrase it like that. Treating him like your servant might compromise your chances with him.

  Rosie Ross [9:14 a.m.]: I’m not treating him like my servant.

  Trina Schmidt [9:14 a.m.]: I’m just kidding. But please be nice to the poor guy. He’s clearly lovesick over you.

  Rosie Ross [9:15 a.m.]: If you say so.

  Trina Schmidt [9:15 a.m.]: I definitely say so.

  Rosie Ross [9:15 a.m.]: I didn’t realize that he was a music agent.

  Trina Schmidt [9:16 a.m.]: Really? Wow you are lucky.

  Rosie Ross [9:16 a.m.]: It doesn’t matter though. It’s not like he can help me. My dad would never let him.

  Trina Schmidt [9:17 a.m.]: Hmm. You never know. Do you want to me to drive you to th
e apartment in a bit? I can pick you up.

  Rosie Ross [9:17 a.m.]: Ryan is taking me.

  Trina Schmidt [9:17 a.m.]: Well ok then.

  Ordinarily I would have asked Trina a billion questions about what exactly led her to believe that Ryan was into me, but I didn’t have the heart. At the moment, I was feeling too raw. In the privacy of ‘my room’ I dissected the conversation that Ryan and I had over breakfast.

  The idea that someone would only be interested in being kind to me because of who my father was, irritated me. It was like a bug bite I couldn’t reach—a constant, uncomfortable reminder. The idea that Ryan might be interested in sleeping with me because of it was even worse, and somewhat creepy. Overall, Ryan’s curiosity about my relationship with my dad made me extremely nervous.

  Sometimes I felt like I was so swept up in my drama with my parents that it was hard to have room for anything else. Having a nice, normal relationship seemed out of the question for me. Especially with someone like Ryan. Even if his proximity to the drama was merely incidental, he was too close to the fire not to get burned.

  Trina Schmidt [9:18 a.m.]: Did you talk to your mom yesterday at all?

  Rosie Ross [9:18 a.m.]: No. She never called me back.

  Trina Schmidt [9:18 a.m.]: I’m so sorry Rosie. Your nineteenth birthday really was a bust, huh? We can try again today if you want.

  I groaned at the reminder. The whole reason that yesterday had sucked, aside from the fact that Mr. Fish (my betta fish) had died, or the whole ‘raining apartment’ thing, was because I tried to call my mom on my birthday and she’d brushed me off. Apparently spin class was more much important than talking to her only daughter on the anniversary of my birth. Her silence hurt like hell. It was like I wasn’t even her kid anymore because I was trying to have a relationship with my own father. She hadn’t so much as spoken to me in months.