Thanks, Carolyn!
Part 7
Being back in Roswell was so weird for Michael. In some ways, it felt like a different life. In others, it felt like he’d never left. Same old house. Same overgrown trees in the backyard. Same broken porch step out front. Same old mailbox that was always stuffed with bills—except by now the ue of their last name had worn off, so they were officially the G rin family.
“Well, here we are,” he mumbled as he parked his car in the driveway.
“Here we are,” Sarah echoed, leaning over to kiss his cheek quickly before she got out. She had barely shut the door when the front door opened, and Michael’s mom came bursting outside excitedly. “Oh, come here, you!” she said, standing on the porch with her arms open.
Michael got out and watched as his girlfriend scampered up to his mom and gave her a big hug. “Hey, Krista.” They got along exceptionally well, which was great. It was kind of nice not to have to worry about any tension there.
“Good to see you,” Sarah told her.
“Oh, you, too. I love your outfit,” Krista raved.
“Thanks.”
Michael tuned them out as they started to talk clothes, and just as it always happened when he was here, he started to remember things. Lots of things. Some good and some bad. Like he remembered sitting on that front porch with Maria one night, telling her he loved her for the very first time. But then he remembered another night a few months later, when they’d been standing in the front yard arguing about her decision to leave town, and he’d told her he hated her. But he hadn’t really.
“Let’s see this little dog,” he heard his mom say, and that snapped him back to it. “Michael, where is he?”
“Oh, he’s . . .” Michael opened the backdoor of the car and picked Shango up so he didn’t have to try to jump out. “Go say hi,” he urged, setting him down on the grass.
Shango took a few nervous steps, sniffing around, but when Sarah called, “Come here, Shango!” and patted her leg, he bounded towards her with his tail wagging and tongue hanging out.
“Oh, he’s precious!” Michael’s mother exclaimed. “He’s so small!”
“Well, he’ll get bigger,” Sarah told her, bending down to scratch Shango behind the ears, his favorite spot. “Corgis get kinda long.”
Michael reached over into the backseat to take out both his and Sarah’s bags, plus their laundry basket. Had to do the laundry while he was home. Some college stereotypes were just too good to pass up.
“Where’s Teenie?” he asked.
“She slept over at Hannah’s last night,” his mom replied. “She’ll be back soon.”
Yeah, I hope that’s where she slept, Michael thought. He already had the majority of his big-brother-loves-you lecture planned out, and ‘no sex until college’ was advice tidbit number one. Totally hypocritical of him, sure, but Tina would do well to listen.
While his mom brought Sarah into the kitchen to help put the finishing touches on lunch, Michael made a beeline for the laundry room, because he knew if he didn’t toss that crap in the washer now, he’d never get around to it. Shango tried to chew on the loose socks that fell out of the laundry basket, and as long as they were Sarah’s and not his, Michael let him.
As he was pouring detergent into the detergent bottle lid, he made the mistake of glancing out the back window, into the backyard. Tina used to have a swing set back there, but that was long gone now. Sold to help cover funeral expenses, if he recalled. There was still a turtle-shaped sandbox back there, but there probably wasn’t any sand in it. And there was a lot of open space where he used to toss the football around with Dylan, where he’d started teaching him the rules of the game.
He could still hear his little laugh, still see the gleam of joy in his eyes when he made his first catch.
“Gotcha!”
“Shit!” he swore, nearly jumping out of his skin when his little sister came up behind him and hugged him. “Jesus, Teenie.” He dumped the detergent in, recapped the bottle, and set it on the floor beside the washer.
“God, you used enough of that,” she noted.
“What?” He looked down at the clothes and noticed they were all thoroughly-coated in the sticky blue liquid. “Huh, must’ve been spacin’ off.”
“Your clothes are gonna be all soapy.”
“I’ll just wash ‘em twice.” He closed the washer lid, twisted the knob to a sixty-minute cycle, and pushed the start button. Then he finally turned around to see his sister. She looked . . . different than she had the last time he’d seen her on the Fourth of July. Older already. Either her hair was growing fast or she had some extensions in. She’d toned down the eyeliner but was still wearing way too much makeup for someone her age. And her shorts were so short that he couldn’t even see them under the grey sweatshirt she was wearing, so he just had to hope and assume they were there. The sweatshirt was one of his old ones from junior high, said Rockets on it. It was baggy on her.
“I’m really glad you’re here,” she said, hugging him again. “I miss you living at home.”
He hugged her back, but he couldn’t say he missed the same thing. Living at college was better. There were just too many memories here.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Michael devoured his barbecued beef sandwich, already getting ready for the next one. He had room for two more after this, easily. There was corn on the cob, baked beans, and potato salad, too. The food was good, so he was going to do what any real man did and eat until he felt sick.
“This is good, Mom,” he said between mouthfuls.
“Thank you. I’m glad you like it. Although . . . I do wish the flavor was a little stronger.”
“Mom,” Tina droned, “don’t do that thing where you criticize a meal you made that everyone loves. Not everything has to have a flaw.”
“Yeah, I think it’s good, Krista,” Sarah concurred. “My mom would be so jealous of you. She can’t cook to save her life.”
“Really? She sent me a whole gift basket of cookies and brownies and fudge last Christmas. I thought it all tasted really good.”
“Then my dad made it,” Sarah guaranteed. “He has all the cooking ability in my family.”
“Well, him and you,” Michael added.
“Yeah.” She smiled fondly. “We used to get up every Sunday morning and cook breakfast for the rest of the family. It was our little together-time.”
Across the table, Tina had a look of envy on her face. “Are you and your dad close?” she asked.
Sarah nodded. “Yeah, we are.”
“Hmm.” Tina sighed. “Must be nice.”
For a few seconds, a silence settled over the table. When Tina made these subtle mentions of their father, none of them really knew what to say. She was the one who brought him up the most, who tried to talk about him, but neither Michael nor his mom could ever really generate much of a response.
Thankfully, the doorbell rang, and Tina sprang from her seat. “I’ll get it,” she volunteered, bouncing towards the door.
And just like that, the uncomfortable moment had passed.
“So, you two, how are classes going?” Krista asked.
“Good,” Michael replied, reaching to the middle of the table for a second sandwich. “I still got a higher GPA than this one here.”
“By one point!” Sarah yelped.
“Still . . . you wanna beat me,” he teased.
“I do,” she admitted, “but I want you to do well, too, so I’m conflicted.”
“Well, I for one think it’s great that you’re both doing so well,” Krista said. “There was a time when I thought I’d never see the day, Michael . . .”
The conversation was cut short when Tina came back into the kitchen, but she wasn’t alone this time. Nicholas was with her. It was so weird to see them together. Even though he was in ninth grade now, he still looked like he was in eighth grade, and she could have passed for a sophomore.
“Nicholas,” their mom said, looking at him curiously. “What’re you doing here?”
“Tina told me to stop by,” he revealed.
Tina expertly avoided her mother’s pointed gaze and instead said, “Michael, Sarah, you remember my boyfriend Nicholas, right?”
“Hard to forget,” Michael muttered. Nicholas had been the new eighth grader last year, and he and Tina had started dating at the first junior high dance. This was only the second time Michael had actually met him, though, the other being the Fourth.
“I thought it’d be nice if Nicholas could join us for lunch,” Tina said with a hopeful smile.
“Oh, well . . . any other day, maybe,” their mom said, “but today’s a family thing.”
“Oh.” Tina frowned. “Oh, I get it. So it’s okay for Michael’s girlfriend to be a part of our ‘family’ thing, but it’s not okay for my boyfriend.”
“Tina, that’s different.”
“Why?” she challenged defiantly. “Because he’s older? Because he’s your favorite child now?”
“Stop it, Teenie,” Michael scolded. He’d grown very protective of his mom over the years, and he hated it when she back-talked her like this.
“It’s okay,” Nicholas said, already taking a few step back. “I can go.”
“No,” Tina whined, grabbing his hand to pull him back. “You promised you’d be here.”
“Yeah, but they don’t--”
As if simply to avoid an argument, their mother relented. “Oh, it’s fine. We’ve got plenty of food. Go ahead and have a seat.”
“Yay!” Tina clapped her hands excitedly and skipped back to her seat. Nicholas, of course, started to sit down beside her, but Michael pulled out the chair at the end of the table instead.
“Hey, Nick,” he said, glaring at him, “sit next to me.”
Warily, Nicholas left Tina’s side and moved over one chair. Tina gave Michael an impatient look, then moved her whole plate over one spot, too, so that she could still be next to him. “Help yourself,” she urged him, but he took one look at the food and just shook his head. Kid looked . . . nervous.
Michael smirked. Good. He liked being the intimidating older brother.
Trying to get the lunch back on track, Michael’s mom returned her attention to Sarah and asked, “So how’s work? Are you still at the rehabilitation place?”
“Yeah,” Sarah replied. “They’re finally letting me do more than just clean the bedpans. It’s kinda hard work, though, sometimes. Like the other day, I had to move this three-hundred pound guy from the bathroom back to his bed all on my own. It was tough.”
“Oh, I’ll bet. They should have someone help you. You’re just a little thing.”
“Well, I’m stronger than I look.”
Michael would have loved to chime in, but he was too distracted watching his sister’s hand slide across the table to rest on top of her boyfriend’s. They just looked at each other for a second, not saying anything, and then Nicholas slipped his hand out from under hers and started rubbing her arm instead.
Oh, no way, Michael thought. He was not putting up with this shit. “You wanna take your hands off my sister?” he suggested, staring daggers at the kid.
Nicholas immediately retracted his hand, but Tina giggled. “Might be too late for that.”
He narrowed his eyes at her suspiciously. What the hell did that mean?
“What’s going on?” their mother asked.
“Um . . .” Tina looked at Nicholas again, and he just nodded. “Okay,” she said. “Mom . . . Michael . . . there’s something we need to tell you.”
Michael set his sandwich down, tensing up.
Tina reached over to hold her boyfriend’s hand again, and her whole face lit up as she exclaimed, “We’re having a baby!”
Michael froze, and beside him, Sarah dropped the fork she had been holding. For a second, there was only more silence. And then his mother sputtered, “W—what?” She actually cracked a smile and laughed a little. “Tina, honey, you shouldn’t . . . you shouldn’t even joke about that. That’s not very funny.”
“That’s ‘cause I’m not joking,” Tina persisted. “I’m pregnant.”
Michael cast a horrified glance down at her stomach, but he couldn’t even see it because of . . .
. . . the baggy sweatshirt.
Oh, god.
“Tina, don’t . . .” His poor mother looked like she was about to have a stroke. “Don’t even say that.”
“Mom, I’m serious.”
“No, you’re . . .” She looked like she felt physically sick. “Tina.”
“Oh my god,” Sarah whispered, looking down at her lap.
“You’re . . .” With wide, fearful eyes, Krista stared at her daughter, and then she clamped her hand over her mouth as her whole body started to shake.
“Mom, don’t cry,” Tina pleaded.
But that was all it took for her to start sobbing. She got up from the table and stumbled over to the refrigerator, slumping against it for support. “No, you can’t be,” she wailed. “You’re—you’re thirteen!”
Teenie . . . Michael looked at his sister sorrowfully across the table. How had this happened to her?
“Mrs. Guerin,” Nicholas piped up, “I love your daughter.”
“Shut up!” she roared.
“What the hell did you do to her?” Michael growled in accusation, envisioning all sorts of horrible scenarios in his head. Alcohol, pressuring, a date rape drug. Something like that. Because there was no way Tina would have just . . .
“I didn’t—I didn’t do anything,” Nicholas stammered. “We just . . .”
“What did you do?” Michael bellowed, bolting from his chair. He grabbed Nicholas by his collar and picked him up.
“Michael!” both Sarah and Tina shouted at the same time.
He slammed the scrawny kid back against the wall, blaring, “You did something to her, you son of a bitch!”
“Michael, stop!” Tina yelled, pulling him off of Nicholas. “He didn’t do anything to me! We just . . . you know.”
He gazed at her in disbelief. No, he didn’t want to believe this. He didn’t want to think about his little sister, his eighth grade sister, having sex with someone. Having a baby? He couldn’t even wrap his mind around it.
His mother continued to cry. She cried so hard she sunk down onto the floor, and Sarah went over to her, asking if she was alright.
“I’m really sorry if you’re mad,” Tina apologized, “but we’re really happy.”
Michael shook his head in dismay, stumbling backward a bit. You’re not happy, he thought. You don’t know what you are. Or who you are.
She was supposed to be someone. Now what if she never got the chance?
“Get the hell outta this house,” he ground out at Nicholas threateningly. “You get the hell away from her, or I’ll fuckin’ kill you myself.”
Nicholas looked genuinely afraid. He tripped over his own feet as he moved past Tina and stumbled towards the door.
“Don’t go,” Tina whimpered, but he was already gone.
Michael sat back down at the table, holding his head in his hands, squeezing his eyes shut as his mom continued to sob and Sarah continued to assure her that it would be alright. This was different than coming home for his dad’s funeral. This was worse.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
His poor mom. She was devastated. She’d cried all afternoon and well into the evening, and now she was just lying flat on her bed, a hopeless look in her red, puffy eyes, tear tracks dried on her face. Michael had never seen her look quite so despaired, not even after his dad’s death. She would never admit it, but in some way, losing him had been a relief to her. But this . . . it was a burden. More than that, even. A worst fear come true. A nightmare. It was for him, too.
He brought up her favorite afghan and covered her up, setting a dinner plate of mashed potatoes and chicken beside her on the bed. “I’ll just leave this here,” he said, hoping she’d eat it, doubting she would. She’d gotten physically sick and thrown up twice already that day, but she still needed to eat. “Sarah cooked it,” he assured her, “so it’ll taste good.”
She looked like she was trying to smile, but it came off as more of a grimace.
He stood over her, looking down, wishing he could do something more. She’d done so much for him his whole life, and all he could do was cover her up and bring her food.
Slowly, she turned her head to the side and reached up for his hand. “Thank you, Michael,” she whispered. “I love you.”
He squeezed her hand and bent down to kiss her cheek. “I love you, too.” No matter how often he told her that these days, he still felt like it wasn’t enough.
He trudged downstairs and started getting the pillows arranged on the couch for the night. Whenever he and Sarah came here together, she slept up in his room, and he slept down here. Tonight, though, he wouldn’t sleep. He’d stay wide awake and agonize over his sister’s predicament, and come morning, he wouldn’t feel any better about it.
Sarah came downstairs just as he was about to lie down. She had on pink shorts and a black Hello Kitty t-shirt—a little different than the usual bedroom attire she wore for him, but sexy in a way all its own. Her hair was wet from the shower she’d taken, and her makeup was off.
“Hey,” she said gently.
“Hey.” What a crappy day this had ended up being. He felt sorry for her for having to endure it with him.
She sat down beside him on the couch, sighing. “How’s your mom?”
He shrugged. “Same.” She’d probably be that way tomorrow, too. Maybe the whole next week. Hard telling. This whole thing was definitely going to take its toll on her.
“What about you?” she asked.
He shook his head, muttering, “I don’t know.” He couldn’t decide how he was feeling at any given moment. It was like a combination of disappointment and disbelief and anger all rolled into one.
“You were so mad at Nicholas,” she said. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you that mad before.”
“No, you haven’t.” That was a testament, he supposed, to how well things had been going for him for the past two years. He hadn’t had any real reason to lose his cool, to lash out, to make threats. But now he did. Instinct had taken over, and he’d wanted to protect his little sister, even though it was clearly too late to do that.
“Have you talked to her?” she questioned.
“No. She locked herself up in her room, so . . .” He shrugged again.
“Michael.” She gave him an encouraging look. “Her room’s not locked.”
He felt his stomach start to churn with nervousness. Was that a sign, then, that she wanted to have a conversation with him about this? Clearly she would have locked her door if she’d really been trying to keep him out.
“You should go talk to her,” Sarah suggested.
“And say what?” he spat. “What am I supposed to say to my knocked up thirteen year-old sister?”
“I don’t . . .” She shook her head thoughtfully. “I don’t think there’s anything you’re supposed to say.”
When she put it like that . . . it made him feel a little better about whatever he would say, because it wouldn’t be right or wrong. There was no script to follow, no prescribed lines he was supposed to recite. He could just go up to her room and talk to her, and that would be fine.
Not bothering to knock, he just let himself into his sister’s room. She had really changed it these past few years. Instead of her own drawings on the walls, now she had posters of boy bands. And instead of animal figurines on her dresser, there was makeup and perfume.
“Hey,” he said.
She took her iPod earphones out and sat up straighter. “Hi.”
He closed the door, taking a deep breath, and shuffled towards the bed, taking a seat at the foot of it. For a few seconds, all he could do was just look at her, just look at her and try to remember the little girl who used to beg him to play Barbies with her, or the one who had cried when he headed off to school for the first day of fifth grade, because she’d liked spending so much time with him that summer. Was she even the same girl anymore?
She was the one to break the silence when she asked, “Are you mad at me?”
“No.” He was plenty mad, but not directly at her. At Nicholas, sure. At the situation. “I’m just . . .”
“Disappointed?” she filled in.
“Hell yeah, I’m disappointed. And worried. Confused. I—I mean, what were you thinking? This changes your whole life.”
“I know.” She rolled her eyes. “You sound like a dad right now.”
“Well, someone around here should for once,” he mumbled. It wasn’t like there were any other candidates for the job. “Are you sure Nicholas didn’t pressure you? Or force you? ‘cause if he forced you . . .”
“He didn’t force me,” she reassured him, “or pressure me or anything. We just . . . did it. We were hanging out one night this summer, and--”
“This summer?” he cut in, casting a curious glance down at her concealed stomach again. “Holy shit, how far along are you?”
She looked down at the covers sheepishly and revealed, “Three months.”
“Three months?” No wonder she’d come out and told them then. She wasn’t going to be able to conceal it much longer. Michael wasn’t an expert on the pregnant body or anything, but he figured she had to have at least a small bump at this point.
“We only did it a couple times this summer,” Tina said, “but the first time, we didn’t have a . . .” She trailed off, squirming with embarrassment. “You know, he didn’t wear a . . .”
“I get it.” He really didn’t want details. Details made him picture things he didn’t want to picture. “Why the hell would you guys do that, Teenie? Why would you do that?”
“Because . . .” She flapped her arms against her sides. “Why not?”
“Why not?” He grunted incredulously. “Gee, I don’t know, ‘cause you could get pregnant. That’s why not.”
“But I just figured . . . since I love him . . .”
Michael rolled his eyes at the lunacy of it. “You don’t love him.”
“Yes, I do,” she insisted. “Don’t try to tell me how I feel.”
“Just--” He bit his tongue. Fair enough. He didn’t know what she was feeling or how strongly she was feeling it. Maybe it was possible to find first love at her age, but the chances of it being true love were so fucking slim to none. The sooner she was realistic with herself about that, the better off she’d be.
“I love him,” she reiterated, “and he loves me.”
“Even if he does love you, Tina, and that’s a big if, I guarantee you he didn’t want this. He wasn’t lookin’ to settle down and have a kid. How old is he, like fourteen?”
“He’ll be fifteen in December,” she informed him.
“Yeah, see? He wasn’t lookin’ for some lifelong commitment. He was just lookin’ to get laid.”
“You don’t even know him,” she snapped. “How would you know what he wanted?”
“Because I used to be that guy, Tina!” he bellowed. “I used to use girls for the same damn thing he used you for. Remember Isabel? What do you think I wanted from her?”
She shifted uncomfortably, like she didn’t like thinking about this side of him. But he didn’t mind being blunt with her. At this point, there was nothing to lose from it.
“Neither one of us wanted this,” she acknowledged, “but . . . he said we’ll be okay. He’s gonna be there for me.”
He grunted. “Like how Max was there for Maria?”
“You were there for her,” she pointed out.
He swallowed hard. “For a while.”
“You guys loved each other,” she reminded him. “A lot.”
“Yeah, so?”
“So . . . that’s how I love Nicholas.”
“No, it’s not,” he dismissed right away.
“Yeah, it is.”
“Teenie, you’re a kid. You’re a kid who’s gonna have a kid.” Good God, she was even younger than Maria had been. Maria had dropped out of high school to raise Dylan. Would Tina even make it to high school now?
“You and Maria were kids, too,” she pointed out, “and so were you and Isabel. And don’t act like you waited, Michael. I know you were, like, my age when you first did it.”
“I was a year older.”
“Big difference.”
“Yeah, you know what, there is a difference,” he argued. “I’m a guy; you’re a girl. I know it’s not fair, but if Nicholas wants to bail on this baby, that’s gonna be a lot easier for him to do than you. Girls get the short end of the stick.”
“He’s not gonna bail,” she insisted. “We really love each other, okay? I know we’re young, but it’s meant to be. That’s why I . . .” She trailed off suddenly, looking away.
“That’s why you what, Teenie?” he prodded.
“Nothing,” she mumbled.
“What’d you do?”
She exhaled heavily. “I was the one who told him we should have sex, okay?”
Just when he thought this whole thing couldn’t shock him any more than it already had . . . that. “What?”
“It was my idea,” she confessed.
“Are you crazy?” he roared.
“No! What’s so crazy about doing it with someone you love? I know you and Sarah do it.”
“Sarah and I are adults.”
“You and Maria weren’t!” she blasted. “And you guys did it all the time.”
He felt his stomach start to knot up. Oh god, he thought. This was what his mom had been so afraid of back then, wasn’t it? This was what she’d cautioned him about, setting such a bad example.
“Didn’t you guys think she was pregnant once?”
He shot her a look of alarm. “How’d you know about that?”
“I overheard you talking about it once.”
“You mean you eavesdropped?”
“Whatever. The point is, you shouldn’t lecture me ‘cause you used to do the same thing. I mean, you guys lived together and slept in the same bed every night, and Mom and Dad knew exactly what you were doing, but they didn’t stop it. And fine, okay, yeah, you were older than me, but not by much.”
“By five years, Tina! Do you realize how much can change in five years? Do you realize how much you can change? You can’t honestly think you’re gonna feel the same way you do right now about Nicholas five years from now. You’re not that dumb.”
“I love him, Michael!” she cried. “Just like you loved Maria! And you guys were so happy together. And the two of you and Dylan--”
“Oh my god,” he grumbled, holding his head in his hands. “Do you even hear yourself? That’s your role model relationship? We aren’t even together anymore.”
“No, but . . .” She whimpered frustratedly. “Michael, can’t you just be happy for me?”
“No!” He shot up from the bed, pacing the room a bit, getting more and more infuriated by the second. “No, I can’t be happy for you.” It was like she had these blinders on, and she just refused to take them off.
“I’m gonna be a mom and you’re gonna be an uncle whether you like it or not.”
“I don’t like it,” he ground out. “Okay? I don’t. I don’t want this for you. And I’m so sorry if anything I did growing up made you think this was the right path for you. But you’ve gotta be honest with yourself: You know you’re too young for this, and you and Nicholas are not me and Maria.”
“You’re right,” she bit out angrily. “Unlike the two of you, we actually will end up together.”
He stared at her in complete astonishment. Had she really just said that? She knew how hard his break-up with Maria had been on him; she’d witnessed it firsthand the entire summer afterward. And now she was throwing it back in his face like this? He understood that she was pissed at him for not jumping on board the baby bandwagon, but that was a low fucking blow.
“I’m glad Dad’s not here to see you like this,” he dished right back.
“You’re just glad he’s not here.” She glared at him, then put her earphones back in and turned up the volume on her iPod again, sinking back down into her covers.
Dammit, Teenie. He felt like this attempt to talk to her had only made things worse. He didn’t like knowing what he now knew about how and why this whole thing had transpired, and he didn’t like his sister’s irresponsible attitude about it.
He left her room, feeling like he’d failed in his attempt to get through to her. If there had been something he was supposed to say . . . he sure as hell hadn’t said it.
TBC . . .
-April
Somewhere, Anywhere (M&M, CC/UC, AU, Adult) COMPLETE, 07/23/17
Moderators: Anniepoo98, Rowedog, ISLANDGIRL5, Itzstacie, truelovepooh, FSU/MSW-94, Erina, Hunter, Forum Moderators
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keepsmiling7
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Re: Somewhere, Anywhere (M&M, CC/UC, AU, Adult) Part 7, 01/30/16
Wasn't expecting that......Tina having a baby!
What will happen next?
Thanks,
Carolyn
What will happen next?
Thanks,
Carolyn
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sarammlover
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Re: Somewhere, Anywhere (M&M, CC/UC, AU, Adult) Part 7, 01/30/16
whoa. tina is pregnant? Is she lying? has she even gotten her period yet? wow. Totally threw me for a loop there. I do love Michael and Krista's relationship though. I am glad they are as close as they are!!!
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April
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Part 8
Carolyn: 
Sara:
Thanks for reading!
The poem in this part is actually my own. I wrote it during college.
Music suggestion: Acoustic Guitar Tribute Players' version of "Unchained Melody." Feel free to listen to it here or click on
when you see it.
Part 8
Breakfast was Sarah’s favorite meal of the day to make, mostly because it was nice to see that smile on Michael’s face when he smelled something good right away in the morning. On some mornings, though, like this one, it would be nearly impossible to coax a smile onto his face. Trying her best to do so, though, she brought out the ingredients for omelets.
“Morning,” he said, coming up behind her as she cracked three eggs into a bowl. He put his hands on her hips and kissed her cheek, thereby putting a smile on her face.
“Good morning,” she responded, adding a dash of water to her concoction. It helped make her omelets light and fluffy.
He pulled out a chair from the kitchen table and sat down, yawning. “Sleep well?”
“Yeah.” She cast a knowing glance over her shoulder and asked, “You?”
He shrugged. “Off and on here and there.”
“Yeah.” She’d pretty much figured last night would be a restless one for him. “Well, your room was cozy. Would’ve been cozier with you next to me, though.”
“Yeah,” he sighed. “I just . . . I probably shouldn’t set the wrong example for my sister. Again.”
She frowned, whisking her egg mixture together so that the whites and the yolks blended. “What do you mean?”
“I mean I was a bad big brother,” he lamented. “I was always partying, gettin’ drunk or gettin’ laid. And she noticed that. And knowing I did it made her think it was okay.”
“Michael.” She lifted the bowl, carefully pouring her mixture into a preheated, buttery skillet. “What happened to Tina is not your fault.”
“Maybe it is,” he speculated.
“No, it’s not.” She tapped the bowl against the side of the skillet, trying to get every last bit of the eggs out. “You’re too hard on yourself.”
“Not hard enough,” he muttered, rubbing his forehead. He looked stressed, upset. Not unlike two years ago.
****
Michael had been so quiet on the drive to Roswell. Too quiet. In a weird way, she was actually longing for his offensive, ignorant comments about Asians. Or even another terrifying conversation about how in love with Maria he’d been. Anything would have been better than this. This wasn’t the Michael she knew and liked so much.
As they were about to walk in the house, two people walked out, a man and a woman who looked just slightly too young to be Michael’s grandparents. They stopped and appropriately told him, “We’re so sorry for your loss.”
“Yeah, thanks,” he muttered, and then they were on their way. “Neighbors,” he explained to her. “They hated him.”
Did you? she wondered, following him into the house. He hadn’t divulged many details about his relationship with his father, but from what she understood, it was complicated, maybe even sometimes cruel. An alcohol problem had certainly only fanned the flame over the years.
The inside of the house was . . . as simple as the outside. Not a dump, but not a palace, either. Just a normal, inexpensive, and slightly messy home. It was smaller than what Sarah was used to, but it had definitely been . . . lived in. As someone who had moved multiple times in her life, she often longed for a house that had so many memories, even if they weren’t all good ones.
In the living room was a little girl, curled up on one end of the couch, hugging a pillow to her chest. And the woman Sarah presumed to be Michael’s mom was standing near a Christmas tree that was only halfway set up, touching two shiny silver ornaments. One was a letter K, the other a letter A.
“Mom?” Michael said.
She turned around, tears brimming in her eyes. “Oh, honey . . .” She came across the room and threw her arms around him, hugging him tightly. “I’m so glad you’re here.”
He closed his eyes as he hugged her back, then slowly let her go. “I’m sorry, I broke my phone,” he explained, “and I couldn’t even think of your number off the top of my head. I’m—I’m a moron.”
“No, honey, it’s fine,” she assured him. “I’m just glad you’re here now.” She smiled shakily, reaching up to stroke his cheek, then glanced behind him at Sarah. “Hello,” she greeted softly.
“Hi,” Sarah returned nervously. It was always stressful to meet a guy’s mom, but to meet her right now of all times? And mere hours after losing her virginity to the woman’s son? More stressful than she ever could have predicted.
“Oh, Mom, this is Sarah,” Michael introduced. “She’s . . .”
Sarah tensed. Oh god. Who am I?
“Well, she’s my girlfriend.”
Like a school girl with a crush, her heart skipped a beat.
“Sarah, this is my mom, Krista.”
“Nice to meet you,” Krista said, extending her hand.
Sarah shook it, grateful for the hospitality. “It’s nice to meet you, too,” she related. “I’m sorry it’s under these circumstances.”
Krista nodded sadly, her bottom lip trembling as she held back tears. The poor woman.
“What happened?” Michael asked her.
“Well . . .” She put her hands on her son’s shoulders, gently explaining, “We all knew he had a drinking problem.”
“Did he kill himself?” Michael asked outright.
Sarah couldn’t contain her small gasp, but thankfully, Michael and his mom didn’t notice. Kill himself? she wondered. Was that even a possibility? Michael had said his dad was depressed, but . . . was he really that depressed? She’d never known someone to be so unhappy before.
“No, he didn’t,” his mother assured him. “It wasn’t like last time.”
Sarah frowned. Last time? So something like this had happened before? It made her feel so sorry for Michael. For . . . for her boyfriend. He wasn’t a bad guy. He shouldn’t have had to deal with all of this.
“So what happened?” Michael pressed on.
His mom opened her mouth to respond, but no words came out. So his sister got up from the couch and mumbled, “He choked on his own puke,” as she pushed past him and stomped upstairs.
Michael looked confused. “What?”
“It’s, um . . .” His mom took his hand and led him towards the couch, pulling him down beside her. Sarah went over to the Christmas tree unsurely, trying to give them enough space to have their own conversation.
“It wasn’t that he was trying to kill himself,” his mother assured him. “There was just too much alcohol in his system.”
Alcohol poisoning, Sarah registered. She may have just been a college freshman, but she knew her medical facts.
“I don’t get it,” Michael said.
“Well, honey, we just . . . we were arguing, and I came down here to sleep on the couch, and he stayed up in the bedroom, and . . .” Her voice cracked as she trailed off. “He just drank and drank. Too much. The paramedics said there was probably just so much alcohol in his bloodstream that his brain couldn’t control his basic functions, and so it dulled his gag reflex.”
Sarah shook her head. This was awful. The whole thing was just a nightmare to picture.
“So he passed out, but he was lying flat on his back, so when he threw up . . .” A strangled sob escaped Michael’s mom. “He just choked on it. He couldn’t breathe. But he couldn’t wake up, either.”
Sarah tentatively looked over her shoulder, gauging Michael’s reaction. He looked pale, like he was about to throw up himself. She was used to seeing him with a flirtatious grin on his face and a mischievous gleam in his eyes. Not like this.
And then, as if it couldn’t get any worse, his mom revealed, “Tina was the one who found him.”
Sarah winced. That poor little girl. She couldn’t even imagine the horror of walking into a bedroom to find your dad just lying there, dead.
“I have to go talk to her,” he decided abruptly. He stood and shot Sarah and quick look, and she just nodded, letting him know she’d be fine down here.
He hurried upstairs, and seconds after the door to his sister’s room opened and closed again, Sarah heard her start crying.
“Oh, I’m sorry you have to be here for this,” Krista apologized, raking her hands through her hair.
“It’s okay.” Sarah left the tree’s side and sat down beside her. “I offered to come.”
“That’s thoughtful of you.”
“Well . . .” She shrugged. “I think a lot of Michael.”
Krista looked relieved to have something else, something good, to talk about. “How long have you two been seeing each other?” she asked.
“Just a few weeks.” Two, to be exact, but . . . no need to be specific. She didn’t want Michael’s mom to think they were rushing things. Sure, the relationship was happening fast, but . . . it all felt right.
“You’re the first girl he’s taken a chance on since . . .” She trailed off, as if she weren’t sure whether or not she should say the other name.
“Maria,” Sarah filled in. So far, she still barely knew anything about this girl, but she sure seemed to have had a major impact on Michael’s life. It was sort of intimidating.
“He told you about her?” Krista sounded surprised.
“Yeah.” She tried to quell her own nervousness as she acknowledged, “They were in love.”
“They were,” Krista agreed. “But she’s been gone for a long time now, so between you and me . . .” She managed an encouraging smile. “It’s good that he’s moving on.”
Sarah sighed happily. Was it wrong to feel happy when this family was so sad? She felt horrible for them, but in some ways . . . these past twenty-four hours had been the greatest twenty-four hours of her life. Memories of Michael’s hands on her hips and tangled in her hair were still fresh in her mind. She wanted to feel his kiss on the side of her neck again. It made her insides quiver just thinking about it.
She wanted to say something more, maybe tell Krista how amazing she thought Michael was, how proud of him she should be. But before she got the chance, the noise upstairs got louder. She heard the door open, and seconds later, Michael’s sister came pouring down the stairs, weeping. He was right behind her, and when she tripped and fell at the bottom, he was there to catch her. He took her smaller frame into his arms and sank down on the floor with her, holding her tightly while she clung to him and cried.
“Shh, it’s okay,” he soothed her, rocking her back and forth gently. “I got you. I got you.”
Oh my god, Sarah thought. Seeing Michael comfort his sister was . . . beautiful. Tragic, but touching. As much as she loved seeing the sides of Michael she’d gotten to know, it was refreshing to see this side of him, too, this vulnerable, deeper one. She’d gotten a glimpse of it when he’d brought her back to her dorm yesterday and told her about Maria and Dylan, but this was a whole new level of it.
I love you, Michael, she thought, surprising even herself with that feeling. But it was there, and it was obvious, and it was strong.
****
Sarah set Michael’s omelet down in front him, made just the way he liked it with crumbled bacon, diced tomatoes, and cheddar cheese on the inside. He inhaled deeply and smiled up at her, wordlessly communicating his gratitude.
“You’re a good big brother,” she reassured him, bending down to kiss his cheek. “And a good boyfriend.”
He grunted, and she couldn’t tell whether that was because he didn’t believe her, or because he took pride in what she’d said. Knowing him and knowing his complexities, it was probably a combination of the two.
“Eat up,” she urged.
“Alright.” He picked up his fork and dug right in. “Looks good.”
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Without a doubt, Michael’s favorite class was Professor Barnaby’s Social Psychology class. It probably didn’t hurt that half the semester was devoted to discussing the psychology of human sexuality. Most of the time, the reading Michael was assigned to do felt more like reading for fun than it did a homework assignment. But as he sat on the couch that evening, skimming through the pages of the latest assigned chapter, he couldn’t help but feel . . . differently about the material. For example, one paragraph talked about a research study focusing on the success rates of people who lost their virginity later on in life, after the age of nineteen. And apparently the study concluded that those people would have a higher income, higher education, and more healthy marital relationship than those who lost their virginity earlier.
Well, that bodes well for Sarah, he thought. Not so much for anyone else in this house. Including Tina.
He hated that his sister wasn’t a little innocent girl anymore. He just hated it. And maybe that made him hypocritical as hell, but he just didn’t care.
“You read?”
He glanced up from his book and saw Tina standing near the bottom of the stairs. “Yeah, quite fluently, in fact.”
She ambled into the living room, asking, “Since when do you read?”
He placed his book mark in between the pages and shut the book, setting it aside on the coffee table. “I got a psychology test Wednesday. Gotta know my stuff.”
“Hmm.” She sat down beside him, sighing. “God, it’s like we switched places. I used to be the smart one; you used to be the wild one.”
“You’re still smart,” he assured her. And truth be told, he could still be wild. It was just more freak beneath the sheets stuff than it was having a drunken time at a public party these days.
“No, I did a really dumb thing,” she admitted. “It was stupid, I know.”
Well . . . that was progress, he supposed, her saying that out loud. “So you regret it,” he concluded.
“I don’t . . .” She hesitated. “I don’t know. I mean, I didn’t want this to happen. I didn’t think it would, but . . . it did, so . . .” She shrugged. “I have to deal with it.”
“You and Nicholas,” he reminded her. No way was that little punk going to get off scot-free and leave her to deal with this all on her own.
“Yeah, me and him,” she echoed. “We’ll manage.”
“How?” He was really interested to see if she had some sort of plan. They hadn’t talked about it all day, but surely she’d thought about it. “Are you guys gonna raise it or give it up for adoption?”
She didn’t even hesitate. “I’m not giving it up for adoption,” she said decidedly.
“You wouldn’t even consider it?” It seemed like the best course of action to him.
“No.” She crossed her arms over her chest, shaking her head stubbornly. “No way.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s my baby. If you and Sarah had a baby, would you give it up?”
“No, but that’s different. We’re adults.”
She rolled her eyes. “Okay, fine, if you actually had gotten Maria pregnant back in the day, would you have given that baby up?”
He sighed. Great, she had him there. “No.”
“See?”
It still wasn’t the same, though. “But we were older--”
She shot him a warning look, like she wasn’t about to have this same conversation all over again.
Let it go, he told himself. She still had some time to change her mind, and hopefully she would, but for now, trying to convince her to change her mind would probably only make things worse. “So you’re gonna raise it,” he recapped. “It’s gonna be tough. You know that, right?”
“Yeah, I know. I’ve watched Teen Mom.”
He laughed worriedly at that. Yeah, so had he—a fact which he would deny until his dying day—but that didn’t mean anything. “Teen Mom offers up a paycheck and puts cool music in the background of every scene. That’s not real life.”
“It’s real enough,” she insisted. “Look, I know it’s not gonna be easy, but at least I have Nicholas. And Mom will help me, and I have you.”
“Yeah, and I’ll help however I can,” he offered, “but I’m hardly ever here. I have school and work and Sarah and Kyle to think about. And Mom’s plenty busy. She doesn’t need to be raising another kid.”
“She won’t.” Tina sounded confident, but . . . of course she did. She was thirteen. Naïve. Clueless. Well, maybe not completely clueless since she’d at least acknowledged that she’d made a stupid mistake.
“Are you scared?” he asked her bluntly.
She thought about it a moment, then nodded sheepishly. “Yeah, kinda.”
Good, he thought. You should be. He would have been even more worried about her if she wasn’t scared at all.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Tina laughed as Shango chased her around the yard. She had to run slowly so he could keep up, but eventually, he got to her and pawed at the back of her leg. “You got me!” she exclaimed, picking him up. “You’re so cute, Shango!”
Michael sat on the porch with his mom while Sarah attempted to get Shango all interested in a stick, and Tina tried to convince him to chase after it. Leave it to the dog to get everyone in a good mood. Or as good of a mood as possible, at least.
“She still looks like my little girl,” his mom said sorrowfully, staring at her daughter.
“She still is,” he reminded her. It didn’t matter how badly Tina screwed up. She was still the same person, and they still loved her. He didn’t want his mom to develop the same kind of hostility with her that he’d seen between Amy and Maria. “She’s really gonna need you to be there for her. I mean, I’ll try to help, too, but--”
“No, you need to focus on school and everything you’ve got going on,” she said. “That’ll make me feel better, knowing that at least your life’s headed in the right direction.”
He chuckled at the irony of it all, the complete unpredictability of it. “Who would’ve thought, huh? I mean, growing up, I’m sure you always thought I’d be the one havin’ a kid at such a young age.”
“Well . . . don’t take this the wrong way,” she cautioned, “but yeah, I did. Tina was supposed to be the easy one to raise. I just . . . I don’t know what I did wrong.”
Michael watched his sister dump a pile of leaves on Shango. He shook them off and then tried to tackle her. She played along with him, falling over onto the grass exaggeratedly, and he climbed on top of her and started licking her face.
“You didn’t do anything wrong,” he reassured his mom. “We both know she’s been obsessed with boys and popularity for the past three years.”
“I should’ve never let her have a boyfriend,” she mumbled regretfully.
“Well, maybe I never should’ve lived with my girlfriend and proposed to my girlfriend and offered to adopt my girlfriend’s son, all right in front of an impressionable middle schooler. Maybe it’s my fault,” he supposed.
“Oh, honey, it’s not. If anything . . . it’s the opposite. Going to college, doing so well . . . you’ve set a good example for her.”
“Yeah, lately.” What if the damage had already been done, though? What if he’d started setting a positive example for her just a little too late?
“Maybe it has to do with your father,” his mom speculated sadly. “They weren’t close, but I’m not sure she’ll ever get over losing him.”
“And finding him,” he added on. “I mean, being the one person to find him dead . . .” He shook his head, wishing it would have been him who’d done that. He might have been able to handle it better. “I’m sure that screwed her up.”
“Oh, I’m sure,” his mother agreed. “I don’t know. She and I need to have a long talk today. I’m keeping her home from school.”
“Just her and you,” he advised. “No Nicholas.”
“No,” she agreed. “You know, he’s always been polite enough whenever he’s come over, but I’ve never liked how serious they’ve been at such a young age. And he doesn’t come from the greatest home life—his dad is very hands off—so I always worried what they might be doing when they’re over at his house with no supervision. But I should’ve just—I needed to put my foot down and I didn’t.” She shrugged sadly. “And now she’s pregnant.”
Michael shuddered inwardly. Never ever would he get used to hearing that word in connection with his sister. Ever.
“I really don’t know what’s gonna happen to her,” his mother said.
He wished he could promise that everything was going to be alright, that Tina and Nicholas would make it, that having a baby would help both of them grow up and mature. But it was all uncertain, all of it. Would she graduate high school? Get a job someday? Would she be happy? Neither of them had any way of knowing, and teen pregnancy statistics didn’t bode well.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Michael groaned, flopping down on the couch when they got back to campus. He felt spent already, and it wasn’t even noon yet. “It’s good to be home,” he said, wishing they hadn’t headed to Roswell for the weekend. If he hadn’t gone, then maybe Tina wouldn’t have spilled the beans about her . . . condition. He could have lived in blissful ignorance to it a little longer.
“It was a wacky weekend,” Sarah agreed, dropping her purse by the door. She kicked off her shoes and made her way to the TV, turning it on, as if she just knew he’d be too lazy to reach for the remote himself. And he was. In fact, the only thing he had the energy to do was to bend down and lift Shango up so that he could hold him and pet him.
Sarah put her hands on her hips, shaking her head in dismay as he let Shango climb up on his shoulder and nip at his ear. “You really love that dog, don’t you?”
“He’s my soul mate,” he claimed.
“Aw, and here I thought I was your soul mate.” She smiled teasingly, patting his shoulder as she headed back towards the bathroom.
“Oh, baby, you are,” he assured her, “but Shango’s my soul mate, too.”
“Well, it’s good to know there are three of us in this relationship.” She stripped off her shirt, tossing it onto the floor, and revealed, “I’m gonna shower before I head out to class. Care to join me?”
And in an instant, it was just the two of them again in their relationship again, and he was setting Shango aside. “Sure,” he said, getting to his feet. Yeah, he was tired, but he still had enough energy to fool around with her.
She giggled and slipped into the bathroom, and he peeled his shirt off and followed her.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Alex usually tried to swing by Parker’s Pastries every day, usually for a quick breakfast, but sometimes for a lunchtime snack, too. He liked supporting Liz’s business, and her food was good. She always made plenty of pies and cakes and doughnuts, of course, but she had branched out these past few months to include strudels and puddings, croissants and sweet pretzels. Today she was baking something new, something that smelled unfamiliar, but good.
“Hey, you,” she greeted when the door chimed. “You’re just in time to try one of these.” She held up a small glass bowl of what looked like little brown balls.
“What are those?” he asked, reaching out for one.
“Careful,” she said, swatting his hand away. “They’re hot.” She plucked one out of the bowl with a napkin and handed it to him. “Try it,” she urged.
He breathed in the appetizing smell for a second, then took a bite. It had a moist, easy-to-chew texture and a sweet, sugary taste. “Mmm,” he said. “That’s good. What is that?”
“It’s called gulab jamun,” she replied. “It’s Middle Eastern. I thought I’d branch out and try a new recipe.”
He took another bite, teasing, “Trying to capitalize on Carlsbad’s ever-growing Arab population, huh?”
“Okay, maybe I should have made something Spanish,” she acknowledged, “but I really wanted to try this. Plus, my empanadas sell out just fine.”
“No, this is good,” he said, finishing off what she’d given him. “I think I’ll just have my usual, though.”
“Okay.” She set the bowl down on the counter, then reached into the glass display case for a bear claw doughnut, the biggest one, of course. “You’re the first customer of the day,” she told him as she dropped it into a sack.
“Really?” He glanced at the clock, finding that a bit surprising.
“I opened late,” she told him. “Scarlet was having one of her fussy mornings, and it started at 4:00 a.m.”
“Ooh.” He winced.
“Yeah.”
“Is she here?”
“Uh-huh. Sound asleep in the back. Of course.” She took his money in exchange for the sack with the doughnut in it. “So she’ll probably be up all night tonight.”
“Probably,” he agreed. Scarlet was pretty mellow most of the time, but she was getting ready to enter those terrible twos parents always dreaded.
“Hey, um . . . speaking of tonight . . .” She leaned against the counter, biting her lower lip. “I have a huge favor to ask.”
She didn’t even have to ask it for him to know what it was. “You want me to watch Scarlet tonight, don’t you?”
“Would you, please?” she begged. “I have a date with this guy, but the sitter called me this morning and said she was feeling a little under the weather, but she still thought she’d be able to watch Scarlet. But I don’t want Scarlet around her if she’s feeling sick, you know?”
“Yeah, that’s no problem,” he assured her. That was what a god-parent was supposed to do, and since Scarlet’s godmother was Liz’s cousin from Florida, Alex didn’t mind stepping up and assuming some extra responsibility.
“Are you sure?” she said. “Because if you had plans, I can just find another babysitter.”
“I’d love to watch her,” he assured her. “Just bring her on by whenever you need to.”
Liz bounced up and down a few times excitedly. “Oh, thank you so much, Alex. You’re a life-saver.”
“It’s no problem,” he reiterated. Really, he enjoyed spending time with Scarlet a lot. He took his bear claw out of the sack and bit into it. Good as ever. “So who’re you goin’ out with?”
“Well, his name’s Doug Shellow,” she relayed. “He came in here a few times last week, and we just started talking and seemed to hit it off. He came by on Saturday and asked me out.”
“Good guy?” Alex asked.
“Oh, yeah, totally. He just got his master’s in the spring. He works for his dad’s marketing firm. Very clean-cut, very polite.”
“Opposite of Sean then?” he summarized.
“Yeah. He just seems like a nice, mature guy, which is what I need right now.”
“Yeah.” Truth be told, Sean wasn’t a bad guy. He just had always been way too immature and irresponsible to date a woman who had a child.
“So thank you for watching Scarlet so I can go out with him tonight,” Liz said. “I don’t know what I’d do without you, Alex.”
He smiled appreciatively, even though she would have done just fine. Liz Parker had never stopped being destined for success and happiness, even though she’d doubted it for a while there. His friendship and his support, he hoped, was just something that would help make success and happiness a little easier for her to attain.
Unfortunately, when he got home that afternoon and told Leanna that he had agreed to babysitting duty tonight, she wasn’t as excited about it as Liz was. “You did what?” she shrieked. “Alex, why would you do that? We’re supposed to be going out on a date tonight.”
“I know, but Liz needed help,” he tried to explain. “And it’s just Scarlet. We like taking care of her.”
“No, you like taking care of her,” his wife corrected adamantly. “I like going out with you. On dates.”
He sighed, running his hand through his hair. “Well, maybe we could . . . order pizza and watch a movie?” he proposed.
She rolled her eyes at the idea. “How romantic.”
“Come on, what was I supposed to say? ‘No, Liz, find somebody else?’”
“Yes. That’s exactly what you were supposed to say. But of course you wouldn’t say that, not to your precious Liz Parker.” Leanna grunted, shaking her head. “You know, most wives wouldn’t be so at ease with their husbands being best friends with an ex-girlfriend.”
This is you being at ease with it? he thought. Damn. He would have hated to see the opposed version of her. “Leanna, we’ve been through this,” he reminded her calmly. “I’m Scarlet’s godfather, and I promised Liz years ago that I’d be there for her however I can.”
****
This poor girl. She was a mess. Alex felt his heart go out to her as she sat at the counter of the Crashdown, crying, worrying. He sat beside her well past closing, rubbing her back, trying to make her feel better. She really did look a lot different from the wide-eyed, eager freshman he’d met during the fall semester. Besides the baby bump, she just looked . . . not so naïve. Not so wide-eyed. Not so eager.
“I’m sorry,” she apologized through tears. “You shouldn’t have to deal with this.”
“It’s okay.” He didn’t mind. Somebody had to help her through her pregnancy, since the baby’s father had jumped ship.
“I’m just so scared,” she fretted. “My parents keep telling me it’s gonna be okay, and I know they’re gonna help, but I still worry.”
“I think that’s natural.”
“I’m gonna be a single mom, Alex.” She stared at him with watery eyes and mascara tracks down her cheeks. “I’m only gonna be twenty years old, and I’m gonna have this baby that’s totally dependent on me. And I don’t wanna be the kind of parent who resents her child, but . . . what if I never make something of myself, you know? Am I gonna work here at my parents’ restaurant and live in my parents’ house for the rest of my life?”
“No, of course not,” he assured her. “For a while, yeah. But not forever.” He felt bad for her, because here he was getting ready to go back to school. If all went according to plan, he’d be graduating this year, and then he’d start pursuing his master’s next year. She valued her education, too, just like he did, but she was having to put it on hold.
“I wanted to be a molecular biologist,” she mumbled dejectedly. “That’s not gonna happen now.”
“Well, what else do you wanna do?” he asked, thinking there had to be some other options.
“I don’t . . . I don’t know,” she sputtered. “Maybe . . .” She wiped the tears off her face, looking a little bit calmer now. “Well, you know, my dad always thought about expanding the Crashdown, like maybe branching out to a nicer restaurant or like a—like a pastry shop?”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. And I know how to cook, so maybe I could do that.”
“Maybe.” He actually thought Liz would be great at starting her own business. She would have her father’s support and experience to guide her. Maybe once she had a little time to get used to being a mother, she’d give it a shot.
She sniffed back the remainder of her tears, managing a tiny smile. “Thank you, Alex,” she said. “You always make me feel better.”
“Well . . .” He shrugged. “I try.”
“I’m so glad you’ve been around this summer,” she admitted. “You’ve been such a good friend.”
“Well, so have you.” He didn’t typically have a lot of female friends, mostly because girls made him nervous—sweaty palms came to mind. Sure, he might have been friends with Isabel once, but his feelings for her had always run deeper. But getting to know Liz this summer, getting to know her without the complications of dating attached . . . it had been nice. It was pretty obvious that she was becoming his best friend, and he knew he was becoming hers.
“Listen, don’t ever feel like you’re alone in this or like you can’t handle it,” he told her, wanting her to know that he wasn’t going to just disappear as soon as school started up again. “I’ll be there for you, whenever you need me.”
More tears spilled over, but relieved ones this time. “That’s good,” she said. “Because I don’t think Max will ever be.”
He shook his head, hating to agree with that. But she was right. It didn’t seem likely.
****
Leanna crossed her arms over her chest, an angry, frustrated look on her face. “Yeah, I know you promised you’d be there for her,” she growled. “It’d just be nice if you were there for me once in a while, too.” Her blonde hair whirled over her shoulder as she spun and stormed off into the bedroom.
Alex sank down onto the couch, waiting for the door to slam shut.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Tess didn’t feel like she’d gotten enough sleep when she woke up the next morning. She rarely did these days. Between work as a cheer coach and taking care of Kyle, it felt like she had two jobs, both of which were frustrating and unrewarding.
She was alone in the bed, so she got up and padded out into the living room in her t-shirt and undies, yawning. “Kyle, are you up?” She stopped in the living room, though, disheartened by the sight of him. He was lying on the couch, covered up by a ratty old afghan that needed to either be washed thoroughly or thrown out altogether. His right arm dangled down onto the floor, still holding onto the remote control.
Even though she already knew what he’d been watching, she stepped forward and glanced at the TV screen anyway. It was footage from his first and only college game, and it was paused right on a shot of him lying flat on the ground, Michael at his side, yelling for help. It was an image that was plastered all over the Internet, too. Everyone who watched football had seen it. Hundreds of thousands of people had posted comments on all sorts of sites and message boards about how unbelievably awful and tragic at was.
They had no idea, though, just how tragic it truly was. She knew, only because she saw the despair and disappointment every day in her fiancé’s eyes. Eyes that had once been so lively, so full of hope and excitement and promise.
She wondered if her eyes looked the same.
“Oh, Kyle . . .” she sighed, bending down to pry the remote out of his hand. He stirred but didn’t wake up as she slipped it from his grasp and turned the TV off. How long had he stared at that paused image on the TV screen? How bad had he made himself feel? Why didn’t he understand that things might get better if he finally just stopped living in the past?
Before she headed into the kitchen to make breakfast, she tossed the remote on the floor, a few feet away from the couch, just out of his reach so he’d actually have to move to get it.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Halfheartedly applauding another boring piece of poetry, Isabel’s stomach started to tighten in nervousness. She was up next, and even though she was a strong writer and was pretty sure she had one of the best poems in the class, she was nervous about reading it in front of everyone. She hadn’t shared any of her writing with any of her classmates, and she knew they would judge her for it. They would listen to it, and if they understood it—and that was a big if considering half of them still looked hung-over from the last Thirsty Thursday bash—then they would probably think she was being hypocritical, or just whining. But Alex’s instructions with this assignment had been to tackle a social issue, and she sure had. In fact, she’d tackled one that was very personal to her.
“Alright, Isabel,” Alex said, motioning to the podium. “You’re up.”
She sighed shakily, bringing her poem with her to the front of the room. She stepped behind the podium, momentarily imagining that she was back at graduation, about to give the valedictorian speech that no one had ever gotten to hear, the one that lay crumpled up in the darkest corners of her closet, collecting dust. It really had been a good speech. She would have loved to have given it.
But this wasn’t graduation, and the piece of writing in front of her wasn’t at all a speech. It was slam poetry. It was creative, and it was honest.
She cast a quick glance at Alex, hoping he would appreciate this, maybe give her a good grade for once. “It’s called ‘The Painting,’” she told the class. And then she started in.
“It’s all I have to do to draw your eyes
Step foot outside my door in innocence.
My smile fades into oblivion
I do not love your sexual critique.”
She glanced up, gauging the reaction. Lots of surprised looks on judgmental faces, like they couldn’t believe the porn girl had the guts to write about sex. She made sure to say the next stanza louder, with more conviction.
“Your thoughts are not at all a mystery
I step outside and hear them loud and clear:
‘The artist could have made her breasts more full,
And longer, thinner legs, more perfect skin.’”
She gripped the sides of the podium tightly, feeling the same anger that had inspired the poem rising up inside again, threatening to unleash itself.
“I never meant to be a work of art,
So open to your obvious intrigue.
Yet here I am displayed for you to see
An object in your private gallery.”
She thought of the losers at the birthday party the other night, the ones who had actually expected to get to have sex with her, and she remembered Jesse’s lackluster defense of what little honor she had left, and it made her feel even more pissed.
“My femininity makes me a prize
You wish to touch the small canvas you view,
To hang me on your wall and stare for days.
You think I am incapable of more.”
She squeezed her eyes shut momentarily, literally shaking when she opened them again.
“I swear to God I did not ask for this,
The silent pain a woman always bears.
You will not see my watercolor rage
You bastard, arrogant art connoisseur.”
And then there was silence. Only silence. As if no one in the class knew what to say. No one could even applaud. Even Alex looked a little stunned, like he hadn’t expected her to actually put effort into this assignment or even finish it. At last, though, he started the applause, and the rest of the class joined in. They were looking at each other and whispering things, though. Everyone in that class always whispered about her.
“Thank you for sharing that, Isabel,” Alex said. “Can we get some feedback?”
No hands went to offer compliments or even a constructive critique. Isabel stood behind that podium, feeling awkward and more exposed than she ever had in any X-rated scene she’d filmed. Finally, when the hand of a freshman in the front row finally did go up into the air, it was only to say, “Mr. Whitman, it’s time for us to go.”
“Oh.” Alex glanced at the clock. “Oh, it is. Sorry about that. Uh, you can keep the hard copies of your poems; just make sure you share the GoogleDocs copy with me by the end of the day to avoid it being counted late. Have a good day, you guys.”
A few people chimed, “You, too,” and then they lost themselves in their own meaningless chatter as they packed up their backpacks and shuffled out of the classroom. Isabel stayed behind a bit, debating what to do with the hard copy of her poem. It wasn’t like she could take it home and put it on the refrigerator the way she used to do with all her writing assignments in middle school. Jesse would be concerned if he saw it. Or . . . maybe he wouldn’t be concerned at all. Either way, it wasn’t good.
She crumpled up her poem and tossed it in the trash, then grabbed her purse, flung it over her shoulder, and walked by Alex on her way out of the classroom.
“I knew you could do better,” he called after her.
She stopped for a moment in the hallway, her back to him, and smiled. And then she continued on her way.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
On the way to psychology class, Michael’s phone rang. “Crazy girl,” was the way he answered it, because even without looking at the caller ID, he knew she was the one calling.
“Hey, I can’t talk long ‘cause my class is about to start,” she said, “but I just wanted to see if you got all that practicum paperwork filled out and dropped off.”
“Yep. I get to start this week,” he informed her as he dodged a skateboarder coming in the opposite direction down the sidewalk.
“Oh, good, that’s so exciting!” she exclaimed. “Those kids are gonna love you. Or . . . respect you. That’s more important.”
“Yeah,” he agreed. Truthfully, he was just hoping he didn’t offer up any stupid advice or say something to fuck up some kid’s psyche for life.
“Well, I got roped into helping this girl in my organic chemistry class study tonight,” she told him, “so unfortunately I’m not gonna be home at my usual time. Gonna be a late night.”
“I can cook dinner and have it waiting for you,” he offered.
“Macaroni and cheese out of the box?” she guessed.
“Probably.” Even with her tutelage, that was the only thing he could make that didn’t taste like crap.
Luckily, she wasn’t high-maintenance. “Sounds good to me,” she chirped. “I’ll see you later. Love you.”
“Bye.” He ended the call and put his phone back in his pocket and readjusted his backpack on his shoulders. The familiar chime from the clock tower on campus rang out, signaling that it was 9:00. Fifteen minutes until class started. He had plenty of time.
He slowed down to a leisurely pace, content to just take his time and people watch on his way to class—a habit Sarah had gotten him into—when he caught sight of . . . someone.
( )
Someone he couldn’t look away from. She was across the street, walking down the sidewalk, not paying attention to anything or anyone around her.
He stopped. And he stared.
Blonde hair. Long legs. Jean shorts, red and black plaid shirt and cowboy boots. She had sunglasses on, even though it wasn’t sunny, and she had an iPod in her hand, earphones in her ears. The slight breeze blew her hair back over her shoulder, and he saw those familiar full lips.
It was her.
His mouth hung open in amazement, and he stood, frozen in place as she walked on. It was if time slowed down, and she was going in slow motion. And all he could do was watch her.
Maria.
She pushed her sunglasses up to rest on top of her head, and frowned as she shuffled through the songs on her iPod. He wondered what she was listening to, if she was humming it.
It all came flooding back to him. Her voice, her eyes . . .
Maria DeLuca was here. Right in front of him.
But she was walking away. Her back was to him now, and she was heading somewhere at a much more brisk pace than he was. Slack-jawed, his eyes stayed glued to her as he followed. He didn’t want to let her out of his sight.
He didn’t even realize he’d stepped off the sidewalk and down onto the street until a car’s brakes screeched as it tried unsuccessfully to stop. It plowed straight into him, and he rolled up onto the hood and off the side, landing right next to the sidewalk he should have stayed on.
“Oh my god!” he heard people shouting, and immediately, a crowd formed around him to see if he was okay.
Holy shit, he thought, gathering himself as he pushed himself up onto his hands and knees. Did I just get hit by a car?
The driver got out, a young girl who was already a hysterical mess, and cried, “I had a green light! I tried to stop! I--”
Michael stood up, looking around frantically, trying to spot Maria again. But there were too many people around him now. And she wasn’t one of them.
Where was she?
“Are you okay?” somebody asked him. “Bro, you okay?”
Maria. He needed to find her. Nothing else mattered. “I’m fine,” he said, picking up his backpack again. It had a hole in it now. Stuff was falling out.
“I’m so sorry!” the driver apologized. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine.” He pushed past her and everyone else, ignoring the person who said, “Hey, man, you should sit down. You just got hit by a car.”
He didn’t care.
He darted across the street, now safely under the protection of the crosswalk pedestrian light, and ran down the sidewalk, searching for her. Where was that blonde hair? He wanted to catch sight of it again.
Maybe he should have been sore, but nothing even hurt as he ran in the general direction she’d been heading. But he kept not seeing her, and that kept being discouraging to him. There were plenty of buildings she could have gone into, and dozens of classrooms in each of those buildings. It was like trying to find a needle in a haystack. He had no idea where she was now.
The fact that he was chasing after her was not lost on him. He’d done the same thing over two years ago, when he’d fled his own high school graduation to try to get her to stay . . . but she’d just left. Left him. Left town.
She was in this town now. He knew he hadn’t been seeing things.
Only once he got to Plaza Verde did he finally stop running. A crew of guys he didn’t know were playing a game of Frisbee like he and Fly always played. He dropped his backpack on the grass and flopped down beside it disappointedly, catching his breath as he just sat there, hoping she’d walk on by again. Knowing she probably wouldn’t.
And that was probably for the best.
TBC . . .
-April
Lots.What will happen next?
Sara:
Unfortunately, no, she's not lying.whoa. tina is pregnant? Is she lying?
They've grown so much closer over the years, and it's become a great relationship for both of them.I do love Michael and Krista's relationship though. I am glad they are as close as they are!!!
Thanks for reading!
The poem in this part is actually my own. I wrote it during college.
Music suggestion: Acoustic Guitar Tribute Players' version of "Unchained Melody." Feel free to listen to it here or click on
when you see it.Part 8
Breakfast was Sarah’s favorite meal of the day to make, mostly because it was nice to see that smile on Michael’s face when he smelled something good right away in the morning. On some mornings, though, like this one, it would be nearly impossible to coax a smile onto his face. Trying her best to do so, though, she brought out the ingredients for omelets.
“Morning,” he said, coming up behind her as she cracked three eggs into a bowl. He put his hands on her hips and kissed her cheek, thereby putting a smile on her face.
“Good morning,” she responded, adding a dash of water to her concoction. It helped make her omelets light and fluffy.
He pulled out a chair from the kitchen table and sat down, yawning. “Sleep well?”
“Yeah.” She cast a knowing glance over her shoulder and asked, “You?”
He shrugged. “Off and on here and there.”
“Yeah.” She’d pretty much figured last night would be a restless one for him. “Well, your room was cozy. Would’ve been cozier with you next to me, though.”
“Yeah,” he sighed. “I just . . . I probably shouldn’t set the wrong example for my sister. Again.”
She frowned, whisking her egg mixture together so that the whites and the yolks blended. “What do you mean?”
“I mean I was a bad big brother,” he lamented. “I was always partying, gettin’ drunk or gettin’ laid. And she noticed that. And knowing I did it made her think it was okay.”
“Michael.” She lifted the bowl, carefully pouring her mixture into a preheated, buttery skillet. “What happened to Tina is not your fault.”
“Maybe it is,” he speculated.
“No, it’s not.” She tapped the bowl against the side of the skillet, trying to get every last bit of the eggs out. “You’re too hard on yourself.”
“Not hard enough,” he muttered, rubbing his forehead. He looked stressed, upset. Not unlike two years ago.
****
Michael had been so quiet on the drive to Roswell. Too quiet. In a weird way, she was actually longing for his offensive, ignorant comments about Asians. Or even another terrifying conversation about how in love with Maria he’d been. Anything would have been better than this. This wasn’t the Michael she knew and liked so much.
As they were about to walk in the house, two people walked out, a man and a woman who looked just slightly too young to be Michael’s grandparents. They stopped and appropriately told him, “We’re so sorry for your loss.”
“Yeah, thanks,” he muttered, and then they were on their way. “Neighbors,” he explained to her. “They hated him.”
Did you? she wondered, following him into the house. He hadn’t divulged many details about his relationship with his father, but from what she understood, it was complicated, maybe even sometimes cruel. An alcohol problem had certainly only fanned the flame over the years.
The inside of the house was . . . as simple as the outside. Not a dump, but not a palace, either. Just a normal, inexpensive, and slightly messy home. It was smaller than what Sarah was used to, but it had definitely been . . . lived in. As someone who had moved multiple times in her life, she often longed for a house that had so many memories, even if they weren’t all good ones.
In the living room was a little girl, curled up on one end of the couch, hugging a pillow to her chest. And the woman Sarah presumed to be Michael’s mom was standing near a Christmas tree that was only halfway set up, touching two shiny silver ornaments. One was a letter K, the other a letter A.
“Mom?” Michael said.
She turned around, tears brimming in her eyes. “Oh, honey . . .” She came across the room and threw her arms around him, hugging him tightly. “I’m so glad you’re here.”
He closed his eyes as he hugged her back, then slowly let her go. “I’m sorry, I broke my phone,” he explained, “and I couldn’t even think of your number off the top of my head. I’m—I’m a moron.”
“No, honey, it’s fine,” she assured him. “I’m just glad you’re here now.” She smiled shakily, reaching up to stroke his cheek, then glanced behind him at Sarah. “Hello,” she greeted softly.
“Hi,” Sarah returned nervously. It was always stressful to meet a guy’s mom, but to meet her right now of all times? And mere hours after losing her virginity to the woman’s son? More stressful than she ever could have predicted.
“Oh, Mom, this is Sarah,” Michael introduced. “She’s . . .”
Sarah tensed. Oh god. Who am I?
“Well, she’s my girlfriend.”
Like a school girl with a crush, her heart skipped a beat.
“Sarah, this is my mom, Krista.”
“Nice to meet you,” Krista said, extending her hand.
Sarah shook it, grateful for the hospitality. “It’s nice to meet you, too,” she related. “I’m sorry it’s under these circumstances.”
Krista nodded sadly, her bottom lip trembling as she held back tears. The poor woman.
“What happened?” Michael asked her.
“Well . . .” She put her hands on her son’s shoulders, gently explaining, “We all knew he had a drinking problem.”
“Did he kill himself?” Michael asked outright.
Sarah couldn’t contain her small gasp, but thankfully, Michael and his mom didn’t notice. Kill himself? she wondered. Was that even a possibility? Michael had said his dad was depressed, but . . . was he really that depressed? She’d never known someone to be so unhappy before.
“No, he didn’t,” his mother assured him. “It wasn’t like last time.”
Sarah frowned. Last time? So something like this had happened before? It made her feel so sorry for Michael. For . . . for her boyfriend. He wasn’t a bad guy. He shouldn’t have had to deal with all of this.
“So what happened?” Michael pressed on.
His mom opened her mouth to respond, but no words came out. So his sister got up from the couch and mumbled, “He choked on his own puke,” as she pushed past him and stomped upstairs.
Michael looked confused. “What?”
“It’s, um . . .” His mom took his hand and led him towards the couch, pulling him down beside her. Sarah went over to the Christmas tree unsurely, trying to give them enough space to have their own conversation.
“It wasn’t that he was trying to kill himself,” his mother assured him. “There was just too much alcohol in his system.”
Alcohol poisoning, Sarah registered. She may have just been a college freshman, but she knew her medical facts.
“I don’t get it,” Michael said.
“Well, honey, we just . . . we were arguing, and I came down here to sleep on the couch, and he stayed up in the bedroom, and . . .” Her voice cracked as she trailed off. “He just drank and drank. Too much. The paramedics said there was probably just so much alcohol in his bloodstream that his brain couldn’t control his basic functions, and so it dulled his gag reflex.”
Sarah shook her head. This was awful. The whole thing was just a nightmare to picture.
“So he passed out, but he was lying flat on his back, so when he threw up . . .” A strangled sob escaped Michael’s mom. “He just choked on it. He couldn’t breathe. But he couldn’t wake up, either.”
Sarah tentatively looked over her shoulder, gauging Michael’s reaction. He looked pale, like he was about to throw up himself. She was used to seeing him with a flirtatious grin on his face and a mischievous gleam in his eyes. Not like this.
And then, as if it couldn’t get any worse, his mom revealed, “Tina was the one who found him.”
Sarah winced. That poor little girl. She couldn’t even imagine the horror of walking into a bedroom to find your dad just lying there, dead.
“I have to go talk to her,” he decided abruptly. He stood and shot Sarah and quick look, and she just nodded, letting him know she’d be fine down here.
He hurried upstairs, and seconds after the door to his sister’s room opened and closed again, Sarah heard her start crying.
“Oh, I’m sorry you have to be here for this,” Krista apologized, raking her hands through her hair.
“It’s okay.” Sarah left the tree’s side and sat down beside her. “I offered to come.”
“That’s thoughtful of you.”
“Well . . .” She shrugged. “I think a lot of Michael.”
Krista looked relieved to have something else, something good, to talk about. “How long have you two been seeing each other?” she asked.
“Just a few weeks.” Two, to be exact, but . . . no need to be specific. She didn’t want Michael’s mom to think they were rushing things. Sure, the relationship was happening fast, but . . . it all felt right.
“You’re the first girl he’s taken a chance on since . . .” She trailed off, as if she weren’t sure whether or not she should say the other name.
“Maria,” Sarah filled in. So far, she still barely knew anything about this girl, but she sure seemed to have had a major impact on Michael’s life. It was sort of intimidating.
“He told you about her?” Krista sounded surprised.
“Yeah.” She tried to quell her own nervousness as she acknowledged, “They were in love.”
“They were,” Krista agreed. “But she’s been gone for a long time now, so between you and me . . .” She managed an encouraging smile. “It’s good that he’s moving on.”
Sarah sighed happily. Was it wrong to feel happy when this family was so sad? She felt horrible for them, but in some ways . . . these past twenty-four hours had been the greatest twenty-four hours of her life. Memories of Michael’s hands on her hips and tangled in her hair were still fresh in her mind. She wanted to feel his kiss on the side of her neck again. It made her insides quiver just thinking about it.
She wanted to say something more, maybe tell Krista how amazing she thought Michael was, how proud of him she should be. But before she got the chance, the noise upstairs got louder. She heard the door open, and seconds later, Michael’s sister came pouring down the stairs, weeping. He was right behind her, and when she tripped and fell at the bottom, he was there to catch her. He took her smaller frame into his arms and sank down on the floor with her, holding her tightly while she clung to him and cried.
“Shh, it’s okay,” he soothed her, rocking her back and forth gently. “I got you. I got you.”
Oh my god, Sarah thought. Seeing Michael comfort his sister was . . . beautiful. Tragic, but touching. As much as she loved seeing the sides of Michael she’d gotten to know, it was refreshing to see this side of him, too, this vulnerable, deeper one. She’d gotten a glimpse of it when he’d brought her back to her dorm yesterday and told her about Maria and Dylan, but this was a whole new level of it.
I love you, Michael, she thought, surprising even herself with that feeling. But it was there, and it was obvious, and it was strong.
****
Sarah set Michael’s omelet down in front him, made just the way he liked it with crumbled bacon, diced tomatoes, and cheddar cheese on the inside. He inhaled deeply and smiled up at her, wordlessly communicating his gratitude.
“You’re a good big brother,” she reassured him, bending down to kiss his cheek. “And a good boyfriend.”
He grunted, and she couldn’t tell whether that was because he didn’t believe her, or because he took pride in what she’d said. Knowing him and knowing his complexities, it was probably a combination of the two.
“Eat up,” she urged.
“Alright.” He picked up his fork and dug right in. “Looks good.”
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Without a doubt, Michael’s favorite class was Professor Barnaby’s Social Psychology class. It probably didn’t hurt that half the semester was devoted to discussing the psychology of human sexuality. Most of the time, the reading Michael was assigned to do felt more like reading for fun than it did a homework assignment. But as he sat on the couch that evening, skimming through the pages of the latest assigned chapter, he couldn’t help but feel . . . differently about the material. For example, one paragraph talked about a research study focusing on the success rates of people who lost their virginity later on in life, after the age of nineteen. And apparently the study concluded that those people would have a higher income, higher education, and more healthy marital relationship than those who lost their virginity earlier.
Well, that bodes well for Sarah, he thought. Not so much for anyone else in this house. Including Tina.
He hated that his sister wasn’t a little innocent girl anymore. He just hated it. And maybe that made him hypocritical as hell, but he just didn’t care.
“You read?”
He glanced up from his book and saw Tina standing near the bottom of the stairs. “Yeah, quite fluently, in fact.”
She ambled into the living room, asking, “Since when do you read?”
He placed his book mark in between the pages and shut the book, setting it aside on the coffee table. “I got a psychology test Wednesday. Gotta know my stuff.”
“Hmm.” She sat down beside him, sighing. “God, it’s like we switched places. I used to be the smart one; you used to be the wild one.”
“You’re still smart,” he assured her. And truth be told, he could still be wild. It was just more freak beneath the sheets stuff than it was having a drunken time at a public party these days.
“No, I did a really dumb thing,” she admitted. “It was stupid, I know.”
Well . . . that was progress, he supposed, her saying that out loud. “So you regret it,” he concluded.
“I don’t . . .” She hesitated. “I don’t know. I mean, I didn’t want this to happen. I didn’t think it would, but . . . it did, so . . .” She shrugged. “I have to deal with it.”
“You and Nicholas,” he reminded her. No way was that little punk going to get off scot-free and leave her to deal with this all on her own.
“Yeah, me and him,” she echoed. “We’ll manage.”
“How?” He was really interested to see if she had some sort of plan. They hadn’t talked about it all day, but surely she’d thought about it. “Are you guys gonna raise it or give it up for adoption?”
She didn’t even hesitate. “I’m not giving it up for adoption,” she said decidedly.
“You wouldn’t even consider it?” It seemed like the best course of action to him.
“No.” She crossed her arms over her chest, shaking her head stubbornly. “No way.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s my baby. If you and Sarah had a baby, would you give it up?”
“No, but that’s different. We’re adults.”
She rolled her eyes. “Okay, fine, if you actually had gotten Maria pregnant back in the day, would you have given that baby up?”
He sighed. Great, she had him there. “No.”
“See?”
It still wasn’t the same, though. “But we were older--”
She shot him a warning look, like she wasn’t about to have this same conversation all over again.
Let it go, he told himself. She still had some time to change her mind, and hopefully she would, but for now, trying to convince her to change her mind would probably only make things worse. “So you’re gonna raise it,” he recapped. “It’s gonna be tough. You know that, right?”
“Yeah, I know. I’ve watched Teen Mom.”
He laughed worriedly at that. Yeah, so had he—a fact which he would deny until his dying day—but that didn’t mean anything. “Teen Mom offers up a paycheck and puts cool music in the background of every scene. That’s not real life.”
“It’s real enough,” she insisted. “Look, I know it’s not gonna be easy, but at least I have Nicholas. And Mom will help me, and I have you.”
“Yeah, and I’ll help however I can,” he offered, “but I’m hardly ever here. I have school and work and Sarah and Kyle to think about. And Mom’s plenty busy. She doesn’t need to be raising another kid.”
“She won’t.” Tina sounded confident, but . . . of course she did. She was thirteen. Naïve. Clueless. Well, maybe not completely clueless since she’d at least acknowledged that she’d made a stupid mistake.
“Are you scared?” he asked her bluntly.
She thought about it a moment, then nodded sheepishly. “Yeah, kinda.”
Good, he thought. You should be. He would have been even more worried about her if she wasn’t scared at all.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Tina laughed as Shango chased her around the yard. She had to run slowly so he could keep up, but eventually, he got to her and pawed at the back of her leg. “You got me!” she exclaimed, picking him up. “You’re so cute, Shango!”
Michael sat on the porch with his mom while Sarah attempted to get Shango all interested in a stick, and Tina tried to convince him to chase after it. Leave it to the dog to get everyone in a good mood. Or as good of a mood as possible, at least.
“She still looks like my little girl,” his mom said sorrowfully, staring at her daughter.
“She still is,” he reminded her. It didn’t matter how badly Tina screwed up. She was still the same person, and they still loved her. He didn’t want his mom to develop the same kind of hostility with her that he’d seen between Amy and Maria. “She’s really gonna need you to be there for her. I mean, I’ll try to help, too, but--”
“No, you need to focus on school and everything you’ve got going on,” she said. “That’ll make me feel better, knowing that at least your life’s headed in the right direction.”
He chuckled at the irony of it all, the complete unpredictability of it. “Who would’ve thought, huh? I mean, growing up, I’m sure you always thought I’d be the one havin’ a kid at such a young age.”
“Well . . . don’t take this the wrong way,” she cautioned, “but yeah, I did. Tina was supposed to be the easy one to raise. I just . . . I don’t know what I did wrong.”
Michael watched his sister dump a pile of leaves on Shango. He shook them off and then tried to tackle her. She played along with him, falling over onto the grass exaggeratedly, and he climbed on top of her and started licking her face.
“You didn’t do anything wrong,” he reassured his mom. “We both know she’s been obsessed with boys and popularity for the past three years.”
“I should’ve never let her have a boyfriend,” she mumbled regretfully.
“Well, maybe I never should’ve lived with my girlfriend and proposed to my girlfriend and offered to adopt my girlfriend’s son, all right in front of an impressionable middle schooler. Maybe it’s my fault,” he supposed.
“Oh, honey, it’s not. If anything . . . it’s the opposite. Going to college, doing so well . . . you’ve set a good example for her.”
“Yeah, lately.” What if the damage had already been done, though? What if he’d started setting a positive example for her just a little too late?
“Maybe it has to do with your father,” his mom speculated sadly. “They weren’t close, but I’m not sure she’ll ever get over losing him.”
“And finding him,” he added on. “I mean, being the one person to find him dead . . .” He shook his head, wishing it would have been him who’d done that. He might have been able to handle it better. “I’m sure that screwed her up.”
“Oh, I’m sure,” his mother agreed. “I don’t know. She and I need to have a long talk today. I’m keeping her home from school.”
“Just her and you,” he advised. “No Nicholas.”
“No,” she agreed. “You know, he’s always been polite enough whenever he’s come over, but I’ve never liked how serious they’ve been at such a young age. And he doesn’t come from the greatest home life—his dad is very hands off—so I always worried what they might be doing when they’re over at his house with no supervision. But I should’ve just—I needed to put my foot down and I didn’t.” She shrugged sadly. “And now she’s pregnant.”
Michael shuddered inwardly. Never ever would he get used to hearing that word in connection with his sister. Ever.
“I really don’t know what’s gonna happen to her,” his mother said.
He wished he could promise that everything was going to be alright, that Tina and Nicholas would make it, that having a baby would help both of them grow up and mature. But it was all uncertain, all of it. Would she graduate high school? Get a job someday? Would she be happy? Neither of them had any way of knowing, and teen pregnancy statistics didn’t bode well.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Michael groaned, flopping down on the couch when they got back to campus. He felt spent already, and it wasn’t even noon yet. “It’s good to be home,” he said, wishing they hadn’t headed to Roswell for the weekend. If he hadn’t gone, then maybe Tina wouldn’t have spilled the beans about her . . . condition. He could have lived in blissful ignorance to it a little longer.
“It was a wacky weekend,” Sarah agreed, dropping her purse by the door. She kicked off her shoes and made her way to the TV, turning it on, as if she just knew he’d be too lazy to reach for the remote himself. And he was. In fact, the only thing he had the energy to do was to bend down and lift Shango up so that he could hold him and pet him.
Sarah put her hands on her hips, shaking her head in dismay as he let Shango climb up on his shoulder and nip at his ear. “You really love that dog, don’t you?”
“He’s my soul mate,” he claimed.
“Aw, and here I thought I was your soul mate.” She smiled teasingly, patting his shoulder as she headed back towards the bathroom.
“Oh, baby, you are,” he assured her, “but Shango’s my soul mate, too.”
“Well, it’s good to know there are three of us in this relationship.” She stripped off her shirt, tossing it onto the floor, and revealed, “I’m gonna shower before I head out to class. Care to join me?”
And in an instant, it was just the two of them again in their relationship again, and he was setting Shango aside. “Sure,” he said, getting to his feet. Yeah, he was tired, but he still had enough energy to fool around with her.
She giggled and slipped into the bathroom, and he peeled his shirt off and followed her.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Alex usually tried to swing by Parker’s Pastries every day, usually for a quick breakfast, but sometimes for a lunchtime snack, too. He liked supporting Liz’s business, and her food was good. She always made plenty of pies and cakes and doughnuts, of course, but she had branched out these past few months to include strudels and puddings, croissants and sweet pretzels. Today she was baking something new, something that smelled unfamiliar, but good.
“Hey, you,” she greeted when the door chimed. “You’re just in time to try one of these.” She held up a small glass bowl of what looked like little brown balls.
“What are those?” he asked, reaching out for one.
“Careful,” she said, swatting his hand away. “They’re hot.” She plucked one out of the bowl with a napkin and handed it to him. “Try it,” she urged.
He breathed in the appetizing smell for a second, then took a bite. It had a moist, easy-to-chew texture and a sweet, sugary taste. “Mmm,” he said. “That’s good. What is that?”
“It’s called gulab jamun,” she replied. “It’s Middle Eastern. I thought I’d branch out and try a new recipe.”
He took another bite, teasing, “Trying to capitalize on Carlsbad’s ever-growing Arab population, huh?”
“Okay, maybe I should have made something Spanish,” she acknowledged, “but I really wanted to try this. Plus, my empanadas sell out just fine.”
“No, this is good,” he said, finishing off what she’d given him. “I think I’ll just have my usual, though.”
“Okay.” She set the bowl down on the counter, then reached into the glass display case for a bear claw doughnut, the biggest one, of course. “You’re the first customer of the day,” she told him as she dropped it into a sack.
“Really?” He glanced at the clock, finding that a bit surprising.
“I opened late,” she told him. “Scarlet was having one of her fussy mornings, and it started at 4:00 a.m.”
“Ooh.” He winced.
“Yeah.”
“Is she here?”
“Uh-huh. Sound asleep in the back. Of course.” She took his money in exchange for the sack with the doughnut in it. “So she’ll probably be up all night tonight.”
“Probably,” he agreed. Scarlet was pretty mellow most of the time, but she was getting ready to enter those terrible twos parents always dreaded.
“Hey, um . . . speaking of tonight . . .” She leaned against the counter, biting her lower lip. “I have a huge favor to ask.”
She didn’t even have to ask it for him to know what it was. “You want me to watch Scarlet tonight, don’t you?”
“Would you, please?” she begged. “I have a date with this guy, but the sitter called me this morning and said she was feeling a little under the weather, but she still thought she’d be able to watch Scarlet. But I don’t want Scarlet around her if she’s feeling sick, you know?”
“Yeah, that’s no problem,” he assured her. That was what a god-parent was supposed to do, and since Scarlet’s godmother was Liz’s cousin from Florida, Alex didn’t mind stepping up and assuming some extra responsibility.
“Are you sure?” she said. “Because if you had plans, I can just find another babysitter.”
“I’d love to watch her,” he assured her. “Just bring her on by whenever you need to.”
Liz bounced up and down a few times excitedly. “Oh, thank you so much, Alex. You’re a life-saver.”
“It’s no problem,” he reiterated. Really, he enjoyed spending time with Scarlet a lot. He took his bear claw out of the sack and bit into it. Good as ever. “So who’re you goin’ out with?”
“Well, his name’s Doug Shellow,” she relayed. “He came in here a few times last week, and we just started talking and seemed to hit it off. He came by on Saturday and asked me out.”
“Good guy?” Alex asked.
“Oh, yeah, totally. He just got his master’s in the spring. He works for his dad’s marketing firm. Very clean-cut, very polite.”
“Opposite of Sean then?” he summarized.
“Yeah. He just seems like a nice, mature guy, which is what I need right now.”
“Yeah.” Truth be told, Sean wasn’t a bad guy. He just had always been way too immature and irresponsible to date a woman who had a child.
“So thank you for watching Scarlet so I can go out with him tonight,” Liz said. “I don’t know what I’d do without you, Alex.”
He smiled appreciatively, even though she would have done just fine. Liz Parker had never stopped being destined for success and happiness, even though she’d doubted it for a while there. His friendship and his support, he hoped, was just something that would help make success and happiness a little easier for her to attain.
Unfortunately, when he got home that afternoon and told Leanna that he had agreed to babysitting duty tonight, she wasn’t as excited about it as Liz was. “You did what?” she shrieked. “Alex, why would you do that? We’re supposed to be going out on a date tonight.”
“I know, but Liz needed help,” he tried to explain. “And it’s just Scarlet. We like taking care of her.”
“No, you like taking care of her,” his wife corrected adamantly. “I like going out with you. On dates.”
He sighed, running his hand through his hair. “Well, maybe we could . . . order pizza and watch a movie?” he proposed.
She rolled her eyes at the idea. “How romantic.”
“Come on, what was I supposed to say? ‘No, Liz, find somebody else?’”
“Yes. That’s exactly what you were supposed to say. But of course you wouldn’t say that, not to your precious Liz Parker.” Leanna grunted, shaking her head. “You know, most wives wouldn’t be so at ease with their husbands being best friends with an ex-girlfriend.”
This is you being at ease with it? he thought. Damn. He would have hated to see the opposed version of her. “Leanna, we’ve been through this,” he reminded her calmly. “I’m Scarlet’s godfather, and I promised Liz years ago that I’d be there for her however I can.”
****
This poor girl. She was a mess. Alex felt his heart go out to her as she sat at the counter of the Crashdown, crying, worrying. He sat beside her well past closing, rubbing her back, trying to make her feel better. She really did look a lot different from the wide-eyed, eager freshman he’d met during the fall semester. Besides the baby bump, she just looked . . . not so naïve. Not so wide-eyed. Not so eager.
“I’m sorry,” she apologized through tears. “You shouldn’t have to deal with this.”
“It’s okay.” He didn’t mind. Somebody had to help her through her pregnancy, since the baby’s father had jumped ship.
“I’m just so scared,” she fretted. “My parents keep telling me it’s gonna be okay, and I know they’re gonna help, but I still worry.”
“I think that’s natural.”
“I’m gonna be a single mom, Alex.” She stared at him with watery eyes and mascara tracks down her cheeks. “I’m only gonna be twenty years old, and I’m gonna have this baby that’s totally dependent on me. And I don’t wanna be the kind of parent who resents her child, but . . . what if I never make something of myself, you know? Am I gonna work here at my parents’ restaurant and live in my parents’ house for the rest of my life?”
“No, of course not,” he assured her. “For a while, yeah. But not forever.” He felt bad for her, because here he was getting ready to go back to school. If all went according to plan, he’d be graduating this year, and then he’d start pursuing his master’s next year. She valued her education, too, just like he did, but she was having to put it on hold.
“I wanted to be a molecular biologist,” she mumbled dejectedly. “That’s not gonna happen now.”
“Well, what else do you wanna do?” he asked, thinking there had to be some other options.
“I don’t . . . I don’t know,” she sputtered. “Maybe . . .” She wiped the tears off her face, looking a little bit calmer now. “Well, you know, my dad always thought about expanding the Crashdown, like maybe branching out to a nicer restaurant or like a—like a pastry shop?”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. And I know how to cook, so maybe I could do that.”
“Maybe.” He actually thought Liz would be great at starting her own business. She would have her father’s support and experience to guide her. Maybe once she had a little time to get used to being a mother, she’d give it a shot.
She sniffed back the remainder of her tears, managing a tiny smile. “Thank you, Alex,” she said. “You always make me feel better.”
“Well . . .” He shrugged. “I try.”
“I’m so glad you’ve been around this summer,” she admitted. “You’ve been such a good friend.”
“Well, so have you.” He didn’t typically have a lot of female friends, mostly because girls made him nervous—sweaty palms came to mind. Sure, he might have been friends with Isabel once, but his feelings for her had always run deeper. But getting to know Liz this summer, getting to know her without the complications of dating attached . . . it had been nice. It was pretty obvious that she was becoming his best friend, and he knew he was becoming hers.
“Listen, don’t ever feel like you’re alone in this or like you can’t handle it,” he told her, wanting her to know that he wasn’t going to just disappear as soon as school started up again. “I’ll be there for you, whenever you need me.”
More tears spilled over, but relieved ones this time. “That’s good,” she said. “Because I don’t think Max will ever be.”
He shook his head, hating to agree with that. But she was right. It didn’t seem likely.
****
Leanna crossed her arms over her chest, an angry, frustrated look on her face. “Yeah, I know you promised you’d be there for her,” she growled. “It’d just be nice if you were there for me once in a while, too.” Her blonde hair whirled over her shoulder as she spun and stormed off into the bedroom.
Alex sank down onto the couch, waiting for the door to slam shut.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Tess didn’t feel like she’d gotten enough sleep when she woke up the next morning. She rarely did these days. Between work as a cheer coach and taking care of Kyle, it felt like she had two jobs, both of which were frustrating and unrewarding.
She was alone in the bed, so she got up and padded out into the living room in her t-shirt and undies, yawning. “Kyle, are you up?” She stopped in the living room, though, disheartened by the sight of him. He was lying on the couch, covered up by a ratty old afghan that needed to either be washed thoroughly or thrown out altogether. His right arm dangled down onto the floor, still holding onto the remote control.
Even though she already knew what he’d been watching, she stepped forward and glanced at the TV screen anyway. It was footage from his first and only college game, and it was paused right on a shot of him lying flat on the ground, Michael at his side, yelling for help. It was an image that was plastered all over the Internet, too. Everyone who watched football had seen it. Hundreds of thousands of people had posted comments on all sorts of sites and message boards about how unbelievably awful and tragic at was.
They had no idea, though, just how tragic it truly was. She knew, only because she saw the despair and disappointment every day in her fiancé’s eyes. Eyes that had once been so lively, so full of hope and excitement and promise.
She wondered if her eyes looked the same.
“Oh, Kyle . . .” she sighed, bending down to pry the remote out of his hand. He stirred but didn’t wake up as she slipped it from his grasp and turned the TV off. How long had he stared at that paused image on the TV screen? How bad had he made himself feel? Why didn’t he understand that things might get better if he finally just stopped living in the past?
Before she headed into the kitchen to make breakfast, she tossed the remote on the floor, a few feet away from the couch, just out of his reach so he’d actually have to move to get it.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Halfheartedly applauding another boring piece of poetry, Isabel’s stomach started to tighten in nervousness. She was up next, and even though she was a strong writer and was pretty sure she had one of the best poems in the class, she was nervous about reading it in front of everyone. She hadn’t shared any of her writing with any of her classmates, and she knew they would judge her for it. They would listen to it, and if they understood it—and that was a big if considering half of them still looked hung-over from the last Thirsty Thursday bash—then they would probably think she was being hypocritical, or just whining. But Alex’s instructions with this assignment had been to tackle a social issue, and she sure had. In fact, she’d tackled one that was very personal to her.
“Alright, Isabel,” Alex said, motioning to the podium. “You’re up.”
She sighed shakily, bringing her poem with her to the front of the room. She stepped behind the podium, momentarily imagining that she was back at graduation, about to give the valedictorian speech that no one had ever gotten to hear, the one that lay crumpled up in the darkest corners of her closet, collecting dust. It really had been a good speech. She would have loved to have given it.
But this wasn’t graduation, and the piece of writing in front of her wasn’t at all a speech. It was slam poetry. It was creative, and it was honest.
She cast a quick glance at Alex, hoping he would appreciate this, maybe give her a good grade for once. “It’s called ‘The Painting,’” she told the class. And then she started in.
“It’s all I have to do to draw your eyes
Step foot outside my door in innocence.
My smile fades into oblivion
I do not love your sexual critique.”
She glanced up, gauging the reaction. Lots of surprised looks on judgmental faces, like they couldn’t believe the porn girl had the guts to write about sex. She made sure to say the next stanza louder, with more conviction.
“Your thoughts are not at all a mystery
I step outside and hear them loud and clear:
‘The artist could have made her breasts more full,
And longer, thinner legs, more perfect skin.’”
She gripped the sides of the podium tightly, feeling the same anger that had inspired the poem rising up inside again, threatening to unleash itself.
“I never meant to be a work of art,
So open to your obvious intrigue.
Yet here I am displayed for you to see
An object in your private gallery.”
She thought of the losers at the birthday party the other night, the ones who had actually expected to get to have sex with her, and she remembered Jesse’s lackluster defense of what little honor she had left, and it made her feel even more pissed.
“My femininity makes me a prize
You wish to touch the small canvas you view,
To hang me on your wall and stare for days.
You think I am incapable of more.”
She squeezed her eyes shut momentarily, literally shaking when she opened them again.
“I swear to God I did not ask for this,
The silent pain a woman always bears.
You will not see my watercolor rage
You bastard, arrogant art connoisseur.”
And then there was silence. Only silence. As if no one in the class knew what to say. No one could even applaud. Even Alex looked a little stunned, like he hadn’t expected her to actually put effort into this assignment or even finish it. At last, though, he started the applause, and the rest of the class joined in. They were looking at each other and whispering things, though. Everyone in that class always whispered about her.
“Thank you for sharing that, Isabel,” Alex said. “Can we get some feedback?”
No hands went to offer compliments or even a constructive critique. Isabel stood behind that podium, feeling awkward and more exposed than she ever had in any X-rated scene she’d filmed. Finally, when the hand of a freshman in the front row finally did go up into the air, it was only to say, “Mr. Whitman, it’s time for us to go.”
“Oh.” Alex glanced at the clock. “Oh, it is. Sorry about that. Uh, you can keep the hard copies of your poems; just make sure you share the GoogleDocs copy with me by the end of the day to avoid it being counted late. Have a good day, you guys.”
A few people chimed, “You, too,” and then they lost themselves in their own meaningless chatter as they packed up their backpacks and shuffled out of the classroom. Isabel stayed behind a bit, debating what to do with the hard copy of her poem. It wasn’t like she could take it home and put it on the refrigerator the way she used to do with all her writing assignments in middle school. Jesse would be concerned if he saw it. Or . . . maybe he wouldn’t be concerned at all. Either way, it wasn’t good.
She crumpled up her poem and tossed it in the trash, then grabbed her purse, flung it over her shoulder, and walked by Alex on her way out of the classroom.
“I knew you could do better,” he called after her.
She stopped for a moment in the hallway, her back to him, and smiled. And then she continued on her way.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
On the way to psychology class, Michael’s phone rang. “Crazy girl,” was the way he answered it, because even without looking at the caller ID, he knew she was the one calling.
“Hey, I can’t talk long ‘cause my class is about to start,” she said, “but I just wanted to see if you got all that practicum paperwork filled out and dropped off.”
“Yep. I get to start this week,” he informed her as he dodged a skateboarder coming in the opposite direction down the sidewalk.
“Oh, good, that’s so exciting!” she exclaimed. “Those kids are gonna love you. Or . . . respect you. That’s more important.”
“Yeah,” he agreed. Truthfully, he was just hoping he didn’t offer up any stupid advice or say something to fuck up some kid’s psyche for life.
“Well, I got roped into helping this girl in my organic chemistry class study tonight,” she told him, “so unfortunately I’m not gonna be home at my usual time. Gonna be a late night.”
“I can cook dinner and have it waiting for you,” he offered.
“Macaroni and cheese out of the box?” she guessed.
“Probably.” Even with her tutelage, that was the only thing he could make that didn’t taste like crap.
Luckily, she wasn’t high-maintenance. “Sounds good to me,” she chirped. “I’ll see you later. Love you.”
“Bye.” He ended the call and put his phone back in his pocket and readjusted his backpack on his shoulders. The familiar chime from the clock tower on campus rang out, signaling that it was 9:00. Fifteen minutes until class started. He had plenty of time.
He slowed down to a leisurely pace, content to just take his time and people watch on his way to class—a habit Sarah had gotten him into—when he caught sight of . . . someone.
(
)Someone he couldn’t look away from. She was across the street, walking down the sidewalk, not paying attention to anything or anyone around her.
He stopped. And he stared.
Blonde hair. Long legs. Jean shorts, red and black plaid shirt and cowboy boots. She had sunglasses on, even though it wasn’t sunny, and she had an iPod in her hand, earphones in her ears. The slight breeze blew her hair back over her shoulder, and he saw those familiar full lips.
It was her.
His mouth hung open in amazement, and he stood, frozen in place as she walked on. It was if time slowed down, and she was going in slow motion. And all he could do was watch her.
Maria.
She pushed her sunglasses up to rest on top of her head, and frowned as she shuffled through the songs on her iPod. He wondered what she was listening to, if she was humming it.
It all came flooding back to him. Her voice, her eyes . . .
Maria DeLuca was here. Right in front of him.
But she was walking away. Her back was to him now, and she was heading somewhere at a much more brisk pace than he was. Slack-jawed, his eyes stayed glued to her as he followed. He didn’t want to let her out of his sight.
He didn’t even realize he’d stepped off the sidewalk and down onto the street until a car’s brakes screeched as it tried unsuccessfully to stop. It plowed straight into him, and he rolled up onto the hood and off the side, landing right next to the sidewalk he should have stayed on.
“Oh my god!” he heard people shouting, and immediately, a crowd formed around him to see if he was okay.
Holy shit, he thought, gathering himself as he pushed himself up onto his hands and knees. Did I just get hit by a car?
The driver got out, a young girl who was already a hysterical mess, and cried, “I had a green light! I tried to stop! I--”
Michael stood up, looking around frantically, trying to spot Maria again. But there were too many people around him now. And she wasn’t one of them.
Where was she?
“Are you okay?” somebody asked him. “Bro, you okay?”
Maria. He needed to find her. Nothing else mattered. “I’m fine,” he said, picking up his backpack again. It had a hole in it now. Stuff was falling out.
“I’m so sorry!” the driver apologized. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine.” He pushed past her and everyone else, ignoring the person who said, “Hey, man, you should sit down. You just got hit by a car.”
He didn’t care.
He darted across the street, now safely under the protection of the crosswalk pedestrian light, and ran down the sidewalk, searching for her. Where was that blonde hair? He wanted to catch sight of it again.
Maybe he should have been sore, but nothing even hurt as he ran in the general direction she’d been heading. But he kept not seeing her, and that kept being discouraging to him. There were plenty of buildings she could have gone into, and dozens of classrooms in each of those buildings. It was like trying to find a needle in a haystack. He had no idea where she was now.
The fact that he was chasing after her was not lost on him. He’d done the same thing over two years ago, when he’d fled his own high school graduation to try to get her to stay . . . but she’d just left. Left him. Left town.
She was in this town now. He knew he hadn’t been seeing things.
Only once he got to Plaza Verde did he finally stop running. A crew of guys he didn’t know were playing a game of Frisbee like he and Fly always played. He dropped his backpack on the grass and flopped down beside it disappointedly, catching his breath as he just sat there, hoping she’d walk on by again. Knowing she probably wouldn’t.
And that was probably for the best.
TBC . . .
-April
LOVE IS MICHAEL AND MARIA.
Re: Somewhere, Anywhere (M&M, CC/UC, AU, Adult) Part 8, 02/06/16
FINALLY! I was wondering how much longer it would take for Maria to make her official entrance...part 10? 20?! I love how you wrote that scene though -- I could picture the entire thing!
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sarammlover
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Re: Somewhere, Anywhere (M&M, CC/UC, AU, Adult) Part 8, 02/06/16
AHHHH Maria! She's there! And Michael completely went gaga over it! WHOA! I hope he doesn't become too obsessed finding her!!! And Isabel...maybe she is finally starting to see the light?? Maybe? Poor Tina. I am still trying to wrap my head around that one!
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April
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Part 9
fadedblue:
Sara:
Thanks for reading and leaving feedback!
Part 9
His brain . . . it couldn’t concentrate. Just like old times, he thought bitterly as he dazed off while Professor Barnaby discussed . . . something with the class. Something he’d read about over the weekend but still needed to rehash before the next quiz. Something he probably should have been paying attention to. But he couldn’t.
He kept picturing it over and over again in his mind: seeing her, thinking it couldn’t possibly be her but knowing it was. He’d never felt so fucking floored in his life.
“Michael?”
He looked up, momentarily snapping himself out of his stupor. His professor was staring at him expectantly.
“Do you know the answer?”
He didn’t. For the first time since he’d started college, he actually felt like that same idiot he’d been in all his high school classrooms, the kid who hadn’t even known the question. “No,” he replied.
Professor Barnaby wrinkled his face in surprise, but he didn’t linger too long. “How about someone over here?” he said, scanning the left side of the lecture hall. “Anyone?”
No one knew the answer. Either that or no one felt like raising their hands.
The day was long, and Michael spent the majority of it not focusing. He spaced out during his other classes, he spaced out at work, and he spaced out on calling his mom when he got home. He did remember to make the macaroni and cheese he’d promised Sarah would be waiting for her when she got home, though. Except he hadn’t been paying attention, and he’d accidentally added too much milk, so it was more like macaroni and cheese soup, but . . . oh, well. It still tasted good enough.
It was starting to thicken up by the time Sarah got home, but it was also still cooling off. She didn’t act disappointed that it was a failure of a dinner; instead, she just told him it looked good and started setting out plates for the two of them at the table.
“Sorry, I messed it up,” he apologized again, standing before the stove, stirring it halfheartedly.
“No, it’ll be fine,” she assured him, pouring herself a glass of milk. She held up the half empty carton, giving him a look to ask if he wanted some, and he shook his head. He wasn’t a big milk drinker. Besides, he’d get enough of it in this fucking macaroni . . .
“You okay?” she asked him, brushing past him to put the milk back in the fridge.
“Yeah,” he replied. “It was just a long day.”
“Tell me about it,” she groaned. “My study session was endless. Ivy—the girl I was helping—she has, like, no clue what chemistry even is. She should not be in the class.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. At one point, she even had to ask me what asymmetric induction was. Can you believe that?”
“No,” he played along. “Everyone knows that.” Hell if he knew.
“Exactly.” She leaned against the refrigerator, giving him a look. “Oh, whatever, don’t act like you know what that means.”
“Well, you don’t know what dromophobia means,” he countered.
“Fear of crossing streets. You told me once.”
“Oh.” He scratched his eyebrow. “Damn.” If he kept telling her what all these different kinds of phobias were, he was going to have no leverage over her academically. Except his GPA. Although, if he kept having distracted days in the classroom like this one, she’d probably surpass him soon enough.
It was distracting him even now, and he hated that. He just wanted to be there with her, and for the night to be normal. But that dull ache in his back kept reminding him that it wasn’t. The adrenaline had worn off, and he was sore. And tired. And not sure what to tell her about everything that had happened to him today.
“Hey, speaking of . . . dromophobia,” he segued awkwardly, “. . . I might actually have that now.”
“Okay,” she said, laughing as she took the spoon from him and started stirring the runny noodles. “Why?”
“Well, I kinda . . . got hit by a car today.”
She made a face. “What?”
“Yeah.”
“You did not.”
He’d show her the bruises on his knees and back if he had to, but that would probably freak her out. “I actually did,” he said calmly. “I just wasn’t looking where I was going and . . .”
Her eyes widened in horror, and her mouth slowly dropped open in shock. “Oh . . . my god,” she breathed, dropping the spoon back into the bowl. “Are you serious?”
“Yeah.”
She was immediately holding his shoulders, touching him as if to make sure he was okay. “You got hit by a car?”
“Yeah, this morning, on my way to class.”
She started feeling his chest and stomach, and he wasn’t sure why. Wasn’t like he had any broken ribs or anything. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine. I just rolled up on the hood and--”
“You rolled up on the hood?”
Hmm. Maybe he shouldn’t have told her that. “Yeah, and then I just rolled right back off again.” It sounded a lot worse than it really had been.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” she pressed, lifting up his shirt a bit. She gasped when she saw the bruises on his side. They had been red at first. Now they were more of a purple. “I need to take you to the doctor,” she said. “You’re hurt.”
“No, I’m just sore,” he insisted. “I’m not hurt. Promise.”
“What if you are hurt?” She stroked his bruised flesh gently, concerned. She was trying to blink them back, but he saw tears in her gorgeous eyes.
“I’m fine.” He lifted her hand in his, squeezing it reassuringly. “Hey . . . it wasn’t a big deal.”
“You got hit by a car, Michael. Of course it was a big deal. I mean, what were you even doing that made you so distracted?”
He tensed for a second, flashing back to the same image that had clouded his mind all day. Maria DeLuca casually strolling across his college campus, not noticing him but somehow making it impossible for him to not notice her. “iPod,” he blurted, remembering how she’d been so entranced with that, so absorbed that she probably hadn’t even heard the car crash. “I was messing with my iPod, and . . .”
“Oh god, Michael . . .” She cringed. “You have to be more careful than that.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
“I’m just glad you’re okay.” She slipped her arms around his torso and hugged him, resting her head against his chest. “It could’ve been really bad.”
He stroked her hair and traced his hands up and down her spine, mumbling, “Yeah, it could’ve,” in agreement. He felt bad for not telling her everything, but he didn’t want to make her feel even worse. He’d already given her enough reason to be worried about him; there was no need to multiply it.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Kyle was struggling. But then again, that wasn’t anything new. Even though he was slowing down and looked exhausted, he kept walking, though. He seemed too blown away by the news Michael had just shared with him to care about going back home.
“Pretty hard to believe, right?” Michael said, walking backwards in front of Kyle, guiding him onto the bleachers.
“Uh, yeah, I’d say so.” Kyle shook his head in dismay. “I can’t believe she’s pregnant. Remember when she used to have a crush on me?”
“Yeah.” Michael smiled, remembering the way Tina used to get all excited whenever Kyle would come over. She used to try on five different outfits to try to impress him. He wished she still had a crush on Kyle, or anyone, really. Just a crush. Not a sex life.
“You think she’s gonna be okay?” Kyle asked.
“I have no idea,” he admitted, still hoping that she’d come to her senses and give the baby up for adoption. But she probably wouldn’t. She was way too young and naïve.
“I bet you wanted to kill her boyfriend,” Kyle said, hesitantly glancing out at the practice field as they rounded the side of the bleachers and started in towards the stands.
“I just about did.”
“He’s in high school?”
“Ninth grade.” Michael rolled his eyes. Wasn’t like Nicholas was any more prepared to have a baby than Tina was. And given the fact that guys matured more slowly than girls did, he was probably even less prepared. That wasn’t exactly a comforting thought.
“Crazy,” Kyle summarized. “I never would’ve imagined . . .”
“I know.” A lot of things had happened in the past few years that he never would have imagined, some of them good, some of them bad. This was one of the bad ones, one of the unexpected ones, just like Kyle’s career-ending injury had been.
All of a sudden, Kyle stopped, as if he refused to go any further, and he just sat down on the bottom bleacher, staring out at the football field. The Aggies team was just heading out onto the field for practice. “Did we have to come here?” he complained.
“Yep.” He had to confront all of this; he couldn’t just hide from it forever. American culture was saturated in football. He needed to be able to see it and maybe even enjoy it without feeling like shit.
“You know, you could be out there,” Kyle pointed out. “I bet you’re better than all their receivers.”
Michael shrugged. “Maybe.” It didn’t matter, though. He wasn’t playing football without Kyle. He didn’t want to.
“I’m never gonna play football again,” Kyle mumbled sadly. “Now Tina’s never gonna . . . be a kid again.”
I don’t think she’s been a kid for a long time, Michael thought. That depressed the hell out of him.
“Do you think she’ll graduate?” Kyle asked.
“I don’t know.” He wanted to hope for the best, but it was so damn hard.
“Maria didn’t,” Kyle pointed out.
Michael tensed. He lowered his head, trying not to think about yesterday. All day, he’d been trying to put it out of his mind, put her out of his mind and just forget that he’d ever seen her, maybe even convince himself it hadn’t been her at all. But all Kyle had to do was say her name, and it all came rushing back.
“Hey, so speaking of . . .” He trailed off, his lips poised on the M sound. But he didn’t say her name, because when he looked at Kyle, he saw that he was completely fixated on the team out there on the field. His body didn’t move, but his mind was clearly racing. Flooding with memories, regrets, dreams that would never come true now.
“Kyle?”
Even then, it took Kyle a good three or four seconds to break out of his trance and return his attention to Michael. “Sorry,” he said. “What were you sayin’?”
Shit, I can’t talk to him about this, Michael thought. There had been a day when Kyle had been his closest confidante, when he could have told him anything. But things were different now. Kyle was no longer that person in his life who could listen to every single issue he had and tell him how to solve it. He had his own problems to deal with.
“Nothin’,” Michael replied dismissively. “It’s not important.” It was, but . . . oh, well. He wasn’t a kid anymore. He could figure things out himself.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
It was raining. Hard. The kind of weather where you just wanted to stay inside, curl up in bed with your girlfriend, and sleep. Kiss a while. Sleep some more. Screw, maybe.
Michael was plenty tired, but he sure as hell wasn’t curled up with Sarah. Even after his only class of the day was done, he stayed out, never venturing too far from the spot where he’d seen Maria yesterday. There was a bus stop on that sidewalk, so he sat there, sheltered from the rain while he watched people walk by.
He knew it was a long shot that she’d walk by again, but that didn’t deter him from watching. Intently. Every time he saw a girl with blonde hair, he peered a little closer. But it was never her.
That’s okay, he told himself. That’s good, actually.
He wasn’t sure how long he sat there. Probably too long. But when he finally saw a bus slowly coming down the street, splashing the rain water collecting in the street all over the sidewalks, he got up, swung his backpack over his shoulders, and walked away. It was time to go home. Back to his apartment. The good life.
The rain continued into the evening and started to morph into a full-fledged storm. Sarah closed all the blinds and curtains because bad weather made her nervous. She cuddled with him on the couch and watched TV, her head on his shoulder, hands on his arm. Every time there was thunder, she scooted in a little closer.
“I hate storms,” she grumbled.
“It’s just rain,” he reminded her.
“And lightning.”
“So?”
“It’s electricity shooting down from the sky. I don’t like it.”
He smiled, freeing his arm from her worried grasp so that he could wrap it around her shoulders and pull her against his side. “Nothing to be afraid of,” he assured her, kissing her forehead.
“I know,” she mumbled. “I just wish there was something good on TV to distract me from it.”
Well, she was out of luck there. A hundred and fifty channels, and not one of them was showing anything remotely fucking decent.
“Or . . .” She tilted her head back to gaze up at him. “Maybe my boyfriend could distract me.”
He was so out of it, he didn’t even realize what she was suggesting at first. But it wasn’t like she was being subtle or anything. “Oh. Sex?”
“Yeah. Or are you too tired?”
“I’m tired,” he admitted. “I’m not too tired.”
“No?” She pushed herself up straighter and swung her leg over his lap, straddling him. She put her hands on his hips and swung her head to the side so all her hair spilled over one shoulder. “You’ve been awfully quiet tonight,” she remarked, bending forward to kiss the side of his neck.
He threaded one hand through her hair, squeezing her backside with his free one. “I’ve been thinking.”
“About what?” she asked, lips against his ear.
There was no way he could tell her he’d spent an hour today sitting at a bus stop, waiting for his ex-girlfriend to walk by. No possible way. “It’s nothing,” he dismissed.
“No, I can tell your mind’s just racing,” she said, sitting back a bit, looping her arms over his shoulders. “You can’t stop thinking about her, can you?”
He tensed momentarily. “What?” Was he that obvious? Or did she just know him that well? Crap.
“Tina,” she then clarified, much to his relief. “She’s on your mind.”
He breathed an internal sigh of relief. “Yeah.” She was, in truth, and up until yesterday, she’d been about the only thing on his mind. But now . . .
“I know you’re worried about her,” she said. “I am, too.”
“I’m really worried.” For her, it was storms she didn’t like. For him, it was . . . all this other shit, which, in its own metaphorical way, was quite stormy.
“Maybe I should . . . clear your mind,” she proposed, moving her hips against his suggestively.
Outside, even with the blinds closed, he saw a flash of lightning, followed shortly thereafter by a roar of thunder. She shuddered, grabbing onto his shirt, pulling him closer.
“Maybe you should,” he agreed, sliding his hands up her back to slip underneath her shirt and smooth over her spine. If there was one thing that could make him forget about everything else, surely it was being with her.
He lay on top of her, buried deep inside her that evening while the rain continued to pour outside. She held onto his shoulders and wrapped her legs around him as he rolled his hips forward at a steady pace. He kissed her and made love to her as insistently as he could, and even though his mind wasn’t completely cleared, when he was with her like this, it wasn’t so stormy anymore.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Even as the pleasure of sleep started to wear off come morning, Michael didn’t open his eyes. He didn’t want to. He just wanted to lie there with his girlfriend and waste time in bed all day, the way they had back in their early days as a couple. Those had been some of the most stress-free, relaxing days of his life.
****
Sarah’s laugh was contagious. Whenever Michael heard it, it made him laugh, too. It didn’t even matter if anything was funny or not. He just liked seeing that happy look on her face.
“Okay, favorite ice cream flavor,” she prompted, curling up against his side. They were once again crammed onto that tiny twin bed of hers. Thank God honors housing had private bedrooms, because his crappy dorm room had a crappy roommate to go along with it, and there was no way to get any privacy there.
“Pistachio,” he answered without hesitation.
She made a face of disgust. “Ew, why?”
“Why not? It’s good.”
“No, it’s not,” she argued. “Chocolate’s better.”
“Chocolate’s boring,” he claimed. “I’m not boring.”
“Hey now, chocolate’s my favorite flavor.”
He tightened his arm around her waist, pulling her in closer. “I can forgive you for that. You’re not boring, either.”
“Gee, thanks.” She drummed her fingers atop his chest, rubbing her legs against his beneath the sheets leisurely.
“Favorite movie?” he asked.
“Oh, god. You’re gonna think I’m such a girl,” she cautioned.
“I already know you’re a girl,” he assured her. “I’ve seen your girl parts.”
She cringed, then revealed, “The Notebook.”
“Ugh.” It was way too early on in the relationship to confess to her that that movie made him cry like a damn baby every time he saw it, so for now, he had to act like he hated it.
“Not a fan?” she assumed.
“No, I’m more of a Rambo or Rocky kind of guy. Pretty much anything with Sylvester Stallone in it.”
“One of the great actors of our time,” she quipped sarcastically.
“He’s pretty good.” It really didn’t matter if you couldn’t understand half the words he was saying. The guy was intense enough to get the point across. Plus, the characters he portrayed could always kick some major ass.
“You know, most people probably have these conversations before they start sleeping together,” she pointed out, tracing lazy circles on his chest now.
“Well, we’re not most people.” Truth be told, there were dozens of girls in the chronicles of his sexual history whose names he couldn’t even remember, so a conversation at any point in the relationship was an accomplishment.
“Okay, I got another one,” he announced, smirking. “Favorite sexual position.”
“Uh, no fair!” she yelped, rolling over onto her back again. “I’ve only tried, like, five of them.”
“Ah, we hit the major ones.” Surely he’d given her enough experience this past week to choose one of them.
She sighed, pondering it. “Oh, I don’t know. You’re pretty good at all of ‘em.”
“I know.” No need to be modest. He had skills.
“I guess I kinda like it best when you’re on top, though,” she revealed. “ ‘cause then all I have to do is lay there.”
“On top, huh? Like this?” Grinning, he pushed himself up onto his forearms and swung his leg over her, enveloping her smaller body with his.
“Mmm, just like that,” she purred, rubbing his sides. Already it seemed like it was just instinct for her to spread her legs wider so that he could settle in between them.
He just watched her for a moment, appreciating the way the corners of her mouth turned upward into a smile, the way her eyes gleamed, the way her hair fanned out behind her on the pillowcase. How had he gotten so lucky to meet this girl? She was amazing, and being with her . . . it was helping him. He hadn’t felt so sad lately. It was as if nothing, not even his dad’s death, could depress him right now, because she was just so excited about being with him.
Suddenly, her expression became serious, and she shocked the hell out of him when she blurted out, “I love you, Michael.”
His brain shut off for a moment. When it clicked back on again, all he could say was, “What?”
“I’m sorry,” she apologized quickly. “I don’t mean to freak you out. Maybe it’s too soon to say it, but . . . I feel it.” She smiled hopefully and repeated herself. “I love you.”
He stared down at her in amazement. So brave, he thought. She was so brave and so honest. It had been so long since anyone who wasn’t a friend or family member had said that to him; he’d almost forgotten how good it felt to hear it.
“I love you, too,” he replied, surprising even himself when he managed to say the words. But how could he not love her? Sure, he’d only known her for a few weeks, but he knew she was kind and smart and beautiful. And she wasn’t going anywhere.
He cupped her cheek and kissed her deeply to further express the truth of his words. She giggled again, but this time, the giddy sound was stifled by his mouth. But even though he couldn’t hear it this time, he felt it. He felt it in every touch, every breath she took. He felt how happy she was when she was with him. Here was this incredible girl . . . and he made her happy.
She made him happy, too.
****
Michael forced his eyes open, because he knew he had to get up. He had class at 9:15. Social Psychology with Professor Barnaby. His favorite.
It wasn’t hard to motivate himself to go to that class; it was hard, however, to motivate himself to leave that bed. Sarah was curled up beside him, sleeping a little later than she usually did, even though it was her day off. Her body was warm and the blankets were warm, and he didn’t want to move.
But he did. He got up, showered, ate a quick bacon, egg, and cheese Hot Pocket for breakfast, and kissed his girlfriend’s cheek before he left for class.
“I love you,” he whispered, eliciting a content murmur from her. It had been almost two years now, and that feeling hadn’t changed. It hadn’t changed at all.
Outside, the ground was still wet, and the storm from last night hadn’t quite passed yet. The sky was still cloudy, and it was lightly misting. Michael took his sweet time on his trek, paying more attention than usual to everyone who passed him by. Nobody stood out.
Monk was coming out of the engineering building, looking frazzled when Michael passed by. Or as frazzled as Monk could possibly look. The guy had zero facial expressions.
“What’s wrong?” Michael asked him.
“I think I flunked my research assignment,” Monk relayed in his usual even tone. “I finished it at last minute last night because I was up until 3:00 chatting online.”
“Oh, no.” Michael cringed. “Big Cedar again?”
“No, Big Cedar’s cousin. Little Redwood.”
“Little Redwood.” Michael nodded skeptically. “Is she actually a girl this time?”
Monk shrugged flippantly. “Who the hell knows? I’ll take my chances. Actually, she was really . . .”
Michael tried to listen to his friend, but his attention totally diverted when he looked across the street. He caught sight of her instantly. Her.
There she was again, Maria DeLuca. She was even closer this time, but just like last time, she was completely oblivious to him. She was talking on her cell phone this time. She had sunglasses on again. Her hair was blowing all around her in the breeze.
Holy shit, he thought, immediately fixated on her. How was this happening again? How was it that he just happened to be walking across campus at the exact same time as her? Why was she on campus anyway? Where was she going?
“Anyway,” Monk was saying, “if she’s a dude, I might just try it once and see if I like it.”
“Yeah, that’s great,” Michael said, not really paying attention. “Hey, listen, man, I gotta go.”
“Alright. See ya later.”
Michael stepped down off the sidewalk, making sure to look both ways this time before darting across the street. He stayed a good distance behind Maria, not far enough to let her out of his sight, but far enough that she wouldn’t notice him following her.
God, he was following her? Great, now he was a stalker.
She definitely wasn’t just out for a leisurely stroll. She actually seemed like she was in a hurry, and it was even hard for him to keep up with her. He lost her for a few seconds in a crowd of people near one of the parking lots, but he spotted her again, heading back towards the buildings he never ventured into because it was for all the fine arts crap. He almost lost sight of her for a moment, but then he spotted that wave of blonde hair gliding into Lecuona Hall. He ran towards the building and hurried up the front steps, not willing to lose track of her now. He got inside just in time to see her walking up some steps at the end of a long hallway. He hustled forward and went up after her.
At the top of the stairs, there were two different lecture halls on either side. He chanced it with the lecture hall on the right and headed on in, making sure to keep his head down and walk behind a few other people so he wouldn’t be seen. As it turned out, that wouldn’t be a problem. It was a big lecture hall, bigger than the one he sat in for Social Psychology. There was a balcony at the top with a staircase that wound down to theater style seats.
Michael carefully glanced over the all the students who were finding their seats as he found his way to his own. He was starting to think she’d gone into the other lecture hall when he saw her up at the front, putting her cell phone back in her purse as she sat down. He quickly plopped down in the back row, purposefully sitting behind a really big guy. Big in terms of height and width. Sort of like Bubba from high school, only he was actually managing to keep his eyes open for class.
What the fucking hell am I doing here? he wondered, slouching down in his seat to be as hidden as possible. This wasn’t right. It wasn’t normal. Two years ago, it wouldn’t have been such a big deal, but now it was, because he’d gotten used to being right and being normal and he didn’t want to screw it up.
But still . . . he couldn’t force himself to leave that lecture hall.
By the time the professor strolled in, it was too late. He would have drawn more attention to himself if he tried to leave. So he just sat there, sneaking a peek at Maria here and there, while the professor told them all about a concert he had attended last night, then proceeded to play some orchestral piano piece off his iPhone and a small speaker. “Sit back and listen,” the professor said, closing his eyes. “Enjoy. Appreciate.” He motioned for his TA to turn down the lights, and that was exactly what happened. It got dark in the lecture hall, and there was just the music, and about a hundred students scattered around the room, some of them yawning, others closing their eyes and swaying back and forth to the music just like this hippie of a professor was.
Completely unused to this kind of class, Michael leaned forward and tapped the big guy in front of him on the shoulder. “Hey,” he whispered. “What class is this?”
The big guy gave him a confused look, like he couldn’t understand how a guy could be sitting in a class and have no idea what class it was. Made sense. “Music Appreciation,” he replied quietly.
“Right.” Of course Maria would be taking this kind of class. Of course.
Michael sat back in his chair and smiled, appreciating the music, as sappy and lethargic as it was. He didn’t close his eyes, but when he peered around the sequoia tree of a man in front of him, he noticed that Maria DeLuca’s eyes were shut, and she was soaking it all in.
He didn’t even notice when the song stopped playing.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Luckily Michael had already made a good impression on his cooperating counselor, because his second impression wasn’t going to be so good. He showed up to Pound Elementary around lunchtime, half an hour later than he was scheduled to be there. Music Appreciation class had gone a little long, longer than his Social Psychology class normally lasted. And he’d had to stop by Professor Barnaby’s office after to see if there was anything he’d missed that day.
“Hi, Ms. Whitaker,” he greeted as he slipped into her office. Remembering that she preferred he call her by her first name like any other colleague, he corrected himself. “Vanessa. Sorry.”
She was sorting through her filing cabinet, and she barely glanced up to look at him. When she did, she didn’t look happy. “You’re late.”
“Yeah,” he admitted sheepishly. “Sorry about that. My class ran a little late, and there was traffic . . .” He knew it sounded like he was making excuses—which he was—so he just stopped and apologized again. “I’m sorry.”
She shut her cabinet and dropped a few file folders onto her desk. “I expect more, Michael,” she informed him sternly. “I’m going out on a limb with you here, based on Brody’s recommendation and the fact that you seem like a really nice, driven young man.”
He chuckled inwardly. Nice and driven. Two words that hadn’t ever applied to him until he’d started college.
“But it was never in my plan to sponsor a practicum student this semester,” she informed him. “It’s a lot of work for both of us. Now if you’re willing to put in that work . . .”
“I am,” he promised. “It won’t happen again, I promise.”
“Good,” she said, “because I run a tight ship. I take my job seriously, and I don’t have time for excuses. Understood?”
He nodded, feeling a bit intimidated by this woman. But . . . it was a respect thing, too. He had respect for her, because she was clearly good at her job. He wanted to learn from the best.
“Okay,” she said, letting it go. “Do you want to see what we’ve got on the agenda for the afternoon?”
“Yeah, sure.”
She picked up her planner and showed him the long list of events and to-do tasks she had jotted down there. “After lunch, we’ve got a webinar with other counselors in the district. Then at 1:00 we’re gonna try to pull Rudy Moretz out of his art class to have a little hygiene talk. At 1:30 we have an IEP meeting. Are you familiar with what an IEP is?”
“Individualized Education Program,” he recited. “It’s what kids who qualify for special education services have.”
“Very good,” she said. “So we’ll have one of those. I’ll just have you sit in on that. Of course everything that’s said there is confidential. And then at 2:30, we’re meeting with the middle school counselor to discuss changing the homeroom curriculum. That should get done by 3:00, so then whatever small amount of time we have leftover, we need to start working on the Circle of Friends.”
He made a face. “Circle of Friends?”
“For some of our students with autism or other severe disabilities,” she explained. “We enlist a group of students to be their ‘circle of friends,’ and those students help them out with things. We have to find students who are kindhearted, compassionate, good leaders. And being smart never hurts.”
“Huh. Sounds cool.” Sounded like something he never would have been invited to be a part of, but still . . . cool for the kids who needed help interacting.
“So it’s a busy day,” she summarized, closing her planner. “Are you up for it?”
“Yeah, I am.” He’d be exhausted by the time he got home, especially since he had to work tonight, too. But it was all good.
“Alright, let’s go get some lunch then,” she suggested. “We’ve got a whole whopping ten minutes to eat it.”
“Great.” He followed her out of her office, hoping he would get to know other staff members while he was here so he didn’t just have to follow her around like a little lap dog. But for now, she was the only person in this school he knew.
Or maybe not.
He stopped at the entrance to the main office when he saw two little boys running over from the cafeteria. One of them looked like he was about to throw up. The other, the blonde one, was helping him get to the office in time.
The blonde one . . .
No way.
He knew that boy.
“Oh, okay, go back to the nurse,” Vanessa said, stepping aside.
“Dylan,” Michael whispered. He was taller now, maybe three and a half feet. His hair was a little darker shade of blonde. He was wearing a Dallas Cowboys t-shirt. It was him. He’d never forget that face.
Dylan let go of his friend and let him fend for himself when he saw Michael. His entire face lit up with excitement, and he exclaimed, “Daddy!” He immediately swooped in and wrapped his arms around Michael’s legs, hugging him.
Oh my god, he thought, too stunned to hug him back or say anything. Was this really happening? Two years . . . it had been two years—more than that, even—and Dylan still remembered him. Instantly. He actually felt tears sting his eyes.
“Oops,” Dylan said, pulling away unsurely. “I mean . . . Micho!”
Michael just looked down at the little boy in astonishment. He’d never thought he would hear his name pronounced that way ever again. For a long time, he’d hoped beyond hope for it.
Vanessa looked at the two of them, confused, and then spoke to Dylan. “It was nice of you to help your friend to the office,” she said, “but the nurse will take care of him now. You go back to lunch, okay?”
No, don’t go, Michael wanted to say. But his mouth felt dry.
“Go back to lunch,” Vanessa urged again.
Dylan frowned, his shoulders slumping. “Okay,” he said. “Bye, Micho!” He waved and scampered off, nearly tripping over his own feet on his way back to a lunch table swarming with all sorts of other boys his age, boys who were too busy comparing the covers of their lunch boxes to eat the actual food inside.
Dylan . . . He felt a knot in his stomach as he tried to tear his eyes away. It didn’t matter how much time had passed. He looked at that kid, and all the memories came rushing back. All the fatherly feelings, too, the instinct to feel that that wasn’t just any little boy out there, but that it was his little boy.
“Do you know Dylan?” Vanessa asked him.
Oh, if she had any idea what she was asking, she never would have asked it. Still . . . it was his first real day there, and he’d already made one mistake by being late. He wasn’t about to unload his unconventional past on her right then and there. “No,” he lied. It would be easier if he was just a counselor and Dylan was just a student. Nothing more.
Even as he was thinking it, though, he knew it wasn’t possible. He felt like his past and his present were colliding, and he had no idea how to stop it. Or if he even wanted to.
TBC . . .
-April
Thank you! I really enjoyed writing that scene, though there was certainly some pressure for it to be good!FINALLY! I was wondering how much longer it would take for Maria to make her official entrance...part 10? 20?! I love how you wrote that scene though -- I could picture the entire thing!
Sara:
Yeah, he got hit by a car and everything, so he was pretty damn captivated.AHHHH Maria! She's there! And Michael completely went gaga over it! WHOA!
Well . . . he's not really going to be able to get her off his mind now. But he should try to.I hope he doesn't become too obsessed finding her!!!
Thanks for reading and leaving feedback!
Part 9
His brain . . . it couldn’t concentrate. Just like old times, he thought bitterly as he dazed off while Professor Barnaby discussed . . . something with the class. Something he’d read about over the weekend but still needed to rehash before the next quiz. Something he probably should have been paying attention to. But he couldn’t.
He kept picturing it over and over again in his mind: seeing her, thinking it couldn’t possibly be her but knowing it was. He’d never felt so fucking floored in his life.
“Michael?”
He looked up, momentarily snapping himself out of his stupor. His professor was staring at him expectantly.
“Do you know the answer?”
He didn’t. For the first time since he’d started college, he actually felt like that same idiot he’d been in all his high school classrooms, the kid who hadn’t even known the question. “No,” he replied.
Professor Barnaby wrinkled his face in surprise, but he didn’t linger too long. “How about someone over here?” he said, scanning the left side of the lecture hall. “Anyone?”
No one knew the answer. Either that or no one felt like raising their hands.
The day was long, and Michael spent the majority of it not focusing. He spaced out during his other classes, he spaced out at work, and he spaced out on calling his mom when he got home. He did remember to make the macaroni and cheese he’d promised Sarah would be waiting for her when she got home, though. Except he hadn’t been paying attention, and he’d accidentally added too much milk, so it was more like macaroni and cheese soup, but . . . oh, well. It still tasted good enough.
It was starting to thicken up by the time Sarah got home, but it was also still cooling off. She didn’t act disappointed that it was a failure of a dinner; instead, she just told him it looked good and started setting out plates for the two of them at the table.
“Sorry, I messed it up,” he apologized again, standing before the stove, stirring it halfheartedly.
“No, it’ll be fine,” she assured him, pouring herself a glass of milk. She held up the half empty carton, giving him a look to ask if he wanted some, and he shook his head. He wasn’t a big milk drinker. Besides, he’d get enough of it in this fucking macaroni . . .
“You okay?” she asked him, brushing past him to put the milk back in the fridge.
“Yeah,” he replied. “It was just a long day.”
“Tell me about it,” she groaned. “My study session was endless. Ivy—the girl I was helping—she has, like, no clue what chemistry even is. She should not be in the class.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. At one point, she even had to ask me what asymmetric induction was. Can you believe that?”
“No,” he played along. “Everyone knows that.” Hell if he knew.
“Exactly.” She leaned against the refrigerator, giving him a look. “Oh, whatever, don’t act like you know what that means.”
“Well, you don’t know what dromophobia means,” he countered.
“Fear of crossing streets. You told me once.”
“Oh.” He scratched his eyebrow. “Damn.” If he kept telling her what all these different kinds of phobias were, he was going to have no leverage over her academically. Except his GPA. Although, if he kept having distracted days in the classroom like this one, she’d probably surpass him soon enough.
It was distracting him even now, and he hated that. He just wanted to be there with her, and for the night to be normal. But that dull ache in his back kept reminding him that it wasn’t. The adrenaline had worn off, and he was sore. And tired. And not sure what to tell her about everything that had happened to him today.
“Hey, speaking of . . . dromophobia,” he segued awkwardly, “. . . I might actually have that now.”
“Okay,” she said, laughing as she took the spoon from him and started stirring the runny noodles. “Why?”
“Well, I kinda . . . got hit by a car today.”
She made a face. “What?”
“Yeah.”
“You did not.”
He’d show her the bruises on his knees and back if he had to, but that would probably freak her out. “I actually did,” he said calmly. “I just wasn’t looking where I was going and . . .”
Her eyes widened in horror, and her mouth slowly dropped open in shock. “Oh . . . my god,” she breathed, dropping the spoon back into the bowl. “Are you serious?”
“Yeah.”
She was immediately holding his shoulders, touching him as if to make sure he was okay. “You got hit by a car?”
“Yeah, this morning, on my way to class.”
She started feeling his chest and stomach, and he wasn’t sure why. Wasn’t like he had any broken ribs or anything. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine. I just rolled up on the hood and--”
“You rolled up on the hood?”
Hmm. Maybe he shouldn’t have told her that. “Yeah, and then I just rolled right back off again.” It sounded a lot worse than it really had been.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” she pressed, lifting up his shirt a bit. She gasped when she saw the bruises on his side. They had been red at first. Now they were more of a purple. “I need to take you to the doctor,” she said. “You’re hurt.”
“No, I’m just sore,” he insisted. “I’m not hurt. Promise.”
“What if you are hurt?” She stroked his bruised flesh gently, concerned. She was trying to blink them back, but he saw tears in her gorgeous eyes.
“I’m fine.” He lifted her hand in his, squeezing it reassuringly. “Hey . . . it wasn’t a big deal.”
“You got hit by a car, Michael. Of course it was a big deal. I mean, what were you even doing that made you so distracted?”
He tensed for a second, flashing back to the same image that had clouded his mind all day. Maria DeLuca casually strolling across his college campus, not noticing him but somehow making it impossible for him to not notice her. “iPod,” he blurted, remembering how she’d been so entranced with that, so absorbed that she probably hadn’t even heard the car crash. “I was messing with my iPod, and . . .”
“Oh god, Michael . . .” She cringed. “You have to be more careful than that.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
“I’m just glad you’re okay.” She slipped her arms around his torso and hugged him, resting her head against his chest. “It could’ve been really bad.”
He stroked her hair and traced his hands up and down her spine, mumbling, “Yeah, it could’ve,” in agreement. He felt bad for not telling her everything, but he didn’t want to make her feel even worse. He’d already given her enough reason to be worried about him; there was no need to multiply it.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Kyle was struggling. But then again, that wasn’t anything new. Even though he was slowing down and looked exhausted, he kept walking, though. He seemed too blown away by the news Michael had just shared with him to care about going back home.
“Pretty hard to believe, right?” Michael said, walking backwards in front of Kyle, guiding him onto the bleachers.
“Uh, yeah, I’d say so.” Kyle shook his head in dismay. “I can’t believe she’s pregnant. Remember when she used to have a crush on me?”
“Yeah.” Michael smiled, remembering the way Tina used to get all excited whenever Kyle would come over. She used to try on five different outfits to try to impress him. He wished she still had a crush on Kyle, or anyone, really. Just a crush. Not a sex life.
“You think she’s gonna be okay?” Kyle asked.
“I have no idea,” he admitted, still hoping that she’d come to her senses and give the baby up for adoption. But she probably wouldn’t. She was way too young and naïve.
“I bet you wanted to kill her boyfriend,” Kyle said, hesitantly glancing out at the practice field as they rounded the side of the bleachers and started in towards the stands.
“I just about did.”
“He’s in high school?”
“Ninth grade.” Michael rolled his eyes. Wasn’t like Nicholas was any more prepared to have a baby than Tina was. And given the fact that guys matured more slowly than girls did, he was probably even less prepared. That wasn’t exactly a comforting thought.
“Crazy,” Kyle summarized. “I never would’ve imagined . . .”
“I know.” A lot of things had happened in the past few years that he never would have imagined, some of them good, some of them bad. This was one of the bad ones, one of the unexpected ones, just like Kyle’s career-ending injury had been.
All of a sudden, Kyle stopped, as if he refused to go any further, and he just sat down on the bottom bleacher, staring out at the football field. The Aggies team was just heading out onto the field for practice. “Did we have to come here?” he complained.
“Yep.” He had to confront all of this; he couldn’t just hide from it forever. American culture was saturated in football. He needed to be able to see it and maybe even enjoy it without feeling like shit.
“You know, you could be out there,” Kyle pointed out. “I bet you’re better than all their receivers.”
Michael shrugged. “Maybe.” It didn’t matter, though. He wasn’t playing football without Kyle. He didn’t want to.
“I’m never gonna play football again,” Kyle mumbled sadly. “Now Tina’s never gonna . . . be a kid again.”
I don’t think she’s been a kid for a long time, Michael thought. That depressed the hell out of him.
“Do you think she’ll graduate?” Kyle asked.
“I don’t know.” He wanted to hope for the best, but it was so damn hard.
“Maria didn’t,” Kyle pointed out.
Michael tensed. He lowered his head, trying not to think about yesterday. All day, he’d been trying to put it out of his mind, put her out of his mind and just forget that he’d ever seen her, maybe even convince himself it hadn’t been her at all. But all Kyle had to do was say her name, and it all came rushing back.
“Hey, so speaking of . . .” He trailed off, his lips poised on the M sound. But he didn’t say her name, because when he looked at Kyle, he saw that he was completely fixated on the team out there on the field. His body didn’t move, but his mind was clearly racing. Flooding with memories, regrets, dreams that would never come true now.
“Kyle?”
Even then, it took Kyle a good three or four seconds to break out of his trance and return his attention to Michael. “Sorry,” he said. “What were you sayin’?”
Shit, I can’t talk to him about this, Michael thought. There had been a day when Kyle had been his closest confidante, when he could have told him anything. But things were different now. Kyle was no longer that person in his life who could listen to every single issue he had and tell him how to solve it. He had his own problems to deal with.
“Nothin’,” Michael replied dismissively. “It’s not important.” It was, but . . . oh, well. He wasn’t a kid anymore. He could figure things out himself.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
It was raining. Hard. The kind of weather where you just wanted to stay inside, curl up in bed with your girlfriend, and sleep. Kiss a while. Sleep some more. Screw, maybe.
Michael was plenty tired, but he sure as hell wasn’t curled up with Sarah. Even after his only class of the day was done, he stayed out, never venturing too far from the spot where he’d seen Maria yesterday. There was a bus stop on that sidewalk, so he sat there, sheltered from the rain while he watched people walk by.
He knew it was a long shot that she’d walk by again, but that didn’t deter him from watching. Intently. Every time he saw a girl with blonde hair, he peered a little closer. But it was never her.
That’s okay, he told himself. That’s good, actually.
He wasn’t sure how long he sat there. Probably too long. But when he finally saw a bus slowly coming down the street, splashing the rain water collecting in the street all over the sidewalks, he got up, swung his backpack over his shoulders, and walked away. It was time to go home. Back to his apartment. The good life.
The rain continued into the evening and started to morph into a full-fledged storm. Sarah closed all the blinds and curtains because bad weather made her nervous. She cuddled with him on the couch and watched TV, her head on his shoulder, hands on his arm. Every time there was thunder, she scooted in a little closer.
“I hate storms,” she grumbled.
“It’s just rain,” he reminded her.
“And lightning.”
“So?”
“It’s electricity shooting down from the sky. I don’t like it.”
He smiled, freeing his arm from her worried grasp so that he could wrap it around her shoulders and pull her against his side. “Nothing to be afraid of,” he assured her, kissing her forehead.
“I know,” she mumbled. “I just wish there was something good on TV to distract me from it.”
Well, she was out of luck there. A hundred and fifty channels, and not one of them was showing anything remotely fucking decent.
“Or . . .” She tilted her head back to gaze up at him. “Maybe my boyfriend could distract me.”
He was so out of it, he didn’t even realize what she was suggesting at first. But it wasn’t like she was being subtle or anything. “Oh. Sex?”
“Yeah. Or are you too tired?”
“I’m tired,” he admitted. “I’m not too tired.”
“No?” She pushed herself up straighter and swung her leg over his lap, straddling him. She put her hands on his hips and swung her head to the side so all her hair spilled over one shoulder. “You’ve been awfully quiet tonight,” she remarked, bending forward to kiss the side of his neck.
He threaded one hand through her hair, squeezing her backside with his free one. “I’ve been thinking.”
“About what?” she asked, lips against his ear.
There was no way he could tell her he’d spent an hour today sitting at a bus stop, waiting for his ex-girlfriend to walk by. No possible way. “It’s nothing,” he dismissed.
“No, I can tell your mind’s just racing,” she said, sitting back a bit, looping her arms over his shoulders. “You can’t stop thinking about her, can you?”
He tensed momentarily. “What?” Was he that obvious? Or did she just know him that well? Crap.
“Tina,” she then clarified, much to his relief. “She’s on your mind.”
He breathed an internal sigh of relief. “Yeah.” She was, in truth, and up until yesterday, she’d been about the only thing on his mind. But now . . .
“I know you’re worried about her,” she said. “I am, too.”
“I’m really worried.” For her, it was storms she didn’t like. For him, it was . . . all this other shit, which, in its own metaphorical way, was quite stormy.
“Maybe I should . . . clear your mind,” she proposed, moving her hips against his suggestively.
Outside, even with the blinds closed, he saw a flash of lightning, followed shortly thereafter by a roar of thunder. She shuddered, grabbing onto his shirt, pulling him closer.
“Maybe you should,” he agreed, sliding his hands up her back to slip underneath her shirt and smooth over her spine. If there was one thing that could make him forget about everything else, surely it was being with her.
He lay on top of her, buried deep inside her that evening while the rain continued to pour outside. She held onto his shoulders and wrapped her legs around him as he rolled his hips forward at a steady pace. He kissed her and made love to her as insistently as he could, and even though his mind wasn’t completely cleared, when he was with her like this, it wasn’t so stormy anymore.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Even as the pleasure of sleep started to wear off come morning, Michael didn’t open his eyes. He didn’t want to. He just wanted to lie there with his girlfriend and waste time in bed all day, the way they had back in their early days as a couple. Those had been some of the most stress-free, relaxing days of his life.
****
Sarah’s laugh was contagious. Whenever Michael heard it, it made him laugh, too. It didn’t even matter if anything was funny or not. He just liked seeing that happy look on her face.
“Okay, favorite ice cream flavor,” she prompted, curling up against his side. They were once again crammed onto that tiny twin bed of hers. Thank God honors housing had private bedrooms, because his crappy dorm room had a crappy roommate to go along with it, and there was no way to get any privacy there.
“Pistachio,” he answered without hesitation.
She made a face of disgust. “Ew, why?”
“Why not? It’s good.”
“No, it’s not,” she argued. “Chocolate’s better.”
“Chocolate’s boring,” he claimed. “I’m not boring.”
“Hey now, chocolate’s my favorite flavor.”
He tightened his arm around her waist, pulling her in closer. “I can forgive you for that. You’re not boring, either.”
“Gee, thanks.” She drummed her fingers atop his chest, rubbing her legs against his beneath the sheets leisurely.
“Favorite movie?” he asked.
“Oh, god. You’re gonna think I’m such a girl,” she cautioned.
“I already know you’re a girl,” he assured her. “I’ve seen your girl parts.”
She cringed, then revealed, “The Notebook.”
“Ugh.” It was way too early on in the relationship to confess to her that that movie made him cry like a damn baby every time he saw it, so for now, he had to act like he hated it.
“Not a fan?” she assumed.
“No, I’m more of a Rambo or Rocky kind of guy. Pretty much anything with Sylvester Stallone in it.”
“One of the great actors of our time,” she quipped sarcastically.
“He’s pretty good.” It really didn’t matter if you couldn’t understand half the words he was saying. The guy was intense enough to get the point across. Plus, the characters he portrayed could always kick some major ass.
“You know, most people probably have these conversations before they start sleeping together,” she pointed out, tracing lazy circles on his chest now.
“Well, we’re not most people.” Truth be told, there were dozens of girls in the chronicles of his sexual history whose names he couldn’t even remember, so a conversation at any point in the relationship was an accomplishment.
“Okay, I got another one,” he announced, smirking. “Favorite sexual position.”
“Uh, no fair!” she yelped, rolling over onto her back again. “I’ve only tried, like, five of them.”
“Ah, we hit the major ones.” Surely he’d given her enough experience this past week to choose one of them.
She sighed, pondering it. “Oh, I don’t know. You’re pretty good at all of ‘em.”
“I know.” No need to be modest. He had skills.
“I guess I kinda like it best when you’re on top, though,” she revealed. “ ‘cause then all I have to do is lay there.”
“On top, huh? Like this?” Grinning, he pushed himself up onto his forearms and swung his leg over her, enveloping her smaller body with his.
“Mmm, just like that,” she purred, rubbing his sides. Already it seemed like it was just instinct for her to spread her legs wider so that he could settle in between them.
He just watched her for a moment, appreciating the way the corners of her mouth turned upward into a smile, the way her eyes gleamed, the way her hair fanned out behind her on the pillowcase. How had he gotten so lucky to meet this girl? She was amazing, and being with her . . . it was helping him. He hadn’t felt so sad lately. It was as if nothing, not even his dad’s death, could depress him right now, because she was just so excited about being with him.
Suddenly, her expression became serious, and she shocked the hell out of him when she blurted out, “I love you, Michael.”
His brain shut off for a moment. When it clicked back on again, all he could say was, “What?”
“I’m sorry,” she apologized quickly. “I don’t mean to freak you out. Maybe it’s too soon to say it, but . . . I feel it.” She smiled hopefully and repeated herself. “I love you.”
He stared down at her in amazement. So brave, he thought. She was so brave and so honest. It had been so long since anyone who wasn’t a friend or family member had said that to him; he’d almost forgotten how good it felt to hear it.
“I love you, too,” he replied, surprising even himself when he managed to say the words. But how could he not love her? Sure, he’d only known her for a few weeks, but he knew she was kind and smart and beautiful. And she wasn’t going anywhere.
He cupped her cheek and kissed her deeply to further express the truth of his words. She giggled again, but this time, the giddy sound was stifled by his mouth. But even though he couldn’t hear it this time, he felt it. He felt it in every touch, every breath she took. He felt how happy she was when she was with him. Here was this incredible girl . . . and he made her happy.
She made him happy, too.
****
Michael forced his eyes open, because he knew he had to get up. He had class at 9:15. Social Psychology with Professor Barnaby. His favorite.
It wasn’t hard to motivate himself to go to that class; it was hard, however, to motivate himself to leave that bed. Sarah was curled up beside him, sleeping a little later than she usually did, even though it was her day off. Her body was warm and the blankets were warm, and he didn’t want to move.
But he did. He got up, showered, ate a quick bacon, egg, and cheese Hot Pocket for breakfast, and kissed his girlfriend’s cheek before he left for class.
“I love you,” he whispered, eliciting a content murmur from her. It had been almost two years now, and that feeling hadn’t changed. It hadn’t changed at all.
Outside, the ground was still wet, and the storm from last night hadn’t quite passed yet. The sky was still cloudy, and it was lightly misting. Michael took his sweet time on his trek, paying more attention than usual to everyone who passed him by. Nobody stood out.
Monk was coming out of the engineering building, looking frazzled when Michael passed by. Or as frazzled as Monk could possibly look. The guy had zero facial expressions.
“What’s wrong?” Michael asked him.
“I think I flunked my research assignment,” Monk relayed in his usual even tone. “I finished it at last minute last night because I was up until 3:00 chatting online.”
“Oh, no.” Michael cringed. “Big Cedar again?”
“No, Big Cedar’s cousin. Little Redwood.”
“Little Redwood.” Michael nodded skeptically. “Is she actually a girl this time?”
Monk shrugged flippantly. “Who the hell knows? I’ll take my chances. Actually, she was really . . .”
Michael tried to listen to his friend, but his attention totally diverted when he looked across the street. He caught sight of her instantly. Her.
There she was again, Maria DeLuca. She was even closer this time, but just like last time, she was completely oblivious to him. She was talking on her cell phone this time. She had sunglasses on again. Her hair was blowing all around her in the breeze.
Holy shit, he thought, immediately fixated on her. How was this happening again? How was it that he just happened to be walking across campus at the exact same time as her? Why was she on campus anyway? Where was she going?
“Anyway,” Monk was saying, “if she’s a dude, I might just try it once and see if I like it.”
“Yeah, that’s great,” Michael said, not really paying attention. “Hey, listen, man, I gotta go.”
“Alright. See ya later.”
Michael stepped down off the sidewalk, making sure to look both ways this time before darting across the street. He stayed a good distance behind Maria, not far enough to let her out of his sight, but far enough that she wouldn’t notice him following her.
God, he was following her? Great, now he was a stalker.
She definitely wasn’t just out for a leisurely stroll. She actually seemed like she was in a hurry, and it was even hard for him to keep up with her. He lost her for a few seconds in a crowd of people near one of the parking lots, but he spotted her again, heading back towards the buildings he never ventured into because it was for all the fine arts crap. He almost lost sight of her for a moment, but then he spotted that wave of blonde hair gliding into Lecuona Hall. He ran towards the building and hurried up the front steps, not willing to lose track of her now. He got inside just in time to see her walking up some steps at the end of a long hallway. He hustled forward and went up after her.
At the top of the stairs, there were two different lecture halls on either side. He chanced it with the lecture hall on the right and headed on in, making sure to keep his head down and walk behind a few other people so he wouldn’t be seen. As it turned out, that wouldn’t be a problem. It was a big lecture hall, bigger than the one he sat in for Social Psychology. There was a balcony at the top with a staircase that wound down to theater style seats.
Michael carefully glanced over the all the students who were finding their seats as he found his way to his own. He was starting to think she’d gone into the other lecture hall when he saw her up at the front, putting her cell phone back in her purse as she sat down. He quickly plopped down in the back row, purposefully sitting behind a really big guy. Big in terms of height and width. Sort of like Bubba from high school, only he was actually managing to keep his eyes open for class.
What the fucking hell am I doing here? he wondered, slouching down in his seat to be as hidden as possible. This wasn’t right. It wasn’t normal. Two years ago, it wouldn’t have been such a big deal, but now it was, because he’d gotten used to being right and being normal and he didn’t want to screw it up.
But still . . . he couldn’t force himself to leave that lecture hall.
By the time the professor strolled in, it was too late. He would have drawn more attention to himself if he tried to leave. So he just sat there, sneaking a peek at Maria here and there, while the professor told them all about a concert he had attended last night, then proceeded to play some orchestral piano piece off his iPhone and a small speaker. “Sit back and listen,” the professor said, closing his eyes. “Enjoy. Appreciate.” He motioned for his TA to turn down the lights, and that was exactly what happened. It got dark in the lecture hall, and there was just the music, and about a hundred students scattered around the room, some of them yawning, others closing their eyes and swaying back and forth to the music just like this hippie of a professor was.
Completely unused to this kind of class, Michael leaned forward and tapped the big guy in front of him on the shoulder. “Hey,” he whispered. “What class is this?”
The big guy gave him a confused look, like he couldn’t understand how a guy could be sitting in a class and have no idea what class it was. Made sense. “Music Appreciation,” he replied quietly.
“Right.” Of course Maria would be taking this kind of class. Of course.
Michael sat back in his chair and smiled, appreciating the music, as sappy and lethargic as it was. He didn’t close his eyes, but when he peered around the sequoia tree of a man in front of him, he noticed that Maria DeLuca’s eyes were shut, and she was soaking it all in.
He didn’t even notice when the song stopped playing.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Luckily Michael had already made a good impression on his cooperating counselor, because his second impression wasn’t going to be so good. He showed up to Pound Elementary around lunchtime, half an hour later than he was scheduled to be there. Music Appreciation class had gone a little long, longer than his Social Psychology class normally lasted. And he’d had to stop by Professor Barnaby’s office after to see if there was anything he’d missed that day.
“Hi, Ms. Whitaker,” he greeted as he slipped into her office. Remembering that she preferred he call her by her first name like any other colleague, he corrected himself. “Vanessa. Sorry.”
She was sorting through her filing cabinet, and she barely glanced up to look at him. When she did, she didn’t look happy. “You’re late.”
“Yeah,” he admitted sheepishly. “Sorry about that. My class ran a little late, and there was traffic . . .” He knew it sounded like he was making excuses—which he was—so he just stopped and apologized again. “I’m sorry.”
She shut her cabinet and dropped a few file folders onto her desk. “I expect more, Michael,” she informed him sternly. “I’m going out on a limb with you here, based on Brody’s recommendation and the fact that you seem like a really nice, driven young man.”
He chuckled inwardly. Nice and driven. Two words that hadn’t ever applied to him until he’d started college.
“But it was never in my plan to sponsor a practicum student this semester,” she informed him. “It’s a lot of work for both of us. Now if you’re willing to put in that work . . .”
“I am,” he promised. “It won’t happen again, I promise.”
“Good,” she said, “because I run a tight ship. I take my job seriously, and I don’t have time for excuses. Understood?”
He nodded, feeling a bit intimidated by this woman. But . . . it was a respect thing, too. He had respect for her, because she was clearly good at her job. He wanted to learn from the best.
“Okay,” she said, letting it go. “Do you want to see what we’ve got on the agenda for the afternoon?”
“Yeah, sure.”
She picked up her planner and showed him the long list of events and to-do tasks she had jotted down there. “After lunch, we’ve got a webinar with other counselors in the district. Then at 1:00 we’re gonna try to pull Rudy Moretz out of his art class to have a little hygiene talk. At 1:30 we have an IEP meeting. Are you familiar with what an IEP is?”
“Individualized Education Program,” he recited. “It’s what kids who qualify for special education services have.”
“Very good,” she said. “So we’ll have one of those. I’ll just have you sit in on that. Of course everything that’s said there is confidential. And then at 2:30, we’re meeting with the middle school counselor to discuss changing the homeroom curriculum. That should get done by 3:00, so then whatever small amount of time we have leftover, we need to start working on the Circle of Friends.”
He made a face. “Circle of Friends?”
“For some of our students with autism or other severe disabilities,” she explained. “We enlist a group of students to be their ‘circle of friends,’ and those students help them out with things. We have to find students who are kindhearted, compassionate, good leaders. And being smart never hurts.”
“Huh. Sounds cool.” Sounded like something he never would have been invited to be a part of, but still . . . cool for the kids who needed help interacting.
“So it’s a busy day,” she summarized, closing her planner. “Are you up for it?”
“Yeah, I am.” He’d be exhausted by the time he got home, especially since he had to work tonight, too. But it was all good.
“Alright, let’s go get some lunch then,” she suggested. “We’ve got a whole whopping ten minutes to eat it.”
“Great.” He followed her out of her office, hoping he would get to know other staff members while he was here so he didn’t just have to follow her around like a little lap dog. But for now, she was the only person in this school he knew.
Or maybe not.
He stopped at the entrance to the main office when he saw two little boys running over from the cafeteria. One of them looked like he was about to throw up. The other, the blonde one, was helping him get to the office in time.
The blonde one . . .
No way.
He knew that boy.
“Oh, okay, go back to the nurse,” Vanessa said, stepping aside.
“Dylan,” Michael whispered. He was taller now, maybe three and a half feet. His hair was a little darker shade of blonde. He was wearing a Dallas Cowboys t-shirt. It was him. He’d never forget that face.
Dylan let go of his friend and let him fend for himself when he saw Michael. His entire face lit up with excitement, and he exclaimed, “Daddy!” He immediately swooped in and wrapped his arms around Michael’s legs, hugging him.
Oh my god, he thought, too stunned to hug him back or say anything. Was this really happening? Two years . . . it had been two years—more than that, even—and Dylan still remembered him. Instantly. He actually felt tears sting his eyes.
“Oops,” Dylan said, pulling away unsurely. “I mean . . . Micho!”
Michael just looked down at the little boy in astonishment. He’d never thought he would hear his name pronounced that way ever again. For a long time, he’d hoped beyond hope for it.
Vanessa looked at the two of them, confused, and then spoke to Dylan. “It was nice of you to help your friend to the office,” she said, “but the nurse will take care of him now. You go back to lunch, okay?”
No, don’t go, Michael wanted to say. But his mouth felt dry.
“Go back to lunch,” Vanessa urged again.
Dylan frowned, his shoulders slumping. “Okay,” he said. “Bye, Micho!” He waved and scampered off, nearly tripping over his own feet on his way back to a lunch table swarming with all sorts of other boys his age, boys who were too busy comparing the covers of their lunch boxes to eat the actual food inside.
Dylan . . . He felt a knot in his stomach as he tried to tear his eyes away. It didn’t matter how much time had passed. He looked at that kid, and all the memories came rushing back. All the fatherly feelings, too, the instinct to feel that that wasn’t just any little boy out there, but that it was his little boy.
“Do you know Dylan?” Vanessa asked him.
Oh, if she had any idea what she was asking, she never would have asked it. Still . . . it was his first real day there, and he’d already made one mistake by being late. He wasn’t about to unload his unconventional past on her right then and there. “No,” he lied. It would be easier if he was just a counselor and Dylan was just a student. Nothing more.
Even as he was thinking it, though, he knew it wasn’t possible. He felt like his past and his present were colliding, and he had no idea how to stop it. Or if he even wanted to.
TBC . . .
-April
LOVE IS MICHAEL AND MARIA.
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keepsmiling7
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Re: Somewhere, Anywhere (M&M, CC/UC, AU, Adult) Part 9, 02/13/16
great part,
Carolyn
Carolyn
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sarammlover
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Re: Somewhere, Anywhere (M&M, CC/UC, AU, Adult) Part 9, 02/13/16
April....I feel like Michael is slowly imploding. He is lying, forgetful and obsessed once again with Maria. I have a bad feeling about the next couple of parts. My heart breaks most for Sarah...she is the innocent in all of this. I worry what will happen with her.....
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April
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Part 10
Carolyn: Thanks!
Sara:
Thanks for reading!
Part 10
Isabel felt her eyes water the moment she entered her kitchen. Jesse was making himself an omelet, and of course it had a kick to it. “Wow,” she said. “That is quite a smell.”
“Yeah, I need to shower,” he mumbled.
“No. Your food.” She sauntered towards him, squinting her eyes as she neared the stove. “Jesus, how many jalapenos did you put in there?”
“Not jalapaneos,” he corrected. “Habaneros. Spicier.”
“Oh, good, ‘cause your food’s not nearly spicy enough.” She laughed, shaking her head. “What’s next, ghost pepper omelets?”
“Actually,” he said, turning off the burner, “there’s this thing called the Carolina Reaper. Spiciest pepper in the world. Makes your throat burn for, like, ten minutes.”
“Sounds appetizing,” she remarked sarcastically. Maybe his Latin blood made him have a higher tolerance for food that tasted like death, but she just couldn’t even eat half the things he cooked.
“I’m gonna try it sometime,” he vowed, lifting his omelet out of the frying pan and onto his plate. “I like my food like I like my women, you know: hot.”
“Hmm.” Surely her own hotness was at a habanero level. Maybe not this Carolina Reaper level, though, because there were still some things she refused to do.
“So how was your day?” he asked, setting his plate aside so it could cool for a moment.
“Good,” she replied. “I got my slam poetry piece back.”
He grinned. “Slam poetry.”
“I got a really good grade.” It was nice to know that she was still capable of writing something impressive.
“Can I see it?” he asked.
While she was glad that he was taking an interest, she wasn’t sure this particular poem was the best one for him to read. “Sure,” she said, hesitantly handing it over to him. Hopefully it wouldn’t make him mad.
He leaned against the counter, frowning as he read the words. She couldn’t tell whether he was upset or confused. It really wasn’t about him, specifically; just men in general.
When he got to the end of it, he look right at her and admitted, “I don’t get it.”
Now it was her turn to frown. “What?” How could he not get it? Everyone else did. It wasn’t that complex, so maybe he just wasn’t trying to understand.
“It’s good, though.” He set her poem down on the counter and circled his arms around her waist, pulling her body into his, kissing her deeply. His whole mouth tasted spicy, like he’d sampled some of the peppers before putting them into his breakfast.
She tilted her head to the side so he could kiss her neck, ignoring the way her eyes were watering again.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Alex was only halfway through the reading assignment for his educational psychology class when Leanna came out of the bedroom, saw what he was doing, and groaned. “Great, when you’re not grading, you’re reading,” she complained.
He tried to take it all in stride and didn’t get up from the couch. “I’m still a student, you know,” he pointed out. “I do have my own classes to take.”
She sat down on the back of the couch, giving him quite the view of her backside. She had on Patriots panties and a Tom Brady jersey. “I know you have your own classes,” she grumbled. “You have your own students, your own job, your own friends. Your own everything. You even have your own wife.”
Sensing that she needed some attention, he set his book aside on the coffee table, not even bothering to bookmark the page. “I do have my own wife,” he said, grabbing her hand. “Come here.”
Somehow, she managed to fall gracefully over the back of the couch and settle softly on top of him. God, she was so athletic. Sometimes when he was touching her, he felt like he should go work out just so he was physically worthy of touching her.
He put his hands on her hips and started to rub her body, but she didn’t look into it. In fact, she seemed to have a permanent unhappy expression tattooed onto her face.
“What’s wrong?” he asked. This bad mood she’d been in lately was . . . annoying, really, but he wasn’t about to tell her that. He’d try to be as sympathetic and understanding as he could be. That was what a husband was supposed to do.
“It just really concerns me that we’ve only been married for three and a half months, and already we’re going through a rough patch,” she revealed.
He made a face, not on the same wavelength. “I wouldn’t call it a rough patch.”
“Then what would you call it?”
“Just . . .” You being over-dramatic, he thought. A total girl. He had to phrase it differently, though, or it would only piss her off more. “Okay, look, the way I see it . . . we dated a year, and then we got married, and--”
“You think we’re still getting to know each other?”
“No, I think—I think we were really used to having a lot of time to spend together. But we both knew this year was gonna be hectic. Between your job and mine . . .”
“I’m not that busy with my job,” she pointed out. “It’s you, Alex. You’re the one who doesn’t have time for me.”
“I do,” he insisted, “but I have to make time for other things, too. There’s only twenty-four hours in a day.”
“Yeah, but it would be nice if more than one of them could be devoted to me.”
He sighed in frustration, not sure what he could do to make her happy. He was trying to cut back on all the time he spent on campus as much as he could, and he’d even set aside a whole weekend to spend with her. If Liz called and asked him to babysit, he was prepared to tell her he couldn’t, even though he loved spending time with Scarlet. He was really trying, and it just didn’t seem like enough for her.
“I just don’t get why I’m your last priority,” she complained.
“You’re not,” he insisted, but he couldn’t force her to believe that. She was going to have to accept that all on her own. “Look, I’m here now. With you. Just you and me.” He smoothed her shiny blonde hair back over her shoulder and stroked her cheek. “Okay?” He tried to sit up a little to kiss her lips, but she turned her head to the side at last minute, and he got her cheek instead. As usual these days.
Oh, well, he thought. Better than nothing. He’d lie there with her and hold her for a while. After she fell asleep, he’d pick up his book and start reading again, and hopefully one day soon, she’d go back to being the girl he’d married. That would be nice.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
There wasn’t much to do at the front desk of Vidorra that night, so Michael happily lost track of time talking to his boss instead of actually getting any work done. Brody seemed interested in how Michael’s first day of his practicum had gone, and he got a kick out of it when he revealed he’d shown up late.
“She’s intimidating. I was intimidated,” he admitted openly, “and I’m not intimidated by anybody.”
Brody chuckled. “She definitely takes her job seriously. And punctuality . . . she’s a stickler about that.”
“I can tell.”
“I was late for our first date,” Brody revealed. “Almost didn’t get a second one.”
“Huh.” Something told Michael Vanessa was the one who wore the pants in her and Brody’s relationship. And there was nothing wrong with that. A take-charge chick could be pretty hot sometimes.
“Anyway, don’t let her intimidate you. You’ll learn a lot from her,” Brody promised.
“Oh, yeah, I will.”
“She’s great at her job. But she’s got high expectations.”
Michael leaned back in his chair, stretching his arms above his head lazily. “Then I guess I’ll just have to rise up to meet ‘em.”
“You sure will,” Brody agreed, letting out a yawn. “Alright, well, I’m beat. Think I’m gonna turn in for the night. You good out here?”
“Yeah, swamped with work,” Michael joked sarcastically, “but . . . I’ll manage.”
Brody smiled appreciatively. “Thanks for filling in for Monk tonight. He said something about a date with . . . Little Redwood?” He made a face. “Is that a girl?”
Michael shrugged. “Possibly.”
“Sounds like a porn star.”
Again, Michael shrugged. “Possibly.” He had met her online, after all.
“Well . . .” Brody waved it off, walking around to the other side of the front desk, sneaking a piece of chocolate out of the candy dish on his way to his apartment. “How’s the dog, by the way?” he asked as he peeled off the wrapper. “You know, the one I’m completely clueless to you having.”
“Oh, he’s . . . the best,” Michael gushed, always up for bragging about his dog. “The toilet training’s a work in progress, but if anyone can do it, it’s my Shango.”
“Shango,” Brody echoed. “That’s his name?”
“Yeah.”
“What’s it mean?”
Michael wasn’t about to own up to his ignorance of where in the world the city of Shanghai was, so he lied instead. “Just . . . perfection.”
“Does it really?”
“No, but it might as well, because that’s what that dog is.”
Brody shook his head, laughing. “Goodnight,” he said, slipping into his apartment.
“Night,” Michael returned right before the door shut. He sighed and kicked his feet up on the desk, linking his hands together behind his head. He closed his eyes, hoping he might be able to nod off for at least twenty minutes of this shift, but then his phone rang.
He groaned, setting his feet down, and leaned forward to pick it up off the desk. His mom was calling. Pretty late for her. She usually went to bed shortly after 9:00. “Hey,” he answered.
“Oh, Michael . . .” She sounded upset. All it took was two words for him to gather that much. “I’m sorry to call. I just . . . I needed to hear your voice.”
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“Oh, you know . . . your pregnant thirteen year-old sister.” She tried to laugh, but it sounded more agonized than amused. “I had a really long talk with her tonight, trying to convince her to give this baby up for adoption. But she just acted like she doesn’t wanna hear it.”
“Well, she doesn’t,” Michael stated simply. “At least not right now. Maybe a couple months down the line when she’s big as a beach ball and can’t wear any of her clothes anymore and her back’s killing her . . . maybe then she’ll change her mind.”
“It might be too late in a couple months,” his mother fretted. “I worry that the longer she envisions herself raising this baby, the more likely it is to happen.”
“Yeah.” He worried the same thing. But neither he nor his mom could get inside her head and make her think things though, be logical. Besides . . . lately he hadn’t been the most logical person, what with getting hit by a car and attending a Music Appreciation class he wasn’t even enrolled in.
“Hey, Mom?” He really wanted to tell her about seeing Maria and Dylan again. He needed her advice.
Unfortunately, though, his mom had plenty of other shit to think about. “I just . . . I don’t want her to be a mom. Not yet. But I feel like she’s thinking of herself that way.”
Michael sighed, pushing Maria and Dylan out of his mind. As much as he could, at least. “Yeah, it’s not a great situation,” he agreed. “Because I think when you form that kind of attachment with a kid . . .” He pressed his lips together tightly, trying not to think about his own attachment, trying not to feel it the way he had at the elementary school today. “I don’t think it really ever goes away.”
His mother waited a moment, then quietly asked, “Speaking from experience?”
He swallowed the lump in his throat as memories filled his mind. Playing football with Dylan in the backyard. Tucking him into bed at night in that Guerin jersey he’d loved. And then today.
Hell yeah, he was speaking from experience. “Maybe,” he replied vaguely. Given how stressed out his mom already was, there was no need to go into more detail than that.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Water sloshed over Maria’s hands while she did the dishes that night. It didn’t matter how hard she pressed the scrub brush to the problem plate—there was just something stuck on there that had become permanent. Apparently she’d let the dishes sit in the sink a day or two too long. Would have been nice to have a dishwasher.
She set it down in the water, giving up on it like a doctor calling the time on a patient’s death. She’d been doing dishes so long that her knuckles were starting to feel all dry and scratchy.
“Hey, Mom?”
She turned around when she heard her son’s voice. He stood by the refrigerator in his blue Buzz Lightyear pajamas. His hair was all messed up, like he’d been rolling around in bed. Either that or jumping up and down on it wildly. With Dylan, it could have been either one.
“What are you doing up? You’re supposed to be asleep,” she reminded him. Dylan’s bedtime was supposed to be 8:30, but so far this school year, he’d already managed to push it back to 9:00. 9:30 was pushing it too far.
“I know,” he said, shuffling forward. “But I gotta say ‘night.”
She looked down into those adorable blue-green eyes and couldn’t find it in herself to be mad at him. “Oh, goodnight, honey,” she cooed, bending down to give him a kiss on the cheek. “Go back to bed, alright?”
“Hey, Mom?” he said again.
She sighed impatiently, already sensing that this could be one of those nights where he tried to talk her ear off just to avoid going to sleep. “What?”
“Guess who I saw at school today.”
She wracked her brain, trying to remember the names of some of the other kindergarten boys. Dylan had made a lot of new friends this year, but they all sort of looked the same and acted the same, so they blended together in her mind. “Tommy, Joey . . . Bobby?” Was there a Bobby? She wasn’t sure.
“Nope.” He twisted from side to side, grinning excitedly. “Daddy.”
She wrinkled her forehead in confusion. “What?” Was he mixing up his words again? Sometimes he talked so much that his sentences started to spill out all over each other and he ended up not making sense.
“Yep!” he exclaimed.
“You saw Daddy at school today,” she recapped skeptically. “No, sweetie, trust me, you didn’t.”
“Yeah, I did,” he insisted.
She put her hands on her hips, trying to understand what he was attempting to say. “Dylan, what are you talking about?” Was it someone else’s dad? Bobby’s dad? There had to be a Bobby at school, and he had to have a dad.
Dylan frowned, looking down at his feet and mumbling, “Never mind,” as he padded out of the kitchen and headed back down the hall to his bedroom.
Maria shook her head, utterly puzzled, and turned back around to face the sink. Sighing, she picked up the plate and continued scrubbing at it again with determination, splashing water all over her shirt in the process.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Tess had had a bad feeling about the letter from the insurance company before she even opened it. Whatever it was, it couldn’t be good. Insurance companies didn’t send letters unless something was wrong.
And it was wrong. Very, very wrong.
“According to our records,” she read, “your insurance coverage . . .” She trailed off as the bad news sank in. It was expiring. All of it, by the end of the month. Insurance wasn’t going to pay for any of Kyle’s physical therapy anymore, because he wasn’t showing improvement. They were deeming it an ‘unnecessary expense.’
Grunting in disbelief, she stuffed the ridiculous letter back in the envelope and marched inside the house. It pissed her off to see Kyle sitting on the couch like usual, watching Sports Center instead of exercising. She threw the letter down on his lap and yelled, “This is all your fault!”
He picked it up slowly and just stared at it, as if he didn’t know what it was.
“That’s a letter from the insurance company letting us know your coverage is expiring,” she explained with a bite in her voice. “You know why? Because you’re not getting better. They’d keep paying for it if you were improving, but since your doctors say you’re not improving, they’re not gonna shell out any cash for you anymore.”
He stared to take the letter out of the envelope, then stopped halfway. “So what does that mean?”
She flapped her hands against her sides, huffing, “That means we don’t have any way to pay for your physical therapy, so you can’t keep going to Chancellor anymore. And we don’t have enough money to hire someone, and you’re not getting better and . . .” She trailed off, breaking into tears. “Kyle . . .” she whimpered, “you can’t just stay like this.”
He looked away from her, shame in his eyes, and the envelope dropped from his lap. He didn’t even bother to pick it up. “I’m sorry,” he apologized.
She shook her head angrily. “Don’t be sorry; be Kyle!” she shouted. “God, just . . . just do something, Kyle! Quit sitting here!” She slumped forward, holding her hands over her face, and cried openly. Normally, she tried to hold it together for Kyle, tried not to get too emotional in front of him. But this was just too much today. As if it weren’t bad enough having a fiancée who could barely walk, now she had to worry about not having the money to help him walk again? She could probably ask her parents for a loan again, and his dad will surely pitch in what he could, but physical therapy was so damn expensive. Their money would only cover a couple of months.
It wasn’t fair. What other twenty year old girl had to deal with this?
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Michael actually sort of felt bad for barging into his academic advisor’s office unannounced that day. Apparently some kid named Luis had scheduled an appointment, but Michael didn’t care. He paid Luis ten bucks to let him go in ahead of him without complaint, and that was that.
His advisor, Julia, was a nice enough lady—a little too old to be considered a MILF, but she’d probably been one back in the day. Nowadays she was just a woman in her fifties who did a poor job of dying her hair blonde to conceal the grey, but she was decent to him. The woman had put him on the track to academic success semester after semester by telling him exactly which classes to take and when to take them. He always listened to her advice.
Which probably explained the confused look on her face when he came to her with the crazy idea of adding Music Appreciation to his schedule five weeks into the semester. She just kept looking at his schedule and the course catalog over and over again, frowning in bewilderment, not saying anything.
“So what do you think?” he finally asked.
“Well . . .” She put his schedule down and stared at him for a moment, as if she were trying to figure him out. “I have to be honest, it doesn’t make a whole lot of sense to me,” she admitted. “I don’t know why you would be so adamant about taking a class that won’t benefit you in any way.”
“It just sounds fun,” he said flippantly. But hell, who was he kidding? No undergraduate took a college class just because it sounded fun.
“But it’s a fine arts credit,” Julia explained, “and you got your fine arts out of the way freshman year when you took Theater 101.”
And a hell of a waste of time that was, he thought but didn’t say. His professor had been an uninteresting dick. “There’s got be some other credit I need that it’ll count towards,” he insisted.
“There isn’t.” She shrugged. “I don’t know what to tell you. Taking this class would quite simply be a waste of your time.”
It wouldn’t, though. How could he get her to understand that?
“I can’t honestly advise you to spend money on a course that won’t even count towards your degree,” she told him. “And because we’re already a month into the semester, you’d have to pay a late registration fee. Not to mention the fact that it conflicts with your Social Psychology class.”
“Yeah, I already looked into it,” he told her. “Professor Barnaby teaches another section of the class at 12:30. He’s got twenty open seats. I could just switch to that one.”
“And what about your practicum?”
“I . . .” He trailed off, getting momentarily frazzled. “I can make it work,” he promised. Sure, he’d be running from place to place like a chicken with its head cut off, but if he reworked his class schedule, he could still clock in some practicum hours around it. “Look, I’m only taking four classes right now. I can do a fifth.”
“I know you can, but I don’t understand why this class has such appeal for you.”
He sighed, unable to explain it to her, unwilling to admit it to himself. “I just wanna take the class,” he reiterated. “I appreciate music.”
Julia laughed lightly. “Okay, so then go learn to play the guitar or buy a CD or something.”
“A CD.” He gave her a looking, knowing even she had to have some clue how outdated those things were.
“Or iTunes or whatever you kids use nowadays.”
“That’s not the same as taking the class,” he persisted. “I wanna take Music Appreciation. I don’t care if it doesn’t count towards any credits, or if it’ll cost me more, or if I gotta rework my schedule to fit it in. Please. Help me get in there.”
She looked him over for a moment, then sighed and shook her head. “Well, I suppose there’s nothing I can do to stop you,” she said, quickly typing in something on her laptop. A few seconds later, she said, “I’ve got the class roster right here. Plenty of open seats.”
“Yeah, I know.” He’d gathered that much from sitting in the auditorium yesterday. There had been plenty of room to stretch out. His backpack had even gotten a seat of its own.
“So if you wanna enroll and switch your Social Psychology class around, go right ahead.”
His leg started to move with excitement. “Great. Thanks.”
“But keep in mind, this is another class you’re committing yourself to three times a week.”
“Yeah, it’s . . .” His sentence died off abruptly, and he paused for a moment, thinking he hadn’t heard her right. “Wait, three times?”
“Yes.”
He frowned, letting that tidbit wriggle its way around his brain. “You mean it’s not just a Tuesday/Thursday class?”
“No, it’s Tuesday/Thursday/Friday,” she informed him. “As in today.”
“What?” He glanced at the clock on the wall behind her. “So wait, it’s going on right now?”
“Finishing up, yes.”
Oh, shit, he thought. What a missed opportunity. He should have been there.
“Thank you for your time,” he said quickly, shooting from his seat. He raced out of the office, past Luis, who must have had the munchies because he was eating his new ten dollar bill, and out of the advising center. He ran outside, thankful that he didn’t have his backpack today, because that would have slowed him down. He got to the crosswalk just in time, darting across to the other side of the street just as the light switched. A few people he knew said hi to him as he ran towards Lecuona Hall, but he ignored them.
What are you doing? he wondered to himself. Why are you doing this?
When he was only a block away, he saw Fly, who was in the midst of chatting up some impressionable freshmen. He would have ran right past, but Fly spotted him and called, “Yo, Mike, guess what! I’m gonna be the full-time mascot now, man!”
“I can’t talk right now, Fly!” he hollered back. “I’m late for class!”
Unfortunately . . . it was too late. By the time he got to the lecture hall, it was completely empty, except for the professor himself, who was sitting behind the computer, eyes closed, singing softly to a song Michael didn’t even recognize.
“Dammit,” he swore, immediately backtracking.
He rushed back out of the building and zoomed past Fly again. He caught sight of a couple people from the class he recognized, including the big guy he’d sat behind yesterday. That had to mean they’d just gotten out then, right? So maybe she was still around there somewhere. Maybe he could see her again.
And do what? he wondered. Did he even have a plan here? How long was he going to just hang back and watch her from afar? She’d notice him eventually.
He ran past the big guy and eventually ended up at the main intersection of campus again, right outside the advising center where he’d first started this little run, right where he’d gotten hit by a car four days ago.
This is ridiculous, he thought, stopping at the edge of the sidewalk. And he would have given up and not done anything had he not spotted her, once again as if by fate. She had just crossed the street and was on the other side of the sidewalk, walking away.
Don’t go, he thought, and then on instinct, he yelled, “Maria!”
She whirled around, her eyes landing on him instantly. She froze, staring at him with wide, astonished eyes, as though he were the last person she expected to see. He stared back, unable to say anything else. His throat felt dry, and his heart was pounding. It had been over two years—two years—since he’d looked her in the eye.
Green eyes. Full lips. And a stunned expression on her face.
Cars drove in between them. People walked in front of them, but somehow, they always seemed to get out of the way, and they could see each other again. He expected her to say something, maybe even smile. At the very least, he expected her to wait until the traffic came to a stop again, and then he could go across and talk to her. But something in him sank when, without one word, she turned her back to him and kept walking. As though he were a stranger. No one. Not the former love of her life.
He watched her go helplessly, just as he had years ago. But even though he could go after this time, even though he could catch up with her if he wanted to . . . he didn’t. Because it was pretty obvious she wanted nothing to do with him.
Sitting down on the sidewalk, he let the other people on that campus swirl around him, but he didn’t pay attention to any of them.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Still shaken, Maria managed to get in her car—a crappy Buick Century from the late nineties that somehow managed to still run—and drive to Dylan’s school. She was distracted the whole time and basically just drove on autopilot. It seemed like one second she was in an overcrowded parking lot on campus, and the next second, she was pulling up outside the front of Pound Elementary as the last bell of the day was ringing and kids started to scamper out. Her mind was consumed for the entire drive, consumed by . . .
Michael.
She shut the car off and leaned her elbows against the steering wheel, raking her hands through her hair. What exactly had happened back there? How had they just managed to run into each other like that? What was he even doing there?
She supposed he was wondering the same thing about her. In all actuality, it made more sense for him to be on a college campus than for her to be. But still . . . never in her wildest dreams did she expect to run into him again. There had been such a finality to the last time they’d seen each other.
Oh god. Her stomach was already in knots about it. For over two years, she had tried so hard to get Michael off her mind, to not think about him, to not miss him. And she had gotten to the point where, most days, she was successful at that. Most days. But not today. Maybe not for a lot of days to come now.
Crap.
She saw Dylan come out the front doors with his little Toy Story backpack bouncing on his shoulders, and she knew that she had to conceal how she was feeling. If he saw her like this, all frazzled and worked up, he’d get worked up, too, and she didn’t want him to know that anything was wrong.
Was anything wrong, though? Or was it just . . . weird?
“Hey, Mom,” he chirped when he opened the door and climbed into the backseat.
“Hey, sweetie,” she returned, putting on her best happy, unbothered face. “How was your day?”
“Good.” He shut the door and obediently scooted over to the seat on the far left, where his booster seat was located right behind hers
“Did you do your show-and-tell?” she asked.
“Yep.”
“Did it go well?”
“Yeah.”
“Good.” He’d brought a picture of the two of them at Texans Stadium, taken last year at one of the only football games she’d ever managed to get him to. It had easily been one of his happiest days.
“Alright, get your seatbelt on,” she told him, watching him in the rearview mirror.
He groaned, whining, “Do I have to?”
“Yes, it’s for your own safety.”
Pouting, he reluctantly did as he was instructed, pulling the seatbelt across his lap to latch it into place. “There,” he proclaimed.
“Good job.” She poised her hand on the key, ready to twist the ignition into the on position again, when something stopped her. She thought about last night, about the unusual thing Dylan had said to her while she’d been doing dishes. The thing about who he’d seen yesterday.
Now that she’d seen Michael . . . she wondered what exactly he meant.
“Hey, Dylan?” she said softly, twisting around in her seat so she could look at him directly. “Who did you see at school yesterday?”
He looked down at his lap, almost as if he were embarrassed to talk about it now. “Never mind,” he mumbled.
“It’s okay, you can tell me,” she assured him, needing to know. “Who did you see?” She hadn’t thought much about it at the time; she’d just dismissed it as him saying random things, confusing his words. But maybe it was more than that.
He hesitated for a few seconds, then looked at her sheepishly and replied, “Micho.”
Those knots, the ones that had already started forming in her stomach . . . they knotted up even tighter. Still, she tried to keep her facial expression calm and collected, even though, on in the inside, she was anything but.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Even though Tess was far too emotional to calm down, she appreciated Sarah’s efforts to get her to do just that. She made some special tea that was supposed to have a relaxing effect and set it down in front of Tess, urging, “Drink this. You’ll feel better.”
“Thanks,” Tess said, though she doubted it. The morning had started out horribly from the moment she opened the mail, and the day had only proceeded to get worse at cheer practice. Kristin and Stephanie had been in rare form, extending their bullying not only to her, but also to the girls themselves. She was so fed up with it that she was about to quit. Except she couldn’t do that, because then she’d have no income if she did. And money was already a big enough issue as it was.
“I know the situation looks bleak right now,” Sarah empathized, sitting down beside her at the table, “but trust me, it’s not as bad as it seems.”
“It’s not?” Tess gave her friend a skeptical look. “I have a fiancé who won’t get up off the couch, bills that are way past due, a job I hate . . .”
“But you also have friends to rely on,” Sarah pointed out. “Reliable friends. Now I may not be able to do anything about the job, but I can help out with the other stuff.”
“I don’t wanna take your money,” Tess insisted. They’d had this conversation before, and although she was grateful for the offer, she just couldn’t accept any cash from Sarah and Michael. It wouldn’t feel right.
“Then take my help,” Sarah encouraged. “If you can’t afford to get Kyle his physical therapy anymore, then I’ll work with him. Free of charge.”
For a second, Tess felt the slightest bit hopeful that at least maybe that problem could be solved. “You’d really do that?” she asked, just to make sure.
“Of course. You’re my best friend, and Kyle is Michael’s best friend, so there’s nothing I wouldn’t do to help.”
Tess breathed a sigh of relief, not about to turn down the offer. “I don’t know what to say,” she admitted. “Are you sure, though? It’s a big commitment.”
Sarah shrugged. “Michael can help. Between my knowledge of physical therapy and his knowledge of Kyle, I’m sure we can get him to make some progress in no time.”
“Well . . .” Tess didn’t want to discourage her, but that was probably way too optimistic. They were supposed to have seen a lot of progress already, and so far, not much had been made. Hence the insurance getting cut off. Hence the overall crapiness of the entire situation.
“We can make this work,” Sarah assured her. “Just try to stay positive.”
She sighed shakily, raising the cup of tea to her mouth to take a sip. That was part of the problem, though, wasn’t it? She used to be a positive person, used to manage to see a silver lining and a bright side to everything. But then Kyle’s life had changed forever, and her whole life had changed right along with it. And now, even with the help of friends, it was hard to feel positive about anything anymore.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Michael spent his afternoon at Haymsworth Hall with Monk, hearing all the lurid details of his date with Little Redwood. As it turned out, she was actually a girl, which was good. The bad news was that she was forty, but Monk didn’t seem deterred. He said the date had gone well, and they’d made plans for a second one.
Listening to his friend talk about his wacky love life was a nice distraction, but the second their shift got over and Michael headed outside to make the short trek home, he started to get nervous again. His day hadn’t been typical by any means, and Sarah would probably ask him about it. What the hell was he going to say to her? He really hadn’t thought any of this through.
When he was only a few doors down from his apartment, the door opened, and out came Tess. “Thanks for the tea,” she said.
“No problem,” Sarah said, staying in the doorway. “Hang in there.”
“Thanks.” Tess managed a small smile when she saw him approaching. “Hey, Michael.”
“Hey,” he returned. “How’s it goin’?”
“Oh . . .” She sighed, flapping her arms against her sides. “It’s going. Later.”
“See ya.” He frowned, stopping right outside the door, watching her go. Everything about her looked downright . . . depressed. Defeated. It was so evident in her body language. The slumped shoulders, the lowered head, the lumbering walk . . .
“What’s wrong with her?” he asked his girlfriend.
Sarah pulled him inside and shut the door. “Kyle’s insurance isn’t covering his physical therapy anymore. She’s really stressed out about it.”
“What?” Michael spat, throwing his backpack down. “That’s bullshit. He needs therapy to get better.”
“Well, apparently the insurance company thinks he should already be better.” Sarah rolled her eyes. “I know, it’s screwed up. So I offered to help him. I mean, I’ve worked there for two years now. I know what to do.”
“Yeah.” Between the two of them, he was confident they could get Kyle the rehab he still so desperately needed. But honestly, it was going to suck not having a state-of-the-art facility at their disposal. “Man, everyone’s kinda dealin’ with a lot of crap right now, huh?” he remarked. “Tess and Kyle, my sister . . .”
“Everyone but us,” she agreed, rising up on her tiptoes to give him a quick kiss on the cheek. She patted his shoulder, then twirled around and headed to the bedroom, taking her shirt off in the process.
He hung back and watched her change from her regular clothes down to her undies. She wasn’t putting on a show for him, but it was still damn hard not to watch as she opened the second drawer of their dresser and took out one of his Metallica t-shirts. “Did you have a good day?” she asked, tugging it on.
“Uh, yeah,” he replied, shuffling forward to sit on the foot of the bed. “It was alright.”
“Just alright?” She hopped on beside him, her legs tucked underneath her.
“Well, it was kinda . . . weird,” he admitted, not sure how much he should say. He couldn’t really tell her everything without alarming her, so maybe it was best not to tell her anything at all.
“Why was it weird?” she asked.
“Well . . .” Shit, he was in a bind. Sarah had his schedule as well-memorized as her own. She’d figure out that he had added in an extra class, so he had to tell her why.
And it wasn’t like he could tell her the truth.
“I had to rearrange my class schedule,” he explained.
“What? Why?”
“Well, turns out I need a fine arts class.”
“Fine arts?” she echoed. “I thought you got that out of the way with Theater or whatever.”
“Yeah, so did I, but apparently I need another one.” He cringed inwardly as he spoke the words. “So I’m gonna take Music Appreciation.”
She laughed a little. “Music Appreciation?”
“Yeah.” Was that so hard to believe? “I appreciate music.”
“Yeah, like . . .” She plucked at the Metallica t-shirt. “And Pearl Jam and Nirvana.”
“That’s good shit.”
“I know, but I don’t know if that’s the kind of music you’ll be studying. Or excuse me, appreciating. I’m betting it’s a little more, like, Bach and Beethoven. Mozart.”
“No, I think it’s pretty modern.” Based on the one day he’d actually spent in the class, it actually seemed pretty laid-back and cool. Not that he’d really been paying that much attention.
She scooted closer to him, putting one hand on his leg, the other on his arm. “So basically now you’re gonna be even busier, huh?”
“Yeah. But it’s okay,” he assured her. “It’s only one more class, and I can handle it. I got a 3.8, you know.”
“Ugh,” she groaned, playfully pushing him aside. She got up and said, “Whatever you say, Smarty Pants. I’m gonna make dinner.”
He laughed a little, getting a kick out of teasing her. But once she was on the other side of the divider and was focused on the food in their refrigerator, he let his teasing smile fade, let himself feel like crap again. Because he’d just lied to her, and he’d never lied to Sarah before.
He just needed some time to figure this whole Maria thing out. That was all. And once he did, then it would just be over. Done. And then he’d never lie to Sarah again.
TBC . . .
-April
Sara:
Michael has been so in control of his own life for the past couple years, but now that Maria's back . . . it's like things are out of his control again. Except they're not. Not really. He can still control whether or not he's honest and upfront about the situation with his girlfriend, and unfortunately, he hasn't been.April....I feel like Michael is slowly imploding. He is lying, forgetful and obsessed once again with Maria. I have a bad feeling about the next couple of parts. My heart breaks most for Sarah...she is the innocent in all of this. I worry what will happen with her.....
Thanks for reading!
Part 10
Isabel felt her eyes water the moment she entered her kitchen. Jesse was making himself an omelet, and of course it had a kick to it. “Wow,” she said. “That is quite a smell.”
“Yeah, I need to shower,” he mumbled.
“No. Your food.” She sauntered towards him, squinting her eyes as she neared the stove. “Jesus, how many jalapenos did you put in there?”
“Not jalapaneos,” he corrected. “Habaneros. Spicier.”
“Oh, good, ‘cause your food’s not nearly spicy enough.” She laughed, shaking her head. “What’s next, ghost pepper omelets?”
“Actually,” he said, turning off the burner, “there’s this thing called the Carolina Reaper. Spiciest pepper in the world. Makes your throat burn for, like, ten minutes.”
“Sounds appetizing,” she remarked sarcastically. Maybe his Latin blood made him have a higher tolerance for food that tasted like death, but she just couldn’t even eat half the things he cooked.
“I’m gonna try it sometime,” he vowed, lifting his omelet out of the frying pan and onto his plate. “I like my food like I like my women, you know: hot.”
“Hmm.” Surely her own hotness was at a habanero level. Maybe not this Carolina Reaper level, though, because there were still some things she refused to do.
“So how was your day?” he asked, setting his plate aside so it could cool for a moment.
“Good,” she replied. “I got my slam poetry piece back.”
He grinned. “Slam poetry.”
“I got a really good grade.” It was nice to know that she was still capable of writing something impressive.
“Can I see it?” he asked.
While she was glad that he was taking an interest, she wasn’t sure this particular poem was the best one for him to read. “Sure,” she said, hesitantly handing it over to him. Hopefully it wouldn’t make him mad.
He leaned against the counter, frowning as he read the words. She couldn’t tell whether he was upset or confused. It really wasn’t about him, specifically; just men in general.
When he got to the end of it, he look right at her and admitted, “I don’t get it.”
Now it was her turn to frown. “What?” How could he not get it? Everyone else did. It wasn’t that complex, so maybe he just wasn’t trying to understand.
“It’s good, though.” He set her poem down on the counter and circled his arms around her waist, pulling her body into his, kissing her deeply. His whole mouth tasted spicy, like he’d sampled some of the peppers before putting them into his breakfast.
She tilted her head to the side so he could kiss her neck, ignoring the way her eyes were watering again.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Alex was only halfway through the reading assignment for his educational psychology class when Leanna came out of the bedroom, saw what he was doing, and groaned. “Great, when you’re not grading, you’re reading,” she complained.
He tried to take it all in stride and didn’t get up from the couch. “I’m still a student, you know,” he pointed out. “I do have my own classes to take.”
She sat down on the back of the couch, giving him quite the view of her backside. She had on Patriots panties and a Tom Brady jersey. “I know you have your own classes,” she grumbled. “You have your own students, your own job, your own friends. Your own everything. You even have your own wife.”
Sensing that she needed some attention, he set his book aside on the coffee table, not even bothering to bookmark the page. “I do have my own wife,” he said, grabbing her hand. “Come here.”
Somehow, she managed to fall gracefully over the back of the couch and settle softly on top of him. God, she was so athletic. Sometimes when he was touching her, he felt like he should go work out just so he was physically worthy of touching her.
He put his hands on her hips and started to rub her body, but she didn’t look into it. In fact, she seemed to have a permanent unhappy expression tattooed onto her face.
“What’s wrong?” he asked. This bad mood she’d been in lately was . . . annoying, really, but he wasn’t about to tell her that. He’d try to be as sympathetic and understanding as he could be. That was what a husband was supposed to do.
“It just really concerns me that we’ve only been married for three and a half months, and already we’re going through a rough patch,” she revealed.
He made a face, not on the same wavelength. “I wouldn’t call it a rough patch.”
“Then what would you call it?”
“Just . . .” You being over-dramatic, he thought. A total girl. He had to phrase it differently, though, or it would only piss her off more. “Okay, look, the way I see it . . . we dated a year, and then we got married, and--”
“You think we’re still getting to know each other?”
“No, I think—I think we were really used to having a lot of time to spend together. But we both knew this year was gonna be hectic. Between your job and mine . . .”
“I’m not that busy with my job,” she pointed out. “It’s you, Alex. You’re the one who doesn’t have time for me.”
“I do,” he insisted, “but I have to make time for other things, too. There’s only twenty-four hours in a day.”
“Yeah, but it would be nice if more than one of them could be devoted to me.”
He sighed in frustration, not sure what he could do to make her happy. He was trying to cut back on all the time he spent on campus as much as he could, and he’d even set aside a whole weekend to spend with her. If Liz called and asked him to babysit, he was prepared to tell her he couldn’t, even though he loved spending time with Scarlet. He was really trying, and it just didn’t seem like enough for her.
“I just don’t get why I’m your last priority,” she complained.
“You’re not,” he insisted, but he couldn’t force her to believe that. She was going to have to accept that all on her own. “Look, I’m here now. With you. Just you and me.” He smoothed her shiny blonde hair back over her shoulder and stroked her cheek. “Okay?” He tried to sit up a little to kiss her lips, but she turned her head to the side at last minute, and he got her cheek instead. As usual these days.
Oh, well, he thought. Better than nothing. He’d lie there with her and hold her for a while. After she fell asleep, he’d pick up his book and start reading again, and hopefully one day soon, she’d go back to being the girl he’d married. That would be nice.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
There wasn’t much to do at the front desk of Vidorra that night, so Michael happily lost track of time talking to his boss instead of actually getting any work done. Brody seemed interested in how Michael’s first day of his practicum had gone, and he got a kick out of it when he revealed he’d shown up late.
“She’s intimidating. I was intimidated,” he admitted openly, “and I’m not intimidated by anybody.”
Brody chuckled. “She definitely takes her job seriously. And punctuality . . . she’s a stickler about that.”
“I can tell.”
“I was late for our first date,” Brody revealed. “Almost didn’t get a second one.”
“Huh.” Something told Michael Vanessa was the one who wore the pants in her and Brody’s relationship. And there was nothing wrong with that. A take-charge chick could be pretty hot sometimes.
“Anyway, don’t let her intimidate you. You’ll learn a lot from her,” Brody promised.
“Oh, yeah, I will.”
“She’s great at her job. But she’s got high expectations.”
Michael leaned back in his chair, stretching his arms above his head lazily. “Then I guess I’ll just have to rise up to meet ‘em.”
“You sure will,” Brody agreed, letting out a yawn. “Alright, well, I’m beat. Think I’m gonna turn in for the night. You good out here?”
“Yeah, swamped with work,” Michael joked sarcastically, “but . . . I’ll manage.”
Brody smiled appreciatively. “Thanks for filling in for Monk tonight. He said something about a date with . . . Little Redwood?” He made a face. “Is that a girl?”
Michael shrugged. “Possibly.”
“Sounds like a porn star.”
Again, Michael shrugged. “Possibly.” He had met her online, after all.
“Well . . .” Brody waved it off, walking around to the other side of the front desk, sneaking a piece of chocolate out of the candy dish on his way to his apartment. “How’s the dog, by the way?” he asked as he peeled off the wrapper. “You know, the one I’m completely clueless to you having.”
“Oh, he’s . . . the best,” Michael gushed, always up for bragging about his dog. “The toilet training’s a work in progress, but if anyone can do it, it’s my Shango.”
“Shango,” Brody echoed. “That’s his name?”
“Yeah.”
“What’s it mean?”
Michael wasn’t about to own up to his ignorance of where in the world the city of Shanghai was, so he lied instead. “Just . . . perfection.”
“Does it really?”
“No, but it might as well, because that’s what that dog is.”
Brody shook his head, laughing. “Goodnight,” he said, slipping into his apartment.
“Night,” Michael returned right before the door shut. He sighed and kicked his feet up on the desk, linking his hands together behind his head. He closed his eyes, hoping he might be able to nod off for at least twenty minutes of this shift, but then his phone rang.
He groaned, setting his feet down, and leaned forward to pick it up off the desk. His mom was calling. Pretty late for her. She usually went to bed shortly after 9:00. “Hey,” he answered.
“Oh, Michael . . .” She sounded upset. All it took was two words for him to gather that much. “I’m sorry to call. I just . . . I needed to hear your voice.”
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“Oh, you know . . . your pregnant thirteen year-old sister.” She tried to laugh, but it sounded more agonized than amused. “I had a really long talk with her tonight, trying to convince her to give this baby up for adoption. But she just acted like she doesn’t wanna hear it.”
“Well, she doesn’t,” Michael stated simply. “At least not right now. Maybe a couple months down the line when she’s big as a beach ball and can’t wear any of her clothes anymore and her back’s killing her . . . maybe then she’ll change her mind.”
“It might be too late in a couple months,” his mother fretted. “I worry that the longer she envisions herself raising this baby, the more likely it is to happen.”
“Yeah.” He worried the same thing. But neither he nor his mom could get inside her head and make her think things though, be logical. Besides . . . lately he hadn’t been the most logical person, what with getting hit by a car and attending a Music Appreciation class he wasn’t even enrolled in.
“Hey, Mom?” He really wanted to tell her about seeing Maria and Dylan again. He needed her advice.
Unfortunately, though, his mom had plenty of other shit to think about. “I just . . . I don’t want her to be a mom. Not yet. But I feel like she’s thinking of herself that way.”
Michael sighed, pushing Maria and Dylan out of his mind. As much as he could, at least. “Yeah, it’s not a great situation,” he agreed. “Because I think when you form that kind of attachment with a kid . . .” He pressed his lips together tightly, trying not to think about his own attachment, trying not to feel it the way he had at the elementary school today. “I don’t think it really ever goes away.”
His mother waited a moment, then quietly asked, “Speaking from experience?”
He swallowed the lump in his throat as memories filled his mind. Playing football with Dylan in the backyard. Tucking him into bed at night in that Guerin jersey he’d loved. And then today.
Hell yeah, he was speaking from experience. “Maybe,” he replied vaguely. Given how stressed out his mom already was, there was no need to go into more detail than that.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Water sloshed over Maria’s hands while she did the dishes that night. It didn’t matter how hard she pressed the scrub brush to the problem plate—there was just something stuck on there that had become permanent. Apparently she’d let the dishes sit in the sink a day or two too long. Would have been nice to have a dishwasher.
She set it down in the water, giving up on it like a doctor calling the time on a patient’s death. She’d been doing dishes so long that her knuckles were starting to feel all dry and scratchy.
“Hey, Mom?”
She turned around when she heard her son’s voice. He stood by the refrigerator in his blue Buzz Lightyear pajamas. His hair was all messed up, like he’d been rolling around in bed. Either that or jumping up and down on it wildly. With Dylan, it could have been either one.
“What are you doing up? You’re supposed to be asleep,” she reminded him. Dylan’s bedtime was supposed to be 8:30, but so far this school year, he’d already managed to push it back to 9:00. 9:30 was pushing it too far.
“I know,” he said, shuffling forward. “But I gotta say ‘night.”
She looked down into those adorable blue-green eyes and couldn’t find it in herself to be mad at him. “Oh, goodnight, honey,” she cooed, bending down to give him a kiss on the cheek. “Go back to bed, alright?”
“Hey, Mom?” he said again.
She sighed impatiently, already sensing that this could be one of those nights where he tried to talk her ear off just to avoid going to sleep. “What?”
“Guess who I saw at school today.”
She wracked her brain, trying to remember the names of some of the other kindergarten boys. Dylan had made a lot of new friends this year, but they all sort of looked the same and acted the same, so they blended together in her mind. “Tommy, Joey . . . Bobby?” Was there a Bobby? She wasn’t sure.
“Nope.” He twisted from side to side, grinning excitedly. “Daddy.”
She wrinkled her forehead in confusion. “What?” Was he mixing up his words again? Sometimes he talked so much that his sentences started to spill out all over each other and he ended up not making sense.
“Yep!” he exclaimed.
“You saw Daddy at school today,” she recapped skeptically. “No, sweetie, trust me, you didn’t.”
“Yeah, I did,” he insisted.
She put her hands on her hips, trying to understand what he was attempting to say. “Dylan, what are you talking about?” Was it someone else’s dad? Bobby’s dad? There had to be a Bobby at school, and he had to have a dad.
Dylan frowned, looking down at his feet and mumbling, “Never mind,” as he padded out of the kitchen and headed back down the hall to his bedroom.
Maria shook her head, utterly puzzled, and turned back around to face the sink. Sighing, she picked up the plate and continued scrubbing at it again with determination, splashing water all over her shirt in the process.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Tess had had a bad feeling about the letter from the insurance company before she even opened it. Whatever it was, it couldn’t be good. Insurance companies didn’t send letters unless something was wrong.
And it was wrong. Very, very wrong.
“According to our records,” she read, “your insurance coverage . . .” She trailed off as the bad news sank in. It was expiring. All of it, by the end of the month. Insurance wasn’t going to pay for any of Kyle’s physical therapy anymore, because he wasn’t showing improvement. They were deeming it an ‘unnecessary expense.’
Grunting in disbelief, she stuffed the ridiculous letter back in the envelope and marched inside the house. It pissed her off to see Kyle sitting on the couch like usual, watching Sports Center instead of exercising. She threw the letter down on his lap and yelled, “This is all your fault!”
He picked it up slowly and just stared at it, as if he didn’t know what it was.
“That’s a letter from the insurance company letting us know your coverage is expiring,” she explained with a bite in her voice. “You know why? Because you’re not getting better. They’d keep paying for it if you were improving, but since your doctors say you’re not improving, they’re not gonna shell out any cash for you anymore.”
He stared to take the letter out of the envelope, then stopped halfway. “So what does that mean?”
She flapped her hands against her sides, huffing, “That means we don’t have any way to pay for your physical therapy, so you can’t keep going to Chancellor anymore. And we don’t have enough money to hire someone, and you’re not getting better and . . .” She trailed off, breaking into tears. “Kyle . . .” she whimpered, “you can’t just stay like this.”
He looked away from her, shame in his eyes, and the envelope dropped from his lap. He didn’t even bother to pick it up. “I’m sorry,” he apologized.
She shook her head angrily. “Don’t be sorry; be Kyle!” she shouted. “God, just . . . just do something, Kyle! Quit sitting here!” She slumped forward, holding her hands over her face, and cried openly. Normally, she tried to hold it together for Kyle, tried not to get too emotional in front of him. But this was just too much today. As if it weren’t bad enough having a fiancée who could barely walk, now she had to worry about not having the money to help him walk again? She could probably ask her parents for a loan again, and his dad will surely pitch in what he could, but physical therapy was so damn expensive. Their money would only cover a couple of months.
It wasn’t fair. What other twenty year old girl had to deal with this?
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Michael actually sort of felt bad for barging into his academic advisor’s office unannounced that day. Apparently some kid named Luis had scheduled an appointment, but Michael didn’t care. He paid Luis ten bucks to let him go in ahead of him without complaint, and that was that.
His advisor, Julia, was a nice enough lady—a little too old to be considered a MILF, but she’d probably been one back in the day. Nowadays she was just a woman in her fifties who did a poor job of dying her hair blonde to conceal the grey, but she was decent to him. The woman had put him on the track to academic success semester after semester by telling him exactly which classes to take and when to take them. He always listened to her advice.
Which probably explained the confused look on her face when he came to her with the crazy idea of adding Music Appreciation to his schedule five weeks into the semester. She just kept looking at his schedule and the course catalog over and over again, frowning in bewilderment, not saying anything.
“So what do you think?” he finally asked.
“Well . . .” She put his schedule down and stared at him for a moment, as if she were trying to figure him out. “I have to be honest, it doesn’t make a whole lot of sense to me,” she admitted. “I don’t know why you would be so adamant about taking a class that won’t benefit you in any way.”
“It just sounds fun,” he said flippantly. But hell, who was he kidding? No undergraduate took a college class just because it sounded fun.
“But it’s a fine arts credit,” Julia explained, “and you got your fine arts out of the way freshman year when you took Theater 101.”
And a hell of a waste of time that was, he thought but didn’t say. His professor had been an uninteresting dick. “There’s got be some other credit I need that it’ll count towards,” he insisted.
“There isn’t.” She shrugged. “I don’t know what to tell you. Taking this class would quite simply be a waste of your time.”
It wouldn’t, though. How could he get her to understand that?
“I can’t honestly advise you to spend money on a course that won’t even count towards your degree,” she told him. “And because we’re already a month into the semester, you’d have to pay a late registration fee. Not to mention the fact that it conflicts with your Social Psychology class.”
“Yeah, I already looked into it,” he told her. “Professor Barnaby teaches another section of the class at 12:30. He’s got twenty open seats. I could just switch to that one.”
“And what about your practicum?”
“I . . .” He trailed off, getting momentarily frazzled. “I can make it work,” he promised. Sure, he’d be running from place to place like a chicken with its head cut off, but if he reworked his class schedule, he could still clock in some practicum hours around it. “Look, I’m only taking four classes right now. I can do a fifth.”
“I know you can, but I don’t understand why this class has such appeal for you.”
He sighed, unable to explain it to her, unwilling to admit it to himself. “I just wanna take the class,” he reiterated. “I appreciate music.”
Julia laughed lightly. “Okay, so then go learn to play the guitar or buy a CD or something.”
“A CD.” He gave her a looking, knowing even she had to have some clue how outdated those things were.
“Or iTunes or whatever you kids use nowadays.”
“That’s not the same as taking the class,” he persisted. “I wanna take Music Appreciation. I don’t care if it doesn’t count towards any credits, or if it’ll cost me more, or if I gotta rework my schedule to fit it in. Please. Help me get in there.”
She looked him over for a moment, then sighed and shook her head. “Well, I suppose there’s nothing I can do to stop you,” she said, quickly typing in something on her laptop. A few seconds later, she said, “I’ve got the class roster right here. Plenty of open seats.”
“Yeah, I know.” He’d gathered that much from sitting in the auditorium yesterday. There had been plenty of room to stretch out. His backpack had even gotten a seat of its own.
“So if you wanna enroll and switch your Social Psychology class around, go right ahead.”
His leg started to move with excitement. “Great. Thanks.”
“But keep in mind, this is another class you’re committing yourself to three times a week.”
“Yeah, it’s . . .” His sentence died off abruptly, and he paused for a moment, thinking he hadn’t heard her right. “Wait, three times?”
“Yes.”
He frowned, letting that tidbit wriggle its way around his brain. “You mean it’s not just a Tuesday/Thursday class?”
“No, it’s Tuesday/Thursday/Friday,” she informed him. “As in today.”
“What?” He glanced at the clock on the wall behind her. “So wait, it’s going on right now?”
“Finishing up, yes.”
Oh, shit, he thought. What a missed opportunity. He should have been there.
“Thank you for your time,” he said quickly, shooting from his seat. He raced out of the office, past Luis, who must have had the munchies because he was eating his new ten dollar bill, and out of the advising center. He ran outside, thankful that he didn’t have his backpack today, because that would have slowed him down. He got to the crosswalk just in time, darting across to the other side of the street just as the light switched. A few people he knew said hi to him as he ran towards Lecuona Hall, but he ignored them.
What are you doing? he wondered to himself. Why are you doing this?
When he was only a block away, he saw Fly, who was in the midst of chatting up some impressionable freshmen. He would have ran right past, but Fly spotted him and called, “Yo, Mike, guess what! I’m gonna be the full-time mascot now, man!”
“I can’t talk right now, Fly!” he hollered back. “I’m late for class!”
Unfortunately . . . it was too late. By the time he got to the lecture hall, it was completely empty, except for the professor himself, who was sitting behind the computer, eyes closed, singing softly to a song Michael didn’t even recognize.
“Dammit,” he swore, immediately backtracking.
He rushed back out of the building and zoomed past Fly again. He caught sight of a couple people from the class he recognized, including the big guy he’d sat behind yesterday. That had to mean they’d just gotten out then, right? So maybe she was still around there somewhere. Maybe he could see her again.
And do what? he wondered. Did he even have a plan here? How long was he going to just hang back and watch her from afar? She’d notice him eventually.
He ran past the big guy and eventually ended up at the main intersection of campus again, right outside the advising center where he’d first started this little run, right where he’d gotten hit by a car four days ago.
This is ridiculous, he thought, stopping at the edge of the sidewalk. And he would have given up and not done anything had he not spotted her, once again as if by fate. She had just crossed the street and was on the other side of the sidewalk, walking away.
Don’t go, he thought, and then on instinct, he yelled, “Maria!”
She whirled around, her eyes landing on him instantly. She froze, staring at him with wide, astonished eyes, as though he were the last person she expected to see. He stared back, unable to say anything else. His throat felt dry, and his heart was pounding. It had been over two years—two years—since he’d looked her in the eye.
Green eyes. Full lips. And a stunned expression on her face.
Cars drove in between them. People walked in front of them, but somehow, they always seemed to get out of the way, and they could see each other again. He expected her to say something, maybe even smile. At the very least, he expected her to wait until the traffic came to a stop again, and then he could go across and talk to her. But something in him sank when, without one word, she turned her back to him and kept walking. As though he were a stranger. No one. Not the former love of her life.
He watched her go helplessly, just as he had years ago. But even though he could go after this time, even though he could catch up with her if he wanted to . . . he didn’t. Because it was pretty obvious she wanted nothing to do with him.
Sitting down on the sidewalk, he let the other people on that campus swirl around him, but he didn’t pay attention to any of them.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Still shaken, Maria managed to get in her car—a crappy Buick Century from the late nineties that somehow managed to still run—and drive to Dylan’s school. She was distracted the whole time and basically just drove on autopilot. It seemed like one second she was in an overcrowded parking lot on campus, and the next second, she was pulling up outside the front of Pound Elementary as the last bell of the day was ringing and kids started to scamper out. Her mind was consumed for the entire drive, consumed by . . .
Michael.
She shut the car off and leaned her elbows against the steering wheel, raking her hands through her hair. What exactly had happened back there? How had they just managed to run into each other like that? What was he even doing there?
She supposed he was wondering the same thing about her. In all actuality, it made more sense for him to be on a college campus than for her to be. But still . . . never in her wildest dreams did she expect to run into him again. There had been such a finality to the last time they’d seen each other.
Oh god. Her stomach was already in knots about it. For over two years, she had tried so hard to get Michael off her mind, to not think about him, to not miss him. And she had gotten to the point where, most days, she was successful at that. Most days. But not today. Maybe not for a lot of days to come now.
Crap.
She saw Dylan come out the front doors with his little Toy Story backpack bouncing on his shoulders, and she knew that she had to conceal how she was feeling. If he saw her like this, all frazzled and worked up, he’d get worked up, too, and she didn’t want him to know that anything was wrong.
Was anything wrong, though? Or was it just . . . weird?
“Hey, Mom,” he chirped when he opened the door and climbed into the backseat.
“Hey, sweetie,” she returned, putting on her best happy, unbothered face. “How was your day?”
“Good.” He shut the door and obediently scooted over to the seat on the far left, where his booster seat was located right behind hers
“Did you do your show-and-tell?” she asked.
“Yep.”
“Did it go well?”
“Yeah.”
“Good.” He’d brought a picture of the two of them at Texans Stadium, taken last year at one of the only football games she’d ever managed to get him to. It had easily been one of his happiest days.
“Alright, get your seatbelt on,” she told him, watching him in the rearview mirror.
He groaned, whining, “Do I have to?”
“Yes, it’s for your own safety.”
Pouting, he reluctantly did as he was instructed, pulling the seatbelt across his lap to latch it into place. “There,” he proclaimed.
“Good job.” She poised her hand on the key, ready to twist the ignition into the on position again, when something stopped her. She thought about last night, about the unusual thing Dylan had said to her while she’d been doing dishes. The thing about who he’d seen yesterday.
Now that she’d seen Michael . . . she wondered what exactly he meant.
“Hey, Dylan?” she said softly, twisting around in her seat so she could look at him directly. “Who did you see at school yesterday?”
He looked down at his lap, almost as if he were embarrassed to talk about it now. “Never mind,” he mumbled.
“It’s okay, you can tell me,” she assured him, needing to know. “Who did you see?” She hadn’t thought much about it at the time; she’d just dismissed it as him saying random things, confusing his words. But maybe it was more than that.
He hesitated for a few seconds, then looked at her sheepishly and replied, “Micho.”
Those knots, the ones that had already started forming in her stomach . . . they knotted up even tighter. Still, she tried to keep her facial expression calm and collected, even though, on in the inside, she was anything but.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Even though Tess was far too emotional to calm down, she appreciated Sarah’s efforts to get her to do just that. She made some special tea that was supposed to have a relaxing effect and set it down in front of Tess, urging, “Drink this. You’ll feel better.”
“Thanks,” Tess said, though she doubted it. The morning had started out horribly from the moment she opened the mail, and the day had only proceeded to get worse at cheer practice. Kristin and Stephanie had been in rare form, extending their bullying not only to her, but also to the girls themselves. She was so fed up with it that she was about to quit. Except she couldn’t do that, because then she’d have no income if she did. And money was already a big enough issue as it was.
“I know the situation looks bleak right now,” Sarah empathized, sitting down beside her at the table, “but trust me, it’s not as bad as it seems.”
“It’s not?” Tess gave her friend a skeptical look. “I have a fiancé who won’t get up off the couch, bills that are way past due, a job I hate . . .”
“But you also have friends to rely on,” Sarah pointed out. “Reliable friends. Now I may not be able to do anything about the job, but I can help out with the other stuff.”
“I don’t wanna take your money,” Tess insisted. They’d had this conversation before, and although she was grateful for the offer, she just couldn’t accept any cash from Sarah and Michael. It wouldn’t feel right.
“Then take my help,” Sarah encouraged. “If you can’t afford to get Kyle his physical therapy anymore, then I’ll work with him. Free of charge.”
For a second, Tess felt the slightest bit hopeful that at least maybe that problem could be solved. “You’d really do that?” she asked, just to make sure.
“Of course. You’re my best friend, and Kyle is Michael’s best friend, so there’s nothing I wouldn’t do to help.”
Tess breathed a sigh of relief, not about to turn down the offer. “I don’t know what to say,” she admitted. “Are you sure, though? It’s a big commitment.”
Sarah shrugged. “Michael can help. Between my knowledge of physical therapy and his knowledge of Kyle, I’m sure we can get him to make some progress in no time.”
“Well . . .” Tess didn’t want to discourage her, but that was probably way too optimistic. They were supposed to have seen a lot of progress already, and so far, not much had been made. Hence the insurance getting cut off. Hence the overall crapiness of the entire situation.
“We can make this work,” Sarah assured her. “Just try to stay positive.”
She sighed shakily, raising the cup of tea to her mouth to take a sip. That was part of the problem, though, wasn’t it? She used to be a positive person, used to manage to see a silver lining and a bright side to everything. But then Kyle’s life had changed forever, and her whole life had changed right along with it. And now, even with the help of friends, it was hard to feel positive about anything anymore.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Michael spent his afternoon at Haymsworth Hall with Monk, hearing all the lurid details of his date with Little Redwood. As it turned out, she was actually a girl, which was good. The bad news was that she was forty, but Monk didn’t seem deterred. He said the date had gone well, and they’d made plans for a second one.
Listening to his friend talk about his wacky love life was a nice distraction, but the second their shift got over and Michael headed outside to make the short trek home, he started to get nervous again. His day hadn’t been typical by any means, and Sarah would probably ask him about it. What the hell was he going to say to her? He really hadn’t thought any of this through.
When he was only a few doors down from his apartment, the door opened, and out came Tess. “Thanks for the tea,” she said.
“No problem,” Sarah said, staying in the doorway. “Hang in there.”
“Thanks.” Tess managed a small smile when she saw him approaching. “Hey, Michael.”
“Hey,” he returned. “How’s it goin’?”
“Oh . . .” She sighed, flapping her arms against her sides. “It’s going. Later.”
“See ya.” He frowned, stopping right outside the door, watching her go. Everything about her looked downright . . . depressed. Defeated. It was so evident in her body language. The slumped shoulders, the lowered head, the lumbering walk . . .
“What’s wrong with her?” he asked his girlfriend.
Sarah pulled him inside and shut the door. “Kyle’s insurance isn’t covering his physical therapy anymore. She’s really stressed out about it.”
“What?” Michael spat, throwing his backpack down. “That’s bullshit. He needs therapy to get better.”
“Well, apparently the insurance company thinks he should already be better.” Sarah rolled her eyes. “I know, it’s screwed up. So I offered to help him. I mean, I’ve worked there for two years now. I know what to do.”
“Yeah.” Between the two of them, he was confident they could get Kyle the rehab he still so desperately needed. But honestly, it was going to suck not having a state-of-the-art facility at their disposal. “Man, everyone’s kinda dealin’ with a lot of crap right now, huh?” he remarked. “Tess and Kyle, my sister . . .”
“Everyone but us,” she agreed, rising up on her tiptoes to give him a quick kiss on the cheek. She patted his shoulder, then twirled around and headed to the bedroom, taking her shirt off in the process.
He hung back and watched her change from her regular clothes down to her undies. She wasn’t putting on a show for him, but it was still damn hard not to watch as she opened the second drawer of their dresser and took out one of his Metallica t-shirts. “Did you have a good day?” she asked, tugging it on.
“Uh, yeah,” he replied, shuffling forward to sit on the foot of the bed. “It was alright.”
“Just alright?” She hopped on beside him, her legs tucked underneath her.
“Well, it was kinda . . . weird,” he admitted, not sure how much he should say. He couldn’t really tell her everything without alarming her, so maybe it was best not to tell her anything at all.
“Why was it weird?” she asked.
“Well . . .” Shit, he was in a bind. Sarah had his schedule as well-memorized as her own. She’d figure out that he had added in an extra class, so he had to tell her why.
And it wasn’t like he could tell her the truth.
“I had to rearrange my class schedule,” he explained.
“What? Why?”
“Well, turns out I need a fine arts class.”
“Fine arts?” she echoed. “I thought you got that out of the way with Theater or whatever.”
“Yeah, so did I, but apparently I need another one.” He cringed inwardly as he spoke the words. “So I’m gonna take Music Appreciation.”
She laughed a little. “Music Appreciation?”
“Yeah.” Was that so hard to believe? “I appreciate music.”
“Yeah, like . . .” She plucked at the Metallica t-shirt. “And Pearl Jam and Nirvana.”
“That’s good shit.”
“I know, but I don’t know if that’s the kind of music you’ll be studying. Or excuse me, appreciating. I’m betting it’s a little more, like, Bach and Beethoven. Mozart.”
“No, I think it’s pretty modern.” Based on the one day he’d actually spent in the class, it actually seemed pretty laid-back and cool. Not that he’d really been paying that much attention.
She scooted closer to him, putting one hand on his leg, the other on his arm. “So basically now you’re gonna be even busier, huh?”
“Yeah. But it’s okay,” he assured her. “It’s only one more class, and I can handle it. I got a 3.8, you know.”
“Ugh,” she groaned, playfully pushing him aside. She got up and said, “Whatever you say, Smarty Pants. I’m gonna make dinner.”
He laughed a little, getting a kick out of teasing her. But once she was on the other side of the divider and was focused on the food in their refrigerator, he let his teasing smile fade, let himself feel like crap again. Because he’d just lied to her, and he’d never lied to Sarah before.
He just needed some time to figure this whole Maria thing out. That was all. And once he did, then it would just be over. Done. And then he’d never lie to Sarah again.
TBC . . .
-April
LOVE IS MICHAEL AND MARIA.