Morning came earlier than I wanted it to, marked by the annoying buzz of the alarm clock. My first instinct was to snuggle deeper into the covers, closer to JC and sink back into sleep. Instead, I reached for the alarm clock and fumbled to turn it off, reluctantly untangled myself from him and slipped out of bed. I looked back at JC, making sure he didn’t move. The lump under the covers remained motionless except for steady, heavy breaths in and out. I quietly made my way to the bathroom and into the shower.
The pipes didn’t make their usual high pitched whine as I stood under the spray, trying to wake up. I hadn’t actually been in the office for a few weeks, with the trip to LA just before Christmas and then the long break. I was sure to have a stack of things to take care of, which I hoped would keep me busy enough to not miss JC during the day. I could always worry about my meeting with Regina, if I ran out of things to distract me. I had no idea what kinds of things she needed to tell me—she seemed to never stop talking whenever I saw her. What more could I need to know?
My thoughts and guesses and musings swirled around in my head and I lost track of time. I hurriedly finished my shower and toweled off, tossing the towel in the hamper in the closet. I moved silently through the room, dressing in casual slacks and a button down shirt and jacket. Before leaving I walked around to JC’s side of the bed where he laid on his back, eyes closed, thick lashes laying against his cheek, mouth closed in that cute pout. Gently cupping his face, I leaned over and softly pressed my lips to his forehead, my hair falling across the hands sprawled out on the pillow above him.
My purse and low heels were sitting next to the door where I’d put them the night before. As I picked them up and reached for the knob, a sleepy voice muttered, “Have a good day. “
I stopped, glancing over at the figure in the bed, snuggled to his chin. Two beady eyes were just barely open. Softly, I answered, “Thank you, I will. Don’t burn my house down, ok?”
“No promises,” growled a voice thick with sleep and gravelly and so sexy it made me wish I’d taken the day off. I smiled and tip toed out of the room, closing the door softly behind me then bounding silently down the stairs.
As I predicted, my desk was a mess of unfinished work. I spent a few hours just sorting the stacks and decided to push most of the major work to the afternoon. Melissa worked in the building next to mine, so when she swung by to see if I wanted to grab some lunch with her, I jumped at the chance to get out of the office.
“So you don’t think he was all weirded out about me being drunk?” I stabbed a wedge of lettuce drenched in bleu cheese and shoveled it into my mouth, waiting on her assessment of the party Saturday night.
She shook her head, chewing on a mouthful of pasta, unwrapped her straw and dunked it into her can of Pepsi. “You’re over thinking it. You were pretty loose, but you weren’t falling down or anything. I think he just got a really good look into the shit you have to deal with. He was concerned about you. That’s idea that I got.”
I pondered her statement as I watched her skillfully wind pasta around her fork and pop the ball into her mouth. “I’ll you one thing, though.” She wiped her mouth with a napkin and swallowed before she continued. “Boy is into you. Big time. BIG. TIME.” Her emerald green eyes were large and she nodded with emphasis on the last two words.
I smiled, coy. “Well, do you blame him? I’m pretty cute.” Melissa rolled her eyes and cocked her head, then went back to her lunch. “Seriously, why do you say that?”
“Well, I mean, you know. Body language is body language, man or woman. I’m a pretty good gauge on these things. He just looks at you like he thinks the world of you. I don’t mean he’ll stalk you or anything. He just really likes you.”
“That’s good. I mean, really good. I like him, too.”
She paused, then, eyeing me. “You more than like him, Serena. It’s all over your face.” She jabbed her fork, pointing at me. “You be careful.”
I pushed the last remaining leaves of my salad around the plate, mostly just staring at it, thinking. “I’m trying,” I said, finally lifting my eyes to her face. “I’m trying. It’s hard, because he’s just about the best thing that ever happened to me, and I don’t want to be scared of how I feel about him. But I don’t know if he wants me to feel this way about him.”
“It doesn’t look like he’s objecting. Just take it slow.” She went back to her pasta and garlic bread, oblivious. Her advice, though always salient and relevant, was a few days too late to do me any good-- I had already moved much too quickly. Though he didn’t seem to back away from it, we weren’t exactly riding into the sunset together.
Not just yet.
The office was a flurry of activity when I returned from lunch, which was unusual for the first working day after a holiday. It was unusual for any day, really.
“Serena, my office,” said my boss, Gary, as he rushed past my open door. I picked up a pen and a notepad and jogged behind him to his office. After years of working with him, I knew that tone of voice. It said something big was coming.
The rest of the Sales and Marketing team were gathered in a semi-circle around Gary’s desk as he shuffled through several pages, his hands shaking, panting from the mad dash down the hall. Finally, he set the pages down and looked at everyone in the room.
“Folks,” he started, sliding his hands into the pockets of his loose black slacks, pacing in the small area behind his desk. “I want everyone to realize what a monumental moment this is, and what a team player we have in Serena. She braved the airways not once, but twice, to present to Qwest and worked tirelessly on her pitches to showcase our product in the best light possible.”
All eyes turned to me and I blushed at the attention, all the while gripping the side of my chair in anticipation. This had better be really good news. It had to be really good news. Gary picked up the stack of pages haphazardly stacked on his desk, and turned it around so everyone could see the cover page: To: StarTel Technologies, From: Qwest Enterprises. My heart was beating out of my chest, waiting for the announcement.
“I’m holding a signed, executed copy of the Qwest contract. Came over on the fax about an hour ago, I signed it and faxed it back. Qwest is now our largest customer. Congratulations, everyone. And thank you, Serena. No one shows off this product like you do.”
The smattering of applause and excited conversations echoed in my ears. I could hardly breathe—I expected it but it was somehow still surreal that it was happening, really happening. Gary was saying something about wanting to see my ramp up plan and when I thought I would be ready to be in LA for a few weeks. I remember nodding, promising to get him written details in a few days, along with a timeline. This was a big, BIG deal, for me, something I’d been working toward for a very long time—the chance to take the helm and lead a new customer into a new era and put our company on the map.
Why, then, was the only thing I could think of, or was really astoundingly happy about was the man sitting in my house, doing heaven-knows-what all day? Of course I was happy with the news. It had been a long time coming, but I really would have been more surprised if we didn’t get the project. I was more than ready for Qwest. I was happier, though, that I had another reason to look forward to being in LA.
It took everything in me to be caught up by the end of the day. I had a man in my house for one last day, and I was not going to waste a second of time I could spend with him. Before anyone could ask me to stay late, I slipped out. There would be plenty of time ahead for working late.
Music was blaring throughout the house and audible when I pulled into the garage a short time later. I sat in the car and listened, smiling to myself. I loved how he made himself comfortable—it sort of felt like ‘coming home’ to him. I let myself in, dropped my bag and laptop case near the door and went in search of him. I poked my head into the living room, but the room was empty. I turned the music down and continued on my hunt to the dining room, about to head upstairs when I saw two jean–clad legs sticking out from under my kitchen sink.
“JC?”
“Yeah, honey,” came a muffled voice from under the cabinet. “Sorry, I didn’t hear you come in, or I would have turned that down.”
“It’s okay. Sounded like you were enjoying it.” I bent to peek under the cabinet and grinned at his face in the shadows under the sink. “What are you doing?”
JC scooted out from under the cabinet and sat up, looking deliciously dirty, hair tousled and spotted with bits of dust. He wiped his face on the sleeve of his shirt and looked up at me. “You have a little bit of a leak under here. I don’t know if it’s your sink or your dishwasher.”
“Okay,” I said, smirking but hiding my amusement. “Do you know what you’re doing, Bob Vila?”
“Yeah, it’s not that hard to understand.” He pointed under the sink. “The water line goes to the—“
“JC, sweetie,” I interrupted, surrendering. “Just don’t mess it up because if I have to call my dad to come fix my sink because my boyfriend messed it up, he won’t be too happy with you.”
He snickered, angled up to look at me, and bobbed his head sarcastically. “Smartass. I’m not messing it up. I didn’t mess anything else up.”
“Better not. What else did you fix, my handsome handyman?”
He pointed at a familiar drawer, one I avoided opening most of the time. “Open that drawer, right there.”
“The one that falls out because the track is broken?” I squealed, excited, and yanked the drawer open. It stopped just short of falling out, something it hadn’t done since I moved in, and never found time to fix. “You fixed it!”
“Yeah, after I opened it and everything fell onto the floor.” He ducked back under the sink, laughing to himself, the sound echoing up through the pipes.
I left him to his work and dashed upstairs to change, and came back down. Tool sounds reverberated from under the cabinet and I wondered if he really knew what he was doing. Every man thought he was handy. For all I knew, he was just banging a wrench against a pipe. He looked cute doing it, though and as long as I didn’t have to bring someone in to cover up his ‘fix’, he could bang a wrench against my pipes as long as he liked.
I squatted next to him, bending my head so I could see under the cabinet. He was holding a flashlight in one hand and a wrench in the other. “Were you bored today?”
He lifted his head and moved the flash light to shine on my face. I squinted and blinked from the bright beam of light, blocking it with a hand. “Nope, I found plenty to do.”
“Well, when you’re done messing up my sink, get out from under there. I have to tell you something.”
“I found the leak. Be out in a minute.”
I hummed along to the music, poured myself a glass of iced tea and shuffled down the hall to check mail and messages. After a few minutes, his head popped around the doorway. “I need to clean up, but I’m done. You want to check it? Make sure I didn’t break it?” His face held a boyish, teasing expression that I secretly loved to see but rarely reacted to. I eyed him, skeptical that he’d actually done anything but mess around down there.
“Nope, I trust you. Hey, put on something you can go out in. I’m taking you to dinner.”
*
JC glanced over the elegantly set table, illuminated by a single candle, two glasses of wine poured and waiting for us to indulge, and the succulent scent of fine food coming from the kitchen. I had been waiting for an excuse to try this newly built restaurant that boasted a menu of Asian flair and cuisine. My good news and his last night in town were reason enough to treat us to a nice dinner.
“What’s the occasion? Celebrating my leaving tomorrow?”
I cringed. I was trying not to think about him leaving. “Ouch, twist the knife a little.”
He smiled warmly, his eyes twinkling in the flickering candle light. “Sorry. So, really. What’s up? You look… excited.”
I folded my arms, one over the other, and rested them on the table. “Well. First, I wanted to thank you for the other night. You keep having to rescue me from myself, it seems.” I blushed, remembering my drunken ramblings and even my offer of inebriated sex.
He shrugged one shoulder. “No big deal. Wasn’t that bad, you got a little worked up, let off some steam. Happy I was there to help.”
Still a little embarrassed, I fought the heat of a crimson blush rising from my neck. “Anyway, thank you. And I have news. Good news.”
“Good news? Do tell.”
I reached for my wine glass, nodding at him to do the same. “You are looking at the Project Director for the new StarTel/Qwest Partnership. I have to be in LA in 3 weeks to start the transition and training.”
JC’s eyes grew large and he bent forward, mouth open in surprise. “Are you—are you serious? You got it? The deal? It’s done?”
I nodded, my head bobbing. “It’s done! The deal came today, over the fax, we signed it and faxed it back and they already want to know when I’m coming out. JC, this is…” I sighed, rolling my eyes toward the ceiling. “I can’t even…I’m so excited!”
“I—I can tell,” he said, laughing at my response. “So, a toast.” He lifted his glass, megawatt smile shining at me. “To you. Congratulations, and I hope this is the start of really good things for you. Good job, honey. I’m proud of you.” Our glasses clinked as they met and we each took a sip, his eyes squinting at me over the rim of his glass.
I set my glass down and slid it away. I didn’t need any temptation to overindulge. “I was thinking this morning that it wasn’t that long ago that I hopped on a plane to LA, smacked you with my bag, and then freaked out on you for 5 hours. Sometimes it’s still so weird that I’m sitting next to you or across from you or waking up next to you.”
He propped an elbow on the table and rested his chin in his hand, his eyes wistful as he remembered. “It all started, right there. I was standing behind you, and I saw the bag coming and I just couldn’t move fast enough. And then you like… bashed me with it, and you didn’t even turn around!”
“I was already freaking out, and the line was moving and if I turned around, I was walking out of there.”
“Well. Look at us now, huh?” He stared at me, right into my eyes, so intensely it almost scared me. As if I hadn’t already been thinking about the evolution of our relationship, he made me think even more deeply about the turn of events that brought us to that point.
“Yeah,” I said softly, staring back. ”Look at us, now.”
Two steaming plates of chicken and vegetables in a savory garlic sauce and a large bowl of white rice were set between us, along with plates and silverware. I dished a plate for each of us and we dug in, JC chattering aimlessly about how he amused himself alone all day. Apparently, he found more than a few things to fix and all of my DVD’s and CD’s were alphabetized.
I stared at him, my expression blank. “What if I already had a system for organizing them, JC?”
He shrugged. “Put ‘em back. Did you?”
“Not really,” I said, smiling into my water glass. “They’ll be messed up again when you come back, you know. And the remotes will be all haphazard.”
“Don’t tease me. I like order.” He paused, a forkful of chicken and rice in mid-air, watching me eat, shaking his head. “You eat a lot, for a girl.”
Undeterred, I grinned at him and cleared my plate. “I told you, I like good food. And I burn it off.” I winked, ever so quickly from behind my napkin as I wiped my mouth, folded the napkin, and laid it on the table next to my plate. “So. When do you go to New York?”
“Couple weeks,” he responded, clearing his own plate in his typical rapid fashion. “Why?”
“Just asking. And because I think I’ll probably be out there, soon so... maybe we could hook up.”
“Maybe.” His fork clanged as he dropped it onto his plate and pushed it away, rubbing his belly and stretching his arms out. “Wait,” he said suddenly. "You’re not staying with me?”
“I need to be close to the office,” I answered, with a pout. “But you know where the Sheraton is, around the corner from the building.”
“Mmmm.” He sipped water, nodding at the waitress who came to clear the table. When she left, he leaned in, arms folded on table, flirty smile on his lips, his eyes dark. “Maybe you’ll get the same room. You know. Where the magic started.”
I leaned forward, mimicking his pose, a smile hinting on my lips, my eyes narrowed. “You mean, where you were a sneaky sneak, getting me to take you back to my room?”
A bright smile spread across his face and he laughed, almost ashamed. Not quite, but almost. “Oh, you caught on to that?”
I nodded, slowly blinking. “I figured it out when you gave me a foot rub. Men think foot rubs are erotic. I just waited for you to make your move and when you did, I decided to just… go for it.”
“I was surprised,” he said quietly, his eyes downcast, then raised back up to me. “I expected you to stop me. By the time were done with dinner I was ready to pounce.”
“Stop you? Are you kidding?” He opened his mouth to respond, but stopped when the waitress slid the small leather folder onto the table. I placed my card in the slot and handed it to her. She smiled and tucked it to her chest as she walked away.
“Yeah, that was… ” He chuckled to himself, playing with his straw in glass of water. “That was a good weekend.”
“You know, that Friday night and the other night, Saturday? You could have totally taken advantage and you didn’t. Why didn’t you?”
He scratched at the day old growth of hair on his face, rubbing his chin and cheek. “Well first, if a girl is drunk, it’s like, I don’t know-- against her will, I guess. It’s not a turn on, to me. I wanted you to enjoy yourself. And uh… remember it.” He smoothed the hair at the back of his neck, rubbing it slightly.
“The other night, it just didn’t seem like the right time. Too much going on. I won’t ever take advantage of you, like that.”
My heart soared, at his words. I wished I could say it and he would take it seriously. Tell him I loved him, without him thinking it was the atmosphere or the alcohol, that it was HIM.
“What do you say we go home, so I can say yes?” I winked at him again and amazingly, he blushed. It wasn’t often I could get him to actually blush.
“I don’t know,” he teased, with a sparkle in his eye. “You’ve been drinking a little.”
“Not much. Not even a full glass.” I paused, eyes narrowed, and cocked my head. “Are you watching me? Do you think I have a problem?”
“No.” His arm shot across the table, almost knocking over both glasses of water. He laid a hand on mine, rubbing back and forth with his thumb, his brows knit together with concern. “Serena. No, I—that’s not what I meant. I don’t think that. It could be a problem, though if you don’t get a handle on it.”
“I know,” I responded, solemn, laying a hand on top of his. “I know.”
“I’m not… you know I’m not passing judgment. I just care about you.”
“Yes. Yeah, I know. Thank you. I uhm, I have a therapy appointment tomorrow. So. It will come up.”
“And you’re meeting Regina tomorrow.” I nodded. I’d almost forgotten about that meeting. Butterflies rose anew in my stomach. “You should call me, afterward. Let me know how that goes.”
“Oh, I will. You know I will.” We sat there for a minute, the candle burning so low it was nearly out. The waitress interrupted, sliding the folder onto the table again, smiling her thanks and walking on to another table. I untangled my hands from his and slid my card back into my wallet, then heaved a sigh.
“We better go. Your flight is early and you still have to pack.”
The drive home was quiet, except for the sounds of the radio crackling through the speakers. JC nodded his head slightly to the beat, relaxing against the soft leather, a hand resting on my thigh, just above my knee, his thumb mindlessly rubbing back and forth through the denim of my jeans. It felt like he had been at my house for weeks instead of days. I was already so used to him being there somewhere, in the house. Waking up next to him. Falling asleep next to him. Cooking for him, sharing a meal with him. It was a good thing I had a lot of work to do before I headed to LA. I would need a big, huge distraction.
I sat in the middle of the bed with a small bag of M&M’s, chewing and watching JC pack, which was entertaining in itself. He meticulously folded clothing into piles and lifted the piles into the suitcase. He’d also done laundry, it appeared.
“JC.”
“Yeah, honey.”
“Can I know what your New York meeting is about?”
“Nope.” A pile of t-shirts were loaded into the suitcase and arranged just so.
“Why? Is it a big secret?”
“Not really. Sort of. I don’t know. You’ll think it’s stupid.”
“Why would I think that?” He didn’t answer, only shuffled another pile into the suitcase. I crunched another M&M and waited, but he still said nothing. “Tell me. Please?”
He smiled, his eyes squinting, and kept moving piles. “Oh, don’t start begging. I can’t take that.”
I giggled and unabashedly begged. “Please please please please!”
“You are bad with directions, sweet girl.”
“Tell me. I won’t think it’s stupid. Is it a music meeting?”
“Uhm.” He reached for a pile and stopped. And blew a long breath out of his nose. “Well. It’s kind of music related. But not music.”
Confused, I shook my head. “Can I buy a vowel?”
“Okay.” He sighed and sat next to me, digging a few M&M’s out of the bag I was holding.
“I don’t want to disappoint you, I know you want music. A lot of people want music. And this isn’t music, and no one wants me to do anything like this, but it’ll bring me close to people I want to know, and it could mean music later.”
I stared, my expression blank. What could he be doing, if he wasn’t doing music?
“So,” he continued, playing with the multicolored candies, rolling them around in his hand. “I might do a TV show for MTV. Maybe. Don’t… don’t say anything until it’s announced.” He went on to explain the premise of the show—a dance talent competition, not unlike the reigning singing talent competition—and how he’d been asked to be a judge and what the benefits of doing the show would be.
He’d said he didn’t want to disappoint me and, personally, I wasn’t. As a fan, though, my heart sank a little. His voice and innovative ideas and futuristic theories had been missed on the musical landscape. I had been hoping, in vain, that this meeting in New York was about music, a label meeting and realizing that it wasn’t brought me down to earth with a crash.
Judging a television dance show was nowhere near recording an album and releasing music and though he explained the rules of ‘media exposure’, I didn’t really get it. He seemed excited and inspired, though, and I liked seeing that in him so I kept my opinions to myself, asked appropriate questions and let him ramble happily. He didn’t ask what I thought, or for my permission to veer from the plan everyone had set for him. He appeared to have a Master Plan of his own, and this show apparently fit into it. There was nothing I could do but trust that he knew what he was doing—and even if he didn’t, it was his life and not mine.
I piled into bed behind JC and snapped off the lamp on my side. I gravitated toward him, into his arms, and found my usual spot. He pulled me closer to him, his lips pressed to my forehead, arms wrapped tightly around me. I breathed in and out, taking in the scent of him, the last I would smell of him for awhile, a few weeks at least.
The following day proved to be a long one. JC’s flight left at the early hour of 6:30, so at 5 am I was hugging him goodbye in front of the Delta terminal. I was too tired and sleepy to even be sad he was leaving. He was even worse, yawning every few minutes, stumbling around the car to the rear hatch to pull out his suitcase. The skycap picked up his baggage for check-in and after another hug and kiss at the curb, he shuffled inside the airport.
Though I wanted to go back to bed, I showered and dressed and left again. My therapy appointment was early, before work. I was nervous about seeing Regina and I needed to talk it out. I had called Dr Browne and asked for her earliest appointment that day.
I perched in the smooth leather wingback chair in her office, gingerly holding a mug of coffee while she settled herself in her own chair. Beyond the help she was providing, I enjoyed our sessions because they seemed more like chatting with an old friend than therapy.
“So, you dropped the boyfriend off this morning and back to the grind?” She sipped coffee, her warm brown eyes peeking over the rim.
I nodded, bleary eyed from lack of sleep. “Yeah. I took him to the airport this morning.”
She set her mug down and picked up her standard yellow legal pad and ink pen. “How did the weekend go? You sounded really concerned about a few things.”
I dove into the story, going further back to telling my mom about JC, then about the weekend and the day he’d arrived and the sudden crying fit, the party and Regina showing up and the subsequent need to escape the situation.
“I mean, Dr Browne, it’s like… I couldn’t stop the words from coming out of my mouth. I didn’t even want to. It was like everything that ever crossed my brain was falling out of my mouth. I said some things I probably shouldn’t have said, especially to JC, and now I kind of regret saying it—not feeling it. Just saying it. I should have waited. I wish I could take it back.”
“You told him you loved him.” She winced, her brows furrowed.
“I did,” I answered, blushing.
“Well, did you mean it?”
I glanced up at her, into her eyes framed by stylish wire rims. “Of course I meant it.”
“Well. Then why regret it? He didn’t reject it, did he? Say he didn’t want you to feel it or say it?”
“He said to wait, before I said it again.” Did that mean something other than how I’d taken it? I almost panicked, and caught myself. “Was that bad?”
“Hmmmm,” she mused, chewing the end of her pen. “Not… necessarily. Perhaps he doesn’t want to hear it from you when you’re drunk, when it’s your subconscious talking. Could it be that he wants it to be purposeful, and meaningful, and not a slip of the tongue?”
“Maybe he doesn’t want to hear it at all,” I whispered, glib, staring into the rich, brown mixture.
“Serena,” she chided, standing to refill her coffee. “Let’s not go all ‘poor me’. Everything he’s done so far, he’s done to prove that he’s with you for more than the groupie experience. It’s easy to revert to that thinking, when you get a little insecure. I want you to work on rejecting that thought. Let his actions speak to you, right now.”
I sighed, and nodded, waiving a hand at her, usually my clue that I was finished talking about a subject. I didn’t have much time and I wanted to get to the root of my visit with her. “So. Regina wants to meet, tonight.” Her short legs crossed, one over the other and a designer strappy sandal dangled from a foot.
“Yes, let’s talk about that. First of all, you said she looked clean and sober. How reliable is that assumption?”
“I’ve seen her at her worst. She was looking good. Her eyes were clear, she was… well she was clean. New jeans, sweatshirt, hair done, everything. She looked great. Really.”
“What do you suppose she wants to talk about?”
“Well, her running commentary lately is how she’s my mother and how she didn’t want to give me up, and she wants me to be proud of her. I think she feels guilty for all these years.” I laughed a short, bitter, sarcastic laugh. “I don’t blame her.”
“Serena, how do you think you’ll be able to rebuild with her as long as you see everything through a hypercritical lens?”
I remembered vaguely, through the fog of the alcohol, JC saying the same thing to me a few nights prior. I was frustrated with everyone knowing what I should do and how I should think. “I’m not about to walk on eggshells, for her,” I shot out, my eyes blazing. “I can’t be angry or suspicious, even though I’ve been down this road before with her? I need to be nice and just let her walk all over me, again? Tell me lies to get close to me and then she relapses and I’m all tangled up in her, again?”
“I didn’t say that, Serena,” she shot back. “Don’t twist my words. You’re free to feel that, if that’s what you want to feel the rest of your life. It hasn’t helped, so far. That’s why you’re here. Do you want to move forward, or do you want someone to sit and hold your hand and stroke your hair and agree with you and tell you it’s okay to hold onto these feelings? You don’t pay me for that.”
The air was electric, charged with emotion. I chewed my lip and stared into my mug of coffee, now cold. I set it on the glass table in front of me and smoothed my skirt down, breathing deeply, and regaining control.
“What…” I cleared my throat and started again. “What do I say, to her? I hear what you’re saying and I don’t so much want to rebuild as I don’t want to be held hostage to how she feels, anymore. How do I not get myself up under her, again?”
“You listen, Serena.” She leaned forward, setting her notebook on the table, clasping her hands together in her lap. “She wants to talk, not hear your theories on her life. Listen. Hear her. She obviously wants, very much, your approval. Hear her out, find out why. That’s all the advice I have for you.”
Her words, about everything, rolled around in my head throughout the day. I had plenty to do, but found myself often staring into space, tapping my pen against the keyboard, chewing my bottom lip. Again, she was right, and deep down I was happy we’d had the exchange we had. It broke some things down for me, namely that I’d been self centered and a ‘victim’ for so long. I’d never seen myself that way. I wondered if JC saw me that way—and maybe what he wanted me to see was that it didn’t have to be that way. It continued to be one of the few things I was truly insecure about.
The buzz of my cell phone against the wood of my desk brought me out of my deep thoughts. The display told me it was JC calling.
“Hey,” I said, tucking the phone between my shoulder and ear, my fingers returning to the keyboard.
“Hi,” came that sweet voice I already missed. “I won’t bug you. I just got home. Tyler says hey.”
“Aw, tell him I said ‘hey’ back and get his head back in those books.” JC delivered my message and laughed. “You should see him, right now, at the table. He’s got like, four books open. He just opened a fifth one. He’s not reading any of them, he’s watching Maury Povich, or something.”
The thought of Tyler getting into daytime scuffles and paternity tests made me laugh. “How was your flight?”
“I slept through most of it,” he yawned into the phone. I could hear him moving around in the kitchen, grinding beans for coffee, starting the machine. “I would love to sleep some more but I have to get going. I just called to say I made it home.”
“I have a busy day, too, so—“
“How was your appointment, this morning?”
I blinked, surprised by the interruption, and again, that he remembered, and then touched that he cared enough to ask. “Uh...uhm…” I stuttered, trying to come up with an answer. “It was good. Emotional. But uhm… I think tonight will go fine. I’m just going to listen. See what she has to say. So. Yeah. Thanks for asking.”
“Good girl. I’m proud of you. I really have to go, sorry. Call me later?”
“Okay, I—“ The line disconnected in my ear. I pulled the phone away and stared at it for a moment, frowned at it and set it back in its pocket in my purse.
7pm was rapidly approaching as I sped toward Regina’s hotel, nervously tapping my fingers on the steering wheel. The more I thought about this meeting, the more on edge I became, until I just couldn’t think about it anymore. Whatever happened, well—it happened. I couldn’t control it, so stressing out over it was ridiculous.
I saw her from a block away, standing in front of the entrance. I stopped in front of and her she stepped forward, looking the nicest I’d ever seen her in pressed jeans and button down blouse, her curls cascading down her back. Years of living a hard life were etched into her face, but I had to admit that she looked good. I steeled myself, ready for anything, as she popped the latch and slid into the seat next to me.
“Seatbelt,” I said, and grinned a small, tight, uncomfortable smile. She returned my small smile with a wide, bright one, and snapped the belt into place. Then, laying her hands in her lap, she sighed and faced forward. I drove ahead, back into traffic, to a restaurant a few blocks away. The short drive was quiet, neither of us speaking a word until we were scooting into a booth and perusing menus.
“Haven’t eaten at a real restaurant in awhile.” Regina’s eyes were large as they looked over the options. She seemed lost, and more than a little nervous.
“This place is pretty easy,” I said, glancing up at her. “You might like the chicken sandwich. Or maybe a burger?” She nodded and chewed a fingernail. I noticed her hands shaking and her eyes wildly scanning.
“Regina.” I reached across the table, palm up, and she laid a thin, frail hand in mine. I squeezed it, gently. “Relax. It’s just dinner.”
She pressed her thin, cracked lips together and closed her eyes, took a deep breath and smiled when she opened them. “Chicken sandwich it is.”
After the waitress brought us tall glasses of iced tea and left with our dinner order, I folded my arms on the table and cocked my head at Regina. “So. What’s this about? You said you had some things to talk to me about.”
“I do. I do.” She reached for her glass, took a long sip, and set the glass back in its spot, wiping condensation from the outside. “Uhm. Well. I have a lot of things to clear up, I guess. Let me start at the beginning.”
She cleared her throat and reached into her bag, pulling out a folder, and set it on the table. “I’ve told you a lot of things about my parents—your biological grandparents. About how they were abusive and I ran away and that’s how I ended up on the street. That wasn’t the truth.” I stared, and blinked, speechless, already roped into what she was saying.
“I did run away, but because I was seeing a boy. Well,” she chuckled, and blushed, shaky hands twisting the white paper napkin in a tight bundle and then untwisting it, over and over. “He was a man. I was very into acting and looking older. Drinking, smoking, partying. I met him at a party. He was… he was 18. I told him I was 17, and I looked it. He was a drop out and lived in this hole of an apartment and was working at this car repair shop, just barely making ends meet. He was nowhere near as bad as my parents made him out to be. When they tried to keep us apart, I ran.
“After a few days with him, I guess I wore out my welcome. He found out, somehow, how young I really was, and he thought the police would pick him up any minute and he was already on probation. He couldn’t get picked up again. He threw me out, completely disgusted at my lies. I was disgusted with my lies at that point. I couldn’t go home, so I couch hopped for awhile. And then I started to feel funny, like sick a lot. All day. I stole a pregnancy test from a grocery store and took it. And I didn’t want it to be positive, but it was.”
She paused, and nodded, repeating. “It was positive.”
My shoulders sagged, my eyes fixed on hers—the same grey eyes I stared into every morning. She’d always told me she didn’t know who my father was. Now she was saying she did know him. I crossed my arms and sank back against the seat as she continued her story. She stared at the table, the mustard yellow painted table. While others walked around laughing and joking and talking, pieces of my life were floating around that table, looking for a spot to settle, to fall into place.
“I… had no idea what I was going to do. If I went home, they would have made me give you up, or…worse. I wandered around for awhile, tried to stay healthy and warm, if I could, and stayed with friends, when I could. But I had no job, and I couldn’t even really work, and… I was thirteen! I had no idea what I was doing. I had gone from Barbies and Cabbage Patch Kids to having a real kid. I did what I could, to get by, but… I didn’t want to, you know, hurt you.
“Well, I ran into this woman who was pretty nosy, asking about such a young girl, being pregnant and she referred me to her church. I was really skeptical but I was running out of couches to surf, and I needed a stable place to stay. They referred me to this couple that had some room and were willing to take me in. That was when I met Donna and Terry Willis.”
She stopped and sucked down more tea, her mouth dry. I was eager to her more. The truth. All of it. “Okay, so you met… them. And they took you in. But I know you didn’t stay. What happened?”
“Well…” She spread her hands in front of her on the table and licked her lips. “The Willis’ were very nice people. But very controlling.” She paused, again, for effect, her head angled down, looking up at me. “I said if I wanted to be controlled, I would go back home. They invited me to do so, and I left. I was out on the street again and I needed money, so…” she shrugged, alluding to how she got money, something I often wished I didn’t know, but unfortunately did.
“Very late one night in April, almost 33 years ago, I went into labor. You came very quickly and I was not ready. We almost didn’t make it to the hospital. A day later I was released and I was home, with you, and Terry and Donna and I was overwhelmed. Donna watched me like a hawk, with you, always pointing out what I was doing wrong, yelling at me about how I was holding you, how I was feeding you.” She rolled her eyes and flailed her arms at her sides.
“It was clear she wanted to do it herself and I was depressed one night, so I just decided that you would be better off without me, and I left. I stayed gone, for a long time and I got mixed up in things I shouldn’t have and did things I shouldn’t have been doing and started myself down a path that I’d always been able to come back from before, except I couldn’t, this time. When I was sober, I missed you, like crazy. And then I would realize I would never be able to have you and I did whatever I could to numb that feeling. And then I would sober up, and then miss you, and numb again. Lather, Rinse, Repeat.”
Our server brought our plates to the table, but I wasn’t hungry. I pushed my plate aside and waited patiently for Regina to continue her story as she picked at her food. She ate like a bird, and she was so, so thin. Maybe I got my appetite from my father.
“So, my dad.” I played with my glass of tea, bobbing the straw around the wedge of lemon. “What does he look like? Or did he look like?”
“I’m getting to that. I have this all planned out in my head, don’t rush the story. You were always so impatient.” She grinned and I bristled. She didn’t know how I always was. She wasn’t there.
“Well get to it!” I snapped, and immediately felt awful. “Please,” I added, quietly. “You told me you didn’t know him, and now I find out you do and I want to know.”
Regina pushed her plate away, her half eaten sandwich and cold fries abandoned. “Okay. So. Of course, all these years I just felt guilty. I wanted to keep you. You know that. I couldn’t, and I hated that and if I left, you would forget me, and never know me. I know it was a lot to deal with and Serena… it doesn’t make up for those years, but I am sorry. I should have just stepped away and let you live your life and grow up but, well… The past is past and I am determined to make the future different.”
She perked and sat up, as if she’d reached the happy part of the story. I was more than ready to hear it, and sat forward, leaning on my elbows. I eyed the folder that she set out earlier, wondering what was inside and what they had to do with her story.
“So I’ve been gone for awhile. I went home to Denver. I saw my parents for the first time in years. I was pretty messed up and they were shocked to see me. I wasn’t given an option, about rehab, but I’m happy about that, in the end. They never knew about you. I was always afraid that they would try to find you and take you, so I never told them. They want to meet you, when you’re ready.
“Your father still lives in Denver. I didn’t mean to, but I ran into him and he remembered me. I told him he had a daughter. And he’d like to meet you, too.” I sat up straight, I’m sure my eyes growing to the size of saucers. In a matter of hours I went from peacefully not knowing who my father was to being impatient about knowing his name and everything about him.
“Now, it’s a lot, I know,” she was saying, soothing me with her tone of voice, reaching across the table, and stroking my arm. “But everyone said to just TELL you that they exist, and to let you decide, on your own, if you want to meet them. No pressure and if you decide not to, that’s perfectly okay. But they would really like to meet you.” She laid a hand on the folder she’d laid out and slid it across the table to me. “I brought pictures.”
My palms were sweaty as I reached for the folder, eager to open it and see inside. My heart beat wildly, out of control as I flipped the cover open and saw a stack of color photos, some old, some looked as if they were taken in the last few weeks. The first thing I noticed was that we were both the very image of my grandmother. Long, dark hair with streaks of grey, curls resting on her shoulders and spilling down her back, the same classic Greek nose, the same grey eyes, bright smile. I imagined we sounded the same and had the same laugh, the same smile, the same mannerisms and gestures, probably. My grandfather seemed to be a stern, persnickety man, just barely smiling, but he had a strong arm around his wife, his hand curling around her waist. He was very grey, wore glasses, and had a flat nose. I definitely looked like my mother, who looked like hers. If I had a daughter, she would certainly look like me.
Behind the large 8x10 of my grandparents was a 5x7 of a tall, lanky man with dark hair and blue eyes. It sort of struck me how much he looked like JC—not exact, but the resemblance in features made me do a double take. It reminded me of that adage that girls marry their fathers, or some ridiculous saying like that. He had a friendly smile but it was pained and he looked nervous. He had a classic ‘business man’ hair cut and wore a button down shirt and slacks—like he’d just come from a meeting. I stared and stared and stared at him, taking him in, looking at my father for the first time.
“What—“ I choked, and stopped, reached for my tea and sucked down a mouthful to clear my throat. I was so nervous and happy and excited and scared, I couldn’t even get the words out. “What is my dad’s name?”
“Your father’s name is Charles. Charles Goodreau. He was happy to hear about you. His eyes lit right up when I told him. Asked a ton of questions. You got his ears.”
I nodded, noting them, lost in the photo of him. I ran my fingers over the photo, over his face, as if I could touch him through the glossy paper. It felt empty to not be able to reach out to him and touch him, to look in his face and smile and talk to him.
I flipped back to the picture of my grandparents and did the same, ran my fingers along the photo, tried to feel them. Flat and empty. Not enough. I knew, right that very second, that I would meet them and talk to them. I had to. I’d had 32 years without them and that was long enough.
I dropped Regina back at her hotel much later than I intended to. We talked, for the first time, as two adult women and not as mother and daughter or caretaker and addict. She cried, a lot. I was moved by her tears but didn’t pity her, as I had before.
She broke the news that she was planning to stay in Denver, near her folks—and let me be in Atlanta, near mine. Nothing she had said that night shocked me more than that statement. Nothing she had ever said to me in my lifetime made me realize I still loved her as when she spoke those words. “The best thing I can do, as your mother, is to let you go. But I hope you’ll come out and see us. We love you.”
She stepped out of the car, then and hurried into the hotel, leaving me to sit in the car and stare after her, mouth open, jaw slack in utter disbelief.
My cell was vibrating before I even got back to the highway, the case buzzing against the leather of my bag. I reached over at a stoplight and pulled it out, knowing full well it was JC calling to see how it went. I missed his call but dialed the number back and he picked up right away.
“So,” he started, not even saying hello. He had the oddest phone habits. “How’d it go? I thought it was over at 9.”
I pressed my Bluetooth earpiece into my ear and turned on the connection, waiting until the crisp sounds on the other end filled my ear. “You will not even believe the story I have to tell you. I’ll be going out to Colorado before the year is out, I can almost guarantee it.”
“Why? Something wrong with your grandparents? Honey, is everything okay?”
“Oh, sweetie. I’m sorry, I said that wrong. I wish you were here.” I sighed, and then said, “My other grandparents want to meet me. And my father. Like, my actual father.”
There was silence on the line for a few very long moments, and then he quietly commented, “Oh. Wow.”
“Yeah,” I said, my tone matching his. “I am pretty well shocked myself. She gave me pictures of my grandparents and of him. I’ll show you, when we see each other again.”
“Yeah, I would… I’d love to see them. So do you want to meet him?”
I suspected he wasn’t asking me because he really wanted to know, and was concerned, but because it was a question he might ask himself if the opportunity arose. My heart went out to him—I wanted to be sensitive, but no matter what I brave words I had uttered in the past about not wanting to know him, I did want to know him. Meet him, at least.
“Yeah,” I answered, after some thought. “Yeah, I think I do.”
“Well. I think you should do it, then. So Regina was fine? No problems, there?”
“No problems. We actually talked, without fighting. And I listened to her instead of being negative. She seems to want to stay clean, this time. I got some pretty good advice, to stay positive and try to support her, so I guess I’ll do that.” I could feel his grin through the phone, and hear the squeak of the studio chair underneath him, buttons being pressed and the slightly distracted tone of his voice. “Do you want me to let you go? You sound busy.”
“No,” he said quickly, immediately sounding more attentive. “I called you for a reason.”
I turned into my subdivision, the car gliding down the street to the cul-de-sac. “Oh? What was that reason?”
“Well… I mean… I just wanted to talk to you. I felt bad about not being able to stay so I wanted to call and see what was up, with the meeting. And let you talk, if you wanted to.”
Damn him. He was trying, and trying hard, and I knew it and appreciated it and though it wouldn’t last forever, I liked it and would enjoy it while it did. I nearly bit a hole in my lip, trying not to tell him I loved him. Instead, as I pulled into the garage, I let a low chuckle come over the line and stepped out of the car. I had soaked up enough of his time and emotion over the weekend. I wanted to be there for him, now.
“I would love to talk. But you talk first. Tell me about your day.”
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