It took awhile before I realized that the sound was me. The plink plink plink of fingernail against porcelain, absentmindedly tapped while I zoned out. Lost in my thoughts. Wondering what went wrong and how the hell I got here.

Here. In Lara's tiny condo at the two seat bistro table with the wrought iron chairs that cut a design into my backside. Not that I could feel anything... I was pretty numb.

"So, he just said get out? Or..." Lara leaned forward, a hand wrapped around a steaming mug of tea.

"Not exactly. Just that he didn't care if I stayed or went. You know how brooding he gets when he's mad. I didn't want to live with that. So I went." I shrugged a shoulder and sighed. My eyes filled with tears as if on cue. I blinked them away. I cried too much. And I'd already cried enough. "Just, one minute we were having pancakes and the next minute we were..."

I was gone before JC came up from the studio. I threw some things in a suitcase, grabbed my laptop and work bag and headed out the door. As I was pulling out of the garage, the interior door to the house was opening. Whether or not he was coming out to stop me, I didn't care and it was too late. The damage was done. On both sides.

Now I sat at Lara's table, in her kitchen, drinking her tea, staring into her compassionate, sympathetic brown-but- blood shot eyes. How sweet... she'd been crying, too.

"Well maybe... maybe he didn't mean like... move out. Maybe he just meant that he needed some time."

"He's got it," I choked out. "Lots of it."

"Serena-"

"I know, Lara." My eyes flicked upward toward hers and back down to the soggy bag of tea floating in my mug. I poked it with a finger and it bobbed down and back up. "I know. I... overreacted and said the wrong things and did the wrong things and I should have talked to him about how I was feeling instead of deciding to... I just wasn't ready to talk about it and then we got into it and I said things and he said things and then I was just so mad and hurt. I need some time. And so does he."

I pushed away from the table and stood on wobbly legs and spoke with the rasp of a dry, scratchy throat. "So I think we should take it. You know?"

"Sure. Yeah. Just..." Lara hesitated, so I turned around. "You've only got a couple of weeks. My lease is up soon and Mike and I are moving in together. Hopefully that'll be enough time. You think?"

I shrugged, my eyes only about half open. "We'll see. Let's hope. If not, I guess I can look at one of those places I bookmarked. I have to work tomorrow, so..." I waved as I turned around again and headed for the guest bedroom. I heard her quietly wish me a good night as I shut the door behind me.

The guest bed was a futon couch, unfolded and piled with pillows and blankets. Nowhere near a king size bed with a luxury comfort mattress and some insanely high thread count. I tried not to think about it as I peeled off my clothes and dumped them near my suitcase, then gingerly laid onto the thin mattress.  I did think to grab my pillow, which brought me to tears when my head sank into it. JC's scent was embedded into the fabric-his shampoo and his cologne and aftershave and his natural scent mixed together to produce a unique scent, normally comforting but right now so much torture.

Finally alone, I let the tears flow and the sobs wrack my body. Hours later I was still awake, tossing and turning and intermittently weeping. My head was pounding. My eyes were gritty. My heart hurt-my entire body hurt.

I picked up my phone and scrolled through the call log. No call from him. No text from him. I didn't expect one. In fact I'd be surprised to hear from him, at least not so soon. I scrolled further down the list and selected a name from the favorites. The line rang and rang and just before it rolled to voicemail, I heard a fumbling and a yawn.

"Serena? What's up? Everything okay?"

Melissa's sweet southern twang filled my ears and made me warm all over. I smiled, in spite of myself, but when I opened my mouth, I could only moan through tears. I heard the rustling of sheets behind her and heavy breaths like she was rolling over. "Oh my God. Honey, what?"

"He broke up with me," was all I managed to get out.

I sensed her coming wide awake now and pictured her sitting straight up in bed. "He what? What did you do?"

"Why do you always assume I did something?"

"Did you?"

She had a point. "I don't want to talk about it," I mumbled.

She sighed, heavily. "So where are you? Not wandering Sunset Boulevard or anywhere, I hope?"

"Yeah, my celebrity boyfriend dumped me, so I'm hooking on Sunset. On my iPhone." I sniffled, thinking she would find my sarcasm funny.  

She didn't. "Hey, smartass. I'm trying to show I care, here. Because I love you, but you do and say stupid things. You're the smartest person I know that does the dumbest things. So what happened?"

I sighed, swiping at my nose with a Kleenex so worn that it was just barely one piece. "We just... had a fight and it got worse and worse and he finally just was like... I don't care, anymore. And then he went to his studio and I haven't seen him since."

"What did you fight about?"

It took a few seconds before I could even open my mouth to admit it. She would be furious. May as well get it over with. "About me. Maybe moving out of the house and getting my own place."

"What?" She screeched so loudly that I had to pull the phone away from my ear. "About you what? Have you even lived with him a month straight, what with all his traveling?"

"Not really, and that's my point. I'm sitting there in his house, exactly where he wants me to be. He gets to do everything he wants to do and have me sitting at home waiting for him. I just don't... it's not appealing to me. And you should have seen this chick that's traveling with him and the other band. I swear there was something going on between them and-"

"Stop."  She didn't sound like she was kidding, so I did. "I don't know where these thoughts and ideas come from, but you've gone and done it, now. You've been convinced since you met him that he's gonna dump you, so you just went ahead and made it happen, didn't you?"

"He started it-"

"Stop, Serena! Just fucking stop. You have issues that I can't solve at 3 am, because I have to go to work and solve other people's issues. Now, I'm sorry that you're sad and heartbroken, honey.  I really am, but..."

She inhaled and then exhaled. Stalling. "Well, you'll hate me for saying this, but I think you brought this on yourself. And you know I wouldn't say it if it weren't true. So after you're done crying and pouting and being right, you let me know how you're going to fix this."

I pouted, offering minimal feedback to Melissa's tongue lashing, and then hung up feeling no better than when I called her. Served me right. I knew exactly what she'd say.

And she was right. I caused this. I just had no idea how to fix it.

The next few days were a blur. I tried to bury myself into work, my saving grace. If there was one thing I could control and do well, it was my job but even that wasn't going right. I was behind on several projects and some had yet to begin. Deadlines were hard and immovable and highly important-I couldn't screw anything up. When I wasn't hiding in my office caking on makeup to hide the glowing red nose and the bloodshot eyes, I was in meeting after meeting after meeting. Keeping the ball rolling. Moving things forward. Filling up time.

Except it was empty. Just so empty. A job I once loved, lusted after, bent over backward for, nearly worked myself sick over was just a way to fill ten hours. I piled the work on so I'd be too busy to think about JC and wonder what he was doing and how he was feeling and if he would call and if I should call him, but it didn't work. My thoughts were consumed with him.

The end of the week came and went, with no phone call. No messages. He'd be leaving town again, soon. Would he really leave it like this, with us mad at each other and not talking and not living together?

A sad realization came to me--  that this wasn't like before, when he took advice from Dallas on what to say to me, or when he flew to Atlanta to patch things up, or when he would still call every day, twice a day to make sure I knew he still loved me. This was different. He wasn't coming after me.

A sick feeling settled in the pit of my stomach.  And wouldn't leave.

*

Friday night. Party night. A night when young, attached women were out with their boyfriends and young married women had date nights with their husbands. And single, lonely, boyfriend-less women perched in a seat at the corner of the bar where her only real friend, at least in the vicinity--fed her potent alcoholic drinks and fancy appetizers while the lights flashed and the music thumped, vibrating up from the floor.

A glass of water appeared at my right, while Lara laid a hand on my back. "Make sure you get some water in. Drink it down."

I shook my head, pushing it away. "Tryna get drunk. Drown my sorrows."

"I'm trying not to clean up after you and nurse your hangover tomorrow," she said. She pushed it back and tapped my hand. "Drink it."

I grumbled, frowning, but drank it down and smiled. "Thanks."

"No, really. Thank you." Lara's eyes were focused on something just past me. Her reaction was visceral-she tensed and straightened in her seat. "Heads up. Alera just walked in and she's headed this way."

Ah, fuck! I had forgotten about her, that friend of JC's with the attitude problem. And the problem with me. Who had warned me about my relationship with JC and how it wouldn't last. I definitely wasn't in the mood for her mouth and her gloating.

Before I could ooze off of my chair and try to leave before she saw me, she had already reached us. One arm was flung over my shoulder, the other around Lara's.

"Hey girls!" She breathed onto the backs of our necks, all smiles and nicotine breath. "Long time no see. How's it goin'?"

"Okay," I mumbled, diving into my full cocktail.

She gave my shoulder a pat. "How's JC? You guys partying separately tonight?"

"You could say that," I offered with a shrug.

"I just saw him over at Voyeur. Some Victoria's Secret shindig. Packed wall to wall with twiggy supermodels." I turned my head to glare at her, just in time to catch a sparkle in her eye. "He was covered on all sides. You know the kind he likes-- two legs, long hair. A vagina."

I felt my face almost burst into flame, but I didn't take the bait. Instead I downed what was left of my martini and dropped the thick glass back onto the bar. I managed to slip in an icy glare at Lara. I hoped the message was clear- get rid of this bitch before I have to clock her.

Lara rolled her eyes and slid down from her seat. "Alera, knock it off. You drinkin'?"

She laughed, squeezing herself into the chair vacated by Lara. "Yeah. Hook me up." Lara moved further down the bar to order Alera's drink, leaving me alone with her. Joy.

"Look, I know you know. That JC and I broke up. If you could just spare the sarcasm and the I told you so, just for one night-"

"Alright alright." She cackled, waving me off, digging through her purse. She pulled out a cigarette and a book of matches with Voyeur emblazoned across the cover. "Just a little humor. I know how it feels. It gets easier. Eventually."

"Yeah. Well. It's not easier, yet."

"I wouldn't imagine. You guys were together for a long time.  JC will put up with a lot of shit but once he's done, he's done. I'm sorry, honey." She lit a match and then lit a long, thin cigarette. Smoke plumed from her nose and mouth despite my cough. Fucking fancy LA people.  "What'd you do, anyway?"

I wilted, setting my elbows up onto the bar counter and sinking my head into my hands. "Why does everyone assume I did something?"

She laughed. "True. He is a musician. But just a guess that you did something because you seem awful guilty..."

"Shut the fuck up, Alera!" I sat up, glaring rings of fire at her. My heart smiled a little at the spark of fear that lit up her eyes. "Wanna know what I did? I said I was moving out. That's what I did."

Blank stare. Blink. "Wha-why? Why would you do that?"

"Obviously, I'm nuts. He got mad and we fought and then he... said he didn't care anymore. So I left."

"So he... he didn't kick you out? I heard..." I huffed and rolled my eyes. "I mean, I just thought..."

"You thought I did something and he got sick of me. No," I said, wagging my head. "I started it. I guess. And then I left."

"Wow. I mean-wow."

"Yeah. Wow, whatever that means."  I waved at the smoke lingering just above my head. Didn't this club have any ventilation? "So, I know you're just chomping at the bit to tell me how you were right and it wouldn't last. I don't want to hear it, right now so save it. Give it another week or so before you start pointing and laughing."

"Okay. Okay, I won't kick you while you're down. But aren't you gonna at least talk to him? Maybe you can fix it-"

"Fix what? He's already moved on, obviously. Shopping for my replacement."

"God."  She glanced around the room, shifty eyed and suddenly uncomfortable. Then she leaned into me and laid a hand on my arm. Her touch was surprisingly gentle. "I lied, okay? He's not at Voyeur. I haven't seen JC in months. I just said that to piss you off."

I just shook my head. And I laughed. I thought I knew JC well enough to guess he'd thrown himself into his music. The thought that he'd be out without me, surrounded by women thinner and prettier and would probably give up a lot to take my place... well... it just about tore my heart out of my chest. So I laughed. Maybe I was a little bit relieved. It felt good, actually.

"You're a bitch, Alera."

"I know," she said, making a face, but didn't seem offended. "Sometimes I can't help myself. But you know... from one sort of ex to sort of another, you should call him. I'm sure he misses you."

I sighed, suddenly exhausted. And I didn't want to get too used to Alera being nice to me. There was no telling how long it would last.

"If he missed me, he would have called. And he hasn't." I waved to Lara a few tables away and slid down from my seat. From my purse I pulled a few bills and slid them under my empty glass. "I have lots of work to catch up on and I don't want to get too drunk. I don't have anyone to make sure I don't pass out in the shower, anymore."

"Serena...think about it? You really should." I glanced back at her, twisted around in the chair, cigarette dangling between two long thin fingers. I had no clue what this woman even did for a living... all I knew about her was that she dated JC and it didn't work out. That was the last thing I wanted to have in common with her.

"I know," I said, backing away. "I just... I have to get up the nerve. I don't have the nerve right now."

###

It had been so long since my phone rang that the sound startled me. At the first chirp, my eyes lit up and I thought, for a millisecond, that JC was calling, but it wasn't Too Sexy blaring from the phone. Allison's blonde hair and brown eyes showed up in the display.   

"Hey, Al. What's up?"

"Hey, Serena. Just uhm... calling. What... how... I mean... "

"I know, right?" We shared an awkward chuckle and a strained moment of silence.

"I just... I need to talk to you. Can you have lunch today? At that place we met that time, when I met Tyler? Please?"

I hesitated, looking at the room around me. The small futon was covered with the laptop and the manual and a blanket and the remote. In the background the small TV in Lara's guest room was quietly showing some random movie on TNT. I hadn't even been watching it. And truthfully I hadn't been working. Rather, I was going through my email account, reading every email JC had ever sent to me. Every sweet and sappy, or funny, or informative or demanding email. Some made me smile. Some made my shake my head at how his brain worked.

May 09 - "Do you think the powered cheese in EasyMac is bad for you? Like cancerous, bad?"

June 24 - "I wrote a song, today. It's about shoes. I was bored."

August 30- "Tyler left an inch of coffee in the coffeepot and then left it on, all day. Burnt the shit out of it. The house stinks. Had to open all the doors and windows. If I could kick that kid, out...."

"Serena? You there? I really need to talk to you. It's important." 

Something about Allison's voice scared me. She always sounded so confident and cheerful, but on the phone with me, she was quiet, almost whispering and her voice trembled.

"Yeah. Sure, I can do lunch. I'll see you at the café in about an hour." I hesitated, before hanging. "Are you okay, Allison?"

"I think so. I don't know. I just... I'll tell you when you get there. See you in a bit."  I hung up then, my heart heavy and my mind now consumed with her. Did she and Ty break up, too? The world was just swirling down the drain, these days.

I arrived at the café just under an hour later. Allison's sporty coupe was already in the parking lot under the shade of a tree and as I stepped inside I noticed that she was seated on the bench near the hostess stand. I glanced at her and then glanced again-I'd never seen her look this way. Disheveled and sweaty and red in the face, void of makeup and-this never happened-she was wearing sweats and one of Tyler's Southwestern Law School t-shirts.

The waitress showed us to a booth and rattled off the specials while she filled two glasses with ice water and slid two menus in front of us. She shuffled away after offering to give us a minute. Allison opened the menu and then folded it again and slid it to the end of the table. She closed her eyes and groaned, then reached for her water glass and gulped down a few swallows.

"Allison..." I eyed her, afraid to even ask. "What's wrong?"

She sighed, and lifted her eyes to me. They were rimmed red and glassy with unshed tears. Her skin turned a deep pink. Her mouth opened, and she mouthed a few words before she found her voice.

"I don't know how this happened. We've been careful. Real careful, you know?"

My eyes narrowed. "You don't know how what happened, Al?"

She crossed her arms over herself, clutching her stomach. A tear fell, and then another and another. "I'm pregnant. I didn't want to believe it, but I am. Oh my God..." She sobbed openly then, covering her mouth with a napkin.

My shoulders sagged as she blurted out what I thought she might blurt out. My mind reeled instantly with thoughts of Tyler - a frat boy with a ruddy complexion, dimples for days and a ‘fuck people' attitude-as a father. I almost shivered before the balance of how much he'd changed since meeting Allison came to my mind. But still... parents?

"Wow," was about all I could say while she cried, and then sat up and wiped her eyes and nose.

"Sorry," she said, her voice still shaky. "I've been crying all night. I haven't talked to Tyler at all. He thinks I'm pissed at him."

"Are you?"

"No!" She sniffled and wiped and swallowed. "No, I'm not. I just don't know what to say. I know he's not ready to be a dad. He might think I did this on purpose to get him to move out with me. We've been fighting a lot about that. I swear to God I will not move into that house and live with his brother. "

"Yeah," I said, nodding. "I understand that. So he doesn't know at all?"

"Not a word. Just that I've been really sick and really bitchy and emotional. I've cried so much in the last week. When I heard you and JC had a fight and you moved out, I was inconsolable for two days."

I wanted to laugh, it was so dramatic. But then again I was inconsolable for two weeks afterward, so I really couldn't.

"So... when are you going to tell him? You know you can't keep it a secret forever, right?"

"Yeah. Soon. I just needed to say it, to someone. Someone friendly. My mom is gonna kill me. Tyler's mom is gonna..."

"Karen will be excited," I interrupted. "And so will Roy. And so will Heather and believe it or not, kids love Uncle JC. Don't worry about them. You're like... one hundred times better than the best girl they'd ever want for Tyler. They love you and they will be excited." I reached across the table and gripped the back of her hand. "And so will Tyler. Give him a chance, Al."

She nodded, drinking more water. I was happy to see a normal pallor to her face and less shaking. "So... I told Tyler to meet me here. In like, 20 minutes. I wanted to tell you first."

"Oh. Okay. So, do you want me to-"

"Please don't go, when he gets here. I need you. Please." She looked at me, with those big brown puppy dog pleading eyes. I had a ton of things to do and my own problems to deal with, but I couldn't say no. I nodded, saying nothing. She heaved a sigh of relief.

"I'm suddenly starving," she said, reaching for the menu.

"Get used to that," I said, laughing. She smiled when she laughed back. "It's gonna be fine. I promise."

"So uhm... I hate to ask but... have you talked to JC?"

I sighed, coming down off of my mild cloud of excitement for Tyler and Allison. In a moment I went from seeing hope for the future of a young couple and their budding family to the wasteland of devastation that was my life and my relationship. I shook my head, staring at the menu.

"You should."

"I know. People keep saying that. I can't, yet."  I lifted my eyes slightly, not looking at her but sort of off to the side. Nonchalant, I thought but probably very obvious. "So... how is he?"

"Quiet. He spends a lot of time in the studio or his bedroom. When I see him he's polite, but..." She shook her head. "Last week, we found him out by the pool at like 2am. Just staring into space, phone in one hand, beer in the other. We tried to get him to call, but he said no and went to bed."

I sucked in a breath, held it, and slowly let it out. A part of me was sickly happy that he was as miserable as I was. Not because he was miserable but because his misery meant that he missed me. And if he missed me, he didn't hate me. And if he didn't hate me, maybe...

"Hey, Serena. Didn't expect to see you here." Tyler kneeled onto the cushion of the seat and leaned in to give me a hug and drop a kiss on my forehead. "Miss you around the place. You comin' back soon?"

I shrugged, mumbling something I didn't even understand as he bent over Allison and gave her shoulders a long, tight hug and then kissed her. "Heya cookie. ‘Bout time you stopped being mad at me. I don't even know what I did."

Allison scooted over, making room for him. "I wasn't mad at you. I just... I need to talk to you."

"You needed to meet with Serena to talk to me? You guys plotting on me or something?"

"No. Just. Tyler. Don't make this hard. I have something to tell you." Allison stopped to glance at me, and then breathed in a few deep gulps of air. "I-"

"Western scramble with toast. Belgian waffle, hold the butter, with bacon. Orange juice." The waitress interrupted by heaping plates of food onto the table, then taking Tyler's order. It was several minutes before she left again. Poor Allison had to build up her bravado all over again.

"You...." Tyler poked at a slice of her bacon. His gaze at her made me laugh. I could have guessed from my first glance at her at the hostess stand that she was pregnant. Tyler appeared to not have a clue. "Go on."

"I... am pregnant." Audibly, a breath escaped-from me and from Allison.

Tyler, on the other hand, didn't seem to be breathing. He stared at her, mid-chew of bacon. And then tried to say something and choked. He coughed, hard and loud, almost falling out of the booth. Allison slid her water over to him and he seemed to pour it down his throat.

"I wish I would have thought of a cute way to tell you, but... it was all I could do to just say it."

He wheezed, nodding, wiping his mouth, coughing some more, gulping down more water.  When he could finally speak, he said, in a strained voice, "I didn't expect that. At all."

"I know," she said softly. "Are you pissed?"

"No-no." He reared back, a slow grin spreading across his face. "I'm not pissed. I'm not even sad. I just... wow. You're pregnant."

"Yeah." She smiled, a brief one at first but then a shy grin up at him. It was cute. And beautiful. She seemed relaxed, finally, and if wasn't mistaken was giving off a little bit of a glow.

"How uhm... how pregnant are you? Like... a little bit pregnant?"

"More than a little but not a lot pregnant. About 8 weeks. Long enough to feel like shit and cry about nothing and bitch a lot. Sorry."

He laughed and dropped an arm around her shoulder, pulled her to him and rested his chin on top of her head. The moment was soft and tender and loving until, in true Tyler Chasez form, he broke the mood with, "Your dad is gonna kill me."

We all laughed, none of us harder than Tyler, who suddenly was very concerned about his girlfriend and if she had eaten and how she was feeling and pushing her to drink her orange juice and eat her food. I picked at my omelet, trying not to watch and listen. They always made me miss JC and this time was no different. I fought back tears, swallowing hard.

"Didn't think I'd be the first one to give the folks a grandkid."

My eyes flicked up at Tyler. "I did. We weren't really talking about kids. Not seriously, anyway." I shrugged, trying not to remember JC's flippant comments during our vacation about our girls and boys and my futile attempts to stop picturing them in my head-bright blue eyes, mops of thick brown curls, pretty voices. Sweet little people. Like their dad. Who was I kidding? Of course I wanted that with him.

"I'm sure everyone's asking how you're doing and stuff. But I haven't. So how are you?"

"Life fucking sucks right now, to be honest."  I shoveled a mouthful of omelet into my mouth but it was like I didn't even taste it. I had no appetite since there was no one to pick on my appetite, anymore.

"Yeah.  It's different, without you. You know I didn't mean what I said, right? About moving out?"

"No, I didn't know that. Actually, I was pretty sure you meant it. And it was okay to mean it. It wasn't fair to turn everything upside down, for me. It was about more than what you said, though. I'm just having a hard time adjusting and with JC not here.... and he wasn't even home before he told me he was leaving again. I just... I thought maybe..."

"You know what?" Tyler leaned forward, his hands tightly clasped together. "You're a smart girl, Serena. Your brain is big, and you make sure everyone knows it. You're sensible and practical and down to earth and real. You've got a good head on your shoulders and you're real independent and self sufficient and that's all well and good. But sometimes it's not about being independent and proving that you don't need help and you don't need anyone. Sometimes it takes being a strong person to realize that while you can do everything yourself and be a lone ranger, it's not half as fun as building something with someone else."

"I know that, and I miss building with him, I just-"

"You want it your way or not at all."

"And so does he," I shot back. "And I don't know what his hurry is, but the harder he pushes me, the less I want it his way. He runs over me with his thoughts and his opinions and his plans. And when I was there, in his house, I just felt... trapped by everything he is."

"How do you feel right now? Any better than trapped? Things looking up for you, living in Lara's guest bedroom?"

"Okay. That's enough. I hear you. I do. I just. I gotta figure this out." I stuck my fork into the not even half eaten omelet and slid out of the booth.

"Well, you better hurry up. He leaves tomorrow."

*

"I know I just took a few days off and I haven't been making much progress lately and now is totally the wrong time but-"

"Serena..." Chuck sighed, exasperated. He and I were dressed in matching white knee length lab coats, hard hats, and steel toed boots out on the manufacturing floor. He was checking composites. I was begging for a few days off so I could drive or fly or row to wherever JC would be that weekend.

"I can't approve any more time off for you. Not right now. We've got a lot of irons in the fire right now and there's a bottleneck in your department."

"But what if I finish the Sales materials and work with Leonard to do the briefings ahead of time and assign the rest of the work out to my team? It's only a few days, Chuck. Please?"

"I wish I could say yes. I really do. The simple fact is that you haven't even been an employee for 90 days yet. You're still on probation and you've had more days off than I have. I'm sorry. It's a no go."

Chuck made his way around a gigantic, chugging machine and started a conversation with one of the techs. I shoved my hands in the pockets of the lab coat and stomped through the floor to the exit. I tossed off the hardhat and the coat and kicked off the shoes, placing them in their storage closet just outside the manufacturing floor and made the long trek back to my office-not via the catwalks.

My disappointment must have been written all over my face. Rayna followed me inside my office and closed the door as I dropped into my chair.

"Not in the mood to chat, Ray. What's up?"

"You tell me," she said. She plopped into the chair across from mine and crossed her legs. "I'm your assistant. I'm your eyes and ears out there, but I'm your eyes and ears in here, too. I see someone who's been sad for a long time and I hear something in your voice that I didn't hear the first few weeks. Are you okay?"

"No." It just fell out of my mouth. Which, I guess was appropriate since it was dead on. "I'm not. Things kind of suck for me outside of work. And frankly inside of work, too. I don't think I'm ready for this job. I'm still working so hard and doing so much and I should be having fun and I'm not. My personal life is in the shitter and I can't even get a few days off to fix it."

I sat back against the smooth, cool leather of my office chair and began a slow swivel. One would think that the relocation to LA wasn't quite panning out. In a matter of months, I was no longer living with JC, no longer dating JC, no longer having fun at work, and the long hours were no longer worth the pay. When I envisioned moving to LA, the way I felt that day was not at all what I had in mind.

"You know..." Rayna sat forward, leaning her elbows on her knees. "You have to think about what's most important to you, right now. And whatever that most important thing is, you have to go for what you know is right to do. Whatever that may be for you-you'll regret it if you don't make a move to change something. You'll be one of those people that hates their life and hates their job and makes everyone around them hate their life and their job, all because you refused to do something simple that could have fixed everything."

I felt like she was telling me something. It was code, for sure. Wrapped in double meaning and hints and meaningful advice, but she was telling me something. I had finally reached the point-of exhaustion and frustration and sheer ‘I just don't know what to do'-- that I was tired of not listening to everyone who thought they knew all the answers and knew me better than I did. I clearly didn't know shit.

*

Four days later, I was seated in row 47, seat B on Delta Airlines, Los Angeles to New York. I was scared-terrified even, but not of the flight. I barely noticed that I was on an airplane, my mind was so consumed. I had completely flipped my life around in the span of three weeks and in four days I'd flipped it around, again. And now I sat on a plane, fingers crossed and hoping that when I landed, I still had time to make things right. Maybe I still had the love of my life. And maybe he'd take one glance at me, shake his head and turn away.

But maybe I still had a chance in hell. On the off chance that I did, I'd be stupid to not take it. So off to New York I went.

The plane was quiet, full of slumbering passengers snuggling down under jackets. Across the aisle, a grey haired gentleman leaned against his wife and snored softly, open mouthed. She didn't seem to notice, really. In fact, she seemed content, scanning her newspaper and yawning. A few seats in front of me, a young couple bantered back and forth about current events. I almost laughed to myself at the quips flying back and forth between them. I missed JC, watching them. Okay, I missed fun, light arguments with JC. In which he was always right.

As for me, I had some thinking to do. Some work to do as well, but nothing that had anything to do with Taylor Manufacturing and everything to do with this tornado I called my life. I reached under my seat for my carry-on bag and pulled out a pen and a spiral notebook and started writing.

Dear Regina... scratch that.

Dear Mom,

Awhile ago, you asked me to write you a letter, to tell you about what my life was like, dealing with an addict. If I'm honest, I put a lot of that away, a long time ago. Some of the memories remain, like scouring the city for you after the first cold snap to make sure you had a coat and boots and cold weather clothing. Or searching for you during the summer heat waves, when it was 100 degrees in the shade and the pavement was so hot, there was no way anyone could lay on it. I remember looking over my shoulder or jumping when my house phone rang, because I knew, in my heart, that it could only be you.

My most vivid memories are of loving you and not knowing it. They say there is a thin line between love and hate and I experienced that to a severe degree. I hated what you were and what you had become and who you forced me to be-your caretaker. The adult. The responsible one. And I hated what I allowed myself to turn into, having lived a life trying so hard to fix you and trying to be perfect so you would see what you were missing out on and want to be better. So you would want to be my mom.

Time after time, you came and went. I started to think, maybe subconsciously, that I wasn't worthy. I was only good for when people needed money or a place to stay or someone to be fiercely devoted and dedicated to them. When people were done using me, they tossed me away. It happened, every time. I expected it, not only from you but from everyone around me.  They used me at work and my family used me and my lovers used me, too.

And then I met someone wonderful. Who loved me unconditionally and deeply and made me feel safe and wasn't using me. He wasn't going to throw me away-only I didn't realize this. I couldn't tell myself this. I couldn't let my guard down and believe that he was for real because every time I did that with you.... every time you went to rehab and you came out looking shiny and bright and new and lucid and I thought I had my mom back... you left again. I can only do that to myself so many times.

The last time you left, I swore it would be the last time that it would affect me, because it hurts so much to see you go. It hurts because I love you. I always have. I always will. I have always wanted you to be a part of my life and to be, if not a mother figure, a friend. Someone who knows me better than I know myself because she bore me. She carried me and held me close to her and made promises to me. I wanted you to keep the promises.

A few weeks ago, I came to the realization (okay, realized again) that I... am fucked up. If there's something to ruin or destroy, I'll do it. I don't even have to act; I can do it by thinking, alone. Assuming, expecting, and projecting. It's something a lot of adopted kids go through. At least that's what my therapist tells me.

Yeah I am in therapy. I started yesterday and I'll be going until I'm better. I won't say that it's your fault because I don't believe it is. I'm an adult and I've had 33 years to fix me. 14 years since I was 18 and responsible for my own life and mental health and I haven't. I just kept running. And in all my running I almost lost something that means the world to me.

I'm on my way to fix some things, to admit some things, to come clean and make things right with a man I have hurt deeply.  I might finally let myself believe that it's real. He's real and he's not going anywhere and he loves me way more than he should, given my behavior. For that I am thankful and grateful and I am going to try not to take that for granted anymore.

And it's like I didn't even notice that you came back. And you stayed, this time. And you've been my mom, this time. You did it all on your own and I am very, very proud of you. Now I have some things I have to do on my own and I hope you'll be very proud of me, too.

I love you, always.

Your daughter,  

Serena

 I signed the letter, ripped it from the spiral notebook and folded it in half, then slipped it back into my bag just in time to refasten my seatbelt and brace for landing. This part was always the scariest. I craved having JC's arm to dig my nails into, but made do by closing my eyes and clasping my hands and breathing breathing breathing until the plane landed.

It was dark, in New York. Though the windows at baggage claim I saw nothing but inky black darkness, and then a glint of light and another and another. Snow. I smiled to myself and watched the flakes fall, mesmerized by the pattern and the rhythm, or lack thereof. It was haphazard and gentle and happenstance, swirling in the air, light as feathers. Lighter, even. Beautiful.

I collected my suitcase from the giant rotating wheel serving baggage from our flight, stepped outside and into a cab. I had no idea where JC was staying, but only one place in New York would do for me: the hotel in the heart of midtown Manhattan, blocks away from Broadway in one direction and Central Park in another, with the blue canopy that flapped in the breeze and brownstone brick that, at the last time we were there, was festive with blinking, flashing holiday lights. The hotel with the rooftop high above the city and the magical view of Times Square and one of the places I fell in love with him, all over again. Our place.

Once again, the room was comfortable but not fancy or ridiculously upscale. The blues and cream colors blended to create a calming effect. I lay back on the bed, a huge King size with a mountain of pillows, and closed my eyes. And breathed.

Okay. You're here. Now what?

I reached toward my purse and dug out my phone. My first instinct was to call JC but I resisted. He had a show that was starting soon and I couldn't distract him. I'd have plenty of time, I hoped, to talk to him. Instead, I dialed another number. The line picked up right away.

"Serena! I am really surprised to be hearing from you."

"I know. It's been awhile." I hesitated, suddenly nervous, but swallowed hard and pushed forward. Sometimes we have to do things that are hard, but very much worth it. Do it.

"Eric... I need your help."