Author: J. Saman
Category: Contemporary
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So I’m sitting on my mother’s couch, nursing my Diet Coke and avoiding the guilt zucchini bread in front of me. Her small frame is sitting across from me in her hideous floral chair, patiently waiting for me to say something. Here goes.
“I’m leaving, Mom.”
“Leaving?” she asks, her dark blonde eyebrows raising up to her hairline. “But you just got here.”
I sigh. This isn’t going to be fun. “No, Mom. I mean, I’m moving away. Leaving town.”
She leans forward with a scowl etched on her wrinkle-free surgically enhanced face. “Where do you intend to move to? You know your problems will follow you wherever you go.”
Right. And that’s why I hate talking to my mother.
Couldn’t she have just wished me well? Given me some modicum of encouragement?
“I don’t know where I’m going,” I say, ignoring her jab. “I haven’t decided yet.”
“Well,” she leans back, crossing her arms and legs, essentially dismissing the idea. “Be sure to let me know when you figure it out.”
Now it’s my turn to lean forward. “Actually, I plan to just get in the car and drive around the country until I find a place that speaks to me.”
“That’s absurd,” she shakes her head, her lips pursing off to the side. “You can’t just drive across the country—” Her arm sweeps out in front of her toward the window, before folding it across her chest again. “—by yourself, until something speaks to you.” Her head is shaking back and forth, her blonde bob swinging around her shoulders. “It’s not safe for a young woman to go off on her own with no plan or agenda. No, Kate. No.” She points her finger at me as if that makes it final.
“Mom, I’m twenty-seven years old. I am perfectly capable of not only making my own decisions, but I don’t need your permission.”
Yeah, I’m trying to hold firm, but this woman has always had a way of reducing me to a weak puddle of coward.
“I’m going,” I huff out, setting my can on the coaster and rubbing my hands up and down my face. “I need this, Mom,” I confess, my hands still covering my eyes. I hate speaking to my mother this way. She’s never been loving or nurturing, which makes emotional confessions that much harder. “I’m drowning here, and I can’t find my way back.”
She scoffs. Actually freaking scoffs at me. “That’s ridiculous. You’ll be fine. You just need to get yourself back out there.”
I suck in a deep breath, holding it tight in my lungs before I let it out and explode at her. Because I’m this close.
Instead, I sit back, squaring my shoulders and looking her dead in the eyes. The same blue as mine.
“I’m going, Mom. In two days. I’ve given up my apartment, packed my things, and that’s it.” I stand up, glaring back at her narrowed eyes, wishing I had her love and support because I desperately need both right now. “I was just letting you know.”
I take two steps toward the front door before she calls out to me. “Wait,” she sighs, sounding just a little defeated and a lot annoyed. “Fine.”
I turn back to her, but don’t bother to sit again.
“I get it. You’re a grown woman and you’re leaving.” She waves a dismissive hand. “I can’t stop you.” She stands now, walking toward me and placing her hands on my shoulders. “If I suggest something, will you listen?”
“Maybe,” I say hesitantly. I can see the wheels spinning in her eyes, and that’s hardly ever a good thing.
“Well,” and then she laughs lightly. “This is just too darling for words.” She giggles like she’s just had the most brilliant idea. “So I was talking to Jessica Grant this morning. You remember her.” I shake my head to her statement, but she just continues. “You met her when you were six, at their house outside of Philadelphia. She was my sorority sister in college.” Another head shake. “Whatever.” She waves me off like it’s not important. “She was telling me how her son is moving across the country to Seattle for a new job that he starts next month.”
“And your point is?” I tilt my head at her because I have a bad feeling about where this is headed.
“My point is,” she’s smiling huge now, “that he doesn’t like to fly and was debating renting a car to drive out there. Jessica was against this, naturally, but now that I know you’re going off into the wind,” she points at me, “you can take him.”
“Um. No.”
“Katherine, he’s a nice young man, and since you don’t have a destination picked out, this is perfect.”
“Mom, I’m not driving a stranger across the country.” I’m trying to be firm here, but she’s not listening. She’s already decided on this, and I can feel her itching to run over to the phone to tell this Jessica woman—whom I’m certain I’ve never met—about the ride I’m giving her son.
“You know him. I just told you,” she huffs, annoyed that she has to repeat herself. “You met him when you were six.”
“Right. Let me amend that then. I’m not driving across the country with a man I don’t remember,” I widen my eyes for emphasis.
“You are. It’s the friendly thing to do, and if you’re going to be traveling in a car across this godforsaken country, it’s much safer if you do it with a man. I won’t take no for an answer, young lady.”
“Mom. No,” I stomp my foot like a small child because that’s how she makes me feel.
“It’s done.” She’s smiling like she just won. “I’m calling Jessica now and telling her that you’ll pick him up in three days. His name is Ryan and he’s a very nice young man. A computer whiz or something.”
Have I mentioned that my mother is mad old-school? Like she thinks that this is the 1950s or something. Even her furnishings are reminiscent of that era, and not in a cool mid-century modern way, but in a very floral, ugly, grandmotherly way.
“Mom. I don’t feel comfortable driving with a man I don’t know for several weeks.” It’s my last ditch effort. “Please understand that I can’t take him.”
“Katherine,” she grabs my shoulders again, leveling me with her most serious motherly expression. “If you don’t travel with him, then I will be calling you eight times a day at least to make sure you’re safe.” She means it. Shit. She just got me, and judging by her smug expression, she knows it.
“Fine,” I huff out, feeling like such an epic failure. If this were a few years ago, she never would have won. Losing Eric and Maggie has taken all the fight out of me.
Now I’m a spineless zombie.
“I have to go finish packing. Text me his info.” I lean forward to kiss her cheek, which she accepts stiffly. Maybe this guy won’t want to drive with me any more than I want to drive with him.
“I’m going to call Jessica now.” She’s bubbly sunshine, and now all I want to do is go home and crawl back into bed for the rest of the day.
And that’s exactly what I do. I go home, shut off all the lights and close the curtains, making the small apartment as dark as it’s going to get for this time of day. I hate this bed. I hate this apartment. I hate this life. So I sleep, ignoring the phone calls and chimes to indicate voicemails and text messages.
I wake an untold amount of time later to the familiar feeling of a vise wrapped around my chest. I dreamt of them again. Of the time that Eric and I took Maggie to the playground and she went down the slide by herself for the first time. The look of pride and triumph in her eyes is something I will never forget.
I drive by that park every day on my way to work. Followed by the ice cream store that we went to after the park. It’s the same place that Eric took me for our first date when we were twelve and then proposed to me nine years later.
It’s the same place they were on their way to the night of the car accident.
That’s why I need to get out of here.
I will never be able to move forward if my grief is constantly holding me back—at least that’s what my therapist says. In my gut, I know I’m running away. I know this, but I have to.
I miss them too
much. I can’t take it anymore.
Instead of getting easier, it’s getting harder, and I find I have to remind myself of my morning promise more and more throughout the day.
I don’t want to die. I just don’t want to live without them.
I don’t know how to live without them.
Eric and I met when we were twelve; when he moved into the neighborhood with his parents and older sister. And even though we were impossibly young, I think I fell in love with him instantly. He married me ten years later on the anniversary of our first date, and then a year later, we had Maggie.
Life was perfect.
We were happy.
Rolling over, I grab my phone and see that I have two text messages and one missed call, with a voicemail from an unknown number. I check the texts first and see that one is from Maya and one is from Ellie.
Ellie and I used to be best friends, and then the accident happened. She couldn’t handle my grief. I think it made her uncomfortable. And I get that. Grief makes people uncomfortable.
Deal with it!
It’s not exactly like I am having the fucking time of my life.
She completely bailed on me without a word, and any time I run into her, I get the pity eyes.
Let me tell you, there isn’t much worse than those, because no one wants pity. Someone to listen? Sure. A shoulder to cry on? Absolutely. But pity is the worst, and that’s all I get from her. That and her talking about me behind my back. So when her text says, Heard you’re moving away. I think that’s a smart idea. Good luck with your life, I don’t respond. I mean, what can I say to that anyway? Thanks? Yeah, no.
Maya, on the other hand, is a good friend. One of the few who can tolerate being around me. Even my nursing friends can’t handle it. People talk shit about you when you’re happy, but they cannot stand you when you’re miserable. They treat you like it’s contagious.
I need out of this place, like yesterday.
Maya wrote that she’s bringing over wine tonight. I knew I liked that girl for a reason.
Finally, I get to the missed call. I hit the button to listen to the voice message and put the phone on speaker so I don’t have to move my position to hear it. An unknown male voice comes out of the speaker.
“Hi, I hope this is Katie Taylor—” No one has called me Katie since I was a child. Which suddenly gets me thinking. “My mother, Jessica Grant, gave me your number. She said that according to your mother, you offered to drive me out to Seattle. I have no idea if my mother was fucking with me or not—she can be a bitch like that—but if she wasn’t, please give me a ring back. If she was, then I’m sorry to have bother you. Later.”
And then he hangs up, and I have to just laugh at that.
This guy actually called his mother a bitch. Who says that on a voice message to a complete stranger? Then there’s the fact that he wants me to call him back if I’m willing to drive him. That means he’s interested in riding with me.
I don’t exactly know what to do with that.
I was sorta banking on him not being into it.
The way I see it, I have two choices.
Choice one: Call this guy back, offer him a ride, and give it a shot.
Choice two: Don’t call him back and deal with my mother incessantly calling me all the time—which she will.
My fingers drag up to the pendant resting flat against my sternum. I really don’t have a choice, do I? I’ll go insane with my mother calling me, and maybe I can just drop this guy off in Seattle and then be off on my own way. Or maybe I’ll make him crazy after a day and he’ll run for the hills.
Crap.
I hit his number before I can talk myself out of it, and the phone rings exactly three times before his voice fills my ear. “Katie,” he says like we’re old friends.
“Yeah, um. Is this Ryan?”
He chuckles softly into the phone. “Obviously it is, since you called me and I picked up using your name.”
“Right.” I close my eyes feeling just a little stupid and annoyed. So not digging the sarcasm. “And it’s just Kate. I haven’t been Katie since I was a child.”
“Sure. So was my mother fucking with me or what?”
“Can I ask you something?” I throw my arm over my eyes because this has to be the oddest conversation of my life, and we’re only a minute into it.
“Shoot.” His tone is light and casual.
“Is driving across the country with a complete stranger something you’re actually interested in doing?”
Another chuckle rumbles through the phone. “You’re not a stranger, Katie. We met once before. I was ten, and you were six.”
I sigh. “It’s Kate, and I realize that, according to my mother, we’ve met before, but that was twenty-one years ago, and I have no memory of you.”
“Well, I remember you, so to me that doesn’t make you a stranger.”
Okay, we’re going around in circles here. This guy is already pissing me off; no way I could tolerate being in a car with him for several days on end.
“Is that your way of saying yes?”
“Sure,” he says this like it’s the easiest thing in the world. “Why the hell not? Beats the shit out of renting a car and going solo.”
“But you don’t even know me,” I’m practically pleading now. Why am I the only one who thinks that this idea is insanity?
“My mother told me a little about you, but she got that from your mother, so I’m going to reserve judgment since my mother is batshit crazy, and I’m assuming yours is as well.” I have no response for that. “Listen. I don’t have to be in Seattle for another four weeks. I’m up for a road trip if you are. Come to Philadelphia and meet me. If you can’t stand me, then no hard feelings and we’ll go our own way. Sound like a plan?”
I sigh. He makes some sense.
“I can do that. Text me your address, and I’ll be there in three days.”
“Awesome. Later.” He hangs up, and I toss my phone on the bed beside me, wondering what the hell just happened.
2
Kate
* * *
I have no recollection of ever stepping foot in this city, though according to my mother and Ryan, I was here when I was six. Great. That means nothing to me.
Ryan texted me his address two days ago and said he was up for an adventure. Adventure wasn’t really part of my plan. This was more about escape, followed by trying to find a place that seemed like a good fit where people won’t stare at me like I am some horrifying creature.
So I’m sitting in my hotel room, chomping my nails to the quick as I debate whether or not I’m going to drive to his house or just go on my own.
All you have to do is meet him, Kate.
Right. That’s not exactly helping.
The idea of traveling across the country and having to share my time with another human isn’t appealing.
I need this time. I need this space, and I don’t want to answer or have to listen to another’s opinions on shit.
And he seems like the type of guy who has opinions.
I look over at the clock on the bedside table. 8:47. I’m supposed to be there at nine. I need to leave now if I’m not going to be late. I hate being late, even for strangers that I don’t want to meet. A frustrated crazed huff leaves my mouth before I grab the suitcase I brought up and head out the door.
I’m pulling up in front of a moderately sized house in a decent neighborhood exactly twelve minutes later, but I sit in the car just staring at the house for another five. Finally, the front door opens, and a woman with very dark brown hair stands there and stares at me.
Shit.
I’m creeping people out, and the last thing I want is for someone to call the cops on me for sitting in my car.
The door shuts behind me with a quiet click, and I find myself trying to smile for this woman who is practically beaming at me like we’re long-lost friends.
Her dark, almost black hair is cut very short and styled perfectly. Not even the stro
ng wind is able to blow a hair out of place. As I get closer, I see her eyes are an intensely bright, vivid jade. They’re stunning, and she’s an exceedingly attractive woman, but her face rings zero bells in my head.
“Hello,” she coos, her arms outstretched like I should embrace her. I do, but awkwardly and with as much distance between us as I can manage.
She’s the opposite of my mother it’s not even funny. How these two are friends, I’ll never know.
“I’m Jessica Grant,” she says, holding me at arms-length and examining me up and down. “My god,” she shakes her head, her hair unmoving. “You’re just darling.”
I smile. “Thank you.”
“You’ve grown into such a beautiful young woman.” Her smile drops into a knowing frown, and I don’t want to hear the next words that I know are coming out of her mouth. “It’s such a shame about your family,” she says with no remorse in her voice. She may as well have been lamenting about the weather. I don’t respond. Anything I say will not be polite, and I’m not usually in the habit of being a bitch to elderly strangers.
“Mom. Back off.” A male voice startles our little moment, causing my eyes to flash over to the front porch. A guy who can only be this woman’s son is standing there with his arms crossed over his chest, and an annoyed expression marring his face.
He’s tall. Like giant tall. Well over six feet. His hair is as dark as his mother’s, and sort of all over the place in a way that says he just rolled out of bed and didn’t bother to brush it into submission. His eyes are also the same jade green, but his are encased in dark-framed glasses. A moderately thick beard lines his jaw, but not in an unkempt way.
His face is handsome, no denying that.
“No one is in the mood for your bullshit platitudes.” Well, shit. I’ve never heard anyone speak to their parent like that. Ever.
I absolutely cannot help the small smile pulling at the corners of my mouth. “It’s fine,” I say, waving off her feigned look of horror. Whether it’s directed at me or her son, whom I assume is Ryan, I have no idea.