Can't Let Go (4 page)

The door creaks open and I descend down the steps, following the shouting and calling of familiar voices echoing from somewhere in the house. Peering outside, I see no one there, so I’m guessing everyone has left except for the true gamblers. The ones that live and die for their easy money because a few times they actually were ‘blessed’.

Once I’m at the bottom of the basement stairs, I scan the smoke-filled room with televisions lining the walls. Some men are cheering on a baseball team and others busy themselves at poker tables. Spotting Dex, my stomach hardens, all of those butterflies from earlier slowly dying and weighing it down. Standing in the middle of the room, Dex has a fist full of money, yelling at the television.

The game ends and he screams, “YAY!” I glare as he walks around the room, grabbing money from men’s hands, bearing an arrogant smile. Some men pat his back, saying congratulations while others shake their head in annoyance.

“You should stick with him. He’s one talented bastard.” My dad comes along side of me and my vision flickers to his face, wrinkled and weathered beyond his years, and then back to Dex’s younger face, full of life. That elated sense of like and security I felt when I looked at him earlier quickly gets replaced with the need to purge my stomach into the nearest trashcan.

As though he hears my thoughts while his eyes scan the room, double-checking he collected all of his bets, the baby blues land on mine and his lips turn down as he lowers his hat to cover his eyes. Not willing to witness the unraveling of someone I believed was pure to this devil-infested life, I twist away from him and run.

His big bare feet thump up the stairs after me. I swing the door closed as soon as I step into the kitchen, but his flat hand stops it from shutting in his face. “Chrissy,” he calls out after me, but I continue my way up to his room with him close behind. I bend down to grab my shoes, and when I stand, I stumble back from his closeness.

“You’re no better than them,” I say, intently narrowing my eyes at the money still firmly clenched in his fist.

“This is nothing. It’s fun for me. You think I’d ever live my life—”

“Whatever, Dex,” I interrupt him and push by, disgusted that he gambles for entertainment. Doesn’t he realize everyone starts out that way and then the tide turns to a need basis? He grips my arm, twisting me around before sliding his hand down to join mine.

“I’m sorry, Chrissy. I was just bored and thought I’d go down there. One thing lead to another,” he says, making excuses for his behavior.

“I just think you should stay as far away as possible,” I advise and take in a breath. “I live the slippery slope first-hand.”

“I know—I will.” We stand there with our eyes darting all over the room, and the warmth of his hand in mine. “Just stay. Your dad can’t drive.” He leads me back over to the bed.

Sitting down, we find the same positions we were in hours ago. This time, the television remains turned off though. I roll over to face the wall and he rolls over on his side, facing the opposite direction.

I lie awake most of the night, listening to Dex’s breathing pattern and light snores. Eventually, I succumb to sleep, because when I wake up, he’s gone again. Leaning over, I wrap my arms around his pillow and inhale the scent that’s left behind, allowing that feeling of loneliness to occupy me again. A small envelope rests in the heel of my shoe. When my shaking finger tears along the seam to open it, I automatically know what it contains. All the crinkled money he won last night overfills the envelope with a small note.

The last thing I want is gambling money, but thinking about how many times my hard-earned babysitting money was ‘blessed’ to someone else, I shove it into my purse. When I get downstairs, Mr. Prescott is up and sitting at the kitchen table.

“Dex asked me to tell you goodbye for him. He had an early football practice this morning,” he informs me. “His mom picked him up.” He brings the cup to his lips.

“Oh, yeah, okay.” I stand here awkwardly shifting back and forth.

“Take a seat, Chrissy.” He motions toward the chair, and I hesitate before eventually sitting down.

Mr. Prescott talks to me about nothing important, just how’s school and my teachers. He never mentions the fight or Dex at all. I’m thankful he doesn’t dig into where I slept last night or how I got Dex mixed-up in the fight. It’s embarrassing to always be the basket case his son needs to rescue. A half hour later, my dad joins us with his hair stuck up in every direction, smelling like a scotch distillery.

16 years old

Dex: How are things there?

Chrissy: Nothing different. On the plus side I made Dean’s list this semester.

Dex: That’s awesome congratulations.

Chrissy: If I can keep it up, hopefully I’ll get out of this hell hole. Have you ever wished for time to speed up?

Dex: Honestly, not really. Maybe a few times on weekends with my dad.

Chrissy: I can’t wait until I graduate and escape this life. Anyway, did you win your game last night? Sorry, I didn’t make it, but I just got this job and couldn’t get off.

Dex: We won and went out to celebrate for pizza afterwards. No big deal, I understand work.

Chrissy: You understand work? Dex, you’ve never had to work. LOL

Dex: Yeah, well my mom makes me do a shitload around here. Especially lately with the wedding.

Chrissy: When are the upcoming nuptials? Your cousin actually asked me to be her date.

Dex: Six weeks. Hey, you should come?

Chrissy: Um…I don’t know.

Dex: Come on, it will be fun. A few of my friends are coming.

Chrissy: Okay

YOU’D THINK I’D know better by now than to mix my dad’s side with my mom’s. But no, here we go again. I stuck my foot in my mouth by pushing Chrissy to come to my mom’s wedding. I hate even the thought of introducing Chrissy to my friends, without even considering Tori, my girlfriend. I tried to keep it quiet, not allowing Tori to know the possibility of getting invited was even viable. Then two weeks ago my mom asked her if she was coming. I kind of had hoped to spend time with Chrissy; it’s been so distant between us lately. The few times Chrissy’s made it to my games, we chat for a few minutes after I head out of the locker room, which I always either make sure I’m last or first. It’s not that I’m ashamed of Chrissy, it’s the opposite, actually. I’m ashamed of who I become in front of my friends.

Things between Chrissy and I are different. They’ll always be that way. Sometimes after I’m with her, my mind races through the thought of what we could be. If things were different, if I didn’t live with my mom, we’d be closer. Who knows, maybe in some alternate universe we’d be dating. The other night, my mom was watching some damn movie called
Pretty in Pink
, and all I could think about was Chrissy. Not that I’m super rich like that Blain dude and we don’t attend the same high school, but our drastic differences in life can’t be denied.

Walking into my mom’s room, my Aunt Kim and my mom’s best friend, Diane, help Mom secure her veil. She’s so beautiful; no one would believe she has a sixteen-year-old son. Then again, when you get pregnant at nineteen, you’re destined to be a young mother. If I bet on how many times people thought she was my sister—well, I’d be my dad. My dad’s an asshole for letting her out of his grasp, and my step-dad hit the jackpot because of it.

“Oh, Dexter, you look so handsome.” My aunt comes over and begins pinning a flower to the lapel of my tuxedo.

“Dex,” I correct her, and she rolls her chestnut eyes.

“Are you ready to walk your mom down the aisle,
Dex
?” She stresses my shortened name. “Although I guess it’s better than Edge,” she remarks, turning her head toward my mom, who nods and crinkles her nose.

“Yeah,” I answer, trying to keep this conversation on course. If the topic veers in my father’s direction, we’ll never make it to the garden.

My dad is okay. He paid his child support. He picked me up on weekends. He even made it to the majority of my junior varsity games, as long as they weren’t at night. Now that I’m on varsity football, I can already assume his spot will be vacant unless he loses his Friday night poker game.

When my mom stands, her lips turn up slightly and her hands run down the sides of her white wedding dress. It’s a little poufy, but I guess she likes that fairy godmother kind of look. Swishing toward me, I lean down the twelve inches and kiss her on the cheek. “Ted’s going to be one happy man,” I remark, not wanting to get all gushy and sappy, even though I’m ecstatic she’s finally found love.

“Thank you, honey,” she says, and my aunt hands Mom her bouquet of white lilies. Linking arms with me, I escort her out of her master bedroom that she’s been sharing with Ted for over a year. Stopping at the top of the staircase, I walk down first to wait for my mom as my aunt and Diane hold the train.

Once we reach the bottom, the light elevator music can faintly be heard from outside. Finding our grandfather clock, I discover we’re about five minutes late. Not very characteristic of my mom, but it’s her day. Diane peeks her head out the side door and the soft lulling music halts before picking back up in the wedding march. My mom shoos Diane and Kim out the door after they each gush over her with kisses and hugs, already exclaiming their congratulations.

“You like him, right?” her voice low and unsteady, as she examines a bead on her dress.

“Yeah,” I answer, and her shaking hand grabs onto mine.

“You’d tell me, right?” she continues to question, and I wonder if this is cold feet.

“Yeah,” I say again.

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

Enough with the sentimental crap, the song we rehearsed to last night commences and I open the door to exit first. She links her arm in mine and I guide her to the array of white folding chairs in front of a man-made arch that Ted’s sister decorated. All two hundred people stand and turn their sole attention to us. Women holding hands over their hearts with mouths slightly open and men’s hands clenched together in front of their waists.

A few of my friends try to appear all proper, standing up straight in their suits. Tori is next to them, along with her best friend, Bree. She smiles to me, and I return it before the sight of Chrissy steals my attention away when I spot her the next row up with my cousin right beside her. Her blue dress clings against her newly developed chest and then flows out over her long lean legs. Man, I don’t remember those legs. It’s only been six months since I saw her at my dad’s party for his birthday. Chrissy’s eyes flicker with giddiness when she sees my mom, but when they veer over to me afterwards, they drop down to focus on the ground.

I give my mom away to Ted and take a seat next to my grandparents in the front row. My uncle clasps his hand on my shoulder from the row behind us, congratulating me on a good job. Everyone sits quietly while my mom and Ted repeat their vows and claps explode when they’re presented as Mr. and Mrs. Ted Robinson.