Forever Now (Forever - Book 1) (21 page)

Although I would have loved to hit her straight on and never stop.

Standing there in the living room, watching her march around on her high horse as if she hadn’t abandoned me and left me with no money to fend for myself with the rent past due and no way to contact her, gave me a whole slew of murderous thoughts. I was fantasizing about all the ways to kill her.

Decapitation was coming at a close second to drowning.

I was hurting on so many levels, but I had to push that away and think clearly. I had to make a plan. That’s what survivors do. They swallow their hurt and make a plan.

They survive.

As my mother threw open cabinets and screamed at me for not keeping the kitchen stocked, I took stock of my situation. There were six more months of school. With her paying the bills, I could make enough money babysitting to pay for my plane ticket to Paris and have a little left over. I would just have to find a better hiding place for my cash.

The other upside to her being home was she could fill out the paperwork for my student visa. It would be a challenge to get her to do it, to go to the consulate with me and jump through the bureaucratic hoops, but maybe just maybe if I was sweetness and light, in a moment of weakness she would agree to do it.

So I didn’t kill her, and I didn’t yell back, and I took all her punishment, every last bit of it.

She took a prescription bottle out of her purse and popped two pills in her mouth.

“The first thing to do is get a television,” she said. “I’m going to lie down, if you haven’t sold my bed.”

***

Cruz was sort of right about nothing changing. For Mom and me, nothing had changed. We settled right back into our old lives like nothing had ever happened. She got her job back. Her car reappeared, somehow, and I didn’t ask her where it had been. There was food in the kitchen again, and two new televisions were delivered one day after school. Even though she didn’t come home with money, my mom had credit cards, and she was making good use of them.

During the first two weeks that she was back, she went through at least three guys. They were all much younger than her and none of them were ever seen again after one night. She seemed to give up on the whole happy family thing. She didn’t force me to meet her boyfriends. In fact, she didn’t get angry when I would run upstairs to my room as soon as they walked through the front door. That was a change. Before Mexico, she would always insist that I meet her boyfriends, as if she needed my approval. Also different was that she went out a lot instead of having parties at the house.

But the biggest change was the pills.

As far as I could tell, there were two prescription bottles that she used on a regular basis. In the morning when I would bring her her coffee, they were on her nightstand, and before I left her room and she would get out of bed, she would pop two pills in her mouth and swallow them down with the coffee.

She never let them out of her sight so I never got a chance to read the labels and find out what they were. But she was considerably more anxious than she used to be. Nervous. And after her pills, she would calm down.

After her initial tirade, she left me alone for the most part. I brought her morning coffee, cleaned up after myself, and didn’t have a lot of interaction with her for the rest of the day.

No, she never talked about why she left, what happened when she was gone, or why she came back. But one day I found a new cell phone in my backpack, and I understood that that was some kind of apology from her.

The other stuff—the Cruz stuff—did change. He was wrong about that. He vanished without a trace. I didn’t know how to contact him, didn’t know Eric’s number or where he lived. My energy level dropped, and even though I now had real food to eat, I lost my appetite. I made it to school and to babysitting, but I couldn’t seem to rouse myself enough to do my homework or study. I couldn’t even write in my notebooks.

Most evenings I sat by my bedroom window and looked out at the street, half waiting for Cruz to drive up. But he didn’t. Once or twice, I thought I heard the
clack clack clack
of his car and ran out of the house, but there was nobody there.

It was like I was having beautiful boy withdrawals. I wondered if meth addicts had it as hard. My body was heavy, and it was difficult for me to move my arms and legs. I had a low-level headache all the time, and I couldn’t get enough sleep.

And I would cry. Did I mention the crying? I cried a lot.

January ended and February began. I started skipping school, complaining that I wasn’t feeling well. Days turned into weeks of lying in bed and watching the dust float on the sun’s rays filtering through my window.

I stopped eating. Stopped caring.

Don’t get me wrong. I wasn’t one of those girls who believed Cinderella needed Prince Charming to make her happy. I was more of a Gloria Steinem kind of girl than a Millionaire Matchmaker kind of girl. I thought Cinderella could have been perfectly happy renting a small apartment in the kingdom with a couple of mice roommates and a job singing with birds or something. Sure, she could go out on the weekends with the prince, but I didn’t think she
needed
him to save her and make her happy.

True, Cruz had more than a passing resemblance to Prince Charming minus the blond hair. True, he was beautiful, he knew how to dance, and he had saved me, but I was still surprised that I felt like I was dying without him.

He had changed me, made me whole. And now that he was gone, so was a big chunk of me. I was left with only half a heart, unbeating and useless. No wonder cardiologists made so much money. It’s damned hard to fix a broken heart.

My mother yelled at me the first couple of days to get out of bed but gave up after that. I had stopped listening to her, anyway. I was stuck in a world where time passed in an otherworldly haze without purpose. Slowly the hours and days passed, and I half-lived them, unable to reboot myself.

Unable to become whole again without Cruz.

Maybe I couldn’t be whole again because I didn’t see a need to be, didn’t see much purpose in doing much of anything. So I didn’t, except to stumble into the bathroom when I absolutely had to.

That’s what I was doing the week after Daylight Savings ushered in the spring. I closed the bathroom door behind me and locked it. I noticed for the first time in a long time after not noticing anything for so long that the bathroom wasn’t as tidy as usual. There was toothpaste splattered in the sink, spots on the mirror, and two towels on the floor.

I jumped back, as if I had gotten an electrical shock. I bent down and picked up the towels and put them on the rod just like I had done almost every day when Cruz lived with me.

Cruz.

Something in me snapped. My apathy turned to a fierce need for action. I ran out of the bathroom, threw on jeans and a t-shirt, grabbed my purse, and sprinted outside. I took the bus at the corner and didn’t sit down the whole ride to Neiman Marcus.

***

Gone were the Christmas decorations, but the rest was the same. Overpriced skinny clothes were sparsely laid out, like each garment was a work of art or a prize. I was no longer intimidated by the wealth and glamour of the place. I was singularly focused on finding Cruz.

I ignored the snooty salesladies and made a beeline to the men’s cologne counter. The manager was organizing the glass bottles. She was still dressed all in black. Her face didn’t move, her lips were blood red, and her long blond hair fell down her back in a silky wave.

I slapped my hands down on the counter. “Where is he?” I demanded.

She arched a perfectly plucked eyebrow. “Excuse me? May I help you?” She spoke slowly and said “help” like she had a totally different definition of the word, like how dare I talk to her wearing baggy jeans and a t-shirt with wild un-brushed hair and a dirty face.

“Cruz!” I said too loudly.  “Where is he? I need to see him!”

“And you are?”

“I want to see Cruz!”

“I think we’ve established that. Who are you that you want to see Cruz?”

“I’m Tess.” My traitorous tear ducts started working overtime sending tears streaming down my face and making my nose run.

“
You’re
Tess? No, you can’t be. This is too much.” She laughed while I cried.

“Do you know me?”

“Honey, you’re famous here.”

I wiped my nose on my sleeve. “I am?”

“Cruz isn’t here.”

“I can wait for him,” I said.

“You don’t understand. He’s never coming back. Never. And good riddance to him.”

“He quit?” I asked. Why would he quit? He needed his job. How would he survive without it? Unless he left town. Unless he had decided to go to Japan early for his modeling. At the thought of him halfway around the world, my tear ducts revved into gear again.

“Not exactly. The boy suffers from bad judgment. Obviously,” she added, gesturing up and down my body. “He had a freakout. Your name was mentioned.”

“Freakout? My name?”

“He’s obsessed or he thinks he’s obsessed. What did you do to him? Drug him? Hypnotize him?”

“I didn’t drug him or hypnotize him,” I said. I thought she was teasing me, being a mean girl.

She shrugged. “Whatever you did, he has piss poor judgment. I’m a catch. Do you understand?”

“You’re a catch,” I repeated.

“And you’re scaring away customers.” She signaled to a security man to come over.

“Wait. Where can I find him? Do you have contact information for him?”

“I can’t give out private employee information.”

“Please!” I shouted. “I need to see him!”

“He was fired, don’t you get it?” she hissed. “He went nuts, went off on me, kept shouting about you.”

“I don’t understand,” I said. The security guard grabbed my upper arm and squeezed tight. “Ow!” I tried to pull away, but he squeezed tighter. He dragged me away from the men’s cologne department toward the exit. He was incredibly strong, and despite my determination, I couldn’t fight him.

“Don’t make this difficult,” he growled.

***

I didn’t know if I was making things difficult, but they were difficult enough. My trip to Neiman Marcus didn’t get me any closer to Cruz. I couldn’t find him, couldn’t get in touch with him. All I knew was that he got fired, but I didn’t know why. Because of poor judgment? Because of me?

My head swam with guesses, assumptions, and wishes. I tried to psychically connect with Cruz, to read his mind from afar. My thoughts swarmed, trying to figure out where he was, how he was, and how he felt about me. The more I thought, the less I knew, my thoughts only adding to my depression.

I was at a dead end. And as the saying goes, the only way was up.

Now that I had finally gotten out of bed, I did my best to show up for life again. I made “fake it ‘til you make it” my new motto. I took a shower and washed my hair. I also did my homework. My appetite hadn’t come back, but at least I was going to school. Mrs. Landes, the college advisor, heard of my return and called me into her office. It was the end of the day, and she wasn’t her usual chipper self.

“Time is ticking away,” she told me. “We’re approaching the deadline. Have you gotten your paperwork filled out?”

I had all but forgotten about Paris. My mind was full of sorrow and longing, and there wasn’t room for anything else like dreams or plans. Paris used to be important to me, but now I couldn’t focus on anything except loss.

“You do still want to go to the Sorbonne, right?” Mrs. Landes asked. “I’m not going through all this bother for nothing?”

Did I still want to go to Paris? With Cruz gone and my mother in the house, I did want to get as far away as possible. Before I had wanted to get to Paris at all costs, but now I just wanted to escape San Diego at all costs. I guessed Paris was as good a place as any to run away to.

I nodded. “Yes.”

“Good. Then, you need to get cracking on that paperwork. Take a trip to the French consulate in Los Angeles and have them stamp everything good and official. Okay?”

I nodded. I felt a tear threaten to run down my cheek, and I turned away to wipe my eye. Mrs. Landes touched my knee.

“I didn’t bring you here just to get on your case. I have some good news.” Her saggy face turned up into a smile. “Really good news. You’ve been accepted to the Sorbonne. I called them this morning to see what’s what, and that’s what’s what! You’re in, Tess. You’re going to the Sorbonne.”

“I’m what?”

“Do you want me to say it in French?”

“I was accepted?”

“I think I have a French English dictionary here somewhere. Come on, tell me you’re happy.”

I tried to be happy for Mrs. Landes. She had helped make my dream come true, and I should be happy.

Damn it, be happy Tess, I thought.

I tried to squeeze out some happiness, but I couldn’t make it happen. I had been sad for so long that that had become my go to emotion.

“Of course I’m happy,” I lied. I smiled to prove it.

“Good. Now go off, dance the can-can, eat a croissant, and get the paperwork done. Your dream just came true, and it’s a mighty fine dream. I’m so tired of Ivy League I could puke. This was my first Sorbonne student application in 30 years of doing this job. I’m thrilled for you.”

Mrs. Landes was thrilled for me, and I knew I should be, too. Thrilled. Happy. I wondered when the emotion would kick in or if my dream would be forever tainted by the sadness I felt over Cruz.

School was over for the day. I left Mrs. Landes’ office and trudged across the empty campus on my way home. I had lost weight in the past couple of months, and my pants drooped as I walked. I yanked them up as I turned the corner onto my street, and that’s when I heard it.

Clack, clack, clack.

“To love is so startling it leaves little time for anything else.”

Emily Dickinson

I ran full out down the street. Cruz’s car had backed out of my driveway and was driving in the opposite direction away from me. I waved my hands in the air as I ran.