Take Heart (13 page)

“Mom, I’m not paying that, again; we’ve gone over this,” Mia says, forcing herself to stay calm.

The shouting continues on Nancy’s end, and Mia looks up into my eyes, pissed. “Mom, listen very carefully because I’m only going to say this one more time. I’m not going to pay the house bill and I’m not coming back home,” her voice is slowly rising, octave by octave. “If you even dare call me one more
fucking
time,” she grits, “or speak to my boyfriend that way ever again, I’ll file harassment charges. You got that...you little shit?” She ends the call, slams the phone down, and lets out a shaky breath, using the counter to hold herself steady.

I give her a minute to calm down before I explain myself. She looks up and studies me, a frown marring her beautiful features.

“Why would you answer my phone?” she asks sharply, irritated.

And cue the groveling....

“I’m sorry, that wasn’t what it seemed like. I swear, I wasn’t trying to screen your calls or snoop around. I was cleaning up while you were in the bathroom when I saw your mom call. I thought maybe it was important, but I shouldn’t have done that. I’m an idiot. Forgive me?” I ask, sincere and hopeful.

When you’ve been in hot water as many times as I have, you quickly become accustomed to these types of situations. Thankfully, I know all the right things to say and do, in order to get myself out. It goes along with my charm.

She lets out a weary sigh, and her shoulders sag, making me feel even worse. I walk around and pull her into my arms, attempting to make it right. She’s trembling, but I’m not sure if it’s from fear or anger. I rapidly rub my hands up and down her arms for comfort, but it doesn’t stop the tears from welling up in her eyes, and she begins to cry.

“Shh, it’s okay, baby,” I soothe.

“No, it’s not okay. I’m so sorry for the things she said to you,” she sniffs.

I try for humor. “Don’t apologize, Mia. It’s my fault. I’m the idiot who thought it’d be cute to say hi to your mom—like when my sis crashed our party earlier just to meet you.” And then I add, “And you can’t own her actions and mistakes like they’re yours. Understand?”

“I can’t help it,” she sobs.

I lift her up and carry her down the hall into my bedroom, gently laying her down on my bed. I reach out to turn on the lamp, and the room warms up with some light. I crawl in behind her, fold my arms around her, and hold on tightly while she cries. I knew she had issues with her mother, but I had no idea it was this bad. No wonder Mia left.

“Are you okay?” I have no clue how much time has passed, but we’ve been in here for a while.

Mia turns onto her back and looks at me with a blank stare. Her nose is red and her eyes are puffy from all the tears she’s shed. “Yeah, I think so,” she says hoarsely.

I caress her jaw and face tenderly, searching for any sign to indicate how she’s truly feeling. “We don’t have to talk about this if you don’t want to, but I want to know; how long has this been going on?”

She lets out a heavy sigh and uses her hands to push herself up into a sitting position. She crosses her legs, Indian style. I follow her cue and do the same so we’re sitting face-to-face. Knowing that this is a vulnerable moment for her, and a tough subject, I give her my full, undivided attention.

“It started becoming a habit when I was around fifteen, but it didn’t get really bad until my dad died three years ago. His death sent her into a tailspin. It sent us both into a tailspin; she just never came out of it. Suddenly, the life that I’d always known slipped right through my fingers, like quicksand. My mom started to fall behind on the bills and couldn’t catch up because she couldn’t hold down a job. She’d either show up drunk, hung-over, or not at all. She was constantly getting fired. We were going to lose the house if we didn’t do something, so I dropped out of college and picked up a second job to help out. By that point, she had amassed so much debt, that there was no way I was going to be able to completely pull us out from under. But at least I was making payments on the house again, so the bank backed off. I was working myself into the ground and giving up my life. She’s a slave to her drinking, and because I was living under the same roof and taking care of us, I was a slave to her drinking, too. That thought scared me to death. I saw the next forty years flash by, and I pictured myself in the exact same place. It just felt like it was never going to end unless I did something to change my situation.”

“Is that why you left and came here?”

She nods and adjusts her legs. “We ended up getting into a huge fight one night before I left town. I gave a week’s notice at both jobs, packed my bags, and stayed with Hadley, while I finished out the remainder of my shifts. I called my mom and told her I was leaving to come down here, but I don’t think she actually believed me at the time. She’s been trying to pressure me into coming back home and giving her money ever since.”

“Do you feel guilty for leaving? Like you made the wrong decision?”

She ponders my question.

“Sometimes,” she admits. “It’s hard. Deep down, I know I made the right choice, but it’s not easy feeling like I’m letting her down. She’s still my parent and I don’t want anything to happen to her. I feel like if something goes wrong and I’m not there, it will be my fault. It’s not like she has anybody to call for help, not that she would try anyway. She’s completely alienated herself from everyone who cares about her.”

I bring my finger under her chin and tilt her head up so she’s looking me in the eyes. “You made the right choice, Mia. You can only do so much to save somebody. At the end of the day, if they don’t want to be saved, then there’s nothing you can do. I know it’s hard, but you have to accept that. Better for her to fall down on her own, than to go down and take you with her,” I say gently.

She sniffs and rolls her eyes. “You sound just like my therapist,” she says with a hint of humor.

I give her a sympathetic smile and push a loose tendril of hair behind her ear. “I’m sorry that you have to put up with this, but you have to know it’s not supposed to be that way for a kid, right? Children shouldn’t have to make those kinds of sacrifices in order to take care of their parents, and they shouldn’t be attacked by them, either.”

“I know. She didn’t used to be that way. She was actually a really great mom. She would always read me stories before bed, and snuggle with me when I had nightmares. Whenever I was in a school play, she’d be front and center with a camera in one hand and a tissue in the other,” she says nostalgically. “But all of that seems like it happened another lifetime ago,” she adds, her tone sad and wistful.

Knowing what she’s had to endure these last few years, makes my heart ache for her. I want to kiss away her pain, healing every wound and scar she’s ever had. I want to wrap my arms around her and shield her from all the bullshit life has to offer. I know she can take care of herself, but she shouldn’t have to. She’s already done enough of that for a lifetime.

Her openness and vulnerability are tugging on my protective instincts, and I suddenly feel the itch to hold her. I grab her waist and pull her on top of my lap. She straddles me and runs her fingers through my hair. Her touch feels so comforting. I close my eyes and let my head fall back in contentment. I feel soft kisses fall on my face and I groan softly. As she continues down to my throat, I begin to knead her hips. Mia pulls back and I open my eyes.

“Chase?” she says softly.

“What do you need, baby?” I ask, already knowing where she’s going with this.

“You,” she breathes.

“You’ve got me.”

I lean forward, forcing her body backwards until she’s lying down on the bed again. I give her slow, exaggerated kisses and shift my weight so only my forearms are holding me up. Her small body feels absolutely perfect under mine. She wraps her legs around me and my hand slides from her ankle all the way up to her thigh. Feeling the texture of her cowgirl boots against my skin reminds me of a thought I previously had. I break the kiss.

“I want you to close your eyes. Then, I’m slowly going to slide your clothes off your body until I have you completely naked. Once I’ve done that, I’m going to take all this shit away for you. I’m going to do that by making love to you throughout the night, over and over again. And you know what you’re going to be wearing while I do all of this?” I say.

“Nothing?”

“Close. You’ll be wearing nothing but these boots...and me,” I vow.

A slow, sexy smile spreads across her face as I lean back down and begin to fulfill my promise.

By the time the night is over, I’ve fulfilled it three times.

a     m     e     l     i     a

It’s been almost six weeks since I last heard from my mom, but I’m not complaining. I’m enjoying the silence, and letting things come together, which is enabling me to fall into a welcome routine. I started my job at the steakhouse a few weeks ago, and I’m absolutely loving it. It’s fast paced, fun, and the people there are great.

Chase and I are fantastic, but work’s been keeping both of us busy, so we don’t see each other as often as we’d like. When he found out I’d gotten the job, he took me zip lining to celebrate. Little did I know, it was also his way of making me take a risk and try something new.

As for Raven and Eric, they’ve been inseparable, spending almost every night together at his place for the last week. It turns out that the two of them got together shortly before I moved down. After several miscommunications and stubbornly refusing to tell each other how they felt, they finally got on the same page.

This brings us to today—it’s Thanksgiving. Raven and I are cooking the stuffing and sweet potatoes. When I say “we’re” cooking, that really means she’s doing all of the work while I sit on top of the counter and keep her company. Let’s face it, there’s no way she would ever let me touch such a high profile dinner. Since I have nowhere to go for the holidays, she invited me to her parents’ house, and I accepted. Chase invited me to do dinner with his family, too, but after an intense conversation, and a long list of reasons why it’s too soon to meet his entire family, he relented.

 “Mia, can you hand me that large Tupperware sitting next to you?”

“Of course,” I say, reaching over to grab it. “What’s the update with you and Eric? You guys seem to be pretty hot and heavy lately.”

 “Things are good,” she says, contentedly. “I think it helps that we were friends for so long first. I know a lot of people think he’s a vapid man-whore, but I see past that stupid exterior. He can’t fool me.”

“I can’t believe I didn’t see what was going on. I feel like I should’ve known all along. I’m losing my edge and I blame Chase for that,” I half joke.

“No, you aren’t. We were really good at keeping it hidden, and to be honest, there wasn’t really anything to tell.”

 “Yeah, but you liked him, and you didn’t tell me. I know it’s not my business, but that kind of surprised me. I tell you everything, Rave. I’d be lying if I said it didn’t sting that you never mentioned anything,” I say, feeling a little wounded.

She sets the container of stuffing down and exhales sharply, giving me a remorseful look. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to hide anything from you. But I also didn’t want you to be put in the middle of our drama. I wasn’t going to say anything until we figured our situation out, but when I saw him with Sasha at ACL; I just couldn’t hold it in any longer.”

“How long have you liked him?”

She takes a moment to think. “Probably for a year or so,” she admits, guilty.

“A
year
?! And you didn’t say anything to me? God, I feel like such a bad friend.” And that’s when I realize what’s really bothering me. It’s not that fact that she didn’t tell me, and it’s not necessarily that I didn’t see it coming, it’s that I feel like I wasn’t there for her when she’s always made a point to be there for me.

“Stop, don’t even think like that, Mia. You’ve been nothing but an amazing friend. It wasn’t because I felt like I couldn’t talk to you. You’re my best friend. I’ve never felt like I had an issue that I couldn’t talk to you about,” she says adamantly.

Hearing her say that makes me feel a little bit better. She instantly moves to the edge of the counter and pulls me into a tight hug. I hug her back fiercely, and try to shake this feeling of not being good enough.

“You know that I’m really happy for you, right?” I ask, releasing her.

“I know, and I love you for it, baby girl.” She gives me a grateful smile and returns to scooping the stuffing into the Tupperware. I hop down off the counter to grab our coats out of the closet. Now that it’s well into November, it’s gotten cold outside. However, I use “cold” loosely because it’s not nearly as frigid as the Midwest.

I shrug my coat on and hand Raven hers, then grab the stuffing and bottle of wine I purchased as a “thank you” to her parents for letting me spend Thanksgiving with them. Raven said it wasn’t necessary, but I’d insisted. If there’s one thing her mom can’t resist, it’s a good bottle of wine. 

The timer goes off while she’s slipping her coat on. She throws on the oven mitts, grabs the casserole dish, and closes the door with her foot. She tears off a sheet of aluminum foil and covers the sweet potatoes, being careful not to burn herself in the process. I switch off all the knobs, and do a quick sweep throughout the apartment to make sure all the lights are off. Raven walks out the front door with the dish, while I lock up and briskly follow her to the car.

Five Years Earlier

An obnoxious, earsplitting noise wakes me up from a deep sleep. Somewhere far off in my hazy mind, I recognize it as the smoke detector. Startled, I bolt upright and look around the room frantically. There’s a powerful dose of smoke filling the house, which only makes my heart do double time. I immediately throw the covers back and sprint out my room and down the hall to find the source.

“Dad!” I shout, panicked.

“In here!” he yells from the kitchen.

I swing around the corner in record speed, and the edge of the counter actually has the audacity to nick my funny bone at a time like this.
Oh shit...here it comes—that terrible throbbing sensation mixed with a case of the giggles.
It’s not supposed to be funny, it hurts!

While massaging the pain out of my elbow, and alternating between laughter and whimpers, I see Dad vigorously wave a frying pan right below the smoke detector to shut it up.
It’s too early for this.
There’s a visible cloud of smoke in the room, which is coming directly from the oven.

“What happened?” I yell over the noise.

“Burnt the damn turkey,” he says, flustered.

I manage to stop rubbing my elbow long enough to crank open the kitchen window, helping to air the smoke out. When the beeping finally stops, we relax and stare at each other for a long moment. My dad looks tired and depleted. He’s dressed in a stained, gray T-shirt and dark jeans. There’s a five o’clock shadow on his face and it’s 10:00 a.m. I break eye contact to glance at the turkey. It’s completely destroyed. My dad follows my line of vision, and his shoulders slump with disappointment.

“I’m sorry, kiddo. I didn’t mean to ruin Thanksgiving for you.”

“It’s okay, Dad,” I reassure, forcing my tone to sound lighthearted and carefree.

He sighs. “No, it isn’t. This is the first Thanksgiving I’ve gotten to spend with you in a long time, and I can’t even get the turkey right.”

My hand flies up to cover my mouth and a chuckle escapes despite my best efforts. His eyes immediately flicker to mine; confused at first, but then they soften.

He looks back over at the turkey—which is crisp and
way
too dark to eat. “Eh, it doesn’t look so bad, does it?”

“It looks absolutely delicious.”

He cracks a smile and grabs the corner of his T-shirt, lifting it to wipe the sweat off his forehead. He lets out a deep breath and looks at me again. “How does KFC sound? We can get a bucket of crispy chicken to share, mashed potatoes and gravy, and some corn. That about covers all the basics, right? I mean, I know your mom cooks all those things and more for you every year, and I’m fully aware her cooking is a whole lot better than fast food, but it’s the best idea I’ve got.”

I swallow hard and force myself to block out the problems I’m having back home.
Mom cooking a meal? Celebrating traditions like we used to?
Sure, we’ll go with that.

“Are they even open today?” I ask, distracting myself.

“They sure are,” he smirks.

I study his smirk long enough to “get it.” KFC has been his version of Thanksgiving dinner for years. It makes me sad to think that he usually does this all on his own. I don’t want him to get lonely down here, living so far away from us.

“Only if you get me a side of mac n’ cheese, too,” I bargain.

He walks over and throws an arm around the back of my neck, pulling me into a side hug. “You got it, kiddo.”

We shower and cruise to grab our replacement meal. Then we sit on the couch together and eat it. I mean, without a formal turkey dinner, why sit at the kitchen table, right? Dad jumps up and puts on his favorite Beatles album, then hops back on the couch. He looked like a kid at Christmas there for a second, so excited and animated.

“How’s school going?” he asks, taking a bite of chicken.

“It’s high school, Dad. It only gets so good.”

“Hey, you’re only a kid once. Don’t forget that. You should at least try to make the most of it while you can. Are your grades still doing well?”

“Define ‘well.’”

He turns his head and shoots me a stern look. “You better not be letting your grades slip, Mia.”

“Dad….”

“I’m serious. You need to focus on school. You still want to go to college don’t you?”

“Of course.”

“Then buckle down.”

“It’s not like they’re suffering or anything,” I mutter.

“I don’t care. It’s obviously not your best work. Your mother and I don’t expect all straight A’s, but we do expect that you work hard and give one hundred percent. You’re not giving it your best effort,” he says matter-of-factly.

“Can we not talk about this, please?” I just want to enjoy my time with him and not think about home or school. I’m already dreading my inevitable return to Mom. He has no clue what’s going on, and the longer we talk about this stuff, the harder it will be not to break down and tell him everything. There’s no sense in making him feel guilty for something he can’t change. I’m already doing that enough for the both of us.

Noticing the shift in my mood, he sets his chicken down and looks at me with concern in his eyes. “What’s going on with you?”

“Nothing,” I lie. “I promise I’ll do better in school if that’s what you want, but I don’t want to talk about this anymore. I don’t get to see you as often as I’d like, and I want to make the most of our time before I have to fly back home.”

He wipes the grease off his hands with a paper towel and refocuses his attention back on me. “Should I be worried about something?”

“Not at all,” I shrug it off and distract myself by playing around with my silver thumb ring. “Why do you ask?”

“Because you’re not acting like yourself, that’s why.”

“I just have a lot on my mind lately. College, boys, life...you know, the usual stuff.” I say vaguely.

“Boys? What boys?” he asks, alarmed.

“Relax, Dad. It’s nothing serious.”

“Better not be,” he mutters. “You’re too young for boys.”

“I’m seventeen,” I remind him.

“Exactly. You’re too young. You don’t need to waste your time dating when no one’s good enough for you.”

“And what exactly constitutes as being good enough?”

“Definitely not seventeen-year-old boys. Let’s just leave it at that. Wait for someone who is actually worth your time. You’ll know what I’m talking about when you find it—someday
far
away from now.”

I roll my eyes. “Dad, I think you’re being a tad overprotective.”

“Only a tad? That’s it? I was aiming for suffocating. Thought I’d achieved it when I saw the eye roll, too.” He nudges me with his elbow.

I smile and lean in to rest my head against his upper arm.

He stares down at me impassively for a moment or so before the song changes to “Dear Prudence.” Abruptly, he stands up and motions for me to do the same. I grab the paper towel he used and wipe my own hands off, then follow suit. He leads me to the middle of the living room floor. Knowing exactly what comes next, I drape my arm across the backs his shoulders and take his left hand in my right. His fingers curl around my hand and he wraps his other arm around my waist. He begins to sway us to the music, his eyes twinkling with pride and happiness. He spins me around as the rhythm picks up, and dips me low to the ground, causing me to giggle.

“You’re my favorite daughter,” he admits, bringing me back up.

“I’m your only daughter.”

“Yeah, but you’re still my favorite.”

“Thanks.”

“I mean it,” his says, his face going completely serious. “You’re a good kid, Mia. And you’ve got such a good head on your shoulders. You make me proud.”

“I’m not really a kid anymore.”

“I know,” he says nostalgically, his eyes sad. “But you’ll always be my kid—my little girl. No matter how old you get, that never changes.”

“Ugh, why are you getting all sentimental about this?” I feign exasperation.

He laughs, twirls me around, and pulls me back in. “What do you want me to say? It’s the holidays, and for once, it’s my turn to have you. Sorry for being lame and cramping your style.”

“Oh, my God, Dad, please stop. This is getting weird.”

He lifts me off the ground, making exaggerated noises in the process—as if I weigh a thousand pounds. I wrap my arms around his neck and he gives me the biggest bear hug, tilting us backwards.