Take Heart (18 page)

c     h     a     s     e

After Mia found her mom’s body, she went into total reclusion. I haven’t heard from her since we got back to Austin; that was six days ago. The entire flight back was nothing but stark silence between us. I’ve called her multiple times and left countless voicemails, but she won’t respond. I ended up calling Raven just to find out how she’s holding up. Raven said she hardly ever comes out of her room, and she hasn’t been eating much. That concerns me. I know she’s depressed, but I don’t want her slipping further and further down into the abyss. I need her to be able to come out of this stronger on the other side, because the thought of losing her in any way completely shreds me.

I’ve thought about going over there and showing up announced, but Raven talks me out of it every time. She thinks I need to give Mia the space she deserves. I’m trying to respect that, but it’s hard. What if she needs me and I’m not there? I feel like I don’t even know what to do anymore. I’m clueless when it comes to dealing with stuff like this. I’m lucky enough to still have all of my close family members and friends around.

Feeling useless and defeated over the situation, I decide to head to Meg’s house to help me get my mind off Mia for a while. I have some time to kill before I have to work tonight, and I don’t want to spend it moping around my apartment and beating myself up for shit that’s out of my control. I throw on my leather jacket and grab my keys in a hurry. I can’t get out of here soon enough.

“What do you
mean
you’re going to see how it plays out?” Meg raises her voice. She swivels around in her chair and shoots me a stern look over the rim of her reading glasses. She’s working from home today. We are in her office arguing about my next move with Mia. So much for taking her off my mind, not that I could ever do that anyway. She’s been consuming my thoughts since the moment we met.

“There’s nothing I can do, Meg. I’ve tried talking to her, calling her, texting her—everything short of fucking telegramming her. She won’t respond.”

“Of course she won’t, she’s grieving. She probably doesn’t want to talk about it. That doesn’t mean you just throw in the towel and call it quits,” she says that like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“I’m not calling it quits, but I don’t know what more I can do.”

“Oh, that’s such a copout, and you know it. Fight for her, Chase. In all my life I’ve never known you to take no for an answer. So what’s changed?”

“I fell in love and put someone else’s needs above my own! That’s what fucking changed!” I yell and slam my fist against the plush sofa.

Meg jumps back slightly, surprised at my outburst. I’m trying to find some way to expel all of my frustration, but nothing helps. The only person who can make me feel better is Mia.

The room falls into a deafening silence. I stand up and pace back and forth in angry strides. Meg watches me intently. She has one leg crossed over the other. Her shoe is tapping against the floor impatiently. Her arms are folded over her chest, and she’s giving me her classic “check yourself” look. I take a few deep breaths and try to reel in my anger. I’m frustrated that she’s right. When have I ever let someone get in the way of something I want? Although in this case, the one I want is the very same person who’s standing in my way.

“I’m walking a fine line here, Meg. I’m trying to respect her space like she asked me to, and be a good boyfriend at the same time,” I explain a little more calmly.

“I understand that, but she needs you. Just because she may not want to talk about it, doesn’t mean she doesn’t want you there. She may say she wants to be left alone, but I’m willing to bet that’s not the case. I think now, more than ever, she needs your support. She’s probably just too proud to ask for it, especially if she’s used to taking care of herself like you say she is. We women don’t want to ask for things that we feel should be no-brainers to our men.”

“Well then, what do you suggest I do, Dr. Phil?” I ask sarcastically.

“You tell me,” she challenges. “You know her better than almost anyone, so you should know exactly what she needs. Figure it out.” She leisurely spins her chair back around and resumes working on her laptop.

“Unbelievable. Why can’t you women just tell us what you want?” I ask, frustrated.

“Why can’t men take a hint?” she retorts.

“Whatever, I’m out of here,” I say, heading for the door.

“Chase?” she calls over her shoulder.

I stop and take a deep breath, then look over at her.

“I got you,” she says warmly.

That’s what I always say to her when she’s upset. It’s my way of telling her I love her. We stare at each other for a minute or two, before I crack a slight smile. It’s the first one I’ve been able to manage since we found Mia’s mom.

“Right back at you, Meg.”

“If it’s meant to be, it will all work out,” she assures me.

Fuck that mentality. Fate may have brought her to me, but it certainly won’t be what keeps the relationship together. Undeniable love, communication, and mind-blowing sex will make it last—in that order
.
After all, everyone knows that anything worth having is worth fighting for. And Mia is definitely worth having.

* * *

“Hey, what’s up, man?” Eric asks, when I walk into his apartment. He’s sitting on the couch playing
Call of Duty
with his eyes glued to the TV screen
.

I walk into the kitchen and grab a beer out of the fridge, even though it’s only four o'clock in the afternoon. I figure after the shitty week I’ve had, I’m entitled to it—sue me. I twist the cap off and walk over to take a seat next to him.

“Not much. Just been working and trying to get a hold of Mia.”

At the mentioning of Mia’s name, he pauses the game and sets his controller down on the couch. “I was going to ask you how she was holding up. I was over there a few days ago, but she wouldn’t come out of her room. I tried breaking down her door to get her to talk to me, but it got me nowhere.”

“That seems to be a theme with her lately. Hell, you probably know more than I do at this point. She hasn’t bothered to talk to me since we got back.”

“Naw, man, I only know what Raven tells me, which isn’t much. I don’t even think she knows what’s going on.”

I set my beer down on the end table and lean forward. “I’m really trying to be supportive and understanding, but between you and me, I’m running out of patience. I can respect that she wanted the first couple days to herself, but to not even acknowledge that I’ve been basically stalking her—that pisses me off.” A pang of guilt twists in my chest as those words leave my mouth. I feel like the world’s shittiest boyfriend. My girlfriend loses her mom, and I get pissy because she won’t talk to me. How mature am I? “I feel like a bad guy for saying that,” I admit aloud. I fall back into the couch and rest my hands on my thighs.

“I don’t think that makes you a bad guy. It’s a fucked up situation all the way around. Shit, if it were me, I’d be just as frustrated as you are. I think for her to deliberately ignore all of us is selfish. I know she’s mourning the loss of her mom, but at least let us know you are...well...for lack of a better term—okay. She has people who care about her that she can lean on. If she’s not going to utilize that, she should at least acknowledge it,” he says irritably.

I reach over and take a few more sips of my beer and wonder what Mia is doing at this very moment.
Is she okay? Has she come out of her room? Is she in bed crying? Is she drinking herself into a coma? Is Raven there with her?

I rest my beer between my knees and rub my eyes, exhausted. I can’t keep doing this to myself. I’m all fucked up because of her. When shit’s not right with her, shit’s not right with me. I can’t concentrate on anything because all I’m doing is thinking about what I could do or say to make this better, but I come up short every time. I’m a fixer, dammit. So why can’t I fix this?

a     m     e     l     i     a

I used to believe that it was always my dad and me against the world. Then, when he died, it was only me against the world. I’d never felt so alone before. Sure I had friends, but there was no one left to take care of me and make me feel safe anymore. Looking back now, I realize how naïve I was. The notion that I was alone is laughable. I had no idea what being alone truly felt like, until now.

It’s been a week and a half since my mom died, and all I can think about is what would’ve happened if I arrived at the house ten minutes earlier? Would she have still been alive? Could I have saved her? I went to bed the night before, knowing she was alive, and by morning she was dead. In the blink of an eye, I became an orphan. I still can’t quite wrap my head around that. I didn’t even get to say a proper goodbye. The last words she ever heard to come out of my mouth were empty threats and vicious insults.

The irony of the whole thing is that I was so worried to move down here in the first place because I didn’t want something to happen to her while I was gone. But she ended up dying while I was less than five minutes away. I don’t know if that makes me feel better, or worse. I still feel like it’s all my fault. Maybe if I never would have left, she never would have done that to herself? I don’t know. I don’t know anything anymore.

Instead of giving her a proper burial, I went with cremation. There wasn’t enough money left over to take care of a casket, a headstone, a burial lot, and funeral costs. Besides, the only people that would’ve shown up to her funeral would’ve been Hadley, Chase, and me. She had no family nearby, and she had alienated all of her friends years ago. I wouldn’t know how to get in touch with any of those people even if I tried.

I called the bank and told them there was no way I could pay all of her back payments in order to keep the house, so they’re taking it. Hadley and Chase helped me move most of the furniture and my belongings into a storage unit. I left the rest behind. I have no home to go back to anymore. If I can’t make it work here with Raven, I’ll be homeless. Orphaned and homeless—how’s that for a combination? As much as I never wanted to go back, it was comforting to have the option in the back of my mind, just in case.

Tired of feeling hopeless and dead inside, I throw the covers back and slowly roll out of bed. I walk over to my window and open my blinds for the first time since I got back. The gloomy weather outside completely reflects my current mood. It’s light out, but thankfully the sun is nowhere to be found.

Grabbing one of my last clean outfits off the floor, I head to the bathroom for my first shower in three days. Believe me, this is an improvement from last week. Everything took a major hit when my mom died—finances, hygiene, appetite, mental health, physical health, relationships with friends, Chase...
Chase.
Just thinking about him hurts. He’s been calling and texting me non-stop since we got back. I’ve been ignoring everyone to make it all go away. Instead of fixing it, like I should, I’m running to avoid feeling any more guilt.

I open the door and trudge down the hall towards the bathroom. Raven has finals this week, so she hasn’t been home much. She rarely left the apartment last week. She wanted to be near me in case I needed any support, but other than to pee and force down a little food, I didn’t leave my room. The first night I got back, she hugged me while I sobbed on the couch, but I’ve been isolating myself ever since.

I walk into the bathroom, toss my clothes onto the floor, and lean over to turn on the shower. Water spurts out and hits my upper arm, making me shiver. Realizing that I forgot a towel, I head back to my room. When I walk in I notice my phone flashing on my nightstand. I pick it up.

Chase:
Are you ever going to talk to me again? I miss you...

A spasm assaults my chest when I read his message. I scroll through all of the other previous texts he has sent me within the last ten days, and my guilt comes back tenfold. I open up a new message to say something back, but as always, I got nothing. I press the back button and set my phone down. I’ll deal with that later. First, I have to shower and get ready for my first day back at work. My bosses were more than accommodating to give me time off, but now it’s time to start living again.

One day at a time.

No...scratch that.

One hour at a time.

* * *

Work sucked.

 It was difficult to focus when everyone kept asking me questions.
“Are you okay, Mia?” “How are you holding up?”
Then there’s my favorite:
“I’m so sorry for your loss.”

 
No they aren’t. They never even met my mother and they barely know me. I know it’s common courtesy, and they’re just trying to be nice, but that’s exactly my point. Those things are only said out of courtesy. It’s not from the heart. If you don’t mean it, then don’t say it. Simple as that.

When I walk into the apartment, I’m met with deafening silence. I hate silence when I’m grieving. All it does is make me think about everything that I don’t want to remember. I think about my mom, and what her dead body looked like when she was lying on my bed staring up at me, her eyes vacant. I think about the empty bottle of pills on the nightstand beside her. I think about what an awful daughter I was those last few years. All of the horrible things I said to her; I’d take them back in a heartbeat. Instead of giving her grief, I should’ve given her hugs. Instead of saying she was a worthless mom, I should’ve said “I love you.” Instead of leaving her behind, I should’ve stayed.

Flashbacks from my childhood begin to play through my head like an old movie reel. Happy ones—where she, my dad, and I were a family. Memories where we were at the park for a family picnic and she would push me on the swings as high as I could go. Memories where she held me tight and told me how much she loved me before she tucked me in at night. I remember the delicious smell of hot chocolate in the wintertime. When my dad and I got home from sledding, she’d have two steaming cups waiting for us. She’d always put marshmallows in mine because she knew how much I loved that. Then my dad would try to steal them out of my cup when she wasn’t looking, only to end up pulling out the bag and giving me double the amount I initially had. It’s the simple things, you know? Those are what I miss the most.

Looking back, I realize what an amazing mom she really was. She had more than her fair share of flaws, but I do believe, deep down, she loved me...even at her worst. I’d like to think that she always loved my dad, even after they split, and that’s why she could never get her life together—because she just couldn’t bear to live without him. I hope they are both happy somewhere together and madly in love like they used to be. In all those years, neither one of them ever remarried—there’s got to be a reason for that.

Thinking about my parents when they were at their best soothes my soul and brings me a sliver of inner peace. It’s not much, but it’s something. It’s a beacon of light during a dark and tumultuous time, and I’ll gladly take it.

I remove my shoes and head to my bedroom so I can change out of my uniform, crawl into bed, and collapse. I’ve done my big thing for the day, and there’s nothing left to give. Not to get all “poor me” about this, but I think I deserve a pat on the back for getting out of the apartment. When I open my bedroom door, my eyes collide with another set—these ones are blue. I let out a scream and jump back in surprise. My hand flies up to my chest to steady my heart.

“Easy there, Strawberry.”

“Jesus, Eric. What the hell are you doing here?”

“Come, come,” he pats a seat on the bed next to him.

“What’s this about?” For some reason, I feel like I’m walking into the principal's office.

“I think you already know what this is about.”

Could he be any more melodramatic?

I pull my phone out of my pocket and toss it onto the bed. I remove my apron and nametag. Eric picks the phone up and waves it in front of me.

“Well, well, lookie here,” he says. “So you
do
have a phone.”

I roll my eyes and strut over to the bed. I take a seat next to him, and relish in how good it feels to be off my feet after an eight-hour shift. I make a move to steal my phone back, but he extends his arm out to the side, holding it out of my reach.

“Give it back, Eric,” I snap.

“No,” he says defiantly. “Not until you give me a good reason as to why you’re ignoring me.”

“What are you talking about?” I feign ignorance.

“Don’t play dumb with me, Mia. Leave that to the real stupid chicks out there because there’re plenty of them to go around.”

“You would know.”

He narrows his eyes and his lips pull into a thin line. “I’m going to assume you aren’t referring to your best friend when you say that.”

“Of course I’m not!” Feeling irritated with his close proximity, I stand up and move over by the door. “Once again, Eric, what do you want?” I’m impatient and I was over this conversation before it started.

“I told you what I want. Now fucking answer me. Why have you been hiding out and ignoring everyone?”

“What do you want me to say? You want me to say I’m sorry? You want me to tell you that I’m A-okay? Is that what you want to hear?”

“I don’t give a damn if we sit here and talk about the fucking weather, but for the love of God, say something!” he shouts.

“Fuck you!” I shout back and give him the finger to boot. It feels good to yell. I’ve been bottled up for days. “You’re such an asshole! I didn’t ask you to waltz in here and invade my personal space. Quit trying to get me to talk about it. I’ll talk about it when I’m damn well ready,” I say, resentful.

He shakes his head. “Nope, that doesn’t work for me. I’ve given you plenty of space and time, and I’m not leaving until you talk.”

“Yes, you are,” I guarantee, extending my arm and pointing towards the door, letting him know it’s time for him to go.

“Fuck that. You’ve shut me out long enough. I’m not letting you kick me out of here just because you’d rather bury your head in the sand instead of facing how you really feel.”

“You’ve got to be joking?”

“Nope, I’m serious.
Dead
serious...no pun intended,” he says, expressionless.

We stare at each other for a long moment, neither one of us willing to back down. We take turns blinking, somewhat mystified. When we can’t hold it in any longer, we both burst out laughing. It starts out as a fit of giggles and quickly escalates into full-on guffaws. It’s wonderful, cathartic laughter. Eric folds over onto his side and grips his stomach, trying to control himself. I back up against the wall and slide down to the floor with tears in my eyes.

We laugh until our stomachs hurt, and I feel the urge to piss my pants. Once we’ve calmed down, I look up to find him lying on his back, staring at my ceiling. He tilts his head in my direction and gives me one of the most endearing smiles that I’ve ever seen. It would make any woman swoon. He rolls off the bed and crawls down onto the floor by my side. Bringing his arm up over my head, he settles it around my shoulders. I lean my head against his chest and just let him hold me for a minute.

“In the strangest way, I knew it was coming.” I whisper softly. “I mean, I was shocked to walk into my room and find her like that, but somewhere deep down in my gut, I knew something wasn’t right. I felt it before I even walked in the house.”

“Was there a funeral service?”

“There wasn’t enough money.”       

“What about Chase?”

“What about him?” I don’t want to acknowledge how I really feel about all that.

“Have y’all talked?”

“No. He’s been trying to get a hold of me, but I haven’t responded,” I say, feeling guilty.

“You should do that. He loves you, you know. He came over to my place last week to talk about everything. You’ve really got him by the balls. The guy just isn’t right without you. Take it from me, locking down a guy like Chase is hard to do. It takes a pretty special woman to make him want to forfeit everything for a chance to be with you. I know he’ll treat you right, but you gotta treat him right, too. And this whole ignoring him thing—that isn’t right and you know it.”

I felt guilty before, but now I feel absolutely horrible. I was so concerned early on about whether or not he’d hurt me, it never crossed my mind that I might be the one to end up hurting him. From the moment he sat down on Eric’s couch and annoyed the hell out of me, Chase has given me everything he has. He’s never held anything back and he’s made me far happier than I ever thought I could be.

“Are you going to be okay?” Eric asks after a long moment.

I let out a deep breath. “I think so. At first, I thought I’d never survive it, but it’s slowly becoming a little more bearable. I have my ups and downs.”

“Why didn’t you come to us for support? You know we would’ve been there for you—that we
have
been here for you.”

“I know, but I couldn’t, Eric. I couldn’t even function. I’m dealing the only way I know how,” I explain.

“Well, your version of dealing with life changing events completely blows,” he teases. “We’re going to have to work on that. Fortunately for you, I think you’re about out of those, because short of losing a friend, you’ve got no one left to lose. Welcome to the club,” he half jokes. I know he’s trying to lighten the mood, but he can’t mask the pain and regret in his voice.