The Opposite of Love (7 page)

16

ROSE

In Rose's whole life it had never snowed in Simi Valley, but for the entire two weeks of winter break she felt as if someone had draped a cloak of snowy gloom over her. Probably because with no school and the day care being closed, she was home pretty much all the time. Nala, instant messaging, and a few Walmart trips were her only reprieves from listening to Mrs. P. explain the benefits of purchasing a live Christmas tree versus a plastic tree, the constant home improvement infomercials they had running, and the advice of Dr. Phil blaring from the television screen.

Rose didn't have a computer in her room, so to instant message, she hid Nala in her closet with a fluffy blanket bed and set herself up at the computer in the Parsimmons' office, armed with a glass of water and red licorice. She pulled up two sites, so if Mr. or Mrs. P. happened to walk past, she could simply click on the second site. That way they wouldn't see she was chatting with a b-o-y.

Chase:
I got a present for you.

Rose:
Really?

Rose couldn't help but feel that bubbly, little kid excitement.

Chase:
Yeah. I've missed you. I'm going through Rose withdrawal. When can I see you?

Rose:
I can sneak out.

Chase:
Nah. I don't want you to get in trouble. Can't I just come over?

Rose:
That would be the trouble. No way. I'm grounded, remember?

Chase:
I can hide it for you on the front porch.

Rose:
Okay. Leave it in the planter tonight. Late. After ten, at least.

And now a new project. Rose didn't have anything prepared to give Chase. But she could draw him something. She padded back to her bedroom, past Mrs. P. stringing popcorn onto dental floss with a sewing needle and glued to a show about conspiracy theories. Rose eased the door shut so that the click was barely perceptible. And pulled out her art supplies. The one set of gifts from the Parsimmons that she truly treasured. She'd given them hints that year, cutting out the ad for the art kit and laying it on the kitchen table.

Nala nudged through a crack in her closet and wrapped herself around Rose's legs. The pencils took on a life of their own in her hands. She sketched an image of Chase, with six day-care kids climbing on his back. She hoped he'd like it. Rose folded in halves, then fourths, and then eighths, until she felt confident that it was small enough to be hidden. She wrote Chase's name on the front in sprawling cursive and then tucked the sketch into the planter.

Rose waited up. Long after the television switched off in the Parsimmons' bedroom, she crept out into the hall and sat in the armchair by the window, her face pressed against the cool glass. And waited.

She must've fallen asleep there, because when she woke, the sun had already begun its slow creep into the sky, and when she craned her neck, she glimpsed a small red box with a bow. Rose glanced at the clock, hoping she still had some time before Mr. P. got up and made his trek to the Daily Drip. She slipped out the front door, retrieved the box, and hid it in the sleeve of her sweatshirt. Then padded her way back to her room.

She only opened it once she had closed her door safely behind her.

A necklace. Dainty. Gold chain. And a curved golden heart in the center. She'd seen it before, at that boutique store in town.

So totally not her style.

But strangely enough, it didn't matter. She latched it around her neck and fell back asleep in bed with the heart pressed to her lips and Nala warming her toes.

17

CHASE

The first week back after winter break, someone dumped a baby. Just like you'd dump a ripped T-shirt or a used condom. Thrown away like trash, right there in the girls' locker room after school. Wrapped him all up in a towel and just left him to be discovered by a janitor. Alive.

Gossip and shock swarmed around the school. So did cops.

“It had to be a student, right?” Becca put a pen cap in her mouth, sitting cross-legged in front of the big oak tree at lunch. Rose squatted next to her, wrapping her arms around herself and leaning against Chase. Work at the day care had been busy this week, making lunch the best time to connect. And now that Daniel had started joining him at Rose's and Becca's tree trunk, the whole gang sat together. Chase ignored Daniel's moans and groans about being seen with his little sister.

“Who else could it be?” Rose seemed wired. Like she'd just downed two Monsters. She stood. “Becca, can you stop chewing that pen cap? Damn, you're so orally fixated.” Becca stuck out her tongue. “Aren't you glad I'm taking Intro to Psych this term?”

“I don't get it.” Chase complained, his voice sounding strange. Even. Controlled. Steady. The opposite of how he really felt inside. “In Freshman Health they practically cram a menu of options down our throats. Everyone's all obsessed with that safe-haven law—like this girl could've just dropped the baby off at the hospital, no questions asked. They couldn't even tell her parents.”

“Yeah, but come on. Wouldn't your parents know anyway?” Becca asked.

“Ninety percent of parents are clueless,” Rose pointed out.

“Or maybe
your
parents are ninety percent clueless.” Becca stuck the pen cap back in her mouth like a toothpick.

Rose grinned. “That might be more like it. They're clueless about the cat, that's for sure. Nala's all set up with a little makeshift bed on my shoe shelf in my closet. She could totally jump down, but she doesn't
know
she can jump down, so she just plays up there all day while I'm at school. I've got a mini litter box set up, and I can dump it easy enough. Maybe their eyesight and hearing are going, but the parents don't have a freaking clue.”

“Couldn't they search your room or something?” Chase asked. Rose smelled nice, like girly shampoo and fabric softener. All he wanted to do was grab her hand and pull her somewhere they could be alone. It'd been torture staying away from her all winter break.

“They flunked Parenting 101, okay? I'm about ten steps ahead of them.” Rose ran her hand through Chase's tousled hair, and it caught in the unruliness. As she worked her fingers through his curls, she brought Chase's head toward her and he could see right down her shirt.
Chase's heartbeat tripled its normal speed.

Rose acted all natural, like she hadn't just given him a peep-show tease. “This whole thing is unbelievable. I feel sorry for the girl, whoever she is.”

“Yeah, but if you're stupid enough to get yourself pregnant, you gotta figure out something.” Becca brought the pen cap out of her mouth for a moment, like it was a cigarette, but she caught herself. “I mean what do you do when life gives you lemons? You make lemonade, right?”

Chase shook his head to clear visions of Rose's black bra from it. And what he knew lay beneath the bra. God, he was horny. He had to get himself under control. “I've always hated that expression.”

“You don't make freaking lemonade,” Rose argued. “If any fool gave me lemons, I'd tell him to pucker up and I'd shove those lemons right up his ass.”

“Why does that not surprise me?” Becca smiled and sighed loudly.

“How do you make that okay in your own head?” Chase asked. “Dumping a baby?”

“You can make a lot of things okay in your head. You can make anything okay.” Rose stared at her hands.

“Or … you cannot.” Chase touched Rose's chin with his fingertips, raising it slowly until her eyes met his own. “You just can try to be a better person instead.”

“Thanks, Chase, for the inspirational sermon.” Rose held her gaze there, unblinking, the corners of her eyes crinkling. “But where's the fun in that?”

And in that moment, an idea struck Chase. He pocketed it away. He'd need it later.

“Mom?” Chase hung back by the door frame, watching Candy use a hair dryer to blow out her hair with a round prickly brush. “Did you go to church before you met Walter?”

She paused and looked at him funny through her reflection in the mirror. “Not really. Just Easter and Christmas, that's about it. Why?”

“I don't know.” Chase wrapped his fingers around the door frame, trying to think of how he could say what he wanted to say. He struggled for a minute and then just threw it out there the best he could. “If you weren't all that religious, well … ” Chase fumbled his words. “I guess I'm wondering why I'm here.”

“Why we live in Simi Valley? What do you mean?” Candy shut off the hair dryer.

“No. Why I'm alive. Why I exist.” Chase noticed how much taller he was than his mother. She stared at him blankly, like he was speaking a foreign language. He sighed. “It's no secret that I wasn't exactly planned. You were sixteen. Did you ever think about other options?”

“What?” She put down the hair dryer and left the round brush dangling from her head. “What do you mean?”

“Come on, Mom. I'm nearly an adult. Shit,” he said, groaning. “Just give it to me straight.”

Candy brought her hands back up to the round brush and slowly released her hair. “Sure.” She sighed, deflated. “Sure, I thought about other options.”

“Oh.”

“Come on, Chase. I panicked.” Candy turned away from the mirror to face him directly. “I knew even back then that Walter sure as hell wasn't gonna be no Prince Charming. He'd already slapped me around a couple of times. And there was a free clinic the next town over … so I thought … well, I thought … ” She broke off.

“Oh.”

“But then I couldn't.
I couldn't
. I started to fall in love with you, and I couldn't. You probably weren't more than the size of a popcorn kernel, but I loved you. I loved who I imagined you to be.” Candy's eyes misted over. “And then the first time I felt you move inside me … shit. Then I could think of nothing else.”

“Oh.”

“Sure, when you actually showed up, you were a hell of a lot more work than I thought you'd be. I felt in over my head, like I was drowning even a couple of times, and I sure as shit know I messed up a lot of things. But I always loved you. And whether you know it or not, you taught me a lot about life and about myself. I'm grateful for that.”

“Oh.” Chase chewed on something in his mind. Something he didn't want to ask. Because he didn't want to know the answer.
I bet Walter was pushing for an abortion, because then he would have been off the hook. He probably didn't even care that it was a sin. Because beating your wife and your kids has to be a sin, and he seemed to find plenty of time for that.
Instead he just nodded. “I guess I already knew that.”

Candy reached out for his hand. Her touch irritated him, but he didn't pull away. Her acrylic nails glowed tangerine. “You doing some soul-searching, bud?”

“Maybe.” Chase shrugged, not really sure where his thoughts were taking him, and not sure he wanted to go there, anyway.

“Well, here're my two cents on soul searching if you want to hear it, because I've done my fair share.” Candy paused like she was waiting for him to answer, but he didn't, so she went ahead. “A little soul-searching can make you a better man, but too much of it can drive you completely crazy.”

18

CHASE

Rose sat in the middle of the day-care classroom, her hair braided thickly today, making her look more like an Indian princess than ever. She wore a white scarf and a form-fitting turtleneck, snug enough to make her boobs look big. Chase couldn't help but stare. He tried to pull himself away, but it felt like his feet were glued to the floor.

If anything made Chase believe in a higher power, it was beauty. Natural beauty, like the rolling Santa Susana mountains that surrounded Simi Valley, where the Hollywood types went to film movies and episodes of television shows. And the beauty of a smoking-hot girl. If he wanted this relationship to progress any further—and he sure as hell did—he had to put his big idea into action. That meant he had to work up the courage to talk to Mrs. P. If he could win her over, convince her he was good for Rose, maybe he could take Rose on a real date.

Rose's cheeks were flushed as she sat there on the floor, building and rebuilding a Lego tower that Matthew knocked down over and over. “More!” Matthew laughed, clapping his hands.

Becca scrubbed the art table down and threw Chase an “oh please” look, so Chase forced himself to move around the room, cleaning up, or at least trying to look as though he was cleaning up rather than just salivating over Rose. Nearly all the kids had been picked up, after all.

Mrs. Rosenberg brushed past Chase's shoulder as she made her way over to Matthew. “I guess you got some good playing in today.” She touched the clump of glue stuck in his hair. Then, “Rose, do you mind if I ask you a question?”

“Nope.” Rose shook her head, one of her braids hanging over her shoulder. Chase wet a sponge in the sink.

“Rebecca told me you're an only child and that you were adopted, and I've been curious about your experience.” Chase saw Rose stiffen visibly, and Mrs. Rosenberg put out her hand. “I'll tell you why. My husband and I are planning to adopt a second child. We don't want Matthew to grow up without a sibling. And so my question for you is, ‘Would you have wanted your parents to adopt a second child?'” Mrs. Rosenberg said, wetting her finger in her mouth and trying to wipe a smudge off Matthew's face.

Chase wiped the snack table down, pretending he wasn't listening. “Oh, you don't want to adopt,” Rose warned Mrs. Rosenberg.

“Why not?”

“It won't be the same.” Rose lowered her voice. “You won't be able to love an adopted kid as much as you love Matthew. Because he or she won't be your blood.”

“Well, you're wrong about that. Matthew is adopted, and I can't imagine loving him more.” Mrs. Rosenberg flashed a toothy smile.

“No shi—I mean, seriously?”

“Yes. And I want him to have a brother or a sister.”

Chase stacked the baby chairs. He watched Rose wrap her fingers around a braid and pull it a little, as if that would help her understand. “You just—you look like you belong with him, like you match or something.”

“Well, I do. I waited for him for a long time. And God put us together. Now I've just got to get him working on finding Matthew a sibling.” Mrs. Rosenberg smiled, then she exited the classroom door, holding Matthew, his arms wrapped tightly around her neck. She lifted her hand to wave good-bye.

Rose waited until the door clicked shut, and then she snapped at Becca, her voice low. “Why are you spreading my business?”

Becca spoke softly, her voice matching Rose's. “Sorry, Rose. But not everyone thinks the way you think, you know. Maybe it's not so bad to get another person's perspective. Most people who adopt love their kids.”

“Not
my
parents,” Rose countered reflexively, watching them leave.

“You're one of my best friends, Rose, and I love you … but that's a load of crap.”

Rose's head jerked up. Her eyes sparked hot enough to start a fire. “And who the hell asked you? You don't know what happens in my house.”

Becca folded her arms in front of her chest. “I'm your friend, Rose. That gives me the right to tell it to you like it is.” Chase seriously considered slowly backing out of the room with his hands up, but he didn't want to look like a wuss. “Your parents are controlling, simple-minded hicks. But that doesn't mean they don't care about you. Why would they adopt you if they didn't want you? Why would they keep you if they didn't want you? Have you ever thought about that?”

Rose stood up stiffly, her arms stuck to her sides and her fists clenched. Chase dumped a bunch of plastic dishes into the playhouse kitchen. “You don't know anything. You don't know what they've done to me.”

Chase's heartbeat doubled.
What had they done to her?

Becca's cheeks flushed, and she stepped closer. “Do you ever think maybe your parents
wanted
to connect with you? Like way back, when you first got adopted?” She took in a deep breath, like a swimmer doing laps. “Maybe
you
pushed
them
away. Maybe
you
were the one that didn't want
them
—maybe
you
were the one who didn't love
them
, instead of the other way around. Your parents drive you crazy—and they drive me crazy too—but they wouldn't make it their life's mission to ‘save you' or ‘fix you' if they didn't care.”

Whatever they'd done, it must have been bad.

Chase watched Rose's face grow stony and distant. Her eyes glazed over and she physically shrank inward, like a turtle retreating into its shell. Today was most definitely not a good day to introduce himself to Rose's mom. He'd have to wait for the right time.

“Who ever said I wanted to be saved?” Rose whispered.