I haven’t told anyone, but I’ve gotten a job at Pasadena Village, the facility where Nan lives. It’s basically grunt work, but I get to be there with the patients and spend some more time popping in on my hooligan of a grandmother. She’s still a firecracker, that’s for sure. But the past few years have taken a toll on her. And I want more than anything to make sure she knows she isn’t forgotten.
Because, well, isn’t that what any of us wants? To know we are loved and cared for? Not just sitting alone in an elderly home when things are nearing the end?
I sigh, shaking off the emotions that have been wrapping themselves around me over the past fifteen minutes as I’ve sat in RJ’s car, avoiding going in any earlier than I have to.
My roommate and her boyfriend have gone out of town on some fancy getaway, leaving me with the keys to her tiny little death trap of a car. Normally I take the bus to work, which works very well for me. The aggressiveness of the average California driver is enough to send me flying out of my skin on any given day.
But when my shift ends tomorrow morning at 7am, I’ll only have a little bit of time to get home, shower, change and head over to Burbank to help with the basketball game. With time super tight, I have to move as quickly as possible.
I sigh again.
I don’t know what the hell I’m doing, or why Jeremy wants me involved.
No, wait. That’s a lie.
I know why he wants me involved. He wants to spend time with me. Which would be great if it didn’t set off an explosion of butterflies and nerves every time we’re together. It’s like my brain logically knows that he needs some time to sort out his life before I should even consider starting something up with him.
But how do I tell that to my poor little heart? The heart that has been secretly – okay, maybe not-so-secretly – pining for Jeremy since that first meeting in my room freshman year. How do you listen to what your mind is telling you when your heart is screaming at you that you’re making a mistake?
But I’m scared. No, I’m terrified. I wonder if we have the real ability to start new, with a fresh breath, without the past choking things out too early. And I worry that he’ll start things up again, make me fall in love with him, and then leave me hanging with just the little fragments that are left of my heart.
Because, that’s really the issue. I’m terrified that if I keep giving him pieces of my heart, there won’t be anything left if things fall apart. Just scattered remains and wishes and tears… and regret. Regret that I tried again when I knew things could go sour. Regret that there wasn’t going to be any heart left to give to someone else someday.
Is this going to be just another example of trusting someone, believing in someone, and having the carpet yanked out from under my feet?
I reach down and start rolling up the car window with the hand crank. This car might be adorable, but it would be nice if it had some power.
Just as I’m locking the doors and starting my walk into the hospital, my phone beeps.
Grey: Can’t wait to see you, Charlie girl.
I smile. Even if things are a little uneasy right now in my family, at least I’ll get to see my sweet little brother in a few weeks.
* * * * *
15 hours later, I’m showered, dressed, and waiting for Jeremy to pick me up before we head to Burbank for the game when my phone starts to ring. I dig into my backpack to find it, and when I read the words on my screen, I’m instantly on alert.
Mom Calling
I let out a breath, suck a deep one in for confidence, then lift it to my ear after swiping to accept.
“Hey mom,” I say, leaning against the back of the couch. “What’s up?”
“Charlotte, dear, how’s your day going?” My mother’s voice is strained, and I’m instantly on edge wondering what’s wrong.
“Things are okay. Just waiting for someone to pick me up so we can go do some volunteer work this morning. How are things with you?” I could kick myself for dropping in the volunteer work comment. Even when I’m living my life my own way, according to my rules, and trying to distance myself from this zombie-Stepford-bride person my mom wants me to be, I still can’t help but throw in things to our conversation that I hope will make her proud of me.
“Just getting ready for the annual Scarlet Gala,” she says, not addressing my comment. The Scarlet Gala is this large fundraiser my parents put on each year to benefit the local university. It’s literally the reddest thing that has ever existed in this world, with every table and centerpiece and decoration the bright color of the university’s brand colors, punctuated only by the cream color that is mandatory in the dress code. It’s like those fancy White Parties you hear about happening in the south, where people wear all white and drink champagne in the park surrounded by white flowers and sitting on white blankets.
One year, I refused to wear cream, instead putting on a neon green leotard and tutu I’d borrowed from a friend. I was probably in the 4thor 5thgrade at the time, but my mother had been so upset. It was like I had ruined everything because I was a kid who liked bright colors. It had sparked a huge fight between her and my dad, who had allowed me to get into the car like that while my mother had been busy at the venue getting final touches completed.
“Well, what would you have had me do, Diana, leave her at home alone?”
My mother had thrown her razor sharp eyes in my direction so hard, it felt like a physical blow. “It would have been better her stay home than let her show up here and cause a ridiculous scene, looking like that.” She’d stormed off in a huff, and my sister had laughed. But my brother had reached over and tucked his little hand into mine.
I’m so lost in the memory I don’t realize I’ve missed whatever my mom has been saying.
“Sorry, can you say that again?”
