Light in the Shadows
Page 64
Chapter Eighteen
-Maggie-
I was nervous. Screw it, I was really, really nervous. I stared at my reflection in the mirror and smoothed the skirt of my grey sweater dress for the millionth time since I had put it on. I looked cute. But was I trying to be cute? Sexy, amazing, or drop dead gorgeous would have been so much better.
But I was stuck with cute.
I had never been one to obsess about my looks like most teenage girls. I went with what God gave me and was okay with that. But for some reason tonight, I was freaking the hell out.
Which was beyond ridiculous. Because the person I was dressing up for already thought I was the most beautiful girl on the planet.
Poor deluded sap that he was.
Tonight was the “date.” Clay and I had talked a few times during the week and we hadn’t been able to agree on what we wanted to do. I didn’t want him to go to a lot of trouble. But he wanted to make it special.
And I could appreciate that. Because this felt like the beginning for us. Our first step toward a future that we had always wanted to have. Our chance to take things one step at a time, in the right order. Lord knows we skipped a whole bunch of pivotal moments the last time.
But now was about walking, not sprinting to the finish line. And I was happy to stroll.
Part of me wished this was the first time for us. That we didn’t have a butt load of baggage that always tickled the back of our minds with unwanted memories. I hated the twinge of distrust I continued to feel in Clay’s presence and I absolutely loathed the hyper vigilant anxiousness that I often felt from him.
I had been so lost in the blissful throes of reunion that it had taken a few days before the reality started to set in. I tried not to watch him and monitor his behavior. But it was habit. And I couldn’t help but watch for any indication that he had veered off the course to recovery and was lying to me all over again.
This was not the friendly feeling of déjà vu, but a smack a bitch in the face remembrance. And I didn’t like it one bit.
But I would have been the worst kind of naïve if I dusted off my rose colored glasses again. I could tell Clay was making every effort to show me things were different. But how different could they really be? Not that much time had passed. And given all that he had gone through, relapse almost seemed preordained.
Which was a shitty way of thinking. But think about it, I did.
But for tonight, I wanted to walk the road Clay was trying so hard to pave for us.
“You look lovely. Big plans tonight?” My mom peered into my room, a soft smile on her face. I tensed, ready to launch over hurdle number one.
I took a brush to my hair and tugged it through with enough force to make me wince. Just because I was nervous didn’t mean I had to inflict bodily harm. What had my poor hair ever done to me?
“Yeah. Actually, you got a minute, Mom?” I asked her, trying to control the wobble in my voice. My mom seemed to pick up on my apprehension and came in to sit down on my bed.
“You really need to clean this room. You can barely see the floor, Maggie May,” my mom scolded, picking up a pile of clothes and absently began to fold them.
I swallowed around the thick lump in my throat. “I’m going out with Clay tonight,” I let out in a rush. My mom’s hands stilled and she laid them on the clothes in her lap. I could see by the way her neck tensed up that she was not happy with my news.
But I refused to hide things from them ever again. I had played the part of the secretive teenager and it only served to demolish the trust my parents had in me. And that was not a place I wished to revisit anytime soon.
“Mom?” I ventured, wanting her to respond in some way. Her silence only served to increase the nervous flutter in my stomach.
My mom took a deep breath and looked up at me. She seemed tired and much older than I ever remember her being. Had I done this to her? Was I responsible for the new wrinkles around her eyes and the tired droop of her mouth?
“Okay,” she said slowly and I know my eyes popped out of my head.
“Okay?” I clarified, not sure I had heard her correctly.
My mom’s smile was tight. “Not the response you were expecting?” she asked me, moving the pile of clothes off to the side and folding her hands in her lap.
“Well, no. I was expecting something a bit more…explosive,” I admitted, eyeing her warily. Who was this woman and what had she done with my mother?
My mom patted the bed beside her and I quickly joined her. She brushed my bangs out of my face and rubbed my cheek. She seemed sad and tired and just like my dad several weeks ago, she appeared resigned.
“What would be the point of yelling and telling you not to go? Would you stay home? Would you forget about Clay?” she inquired, taking my hands and holding them lightly in hers.
I shook my head. “No. I wouldn’t,” I answered her honestly. My mom’s eyes began to glisten dangerously. I knew tears were imminent. I hated it when my mother cried. I felt helpless and guilty.
“I don’t want to lose all that we’ve worked so hard to rebuild between us. Your father and I love you. Before, with Clay, we were so scared for you. We knew what you had with him could only end in a broken heart. And I hate it that we were right.” I found it hard to breathe and my mom wrapped her arm around my shoulders.
“I know that if your dad and I had been more open minded. If we had listened instead of judging, things could have turned out very differently. But we were so terrified that our baby girl would get hurt that we went into shut down. You resented us. We were so angry. That was a horrible place to be.” She laid her cheek on the top of my head and I felt myself relax against her.
-Maggie-
I was nervous. Screw it, I was really, really nervous. I stared at my reflection in the mirror and smoothed the skirt of my grey sweater dress for the millionth time since I had put it on. I looked cute. But was I trying to be cute? Sexy, amazing, or drop dead gorgeous would have been so much better.
But I was stuck with cute.
I had never been one to obsess about my looks like most teenage girls. I went with what God gave me and was okay with that. But for some reason tonight, I was freaking the hell out.
Which was beyond ridiculous. Because the person I was dressing up for already thought I was the most beautiful girl on the planet.
Poor deluded sap that he was.
Tonight was the “date.” Clay and I had talked a few times during the week and we hadn’t been able to agree on what we wanted to do. I didn’t want him to go to a lot of trouble. But he wanted to make it special.
And I could appreciate that. Because this felt like the beginning for us. Our first step toward a future that we had always wanted to have. Our chance to take things one step at a time, in the right order. Lord knows we skipped a whole bunch of pivotal moments the last time.
But now was about walking, not sprinting to the finish line. And I was happy to stroll.
Part of me wished this was the first time for us. That we didn’t have a butt load of baggage that always tickled the back of our minds with unwanted memories. I hated the twinge of distrust I continued to feel in Clay’s presence and I absolutely loathed the hyper vigilant anxiousness that I often felt from him.
I had been so lost in the blissful throes of reunion that it had taken a few days before the reality started to set in. I tried not to watch him and monitor his behavior. But it was habit. And I couldn’t help but watch for any indication that he had veered off the course to recovery and was lying to me all over again.
This was not the friendly feeling of déjà vu, but a smack a bitch in the face remembrance. And I didn’t like it one bit.
But I would have been the worst kind of naïve if I dusted off my rose colored glasses again. I could tell Clay was making every effort to show me things were different. But how different could they really be? Not that much time had passed. And given all that he had gone through, relapse almost seemed preordained.
Which was a shitty way of thinking. But think about it, I did.
But for tonight, I wanted to walk the road Clay was trying so hard to pave for us.
“You look lovely. Big plans tonight?” My mom peered into my room, a soft smile on her face. I tensed, ready to launch over hurdle number one.
I took a brush to my hair and tugged it through with enough force to make me wince. Just because I was nervous didn’t mean I had to inflict bodily harm. What had my poor hair ever done to me?
“Yeah. Actually, you got a minute, Mom?” I asked her, trying to control the wobble in my voice. My mom seemed to pick up on my apprehension and came in to sit down on my bed.
“You really need to clean this room. You can barely see the floor, Maggie May,” my mom scolded, picking up a pile of clothes and absently began to fold them.
I swallowed around the thick lump in my throat. “I’m going out with Clay tonight,” I let out in a rush. My mom’s hands stilled and she laid them on the clothes in her lap. I could see by the way her neck tensed up that she was not happy with my news.
But I refused to hide things from them ever again. I had played the part of the secretive teenager and it only served to demolish the trust my parents had in me. And that was not a place I wished to revisit anytime soon.
“Mom?” I ventured, wanting her to respond in some way. Her silence only served to increase the nervous flutter in my stomach.
My mom took a deep breath and looked up at me. She seemed tired and much older than I ever remember her being. Had I done this to her? Was I responsible for the new wrinkles around her eyes and the tired droop of her mouth?
“Okay,” she said slowly and I know my eyes popped out of my head.
“Okay?” I clarified, not sure I had heard her correctly.
My mom’s smile was tight. “Not the response you were expecting?” she asked me, moving the pile of clothes off to the side and folding her hands in her lap.
“Well, no. I was expecting something a bit more…explosive,” I admitted, eyeing her warily. Who was this woman and what had she done with my mother?
My mom patted the bed beside her and I quickly joined her. She brushed my bangs out of my face and rubbed my cheek. She seemed sad and tired and just like my dad several weeks ago, she appeared resigned.
“What would be the point of yelling and telling you not to go? Would you stay home? Would you forget about Clay?” she inquired, taking my hands and holding them lightly in hers.
I shook my head. “No. I wouldn’t,” I answered her honestly. My mom’s eyes began to glisten dangerously. I knew tears were imminent. I hated it when my mother cried. I felt helpless and guilty.
“I don’t want to lose all that we’ve worked so hard to rebuild between us. Your father and I love you. Before, with Clay, we were so scared for you. We knew what you had with him could only end in a broken heart. And I hate it that we were right.” I found it hard to breathe and my mom wrapped her arm around my shoulders.
“I know that if your dad and I had been more open minded. If we had listened instead of judging, things could have turned out very differently. But we were so terrified that our baby girl would get hurt that we went into shut down. You resented us. We were so angry. That was a horrible place to be.” She laid her cheek on the top of my head and I felt myself relax against her.
