Perfect Regret

Page 26

I started to chew on the skin around my thumb. “I know I’m being a hypocrite. I know I’m not making any sense, but…” I let my words trail off. No reason to cut myself open completely. This conversation had me feeling way too vulnerable and touchy. I hated that my world had turned upside down because of a guy.
Somehow, someway, Garrett Bellows had gotten inside me. He was like a parasite, slowly sucking me dry. Whether I ignored his existence or not, he was still there, embedded in my intestinal track, draining me of all good sense.
“He scares you,” Maysie piped up, grinning at me as she shoved a handful of popcorn into her mouth. She needed to keep that mouth full because I wasn’t appreciating her on the nose analysis of my internal conflict.
I made a noise that sounded like I was choking. “Scared? Give me a break, Mays. Annoyed? Yes. Frustrated? You betcha. Ready to take off someone’s head? Looking more and more like a definite,” I said in warning. “But never, ever scared,” I said with more conviction than I felt.
Maysie chuckled. “Oh yes he does. He gives you butterflies. He makes you sweat. He calls you on your bullshit and keeps you on your toes. You both love and hate how he does that. He has you tied up in knots and you can’t get out. And Miss I-Have-My-Whole-World-Figured-Out is going crazy because of it. So you’ve gone into shut down. You’re forcing Damien down your throat in an effort to deny what you know is there.” Maysie seemed entirely too pleased with herself.
I opened my mouth to say something but she cut me off…again! “I’m not saying this to be mean, but Riley, you’ve become your own worst enemy. I know you think Garrett has nothing to offer. That you’re embarrassed by the fact that you actually like him. But he’s a good guy. He’s a smart guy. And there is no one else in this world that would lay everything at your feet the way that he would. Remember that when you’re sitting at that poetry reading later, trying to convince yourself that being there with Damien is the right thing. Because Damien wasn’t the guy who drove you over a hundred miles in the middle of the night to see your dad. Damien wasn’t the guy who stayed with you at the hospital while you tried to keep your family together.”
My throat felt uncomfortably tight and I blinked rapidly to try and hold off the tears. I will not cry!
“And remember he’s the guy who has made you feel like you’re worth all the hassle. That no matter what you dish out, he is there to take it. To volley it right back and is there to go toe to toe anytime you’re ready.” Maysie squeezed my hands. “Damien wasn’t that guy for you. Garrett is,” she said softly and I closed my eyes and tried to take a deep breath around the huge, crushing weight in my chest.
“Enough, Maysie. Seriously, just enough already,” I begged. I didn’t want to hear any of this. I couldn’t.
Maysie looked disappointed by my refusal to hear her. “I just would like you there tonight. Jordan would like you there. Garrett would like you there. I know that matters to you, whether you want to admit it or not,” she said confidentially.
I didn’t bother to say anything else. I gave my best friend a final look of frustration before going back into the living room to join Damien on the couch again. I tried not to cringe as he put his arm around me.
Maysie’s punch in the gut small talk had done a number on me. I could barely sit in the same room with Damien with her words ricocheting around in my head.
“You’re not really thinking of going to that concert, are you?” Damien asked, flipping through the TV channels like he lived there. Another of the many Damien personality quirks that drove me nuts.
TV domination was definitely at the top of the list.
Reaching over, I grabbed the remote from his hand and purposefully turned it to an over the top reality show that we both abhorred. Damien made a face. “Since when do you watch this mind rot?” he asked dismissively.
“Since you and I stopped spending every waking hour together,” I shot back, turning up the volume.
Damien rolled his eyes but didn’t comment. “So we’re going to the poetry reading, right?” he asked, moving the conversation back to our evening plans and Maysie’s arm twisting suggestion of going to see Generation Rejects play.
Damien seemed so hopeful and eager that I couldn’t say no. It would be like throwing a puppy into oncoming traffic. “Sure, poetry reading. Sounds groovy,” I replied, knowing that it was by far the safer option.
Being in the same room as Garrett left way too much potential for explosion.
After Damien left, I filled the hours with every distraction I could think of. My mind too often sought to slip in a dangerous direction.
Why is it when you make up your mind about something, your heart was there to call you on your bullshit? I hated my heart; I wish it would shut the hell up. It didn’t help that Maysie was there to cheer my heart on.
I had never been so thankful for the sound my ringing phone in my life. I was spending too much time in my own head and I was looking for a jailbreak.
Seeing my mom’s name on the screen I tried not to feel the twinge of apprehension. I hated that I was hesitant to answer it. I used to love talking to my mother. I had enjoyed our conversations and her quirky advice.
Now I never knew what to expect. When she was good, I could pretend things were just like they were before.
But when she was bad I couldn’t live in my shiny world of denial. And I liked living there, thank you very much.
“Hey, Mom,” I said after answering it.
“Hey, baby girl. How are you?” Mom asked and I relaxed in relief. Mom sounded good.
“Eh, can’t complain,” I said, sticking with the bare bones of the truth. At one time I would have unloaded all of my drama on her very capable shoulders. Now, that ship had sailed and I worried about giving her more than she could handle.
I could hear my mother letting out a noisy breath on the other end. “Stop walking on egg shells around me, Riley. I promise I won’t crack. Now talk to me. There’s more to that statement then you’re saying,” my mother scolded and I couldn’t stop myself from smiling.
“First, how are you, Mom? I know you had your support group meeting today. I was going to call you later to see how it went,” I asked before she could badger me for more details about my life.
My mom had started attending a support group for people who have lost loved ones. She had only been to three meetings and the first two times she had been such an emotional wreck afterwards that I wasn’t sure she should go back.
But she was insistent that she continue going and from the sound of her, I had hope it might actually help.
“It was hard. Every second of every day is a struggle. It’s hard for me to keep going in this life without your dad. I expected many more years together. I feel…cheated,” she admitted quietly and I felt the familiar tightness grip my chest.
“I know, Mom. I do too,” I said just as quietly.
We were silent after that for a while, neither of us willing to talk until emotions were in check.
“But everyone says time heals all wounds and I can only hold onto the hope that one day I will be able to remember you father without feeling the excruciating pain of his loss,” my mom finally said and I was reminded of Garrett’s words before leaving Maryland.
“Just try to take it one day at a time,” I told her. My mom’s chuckle eased some of the suffocating grief.
“Such a wise daughter I’ve raised,” she teased and I laughed in return.
“I just listen to people way smarter than me,” I acknowledged, surprised to find myself putting Garrett in that category.
“Very true. Now moving on to you. Tell me what’s going on in your life. What’s going on with that handsome boy your brought with you to Maryland? I really liked him, Ri,” Mom said, and I desperately wanted to shut down this conversation as quickly as possible.
“I got approved for an independent study next semester. Professor Cartwright is going to supervise it. Now I just have to decide on a topic. I was thinking of comparing Stuart era feminism through the plays of Aphra Behn with modern poet Adrienne Riche. Professor Cartwright says he’s never heard of anyone comparing those two before, so it would be something brand new,” I was rambled, hoping that if I talked long enough, Mom would forget about her well intentioned intrusive line of questioning.
No such luck.
“That sounds great, Riley. But why are you avoiding us talking about your fellow? What was his name again? I’m sorry I don’t remember it,” my mom broke in and I knew she wouldn’t let it go.
“Garrett. His name is Garrett Bellows,” I admitted, knowing avoidance efforts would be defeated by my mother’s information seeking militia.
“Garrett. I like that name. How did you meet him? Does he go to Rinard?” she asked and I snorted.
“Not exactly,” I said, knowing I sounded judgmental.
My mom picked up on my snotty tone instantly. “What’s that for? Does he go to a rival school or something? Is this like some sort of co-ed Romeo and Juliet?” she joked and I rolled my eyes even though she couldn’t see me.
“No, he doesn’t go to another school. He doesn’t go to school at all,” I said.
“Did he already graduate?” she asked.
“No, he never went,” I told her.
“Oh,” my mother said shortly. “And this is obviously a problem for you,” she surmised.
“Well of course it’s a problem! He has no goals! Well nothing that goes beyond playing guitar in his silly rock band. How could I ever fit with someone who doesn’t want what I want? We have absolutely nothing in common, Mom!” I let out in a huff. I had gotten loud and I knew I was getting way too worked up.
Mom didn’t say anything for at least thirty seconds. “Well, it sounds like your mind’s made up,” she said succinctly and to the point.
“Yes, yes it is,” I said, feeling myself become irrationally defensive.
“But this guy with no future and no plans that you clearly have no respect for, drove you all the way to Maryland in the middle of the night so you could see your father. Huh,” she said and then went silent again.
Even through my frustration with this direction of our conversation, her words hit me like a ton of bricks.
“I respect him. That’s a little harsh,” I bit out.
“You respect him? Then why spend all this time telling me why he is such a bad fit for you? It sounds like you’re trying to convince yourself rather than me,” my mother informed me, sounding entirely too smug.
“I’m going to have a life that matters, Mom. I promised Dad I would have a life that means something. How can I do that with someone whose life doesn’t mean anything?” I asked, feeling like such a jerk for stating the thoughts that so often floated around my head. But it was the crux of my decisions where Garrett was concerned and I needed to vocalize them to the one person who wouldn’t judge me for them.
“How can you say his life doesn’t mean something? That’s very callous of you, Riley and your father and I raised you to be tolerant, compassionate and understanding. Your father said those words to you knowing you would continue to be that amazing and loving girl that we raised. But to make your mind up about someone without giving them the opportunity to show you who they really are, well that’s very Republican of you,” my mom said firmly and I almost gasped.
She had called me a Republican. And to my granola eating, tree-hugging mother, that was the height of insult.
“Mom, how could you say that to me?” I asked, feeling like a little kid being scolded for taking the last cookie. Parents were way too good at making you feel bad.
“Riley, I’m not trying to hurt your feelings. I’m just disappointed in you. I don’t know this Garrett. And from the sounds of it, you don’t really either. Whose to say his life of meaning isn’t just as beautiful as the one you want to have? Whose to say you can’t make those lives matter together? Because the way that boy looked at you was something special. Your father would want you to do what makes your heart happy. Forget your head,” she advised and I had no words to refute her.
Because she was right.
Damn it, Moms were always right.
“That girl’s poem was so infantile. I mean who tries to compare the destruction of western civilization with rotting fruit and say it with a straight face? Talk about trying too hard. Blech,” a girl named Karly said, sipping her Mocha Latte.
I was stuck at a table with four people who at one time I had considered friends. They had been acquaintances by way of my relationship with Damien. So in truth, they were his friends. His crowd. But not too long ago, I had sat around in this same kitschy coffee shop mocking everyone in order to make myself feel superior.
Wow, self-realization was a bitter pill to swallow sometimes.
Damien nodded as though Karly’s comments were the smartest thing he had ever heard.
“Word,” an overly skinny dude in a beret named Lou said from beside her. Had this douche really just said word? Had I blissfully ignored how these people reeked of pretention or had I been just as bad?
“I don’t know, I thought she was pretty good,” I spoke up, never one to sit by while other people were being dicks. From the way Karly looked at me in surprise, I had obviously never thought she was of the dick persuasion before.
“Are you serious, Riley? That drivel? Don’t make me laugh,” Karly snickered as though I couldn’t possibly be serious. The rest of the group laughed, including Damien who seemed to think I had knowingly made a big funny.