Anything Less Than Everything (4 page)

The early
summer sun had long since given way to darkness, and we drifted into silence
magnified the sound of crickets, a frog jumping into the pond, cars on the
nearby street. After a couple of minutes of swinging in silence, I looked up
and found Aaron looking at me. His gaze was hard to read: it was soft, but
serious. He moved toward me, and without thinking, without hesitating, I moved
toward him. He was just inches from me, our lips so close. And then we heard
the back door swing open and slam shut. We both jumped and sat upright. The
swing stopped. My heart was pounding, though from the near kiss or from almost
being caught, I wasn't sure. I could hear the trill of Jill's voice, calling
for me.

"Well,"
he said, "I guess maybe that's my cue to leave." Neither of us moved,
though. It had been a great night, and even though the day had been
humiliatingly horrible, I even had pleasant memories to take away from it. I
knew the end was inevitable, but I hated to see it come anyway. It felt the same
as when my best friend moved away in third grade. I stood in her driveway
crying and waving until her family's car was out of sight. We exchanged
addresses, promised to write, and did so for a few months. Eventually, though,
we stopped writing as we each started spending time with other friends and
moved on.

And here was
Aaron, someone who had been kinder to me, whom I had more in common with, who
seemed to get me more than anyone else I had ever known, and he was leaving.
Except now, as an adult, I didn't feel like I had any friends to move on to.
Acquaintances I called friends? Dozens. People I hung out with? Many. But not
any real friends. Spencer didn't really encourage any of my friendships, and
they died from lack of nurturing. And so now, when I needed friends most, I was
without any, yet another casualty of our dysfunctional relationship.

Jill started
walking toward us, at which point we stood and made our way back to the
driveway. "I was wondering where you two went," she said.
"Didn't you like the movie?"

"It was
just feeling a little crowded in there," I replied. I could see Aaron out
of the corner of my eye stifling a smile. Jill looked confused, obviously not
getting it. "I'm just going to take Aaron back to his hotel."

"It was
nice to meet you, Jill. Dave," he said, nodding at him.

Jill and Dave
said their goodbyes to us and we walked to my car. We didn't talk much on the
way, letting the radio fill the silence between us. I pulled into the same
parking spot as before and shifted the car into park. I turned to look at him
and found he was already looking at me. I tried to smile back, but found my
attempt to be a little feeble. When he finally spoke, it was not at all what I
expected. "Where's your phone?" he asked.

I pulled it
out and handed it to him, confused. "Why do you need--?"

"Text me
when you get home, so I'll know you made it safely," he said while keying
in numbers.
Oh my goodness
, I thought. His complete kindness was not
making me feel any better about him leaving. He thanked me again for the
weekend, promised to tell Brad I'd said goodbye, and then got out of the car. I
waited for him to get to his room and unlock the door, turning to wave to me as
he did, before pulling out and heading home. Once I arrived I sat in the car
and added a message to the number already lit on the screen of my phone:
Home
safely :)
.

A reply came
almost immediately:
I'm glad. :) Sweet dreams
.

And for the
first time in recent memory, they were.

A
t some point during the night I had
made a decision. I wandered into the kitchen, poured a cup of coffee and found
the real estate section of the Sunday paper scattered on the table.

"Moving?"
my dad asked over the sports section.

 "Yep,"
I replied. He dropped the paper down to look at me and gauge my seriousness. My
expression told him that I was, in fact, serious.

 "And
where, may I ask, are you moving?"

 "I
don't know yet. That's why I'm looking in the paper."

"Did
something happen to make you so suddenly decide this?"
Yes, actually,
it did
I thought to myself. I had not been sure at first where I would get
a teaching job. When I decided to accept a position close to my parents' house,
I had moved back in with them until I started getting a paycheck. After all, I
would most likely be getting married soon, so signing a year-long lease seemed
silly. But now, I realized, there was really nothing keeping me here. More
importantly, I now felt confident enough to go out into the world by myself, to
face the challenges of life head on. How much had changed in just a weekend.

"I just
think it's time," I answered.

By that
afternoon I had toured a new complex near the school where I taught, fallen in
love with its dark cabinetry, granite counter tops and large deck, and signed a
lease. But just a six-month one--I wanted to keep all of my options open.

"I can't
believe you're doing this," Jill said as she watched me start to pack up
my room at Mom and Dad's.

"Why
not? Is it so strange for a twenty-three-year-old to have a place of her own?

"Well,
no..." she started. "It's just not like you."

I looked up
from the box I was filling. "And by that you mean...?"

"Just
that you don't usually make decisions so rashly. I mean, you really just woke
up today and decided to move out?"

"Yep,
that's exactly what happened. Is that wrong?"

"No, I
just...well, yesterday had to have been a really hard day for you. Are you sure
you aren't just being reactive?"

"Look,
yesterday
was
awful The last
two months
have been awful. I've
just decided that I'm not going to let
his
decisions impact how I live
my life anymore. I'm tired of being controlled by him, even after the
relationship has ended."

Wow. I
couldn't remember the last time I had spoken such bold words. Actually, I
could. It was sometime pre-Spencer. Jill didn’t say anything, but stood up and
started filling the nearest box with books. For Jill, that equaled approval. I
reached for a trash bag and began ridding my nightstand of junk.

“Think Mom
will ever talk to me again?” I asked.

Mom was not
happy with my decision to move out.
Rebellious
, she’d called it, though
the only rebellious thing I’d done was make a decision without first getting
her permission. Now I needed Jill on my side more than ever. Even if she was
rather thoughtless and annoyingly self-absorbed, she was much better than I at
navigating Mom.

“Yes,” Jill
said. “She’s incapable of not talking. Personally, I’m a little jealous of the
silent treatment you’re getting.”

She was right
to some extent. I didn’t like the fact that my mother was mad at me, especially
since I had done nothing wrong, but Jill was correct that a night without my
mother’s nagging was not the worst thing in the world.

Mom’s nagging
was something I’d heard a lot of the last few weeks. She had a very clear
picture of how she wanted her daughters’ lives to turn out, and Spencer fit
perfectly into her image of mine. She may have even taken the breakup harder
than I did. Dating Spencer was pretty much the only thing I’d ever done that
impressed her; without him I was a disappointment.

“Okay,” I
said, “so what do I do once she starts talking but is still angry?”

Jill
shrugged. “The only thing that ever works for me is to make her think whatever
she’s mad about was actually her idea.”

That
completely defeated the point of my new-found confidence. If I was only acting
on my mother’s ideas, even if it was just a show for her, how was that any
different than staying with Spencer all that time? I needed this to be my
decision.

Jill seemed
to understand my unspoken thoughts. “Maybe if you told her what happened...”

“And give her
the opportunity to bring up my shortcomings again? No, thanks.”

“She just
wants you to be happy.”

“Well, then
she should take some time to find out what it is that would make me happy,” I
snapped.

“You’re
right, Brooke. I’m sorry she’s being like that.”

“Have any
other ideas?” I asked.

“Move out.
She’ll get over it, especially when her friends start talking about how
wonderful it is that you’ve gotten your own place.”

True. My
mother’s liking for things going according to her plans was second only to her
desire to maintain the approval of her friends. Maybe I was more like my mother
than I realized. No, the old Brooke was. That line of thinking is what kept me
with Spencer. I was determined to never again lose who I really was. Or used to
be. Who I wanted to be. And though it was not what had driven me to sign the
papers, moving away from my mother and her influence was necessary for me to
reclaim myself.

And so I
resolved to go forward with my plan, regardless of what my mother or anyone
else thought about it. I taped up the box I had been busy filling, thus sealing
my decision.

M
emorial Day. A time most of the
country devotes to cookouts with family and friends. Not my family: we scatter.
Mom was working, Memorial Day being one of the biggest days of the year for the
botanical gardens. She had to be on hand to answer questions about rare
varieties of roses and drum up design business for herself. Dad was playing.
Golf, that is. Each year he played in a charity scramble. He claimed that the
fact that it was for a good cause excused the fact that his game was less than
stellar. Jill was off somewhere with Dave, as usual. That left me alone,
something I was used to and no longer minded much.

Since I was
going to be moving in just a couple of days, I decided to check out a local
home boutique for decorating ideas. The holiday meant sales galore, and before
long I had filled my cart with pillows, art, tchotchkes, you name it.

I tried not
to over think my decisions as I chose the items, determined just to buy what I
liked and not what I thought the magazines, or my mother, would approve. I’d
somehow chosen lots of grays and yellows, colors I didn’t realize I liked,
especially not together, but it seemed to work.

“You must be
starting from scratch,” the woman at the register observed.

“I am,” I
answered. “I’ve finally decided to leave the nest. You’d think after
twenty-three years I’d have enough stuff to fill a small apartment, but
apparently not,” I said, indicating the pile now sitting on the counter.

“Well, you’ve
got good taste,” she said. “All of these things will work wonderfully together.
Just don’t rush trying to get it all put together. Take your time.”

“Thanks,” I
replied. “But I’m a teacher, off for the summer, so I really want to try to get
it feeling complete before I go back to work in August. Besides, decorating
will give me something to do.”

“Are you
looking for something?” she asked, one eyebrow arched. “To do, I mean. Because
I really need to hire someone part time to help with the seasonal change over.
Summer is our busiest time in terms of design. The schedule is flexible and
I’ll give you a fifty percent discount.”

A summer job
was the last thing I’d been looking for when I walked into the store that day.
After all, part of the appeal of teaching was having the summers off.

But what good
was a summer off when everyone else was working? I’d been looking forward to
summer break, but hadn’t really thought about how I would fill the days.

I eyed the
pile of things I was purchasing. Half off
would
make a huge difference,
and I did love the items in this store. I had never worked retail, always
preferring office type jobs during college breaks. But that was in the past.
And since I was re-creating myself, it seemed like a great time to tackle a new
project. Besides, it was just for the summer. “Sold,” I said, extending my hand
across the counter to shake hers.

“Wonderful!”
she exclaimed. “I’m Caryn. Welcome to Dwell.”

I drove
straight to the empty apartment, making three trips to get all of my purchases
upstairs to my unit. I carefully unpacked each item, placing them all in the
living room so I could sort out where I wanted things to go. What seemed like a
houseful in the store now looked incredibly sparse. The problem was furniture.
I had none. At home I had a bedroom set--bed, dresser, nightstand, desk--but it
reeked of fifth grade girliness. Mom picked it out, and I had never been in
love with it. I decided it could stay at Mom and Dad’s. I grabbed a notebook
and pen from my purse and started making a list of all I would need.
Replacements for the bedroom furniture I was leaving behind, of course, but
also a table and chairs, bar stools, rug...I wasn’t even through the dining
room, and already the list filled an entire page. I needed back up. Marcie. Our
friendship had cooled some, what with my hiding from everyone after the breakup.
Now that school was over, and I didn’t see her every day, I knew I was going to
have to reach out to her if I wanted to salvage the relationship. And since she
loved a project and shopping more than pretty much anything, I thought asking
for her help filling my new space might be the perfect way to reconnect. The
old me--the original one--had been an initiator when it came to friendships,
and if I was trying to reclaim that self, then that was something I needed to
do.

"Brooke!
I wondered if I would ever hear from you again!"

"I just
saw you two weeks ago," I replied.

"But do
you realize how long it's been since you called to make plans with me?"
Or anyone
, I thought to myself. I winced at how much I had abandoned my few
friendships, how I had pushed everyone away. At the same time, though, I saw a
little bit more of the old me--the real me--peeking through.

"I'm
sorry," I said. "I just..." I trailed off, not knowing where to
go next.

"No
worries," she cut in. "And yes, I would love to help you with your
apartment! Can I come over now?"

Her
enthusiasm was contagious, and twenty minutes later she was sitting on the
floor of my living room adding to the list I’d begun.

 “Okay,” she
said in a matter-of-fact, let’s-get-down-to-business voice, “you’ve made a good
start here. Where did you find this?” she said, holding up a goldenrod colored
vase.

“This place
called Dwell,” I replied.

 “Oh, I love
that place! I should have known.” I decided to wait to tell her about my very
recent new job there. I wasn’t sure she’d be able to handle it. “Okay, I can
definitely see where you’re heading in terms of color and style.”

 If you
say so
, I thought.

“Let’s go
room by room and list big items first and then go back and add the other
accessories you think you want. You won’t really know until you get into the
store and see, of course.”

“Of course,”
I said, mimicking her tone. She rolled her eyes in reply.

Two hours
later, the list complete, gossip caught up, Marcie stood up to go. “Tomorrow,
eleven o’clock,” she said firmly. I nodded. I was now officially excited about
filling my new home, and the day of lunch and shopping ahead would hopefully
end with a firm move in date.

My room at my
parents’ house was filled with boxes half-packed, bags ready for the trash or
donation slouching among them. That’s the worst part of moving--the time
between packing and leaving, when nothing is where it should be and everything
is a mess. And so my bed had become an island of sorts. With music playing
softly in the background and pen poised over notebook, I pondered the words I
had just written on the page between scribbles and cross outs. Writing was
something else I’d lost along the way, and getting back to it was like the
first workout after months of skipping the gym: painful. The metaphor I was
attempting to weave into the poem I was writing was not working. It was coming
across as forced, fake. Words were just starting to come to me when the buzz of
my phone pulled them away back into the recesses of my brain. “Darn!” I said
under my breath as I checked the number. I didn’t recognize it, and the
unfamiliar area code could only mean telemarketer.

“Hello?” I
answered, trying to make my annoyance clear.

“Hey, Brooke.
It’s Aaron.” He paused. “Is this a bad time?

 My heart
skipped, the image of us on the swing immediately coming to mind. This was
completely unexpected. Aaron Davidson called me. Me. But why? “No, of course
not!” I replied, recovering. “I thought you were someone trying to sell me
something. How are you? How’s camp?”
Pause
. “Um, how did you find my
number?”

He laughed
that slow easy laugh that made me feel so at ease. “Okay, let’s see. I’m good.
Camp’s tough but I’m learning a lot. And I got your number when you texted me
the other night, telling me you made it home.”

“Ahh...so
that’s why you were worried about my well-being,” I said, a bit of mischief in
my voice.

“Just an
added benefit,” he said, and I swear I could feel him smiling over the phone.

“So, what’s
up?” I asked. “I thought they kept you running and passing twenty-four-seven,
with only an occasional break for a few drops of water.”

“Feels like
it,” he said, and I could hear the tiredness in his voice, could imagine him
wincing as he stretched out his throwing arm. “Most of the guys went out, you
know, dinner, looking for girls.”

“And you
didn’t join them because...”

“I had to
stay here to ice my leg,” he replied.

“You got
hurt?” I didn’t mean for my voice to sound as panicked as I’m sure it did. “Are
you okay?”

“I’ll be
fine. Just a pulled hammy. A slight pull. Nothing a night of ice and rest won’t
fix. Besides, it gave me a good excuse to bow out of their plans and call you
instead.” I felt a smile twitching at the corners of my mouth. Aaron wanted to
talk to me instead of picking up girls.
Aaron Davidson
called me.

“Well, I’m
glad I didn’t hang up on you like I usually do the telemarketers.”

“Me, too.” We
each sat there in silence for a few seconds, but like before, it wasn’t
awkward. “So, what have I missed in your life over the past two days?” he
finally said.
Two days
. Saturday night on the swing seemed a lifetime
ago. So much had changed in my life in just forty-eight hours. So much had
changed in
me
.

“Well,” I
said, “I found a part time job to keep me busy over the summer.”

“Job? I thought
the whole point of becoming a teacher was that you didn’t have to work in the
summer,” he said.

“That
certainly is a benefit,” I replied. “But it’s at a home decor boutique, and the
discount will help me fill up my new apartment.”

I let those
words hang in the space between us.

"Did you
mention that this weekend?" I could picture him scanning through our
conversations, looking for some mention of my plans.

"No,"
I replied. "It was sort of a recent decision. Like, yesterday
recent." I told him how it had all happened, about how I planned to buy
out a few furniture stores the next day. About how shocked everyone in my
family still was about my plans.

 "Why
are they shocked?" he asked, a note of confusion in his voice.

 "Well,
I guess they're just used to me asking their opinion before I make big
decisions."

"And you
didn't this time?"

"Nope. I
just woke up and knew it was the right thing to do. And so I did it."
Saying it that way made me feel more powerful than I had in years.  

“I haven’t
technically moved in yet, but I signed the lease. It’s mine. I’m going
furniture shopping tomorrow and hope to be sleeping there sometime this week.
It’s closer to school and brand new and just all around awesome.” All around
awesome? Did I really just say that? The pause on the other end at first made
me think Aaron was thinking the same thing, but then he spoke.

“I’m really
proud of you, Brooke.”

“You are?” He
was? No one else had said that. They questioned my reasoning, my timing, everything.
Some were excited about the material side of a new place. But no one had
acknowledged that this was not an easy thing for me. I might have been feeling
stronger, but I was far from being completely together again. And maybe, just
like Humpty Dumpty, I never would be.

Except for
when I talked to Aaron. Talking to him made me feel normal. He didn’t give me
the sad smiles of assumed understanding that everyone else did. He didn’t offer
advice on what I could have done differently. He was just there. For me.

 “Of course I
am,” he broke into my thoughts. “I know what it’s like to feel like life is
happening to you, Brooke, like someone else is behind the wheel.” I wondered
what he meant by that, but he didn’t elaborate. “You stepped up and took control.
A lot of people just keep letting others make their choices for them. And
judging from my brief interactions with your family, I’m guessing you got some
resistance.”

“You guess
right. Well, maybe not resistance exactly, but definitely questions.” I sighed.
“But enough of my drama,” I said. “Tell me about camp.”

“It’s good,”
he said. “I know a lot of these guys from playing and other camps, so it’s fun
to see them. Plus some of the staff have NFL contacts. That’s always good. And
the cable here has at least 400 channels, which helps pass the time when you’re
icing your leg.”

“Wait--so you
chose talking to me over a television dream come true? Are you sure that guy
just hit your leg?”

Aaron laughed
softly. “You’re much more interesting than any show I’ve ever seen, Brooke.
Besides, I couldn’t have you forgetting who I was.”

“That’s
likely,” I replied. “It’s not every day that I meet a Famous College Athlete.”

“Except that
I know you could care less about my so-called celebrity status,” he said. “I
mean, I know you care because you’re a fan of the team, but I also know that it
has nothing to do with why you’re talking to me right now.” He had me there. I
would be having this conversation with Aaron even if he didn’t know a first
down from a fumble because of how I felt about myself when I was around him, or
his voice, as it were. There was no pressure to flirt or make a good impression
like I might feel with most available guys. Aaron and I were friends, and his
calling cemented that fact for me. But I couldn’t tell him any of this. Instead
I gently steered the conversation to lighter topics.