Can't Let You Go (4 page)

Millie stood at
the stove and stirred something I hoped was edible. “We were kind of limited on groceries, so I ran to the store and stocked the fridge this morning. Do you want breakfast or lunch?”

What I wanted was to go back to bed, pull the covers over my head, and not resurface until sometime next year. “Lunch is fine.”

“Good.” She smiled and stood on tiptoe to get some bowls. “We’re having tomato soup and gluten free grilled cheese.”

“Sounds delightful.”

Maxine snorted as she pulled out a chair and sat down. “It’s better than the vegan burgers she fed my honey and me last week. Not only were there beans in those things, but spinach. Who puts spinach in burgers?” She took a sip of tea from a sweating glass. “Weirdos, that’s who.”

James walked into the kitchen, unfolding a newspaper. “You made the In Between front page today.” He held it out for me to see, pointing a finger at the headline in all caps. “Local Woman Injured in Plane Incident. Saved by Former Beau.” He leaned down and kissed my cheek. “You guys are famous.”

“That’s one for the scrapbook.” I slid my tired body into a seat, folding one leg beneath me.

“Still think we ought to sue the airlines,” Maxine said. “Your pilots were probably having a little drinkie poo.”

I ignored this. Again.

My grandmother was not deterred. “Stuff like this usually involves mental anguish.”

James grinned. “I’m familiar with that.”

Maxine cut her eyes at her son-in-law. “I mean Katie could turn straight-up crazy from this. She could end up unable to work, roaming the streets, talking to the voices in her head.”

Millie set a platter of grilled cheese sandwiches on the table. “Come fill your bowls with soup.”

“Speaking of work, I do need to find a job.” The room halted like someone had pressed
pause
. Millie held a ladle over a pot, her eyes round. James’s hand hovered toward the newspaper, and Maxine just stared, her collagen-filled lips pursed.

“But you’re. . .” Millie didn’t seem to know where to start. “You’re an actress. All that training. Surely—”

“I’m taking a break.”

“For how long?” James asked.

“Not sure. Six months. A few years.” I tore the crust away from my sandwich. “Forever.”

Maxine shook her angled bob. “The crazy has done set in.”

Millie put a bowl of soup before me, then sat down. “Katie, what’s going on?”

“I just need some time. London was great.” In the beginning. “But lately I realized . . . it’s not what I want.”

“Did something happen?” Millie asks. “You weren’t supposed to be here for weeks.”

“I missed home.” I took a bite, and the cheese slid against my tongue. Knowing Millie, it wasn’t really cheese, but I didn’t even want to think about what veggie product had been sacrificed in its place.

“You’ve wanted to be an actress since you were sixteen,” James said. “All those plays, all that training. You get handed this amazing opportunity right out of college, and now you’re done? When we talked to you last week, everything seemed fine.”

I’d barely been holding it together. When Ian, my ex-boyfriend
and
director, had replaced me in the show that had been the last straw. I’d packed my bags and jumped on the first flight out.

“Tell us what happened, hon.” Millie’s voice was so gentle, aching with concern, and I considered pouring it all out, telling them every detail. “Did you and Ian break up?”

I pushed aside my soup, not the least bit hungry. “Yes.”

“I knew I didn’t like him,” Maxine said. “You cannot trust a man with an accent. One time I dated this chap named Jean Luc and—”

“You seemed pretty serious,” James said. “I thought he was coming back with you at Thanksgiving.”

“I don’t want to talk about him.” Or think about him, or hear his name, or see his face. “We broke up. There’s really nothing to it. It didn’t work out.”

“Who dumped whom?” Maxine asked.

“I dumped him.” Technically.

“Atta girl.”

“So you break up with a boy, then hop on the next flight to Houston?” Millie asked. “Switching that plane ticket had to be astronomical.”

It had completely depleted my checking and savings. I had about fifty dollars to my name, and most of that was in foreign currency. “So, know anyone who’s hiring?”

Their unanswered questions hung over us, thick and sweltering. I knew I was disappointing them. But I just wasn’t ready to talk. I’d yet to process it all myself. In one year of living in London, I’d gone from being “woman number seven” in Shakespeare’s
Much Ado About Nothing
to finally getting a small speaking part, to being the understudy for the lead, grateful to fill in every few weeks. When the lead quit, I had the insane opportunity to stand in the spotlight as the permanent Beatrice, only
the
best character in the history of literature. One whirlwind year.

“Verla May’s son runs the funeral parlor.” Maxine patted my hand. “He could use an assistant.”

“In the office?” I asked.

“Nope.” She smiled. “The makeup department.”

“Katie, we hate to leave you like this,” Millie said. “I could stay here while you—”

“I’ll be fine.” Though the thought of staying in this home all alone for the rest of the month my parents would be gone did not sound the least bit enticing. “I’ll keep an eye on the house. Hold down the fort.”

Millie enfolded me in a warm hug. “We just want you happy, sweetie.”

“Being here makes me happy.” I put on my best smile and felt the sting behind my eyes. “I’ve missed you guys so much.”

“When you’re ready to talk, we’re here,” James said. “But know one thing.”

I dashed a tear and sniffed. “Yes?”

“You can run from your troubles.” He watched me over the rim of his glasses. “But those troubles will find you no matter where you live.”

M
y head was
as muddled as it was achy. Despite the protests of my family, I got in my car and drove across town to Frances Vega’s parents’ house. My best friend and I had gone different directions after high school. Frances had chosen a fancy Ivy League college where she could attempt to improve upon her science genius, and I had attended a plain Jane smaller school a few hours away. Even though Frances and I had taken radically different paths, we had remained close, visiting one another at least twice a year.

“Katie!” Frances opened the door, and I was immediately swallowed into a mighty hug. “Thank God you’re alive! I’ve missed you!” She pulled me inside to the kitchen, our old hangout. Like the rest of the house, the kitchen was a home decorator’s nightmare of two cultures that were supposed to be blended, but looked to be more at war. Frances’s father was a first generation Mexican-American, and her mother’s family was Chinese. They were each very proud of their cultures and believed their home should show it, from the food they ate to the art on the wall. Frances still hated every bit of it and resented the years of cultural tug-of-war.

“So,” I said, taking a glass of tea from Frances. “What’s new?”

“I’m getting married! I’m getting married! I’m marrying Joey Benson!”

I smiled at my friend’s crazy enthusiasm and bragged appropriately when she shoved her engagement ring in my face. “Frances . . . ” I sat down on a stool at the bar. “You’ve barely dated this guy. What’s the rush?”

“We’ve been together three glorious months. And when it’s right, it’s right. Besides, I’ve known Joey all my life.”

“Yeah, knew him, but not as in friends with him.” Joey was four years older than us and had rarely been around when we’d hung out with Charlie. The couple had connected through Facebook, both of them being “friends” of Charlie. “You probably hadn’t ever spoken to him before he asked you out.”

“I know!” She sipped her own tea. “Isn’t it the coolest story?”

Apparently it was a rhetorical question, as Frances didn’t give me a second to respond.

“We have so much to do. I still have to find a dress, find you a dress, order the flowers, write my vows, get some shoes that look pretty but don’t make me hate the world, and finish finding us an apartment in Massachusetts. It’s so much fun!”

Frances seemed to speak in never-ending exclamation points and sentences whose theme were all “yay!” How could either one of us be old enough to be college graduates, let alone old enough to get married?

Some days I just wanted to be sixteen again—going to high school, no rent payments, no major boy wounds, when every dream was still shiny, polished, and possible. Sure, we had worries, but nothing like the ones in adulthood. Nothing like the ones lodged in my brain like a splinter I couldn’t extract.

“You know I’m happy for you, right?” How to approach this? I didn’t want to burst any happy balloons here.

“Of course you are. You’re my best friend. Were you thinking strapless for your dress or is that just a bra nightmare?”

“But have you considered slowing it down? Wait to get married until you get settled at school?” While Joey had chosen the technical route, becoming a mechanic and doing something with some fancy form of auto painting, Frances had already earned her masters and was now on her way to Harvard for a PhD in nuclear physics.

While I played dress-up for a living.

“A Christmas wedding might be fun,” I suggested.

“You sound just like my dad.” Frances had inherited her father’s thick, wavy black hair and her mother’s porcelain skin. Her nerdy glasses did nothing to hide her enviable exotic looks. Joey was getting a total cover model. “We know what we’re doing, and we want to get married now.”

“You’re such a planner, though. You and that scientific brain of yours. You like to pore over every detail. Wouldn’t you feel better if you had time to really plan this ceremony? That way you could make it just how you wanted it instead of whatever’s available last minute.”

“The important elements are available.” Frances smiled. “Joey, his family, my family, and our closest friends.” She pulled me to her for another breath-restricting squeeze. “Thank you so much for coming in all the way from London. It means so much to me.”

“Anything for you.”

“Here, sit.” Frances patted a bar stool covered in the colors of the Mexican flag as she reached for her iPad. “It’s going to be a small wedding, so you’re my only bridesmaid. Do you like the navy for your dress or maybe the coral? Because those are my two colors. Aren’t they so pretty together? The guys are going to wear gray suits with pink bow ties. . .”

The rest of the details rolled past me like a fog, and I traced my finger across the bubbles meandering down my glass. I had kissed Charlie Benson.

Panic was one crazy lady. She made you do things you didn’t know you wanted to do. My last moments of life, and I chose to lock lips with Charlie. And when he’d kissed me again in the hospital, my heart rate had more than spiked the monitor beside me. He’d kissed me senseless, only stopping when my parents had returned. As my family had chattered around us, Charlie had given me a slow wink, then disappeared. Disappeared like a hot specter of sexy.

One I had no business getting involved with.

Frances cleared her throat, drawing me back to the present. From behind a pair of hot pink glasses, she studied my face. “Are you okay? How’s your head?”

“I’m, fine. Just a slight headache. Jet lag.”

“Anything else?”

“Maybe a little concern for you.”

“Katie, this is the right thing. I have never felt such peace about something in my entire life.”

“Last Tuesday I felt a great peace about a sushi bar. I spent the whole night clutching the toilet and begging for death.”

Frances laughed. “I know what I’m doing. Be happy for me.”

Acting happy for her was one of my jobs as maid-of-honor. I could do this. “I just want the best for you. I don’t want to see you hurt.”

“Is that what happened to you in London? With Ian? Did he hurt you?”

I twisted in my seat, searching for that cookie jar that Mrs. Vega always kept on her counter. “Where’s Pancho Villa?” When you lifted his sombrero, a mountain of chocolate chip cookies would usually be inside.

“First, you’re dodging my question. And second, Mom got rid of him. My parents no longer eat cookies. They keep carrot sticks and Greek yogurt in the fridge.”

Too many changes at once! My leaving the theater. Frances getting married. Mr. And Mrs. Vega going sugar free. My head throbbed with it all.

“So you were telling me about your breakup with Ian.”

I propped my chin into my hand and sighed. I had said very little to my best friend about Ian. “Ian cheated on me, and I broke up with him. That’s pretty much all there is to it. I thought I knew him, but I found out I didn’t.”

“I’m sorry Ian broke your heart. And if I didn’t have a quickie wedding to plan, I’d hop on a plane and punch him in the man parts.”

I’d already done that, but it was nice to hear.

“You’ll find love,” Frances said like an age-old sage who had it all figured out. “And when you do, it will make every old hurt fade away. One day you won’t even think about Ian.”

Funny, I seemed to already have arrived at the point of forgetting Ian. Maybe it was the hard bump to the head. But all I could think about was Charlie.