Escape In You (4 page)

Not in the mood to devote any more effort to a lost cause, I sneak back down the hallway to my room and change out of the boxers and t-shirt I’d slept in. I can't face the thought of anything but yoga pants, so I pull on my softest pair and find a clean blue tank top. I know I still look like ten kinds of shit, but I figure it’s more than sufficient for the Burrito Barn.

I look at my watch. I have about fifteen minutes, and I’m out of ways to stall. I need to check on my mom. I pad down the worn carpet to her room and take a deep breath before pushing open the door. It’s dark inside, all the blinds closed tightly against the early summer sunlight. I stand stock still until her form moves under the covers and I can be sure she’s breathing.

“Mom?” I whisper, not really wanting to go any closer. “You awake?”

There’s no answer so I move across the room to the chair next to her bed. Pulling it around to face her, I take a seat. My mother looks so peaceful when she’s sleeping. Her face is relaxed, her dark lashes—one of the only features I share with her—fanned out and distinct on her pale white skin. Even though it’s mostly hidden by the blankets, I can tell her hair is dirty—when
is
the last time she’s showered? I’ll have to make sure she takes one today—but I can almost pretend that things are back to normal, that she’s just sleeping, that she is fine.

Her eyelids flutter open and her gaze immediately fixes on my face. I hold my breath, having no idea what she’ll be like today. When she smiles slightly, I exhale, but I don’t relax.

“Zoe, baby,” she says softly, moving her hand from beneath the blankets to take mine. “How are you, love? Did you have a nice time with Ellie last night?”

“I did, Mom.” I squeeze her hand, and swallow down the worry when her grip is too weak, her fingers too frail. She hasn’t been eating much lately. “How are you feeling?”

Her smile fades. “I’m pretty tired, baby.”

“I’m sorry, Mom. Did you take your medicine?”

She shakes her head, and I bite back a curse. Jerry is supposed to make sure she takes it every morning. He promised. Had he even been in here yet today?

“I’ll be right back,” I say. I walk quickly back to the bathroom, not bothering to be quiet now. I almost hope my stepfather will hear me. There are some things I’d love to say to him. I find her weekly pill organizer in the medicine cabinet and fill up a plastic cup with water. When I get back to her room, I see that she has fallen asleep again. “Mom,” I whisper, shaking her shoulder. “Wake up, Mom.”

She moans softly, and I shake her harder. “Come on, Mom. You need to take your medicine.”

She finally opens her eyes, but this time she doesn’t smile at me. Instead she silently allows me to pull her head up and place a pill on her tongue. Her hands remain limp at her sides, so I bring the cup up to her mouth for her. Her compliance, her weakness, fills me with a familiar mixture of rage and pity, immediately followed by guilt. The three of them, along with fear, are my constant companions. I feel pity for the state she’s in, but I’m also angry that I’m the one who has to deal with it. The anger generally leads to guilt, because what kind of daughter feels that way about her mother? Fear usually follows along closely behind, reminding me that she is fragile, and sick, and that anything can happen.

Once I’m sure she has swallowed, I help her to lie down again. “Are you heading out, baby?” she asks sleepily.

I pause. “Maybe I should stay with you.”

She shakes her head, smiling sadly. “I’m just going to sleep. And Jerry is here, he’ll check on me. You go on and get to class.”

I consider telling her it’s Saturday, a day I don't take classes, then realize there is no point. What does it matter to her what day of the week it is? She’ll spend the day the same way she spent the last dozen, in bed with the curtains drawn.

I lean down to kiss her forehead, hating myself for the relief I feel when her eyelids flutter closed again. When she sleeps all day it worries me and makes me sad, but it’s a hundred times better than the alternative. It’s been a while since one of her more dangerous episodes, and I’m in no mood to experience that anytime soon. Sleeping, on the other hand, I can handle, like the calm before the storm. Sleeping means I am safe to leave for a few hours. Sleeping means a little freedom, at least for now. I watch her for a moment before finally standing again and slipping from the darkened room.

As I grab my purse and head outside to wait for Ellie, I hear Jerry moving around in the basement. There are no crashes or muffled curses, so I can be fairly sure he isn’t drunk yet. Hopefully he’ll have the sense to check on Mom a few times before I come home.

I step out onto the porch, the sunlight beating down on me, hurting my eyes. Still, I’m grateful for it. Grateful to be out here and not stuck in that house anymore. Not watching and waiting for the next disaster in the room where my mother sleeps.

***

When Ellie pulls up a full ten minutes later, Hunter is in the passenger seat. “I’ve stolen your seat, Zoe, girl,” he says as I climb into the back. “I’m finally making my move to take over as best friend.”

“Sounds good to me,” I say, hitting the button to roll down my window. Both Ellie and Hunter are smoking and the smell doesn’t help my headache. “She’s kind of a bitch. I’ll be happy to be rid of her.”

“See, I told you,” Ellie says, pouting. “She only loves me for my ride.”

“You think this ride is something to love?”

“So, Zoe,” Hunter says, turning in his seat to look at me. “What’s this I hear about you making out with Jet Taylor last night?”

I slap a hand over my mouth, the memory of the sex god with the hair hitting me full force. I completely forgot about him in the fog of my hangover. How could I forget something like that? Now that Hunter has brought him up, the memory of his face, his beautiful eyes and the way they watched me, is overwhelming.

“So it’s true?” Ellie says, watching me in the mirror.

I quickly shake my head and wince at the pain that causes. “No, we didn’t make out. We just talked for a while. Down in the basement. You guys were both there.”

Ellie scrunches up her face. “I don’t remember seeing him in the basement.”

“Yeah, well, you were both baked and pretty much asleep.”

“Are you sure you didn’t make out?” Hunter asks. “Because that’s totally what I heard. From more than one person.”

I stick out my tongue at him. I am so not a fan of being gossiped about. It’s the reason I pretty much stick exclusively to my own little group of friends. “Who said this?”

“Everett heard it from Mary. And then Kristin told me that Jet was asking about you.”

My stomach drops. “He was?”

In the front seat, Ellie laughs. “Oh, this is so sweet. Someone has a crush on you, Zoe.”

I flip her off as she pulls into the parking lot of the Burrito Barn.

“I think she’s right, Zoe. He wouldn’t be trying to find out more about you if he didn’t like what he saw.”

I’m embarrassed that my heart is racing.
Get a grip
, I tell myself.
You’ll be giggling next
. I get out of the car and join my friends on the sidewalk. “And I should listen to you because you have so much insight into the mind of the straight male, right?”

Ellie laughs, and Hunter holds open the door to the diner for us. “As a matter of fact, I know a lot about straight dudes. Most of the guys I like invariably end up being one.”

“Sorry, babe,” I say and take his arm. I know he hasn’t had much luck dating lately. It’s not like we live in the most cosmopolitan or progressive area in the country. The out and eligible gay scene isn’t super promising.

A waitress calls out a hello to Ellie, who works here part time. “You can sit where you want,” she says over her shoulder as she hurries by with a full tray. We make our way to the back of the diner and slide into a vinyl booth. Contrary to its name, the Burrito Barn is not a Mexican restaurant. In fact, burritos and nachos are the only items on the menu that even slightly resemble Mexican food, and even those are a stretch. The decor, and most of the food choices, are typical American diner fare. The name is something of a mystery, though maybe it’s as simple as the owners capitalizing on their most popular menu item. There is no point in ordering anything here other than a burrito.

The waitress that greeted us brings over our water, which I attack with gusto while Ellie chats with her. The water makes me feel a little better immediately. Ellie has told me a million times that a hangover is just the alcohol dehydrating my body, and I won't feel so crappy if I just remember to alternate water and vodka throughout the night. But I never remember.

Once we’ve placed our order and the waitress has gone, Hunter leans across the table. “So tell us about Jet. I want to hear everything.”

I shrug. “I don’t really know anything. We just talked for a little bit. I thought he was flirting at first, and I was quite looking forward to making out with him.”

Ellie laughs. “I bet you were.”

“Yeah, well, there was no making out, unfortunately. We just talked for a while until the two of you woke up and started shouting about pancakes.”

Hunter rests his chin on his hand. “That surprises me. I haven’t heard that Jet is much of the talking type. If you were willing to play tonsil hockey I’m kinda shocked he wasn’t all over it, to be honest.”

“Do you know him?” I ask, my interest piqued. I assumed he’d be as much a stranger to my friends as he is to me.

Hunter nods. “A little. We went to school together.”

“I always forget you were born a rich bitch,” Ellie says. “Did you live in a fancy house like the one from last night?”

Hunter shakes his head. “Nope.” He pauses. “Ours was bigger.”

Hunter grew up every bit as privileged as Preston Barkley. His fortunes, however, only lasted until he came out to his parents. He’s been living in a shitty apartment on our side of town ever since they kicked him out.

“So you went to school with this kid,” Ellie says. “What do you know?”

“Not a whole lot, to be honest. He was two years ahead of me, and we didn’t exactly run with the same crowd.”

“Don’t tell me he’s a jock.” I feel a rush of disappointment. With his tattoos and lack of higher education, I had let myself believe he was different from all those other guys at the party last night.

“What do you care?” Ellie asks. “If all you’re looking for is a little horizontal fun, what does it matter if he’s a jock? High school football careers have never stopped you from hooking up with a dude.”

I fidget with my napkin. She has a point. When it comes to my hookups, I’m rarely picky. If a guy is cute and into me, he generally meets my criteria.

“Maybe ‘cause she wants more than a hookup,” Hunter says, as he studies my face. “Maybe she’s hoping Jet’s the kind of guy she could actually have a relationship with.”

I throw the napkin at him. “Stop being such a girl, Hunter. I was just asking.”

“Well, you’ll be relieved to find out that he wasn’t a jock. At least, not by the time I became aware of him. There were rumors that he used to be your typical Mr. America golden boy, but he ditched all that his senior year and started hanging out with a rougher crowd.”

Maybe my initial impression of him was right after all.

“So he started hanging out with a rough crowd,” Ellie says, and sips her water. “I bet Mommy and Daddy Taylor must have loved that.”

Hunter shrugs. “I heard there was some death in the family. Maybe a sibling even. I get the impression his folks weren’t around much. Or, if they were, they didn't really care about his partying, ‘cause he certainly did his fair share of that.”

“And he really asked about me?” I figure there’s no point in trying to hide my interest now. They know me too well.

Hunter smiles. “He did indeed. He’s really hot, Zoe. Don’t talk yourself out of this.”

Our food arrives and Ellie and Hunter start gossiping about the party, leaving me to think about what Hunter had said. Taylor
is
really hot. And he appears to be into me for some reason. Should I go for it? It wouldn't be hard to find out where he lives or what party he’s likely to be at.

“Zoe? Oh my God, Zoe!”

The sound of my friend Grace shrieking my name from across the diner interrupts my thoughts. My stomach drops even as I force a smile on my face and reluctantly stand to greet her.

“I can’t believe it,” Grace squeals, wrapping her arms around me. Her voice is so loud that it hurts my head, but I merely hug her back, albeit weakly. “I was planning to call you today and here you are! I can’t believe it!”

“Yeah. Shocking,” Ellie mutters.

Grace releases me. As she appraises Hunter and Ellie her face closes off a bit, but her smile remains firmly in place. “Hi, Hunter. Hi, Ellie.”

Hunter gives her a friendly wave while Ellie grants her a grim smile.
Please don’t start
, I silently beg her. Luckily, Grace ignores her and turns her attention back to me. “So what have you been up to? How’s school? You look great.”

I ignore her compliment since it’s clearly BS. “Oh, you know, same old. Hanging out, taking classes. Pretty lame really.”

Her eyes search my face, like she knows I’m full of it and is trying to find the truth written there. I feel a pang of homesickness at the familiar, inquisitive expression. I should ask her about her school, but I’m not sure I’m up to hearing about its fabulousness. Not today.

“How’s Cassandra?” she asks, her voice soft. I bristle at the pity in her tone when she refers to my mother.

“She’s fine.”

Grace either doesn’t pick up on my standoffishness or chooses to ignore it, because she reaches out her hand to touch my arm gently. “I’m glad to hear it. Can we catch up soon, please? I really miss you.”

I miss you too
, I think sadly.
God, Grace, if you only knew. I miss so many things…

“Sure,” I say, and try to put some warmth in my voice. “That would be good.”

Her gaze remains intense, and I wonder what she sees when she looks at me. I’m a different person than I was when she left for college three years ago. Can she tell, just by looking? I have a feeling that if anyone could, it would be Grace.