Taking Mine (36 page)

“Lilly,” she says with a mild tone.

Why is she here? “Is everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine. Can I come in?”

“Can I say no?” I ask, only half joking.

“No,” she says, but this time with a real smile.

She steps in, and I close the door behind her. “The kitchen is to the left,” I say, trying to avoid the mountain of laundry piled on the living room couch.

She sits at the tiny kitchen table I found at a resale shop and looks around. Her eyes stop on the only item I have magnetized to the refrigerator, and I want to dive across the room to block her sight of it. Instead, I try my best to act like a sane human being, and continue my work on dinner. I turn down the heat to prevent the butter from burning.

“What are you cooking?” she says, peering over the counter.

“Chicken.”

She points to the breasts I have marinating in a bowl. “You should butterfly those so they cook evenly.”

My knife freezes mid cut. “Did you come here to give me cooking pointers, or is there something you have to say?”

Her eyes narrow, lashes so thick I can’t see her pupils, but I know they’re drilling daggers into me. I brace myself, but surprisingly, she relaxes. “I always knew that whenever Justin decided to finally bring a girl home, she’d be the one.”

My heart pumps furiously in my chest. Just being within proximity of someone who’s a part of his life kicks it into gear. Hearing her say his name is almost too much to bear. Realizing that I’m not able to concentrate, I cut the stove off.

“Look, Tess,” I say.

She cuts me off. “I didn’t want it to be you,” she says. “When he first told me about you, I immediately didn’t like you.”

“This is going so well,” I say, garnering a laugh. “You knew everything before you even met me?”

“Not much. Justin only told me the bare minimum, that you’ve had a difficult life and that I shouldn’t judge you for that.”

I huff through a humorless laugh. “I was so nervous about meeting you, about making a good impression, and you’d already made your mind up about me.”

“I was wrong, I admit it, but I wouldn’t have given you that recipe,” she says, pointing to the paper hanging from the refrigerator, “if I didn’t absolutely know that my son loved you.”

The paper is folded into sixths from when she slipped it to me when Justin and I left after visiting.

Let’s get to the point. “What do you want?”

She drops her hands. “I honestly don’t even know. All I know is that my son isn’t happy, and I want someone to fix it. Do I think you’re worthy of his love?” She shakes her head. “But it doesn’t matter. Only you matter to him.”

“You’re right,” I say, meeting her eyes. “I’m not good enough for him. How can I live with that every day?”

She sighs, trying to think of a way to explain something. “You know, when Bruce decided to get sober, our relationship struggled more than it did when he wasn’t. We fought constantly because he wanted me to leave him.” I give her a look and she nods, waving her hand in the air. “I know, I know. Sounds ridiculous. But it was his own personal vendetta against himself, and he thought I deserved better.”

“Well,” I say. “You did.”

She shrugs. “Maybe, but I didn’t think so. And I couldn’t figure out why he just wouldn’t let me love him. That’s all I wanted to do.”

“But that’s kind of self-mutilating on your behalf, right? Why would you want to love someone who constantly hurts you?”

“Because I knew that he had intentions to never let it happen again. I knew that his heart outweighed all of his wrongdoings. And Lilly,” she says, making sure she has my attention. “What you did wasn’t all that bad. Lashing out was to be expected, and it’s obvious it’d be directed at the person you love the most. In fact, Justin blames himself for not trusting you with the truth in the first place. Maybe you two would have been spared all of this mess.”

I shake my head. She doesn’t understand. “It’s so much more than that.”

“How so?”

“I’ve never—” I clear my throat, uncomfortable with what I’m about to reveal. “I don’t know how to love someone.”

Her eyes soften, and I turn my eyes away from the pity. “That’s the wonderful thing about falling in love,” she says with a wry smile. “Someone can help you figure it out.

“I’m just trying to find myself,” I say, knowing that I sound like a parrot by this point.

“I can guarantee you, you’re not going to find how by secluding yourself.” She walks to the fridge and takes down the piece of paper. “And I’m taking this back until you gain some sense.”

I throw a hand up. “I have it memorized anyway.”

She looks at me, dubious. “Did you perfect the caramelized sugar on top?”

I open the fridge and retrieve the bowl. “You tell me.”

She peels the film back and breaks a piece of the crust off. “It could be better.”

I’m about to tell her she’s delusional, that I’ve made it every week for four months, when there’s more knocking on the door.

“Were you expecting someone?” she says, eyebrows raised. “It’s almost nine o’clock.”

I roll my eyes. “No, I was not.”

She walks with me to the door, taking the bowl with her. I open the door to find Mr. Wilson wearing an angry mug and holding a plate of brussel sprouts. “Mr. Wilson,” I say, not at all feeling the sweet smile on my face.

“Don’t you Mr. Wilson me, young lady. After thirty minutes of trying to coerce Cal to eat his vegetables, he confessed that you’re feeding him more of your asinine peach cobbler.”

I drop my head back. “I told him to keep his mouth shut.”

“No, I believe what you specifically told him to do was to tell me—”

Tess shoves the bowl at the old man. “That she wanted you to have the rest.” Mr. Wilson is taken back by Tess’s interruption. “It’s the best cobbler, hands down, and if you hate it, you can keep the bowl.

I give her a look.

Mr. Wilson looks down at the plastic-wrapped container and back to me. “Well…that’s awful nice of you.”

Tess smiles. “How old is your son?”

“Grandson,” he corrects. “He’s seven.”

“That’s the hardest age for picky eaters. If you just throw a little cheese on top of those sprouts, he’ll eat them right up. It’s the only way I could get my boys to eat them growing up.”

“I’ll take that into consideration,” he says.

“It was nice meeting you, but I’ve got a long drive home, so I’m going to head out.” She looks at me pointedly. “I look forward to seeing you, Lilly.” We watch her get into her car and back out of the driveway.

“I’ll have Cal return the bowl as soon as we’re done.”

“No hurry,” I say, trying to close the door. “Goodnight, Mr. Wilson.” I peek out the eyehole and watch him stand there for a moment, staring at the bowl in his hands. I catch a small smile as he briefly looks up and walks away.

IT’S BEEN TWO WEEKS
since Tess showed up at my house and dropped a colossal wrench in my engine. The thought of Justin being just as miserable as I am makes me giddy. In turn, I’m reaching new levels of shame for finding pleasure in it. What kind of person finds joy in knowing the person they love is miserable? Me. I’m selfish and I admit it.

I’m a mess.

I’m up and down and back and forth and everything in between. Yesterday I had somehow convinced myself that I’ll be an awful lawyer, and was set on marching into admissions today to switch my major to something more accomplishable, like accounting or history. Then I woke up this morning and realized I’m just being a wimp, and I need to pull my shit together.

What would I even say if I was confronted with the chance to see Justin again?
I’m sorry for running away like a scared baby
?
You were right. I should have been stronger than that. I should have stayed and come to grips with everything I felt between us.

He knew before I did that I loved him, and I have no doubt that he knew it when I left.

All this time I’ve been trying to remain steadfast in my beliefs, and I can’t help but wonder if we’ve both been miserable for nothing. If I give in now, it would feel like I did it to be frivolous and childish. Maybe I did, but I want to stand on my own two feet. I need to prove that my happiness isn’t dependent on someone else, which is redundant because sometimes I feel like I’ll never be happy with myself.

And if I’m being truthful, another new goal of mine, a sliver of me is still peeved at the thought that our relationship was based on false grounds. I’ve tried to shove it down, to be understanding, to see the bigger picture, but it only leaves a bitter residue around my heart. I thought I could let it go. I even left thinking I already had, but I can add liar to my growing list of poor attributes.

I re-tuck my hair behind my ear for the millionth time today as I scan the breakfast options available.

“The cream cheese danish.” The guy behind the counter points to the pastry all the way to the right. “It’s the only one you haven’t tried.”

His hair is scraggly, blending into the beard hanging from his chin, and a flash of silver dangles from the center of his nose. “I guess I’ll have the danish,” I say.

Even as miniscule of a decision as it is, I’m marginally relieved. People behind me in line are probably happy as well to move forward. He rings up my order, and I feel a need to thank him for helping me, so I do. There’s possibly a smirk behind the forest of hair covering his mouth when he says, “Ah, every day you come in here and stare at the food like it’s a do-or-die decision. I figured, why not help you out, take a little stress off your back.”

“Well, thank you,” I repeat.

I’m crossing the threshold, holding the pastry between both of my hands, when a very important thought occurs. If I am grateful for a stranger making a small decision for me, or leading me toward one, why am I so hell-bent on not allowing Justin to do the same?

I’ve spent the better half of my life relying on Kip, and I thought since he’s gone that I’d need to prove myself. Prove that he did a good job and I’m not some helpless girl who fumbles through life.

Justin inadvertently stepped into the same role. He kept things from me. No matter how noble his intentions were, it only brought those feelings to the surface. I don’t want to be a pet project. I want to be wanted. How will I ever know the difference if I can’t fend for myself?

But who said I can’t stand on my own and lean on someone when I need to?

Oh yeah.

I did.

“
CAN I COME
?” Cal says, his fingers curling over the top of my driver side window.

“No,” Mr. Wilson and I say at the same time.

“But why not? I want to ride the zip line.”

Okay, so in my nervousness, I may have blabbed a little to Cal about where I was going. I didn’t tell him any specifics about why I was driving six hours, only that it’s really cool. It’s kind of what I get when my best friend is a seven-year-old.

“Maybe another time,” I say, ruffling his hair.

He pouts and drops back to his feet, letting go of the window. “You owe me an extra plate of cobbler when you get back.”

I smile. “There’s already a plate waiting for you at home. I made it this morning.”

His eyes light up marginally, but Mr. Wilson, ever the downer, shuts it down when he says, “You have to each your lunch first.”

I wave and they wave back, standing in my front yard and watching me depart for the longest, most thought-provoking drive of my life.

After leaving the coffee shop yesterday, I went straight home and packed a bag, then remembered that I had two assignments due by midnight. So I convinced myself to wait a day. Right before dinner, I received a package addressed from out of state. It was from Kaley, and it contained the Christmas presents I had bought Kip and Justin. There wasn’t a note, but a picture she had taken in front of the Eiffel tower, blowing a kiss to the camera.

So here I am, driving six hours to Justin's childhood home and hoping he lives nearby. Tess made it seem like she sees him all the time, so that’s what I decided, and I’m sticking to it. I’m tired of myself and my wishy-washy emotions and how they conflict with what my head is telling me. It’s exhausting.