CHAPTER THIRY-SIX
When the headlights of my mom's car turned at the curb, I couldn't bring myself to open the door of the phone booth. When I really, really thought about it, I didn't think I was ready to talk to my mom. I wasn't ready to forgive her. But I couldn't stay in this phone booth forever, and besides, Tessa's short-shorts weren't much protection against the morning cold, even if I was in the booth.
I wondered if my mom saw me in this phone booth. I could see her silhoutte in the driver's seat, and my heart started hammering fast.
Then she reached forward and opened the passenger door for me, beckoning me out of the phone booth and into the car.
With trembling fingers, I pushed myself out of the booth, stepping into the steady rain and finding a microscopic amount of courage to awkwardly jog to the car. I quickly got inside, shutting the door and buckling myself in, staring at the windshield blankly, wordlessly. I didn't dare look at my mother.
I didn't really know what to expect.
All my life, my mother was the 'tiger mom', unleashing her claws whenever she didn't get her way, or what she wanted out of me. She had this talent for smothering me, and then getting offended when I pushed her away. She was unpredictable as she was dangerous.
I guessed I expected her to start yelling at me, going into lecture-mode about the dangers of hitchhiking or why I wasn't responsible enough to wake up on time, or how I didn't just go to the police station instead and phoned her there (which actually would've been a remarkable idea if I had thought of it at the time).
But my mom didn't say anything. I counted the seconds in my head, waiting until she exploded like a volcano, but she didn't let out a word. I could feel her eyes on me, though, but after a moment, she pulled out of the curb and started driving.
The silent game shoudl've been my tactic, my weapon. It was my only use for my sarcasm and the only outlet for my anger. She did betray me, just as much as she was a traitor to my father. But now, she was using my own weapon against me.
I didn't know what to do. I was prepared for all the above, except for the unthinkable; her not saying anything, anything at all.
I snuck a peek through my peripheral vision; her gaze was solely resting on the road in front of her. Her face was the eptiome of calmness, though her eyes looked weary and the skin around them sagged a little. Her belly was growing, too. I wondered if I would have a little brother or a mini-me for a half-sibling. It occured to me that I never once asked about her pregnancy. Not once. Not after she started seeing Stephen.
We pulled into interstate, and for the first time this whole week, the surroundings around me became familiar. My dad's favorite ice cream parlor was still beside my old elementary school, and the library was still under construction, the same construction equipment lying beside the building. There were no mysteries or new sights to see back home. It was as if I had never left. It both filled me with relief and suffocated me at the same time.
After about five minutes, I couldn't take the silence.
"Mom?"
I surprised both of us by speaking.
"Hmm?" she replied casually, as if I never left.
"How's the baby?" I asked, feeling small.
This got her. Her eyes widened and she turned to look at me. "T-The baby's perfectly fine... thank you, for asking."
"You're welcome," I said. "Also... how's Stephen?"
This whole forgiving thing was a lot more painful than I expected. I was taking baby steps, but it felt more like turtle walks.
"Stephen is fine. He was so worried about you," she said.
I immediately scoffed, turning away from her and towards the window.
"Vienna, stop that, please," she said suddenly; there was a begging tone in her voice, something that always indicated that she was reaching her breaking point. "I know Stephen and I and the baby are a little abrupt for you, but that doesn't mean you shouldn't give him a chance."
"It wasn't like you gave dad a chance," I muttered lowly, not expecting her to hear at all, not with the pitter-patter of the rain coming once more.
But she sighed heavily, and I knew she heard me. "I did give your father a chance, Vi," she murmured. "We just... we didn't work out. And I admit, I never should have. gone behind our father's back--"
My eyes were starting to sting a little. Here it was, the lecture. I just wish it wasn't about Dad. It would've been better if I knew where he was.
"--but people make mistakes, Vienna. They aren't perfect. Your father and I weren't perfect, oh, far from it. I made a big mistake by doing what I did. It's just... oh, forget it, you wouldn't understand."
I couldn't take it.
Like any other human being, I had a breaking point too, and it's been stretched so many times during the trip, but her words just made me snap.
"Don't you ever say that to me again," I suddenly whispered.
My mom was just as shocked as I was. "Excuse me?"
"Don't you ever say that I don't understand!" I cried, facing her fully, feeling the stinging behind my eyes grow and grow. "This whole trip was one big mess right after another, trust me, it was the most chaotic thing I've ever experienced in my entire life. But the most painful thing I've done was push away someone who was willing to be with me, so that he could do the right thing and be with his dying girlfriend, only to see her die as soon as we got to the hospital! You think I don't know what it's like to make mistakes? To throw away perfectly good things for the sake of someone else? You don't think I know what it's like to love someone who's perfectly in love with someone else? I know exactly how Dad felt when you cheated on him! Exactly! You're wrong, mom, you're wrong! You're wrong...you're--"
The tears had to go at one point, and they came all at once and suddenly, my voice was ripped away from me and I was buckling under the weight of it all. I started crying softly, letting go of all the anger that I tried to down for the sake of Elliot, letting go of all the sadness and the betrayal I felt with Austin, letting go, period. I buried my face in my hands, shaking my head.
My mother was so shocked, she pulled over to the side of the interstate, clicked off her seatbelt and reached forward, enveloping my shaking body in her arms. I don't think I've ever cried in front of my mother since I was a kid, and I don't think I've ever hugged her properly since six months ago, since she cheated on my dad. I had forgotten what it was like to just break down.
"Shh, hush now," she said gently, running her hands through my hair. She brought my face to her shoulder, rocking me slightly. "It's alright, everything's going to be alright."
"I'm sorry, Mom," I started mumbling into her shirt, "I'm sorry for being so horrible to you."
"Me too, Vienna. I'm sorry, too," my mother croaked.
We just sat there, the both of us hugging for the longest time, on the side of the interstate, and it became apparent to me that I wasn't the only one crying.
* * *
My mom and I got home at around five thirty in the morning, and Stephen was waiting on the porch for us. He greeted me with a large bear hug, and I got the chance to smell his mint aftershave and Folger's coffee on his cotton shirt, whether I wanted to or not.
"Oh, welcome back, kiddo," he bellowed cheerfully.
He was burly guy with a tan and a cowlick, who worked as a sports correspondent on the local news. He was always bringing my mother presents, and never once complained when I went out too late with Kara or even with Austin. He was a little strict on grades, but that was okay. He wasn't what I expected, and it was still difficult to forgive him for being the man my mother cheated with, but I was taking baby steps to forgive; it had to be done at one point. Why not now?
Some people don't get second chance, Vienna, Samantha's words echoed in my head, filling me with sadness for the girl who didn't deserve to be gone so quickly.
I hugged Stephen back in honor of Samantha and her words, even though until now, I had barely ackowledged him at all.
I excused myself from my mom and Stephen, telling them I was exhausted and that I would take a much-needed catnap before graduation at noon. Up until now, I had never thought much of my room, but my own bed had never felt so good after being away from it for a whole week. After sleeping in everywhere from a gas station storage room to the flatbed of a pickup truck, I would never take it for granted ever again.
But no matter how exhausted I was, I couldn't keep a steady nap. I would fall asleep for what felt like two seconds, then wake up minutes later without meaning to. It was a useless, restless cause to try and go to sleep, especially after all that's happened in the past few hours.
Finally, I deemed it a futile attempt and promptly gave up, staring up at the ceiling for what felt like eternity and three days. It still blew my mind to think how far I'd gotten, how I actually made it in time fo graduation, despite the odds and the few couple arrests.
Thank you Elliot, I thought to myself sadly, Thanks for taking me home.
But I couldn't sulk and think about him all day, it would only make me even more miserable. He's probably moving on, I should be doing the same. After all, it was just a week-long trip. It barely makes a dent in our lives.
I glance then at my arm, and the numbers that have been written on my wrist. They were a little smudged from the rain, but I could still make the numbers out. Without thinking twice, I reached over for the phone on my nightstand, dialing and honestly wanting to talk to the person on the other end.
As it rang, I grabbed the cord telephone and sat on the floor under the window, hugging my kneed to my chest, letting myself go nervous.
It rang until the final ring, and someone picked up, albeit annoyed.
"Hello?" they answered harshly. Through the phone, they sounded drowsy and faint. My eyes instantly veered to my alarm clock; it was six in morning.
"Hey, stranger," I said, smiling to myself. He sounded just as how I expected him to sound.
"...Is this who I think it is?" he asked.
"Hi, Eli," I said, holding the phone tightly. It seemed like it was only yesterday, Elliot and I had to 'babysit' him, first meeting him in that liquor store parking lot. We looked at each other pure, solid hatred.
And now?
His voice immediately softened, and he cleared his throat. "Your voice sounds weird on the phone," he scoffed, trying to fit back into his bad-boy-exterior. Unortunately for him, I already saw past that.
"Yours does too," I retorted.
"No... you sound different," he said. I frowned, wondering how he could tell so much from just reverberations on the phone. "Where are you right now? Are you doing okay?"
I let my eyes close, hugging myself into a tight ball of warmth. "I'm actually in my room, back in Los Angeles, believe it or not."
"Or not," he said softly. "So you actually made it? You and Elliot did it?"
"I guess so," I shrugged.
"Okay...you don't sound too happy. Isn't this what you wanted? To get back home? You were practically going to hurl yourself at that Safeway door to get home," he scoffed, laughing a bit.
I sniffled and shook my head, then forgot for a moment how he wasn't actually here, how he couldn't actually see me.
"Vienna?" he called gently in a hushed tone after a prolonged silence.
"No, not really," I answered in a small voice, I was worried if he heard me. "Actually it wasn't what I wanted at all."
"Then what happened? Because I'm sacrificing some precious sleep sitting here talking to you."
I frowned, "Oh. Then I'll just call you back later--"
"--No," he blurted out suddenly, before hastily clearing his throat. I imagined him blushing deeply, furiously shoving his hands inside his beaten leather jacket. "I mean, you can keep talking. I was just messing with you, I don't mind. I wasn't even going to go sleep anyway."
I couldn't help but let out a small chuckle, completely oblivious to how tears were silently falling down my cheeks, again.
Seriously, Vienna, you need to get a grip, I tried scolding myself, but I just couldn't get rid of this sullen feeling that was spreading inside of me like a virus. Maybe Elliot was a disease, not a cure.
"His girlfriend died this morning," I blurted. It probably wasn't the best choice of words, but I was grasping at anything without breaking down first.
"Oh, oh damn. Man, I'm sorry," he said. "How's he handling it?"
"Pretty badly. Actually, he took it terribly."
"I mean, I could imagine. It was his girlfriend. That takes a lot out of a person."
"Does it give a person an excuse to scream at your face and demand that you leave and get out of their sight and say that they wish they never met you?" I asked him.
He whistled long and low. "No, of course not. That's just douchebaggy and-- hold on, did he do that to you? Did Elliot say that to you?"
"I gave you the abbriged version of the situtation, but basically," I told him, defeated.
"Tell me everything. And then tell me where he lives," he said seriously.
So I do.
I tell Eli Santos everything.
* * *
"Your cap is crooked, you know," I crept up behind Kara and said to her.
Kara nearly jumped out of her foot-high stilletos as she spun around. She squealed like a pig and tackled me in a football player hug, with tightened arms and a big grin on her face. Our caps nearly fell off both of our heads as she collided with me.
"Oh, Vienna! I thought you'd never graduate!" she screamed.
"I promised, didn't I?" I smiled. "Can you believe it though? College?"
She sighed, "God, I know! Seems like only yesterday, me, you and Austin were drawing chalk tic-tac-toes on the playground!" Suddenly, she noticed her error and gasped a little. "I mean, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have mentioned him. Forget I ever did."
"It's fine, Kar," I assured her. "I'm perfectly fine."
It was the biggest lie of the century. On the outside, I was getting ready to walk the stage, prepping for pre-walking pictures with a big, artificial smile coated with just the right amount of lipstick. But on the inside? I was still that girl standing in front of Elliot in the hospital. I was that dented, deformed Styrofoam cup.
Despite the rain, the sun had come out just in time to wash the whole courtyard in a baked warm glow that was almost picturesque. The grass was still a little damp, but the graduation was still outdoors. Across the courtyard, I caught a glimpse of Austin and Patricia, Patricia adjusting Austin's tie, and Austin rolling his eyes and complaining. I thought I caught a him checking out another girl when Patricia wasn't looking away, but he wasn't my problem anymore. I was letting him go, for my sake.
Suddenly, the principle was tapping on the microphone and we were being ordered to take our seats. And before long, the names of the senior class of our year were being called out and the A's started walking across the stage.
This was my dream, I reminded myself. The balloons, my mother (and Stephen) in the parent crowd waving at me and taking pictures, the cap and gown and the tassel. This is exactly what I wanted to happen. So why couldn't I shake this weighted, boulder-like feeling off my chest?
"Kara Bennett!" the announcer called then.
I don't think I've screamed for anyone louder in my life. I clapped and smiled for her, knowing that she'd be fine in college. We weren't going to the same college, but I knew more than anything, that she could handle herself. Maybe not at first, but Kara would be perfectly fine.
I watched as she blew a kiss into the crowd, threw me a thumbs-up and raised her diploma in the air with triumph.
"Vienna Dawson!"
I pictured this moment thousands of times.
Much more so after what happened between my parents. My whole motivation for graduation was to leave. Move. Get out of Los Angeles and move to anywhere, everywhere. Just away from my mom. But now, that's kind of the same, but kind of not. I want to move away and actually travel, not just for an escape plan.
And really, that's the best kind of travel.
I walked the stage with as much fake, artificial confidence I could muster without breaking down. I didn't trip on my gown, I didn't fall backwards on my heels, I didn't do anything out of the ordinary but grab my diploma and thrust it into the sky with a smile that said, "I got this diploma partly because of a thousand hours sitting in a desk and partly because of a road trip across America."
In the crowd, Stephen was beaming, smiling at me like I wasn't just the kid that came with the mom, but like I was his actual kid. And my mother? She was crying. Bawling, really.
But it was the good kind of bawling.
I smiled for the pictures Stephen was taking in place of my mother (since she couldn't handle her crying, maybe it was just the pregnancy hormones?) and was about to get off the stage for the next person, until I caught sight of a person watching me near the curb of the courtyard, and a familiar Harley Davidson motorcycle parked behind him.
"No, it can't be," I smirked, getting off the stage, wanting to see if it was really him. But the crowd of parents blocked my view. So instead of heading to my assigned seat, I excused myself and headed to the edge of the courtyard.
As I walked forward, it seemed like the sun hit a certain leather jacket right on cue, and I knew it was him.
"Hey graduate," Eli Santos nudged me, smirking his trademark lopsided smirk that I usually despised, but now, it reminded me of home.
"What are you doing here?" I asked him in disbelief. "You're supposed to be in Albuquerque, with your mom?"
"Is that the kind of welcome I get here in LA? Because I kind of expected a lot more," he scoffed, crossing his arms across his fitted white t-shirt.
I rolled my eyes, but I could feel my cheeks heat up, and it wasn't because of the afternoon California sun.
"How'd you get here so fast, anyway?"
He leaned back with ease and patted his sleek, black motorcycle, his helmet still perched under his arm. "You can do a lot of things with a Harley."
I scoffed at him this time, "But how did you know where the graduation was?"
"Do you have to ask so many questions? I mean, seriously, are you trying to ruin the moment?" he droned, "And you mentioned what school you went to when we trapped in that Safeway with Marnie."
"Marie," I corrected.
"Marie, then," he mocked. "So I guess you got home after all. Congratulations."
"Thank you. I had a bit of help," I offered a smile. Not the dented-Styrofoam kind of smile, but the real kind. The one that wasn't weighed down.
Hopefully, when all of this is over, I can tell myself I did the right thing, in the end.