Life Interrupted (12 page)

When I wake up to a text from Dean Sunday morning asking me if I’m all righ
t, the self-disgust I was sure had eased last night comes racing back to swamp me.  However messed up I am, Dean doesn’t deserve to be treated this way.

Texting back, I ask him if we can meet up later at his house and then I go to find Gracie in the kitchen, already eating blueberry waffles with Nick and Stacy.  Though my head aches and my eyes feel like I rubbed at them with sandpaper, I watch Stacy and realize just how significant the change in her is.  I didn’t have the “pregnancy glow” everyone talks about.  I think that’s reserved for people who are excited when they find out
they’ve created life, not teenagers who are throwing up and wondering how they’re going to take finals and tell the guy they don’t talk to that they’re having his baby.  I don’t know if it’s the extra hormones or the vitamins or just the realization that she’s finally getting the family she’s always dreamed of, but my sister is without the hard edge she’s carried around the last few years. 

When I see Nick grab her hand under the table and squeeze it before pulling it to his mouth to press it to his lips, it’s all I can do to look away. 
Now I know how she’s felt all of these months watching me with Gracie, inadvertently flaunting the one thing she couldn’t have.  She and Nick are never going to be apart. They found their match, their best friend, the person who wants to be with them through it all.  I found mine at the age of eight, but like most things in my life, my love was too fast and too strong to stay forever.

~

Dean sits next to me on his front porch step, his forearms resting on his knees, his eyes searching my face.  If I hadn’t cried so hard last night, I might have had some tears to give him, but right now all I have is the truth. 
I’m a little sluttier than I led you to believe and I slept with the same boy who called me names at the party last night because, despite my better judgment and herculean efforts, I’ve loved him my entire life. I’m sorry.

“Are you okay?”

I blink when he asks me this, in shock that he, the victim, is asking me, the traitorous slut, if
I’m
okay after I’ve just confessed to cheating on him.  Maybe he really isn’t that smart.

“Isn’t it more appropriate to ask if
you’re
okay?”

He offers me a wry smile and leans his elbows back on the stair above the one we’re sitting on.  “I have to say, I didn’t think this was why you were coming over today, but I’m not all that surprised.  Your friend was ready to challenge me to a duel over you last night.  And
before I can think to accept and defend your honor, you’re already punching him yourself, taking away my chance at being chivalrous.”

I wince.  “Sorry, punching Tripp has become
a habit over the years.  I don’t even think to let someone do it for me.”

“I don’t think that’s all that’s become a habit,” he says and
I brace for it. Here it comes, the outrage at being deceived.  “You’re his habit, Rachel, saving you, protecting you, keeping you.  Honestly, after watching you two scream at each other last night I knew that we’d end up here eventually.  Maybe not this soon or before I had a chance to woo you with my college boy charms, but I knew this,” he says pointing from me to him, “was a long shot.”  His wry smile is back and for one minute I wish that this was the boy I wanted.  This boy who has been nothing but perfect, who has made me feel nothing but special and adored and cared for. 

But h
e’s not, and I can’t change that.

“Can I ask you somethi
ng?” I look over at Dean’s question to find him looking at me, his eyes slightly squinted in concentration.  I nod.  “Have you told him how you feel?”  I freeze for a second before shaking my head no. “Have you asked him how he feels?”  I shake my head again and Dean blows out a breath before sitting up to lean forward.  “Why not?”

“Dean, it’s not like that.
We’re
not like that.”

“You slept together but you’re not like that?” I
pause and then shake my head.  He frowns.   “Rae, when I saw you together last night, it was obvious.”

“What wa
s?” I ask, but I know.  It’s obvious? Translation:
you’re
obvious.

“
How you feel about one another.”

I shake my head.  “How I feel about Tripp is complicated.”

He raises an eyebrow.   “What about how Tripp feels about you?”

              I give a small laugh and am eternally grateful that my tears appear to be dried up.  “I think we proved last night that Tripp can’t feel for me, not what I want him to anyway.”

             
He sits there and stares at me for another minute, and I can see his mind working, see that he wants to say something else, but then his arm is around me in a friendly gesture.  “I’m sorry, Rae.”

             
Again, I wish that I could feel for him even a fraction of what I’ve felt for Tripp my entire life.  “Dean, we’ve been over this,
I’m
the one who’s sorry.  We really need to work on your outrage.  If you go through college like this, girls are going to be walking all over you.”

             
He laughs like I want him to.  “You’re right.  I’ll have to use this to my advantage—go drown my sorrows at a sorority party and be a dick all night.”

             
“Nothing better designed to ensure some lady companionship than a guy who couldn’t care less.”  I pat his knee.  “Add in a tortured-from-my-cheating-skank-of-an-ex-girlfriend attitude? You’re golden.”

             
“I guess you did me a favor then.”

             
I laugh despite myself and lean my head on his shoulder.  “You’re welcome.”

             
“I guess we can still be friends, so long as you know that whenever we fight I’m going to bring this moment up and you’re going to have to give me my way.”

             
“You’re a good guy, Dean.”

             
“Yeah, yeah, save it.  Good guys get the break up, bad guys get the girl.”

             
I laugh but in my head I’m thinking how true it is. 

~

              My sophomore year we read a story about a young Mexican-American girl who wanted to escape the place she lived, to run as far away from Mango Street as she could and become someone.  Our teacher then asked us what we would escape in our lives.  Most people said their parents, their siblings, the expectations society had put on them. 

             
My life was simple, uncomplicated at this point.  I hadn’t yet hooked up with Tripp or slept with Marcus and gotten pregnant, and I remember thinking I would escape the legend of Stacy, mostly because she had been a bitch to me when I had called her that morning to complain that mom had grounded me for a C on my English project. (To which I promptly responded by telling her it was actually an impressive grade as I hadn’t even read the book and still received an average mark.  This did not go in my favor.)  I put no more thought into my answer than that; that I would escape the shadow of my perfect older sister, not because
I
wanted to be her, but because I wanted to stop fucking hearing about her (and for her to get off her damn high horse and agree with me when I got mad at our mom). Then the girl who sat behind me spoke, and I’ve never forgotten what she said, mainly because she sounded so broken when she said it. 

S
he looked up at the teacher and said she would escape
him.
  None of us knew who
him
was, but she continued as if we did, reading straight from her paper to thirty-five sixteen-year-olds, baring herself for everyone to see.  She would escape him and what he had done, escape the person she was with him, the person she didn’t know with him, and run.  She would run as far and as fast as she could until she reached the water and then she would stand there with her feet in the sand and look out at the ocean, and in it she would see the beginning of her life, not the end.

             
Thinking of Tripp, I wonder if this is how I’m going to feel one day.  Will I run from him? Will I want to? I’ve run to him, no matter how hard I’ve tried to be my own person, the person in charge, I’ve run to him when I’ve really  needed something because I’ve always known he would be there.  Like when I needed to tell someone about Gracie.

             
I was so sick, so scared, so overwhelmed that all I wanted was someone to share that with, someone to tell. I knew I could talk to my mother or my sister, even Katie when it really came down to it.  But I went to Tripp because he’s my rock, the person that I’ve always needed.  Honestly, that’s what scares me more than anything.  More than the desire I feel for him every time we are near one another, more than the pleasure I find when I see him, when we talk, or the comfort that I know will be there when we’re together.  I need him and I’ve spent my whole life trying to never need anyone.

             
The day Gracie was born, before I closed myself off, my father came into the room (under my mother’s prodding and Stacy’s demands, I’m sure) with a box of chocolates and a teddy bear.  He said something beautiful about the beginning of life, then ended with a terrible cliché about doors and windows, to which my mother whispered that all endings of his were pretty cliché, even the bedroom ones.  After he left, my mom and Stacy and I had a great laugh over him and I remember trying to convince myself just how strong I was.  I was, after all, my mother’s daughter.  I didn’t need a husband, a man, a father for my daughter because I hadn’t had one and I was fine.  I was bolstered by this thought until Tripp came and sat with me, bringing me a pair of sweats and my WOLVERINE t-shirt.  That small gesture made me realize that even if I didn’t need any man, I needed Tripp, if only because he always reminded me what it felt like to have someone know what you needed before you did.

             
I don’t know if this instigated the depression I suffered from, but I do know that Tripp was also there to put me in that shower a month later and wait for me to come back to myself, and back to him.  Just like Stacy, he never left me, even when I didn’t want him there.

             
He still knows me, still makes me feel as no one else ever has, ever will, and yet, now I don’t want the reminder.  Now I understand the girl in class who was running and I wonder if that’s my chosen path; running from Marcus, running from Tripp and my feelings, running from everything I can’t fight and win.

             
I put Gracie to sleep with that image in my head, the one of the running girl, only it’s not the nameless girl from my English class two years ago, it’s me, and I’m not running, I’m standing at the edge of Gracie’s crib like I am now, looking at her and trying to see the beginning of my life, not the end.

              Tripp is waiting for me in the parking lot Monday morning and it shames me to say that I almost keep driving, that I want to keep avoiding him because I don’t want to hear what he has to say, or even if I know what I want him to say. 

             
But I don’t keep going because I’ve learned that emotional shit doesn’t disappear like people do, it waits for you, no matter how long you ignore it.  I stop, park, get out and stand there facing him.  Neither of us says anything for a minute, both of us studying the other as people walk past us.  It isn’t abnormal for us to be together so no one pays much attention, but every now and then I see someone who was witness to our outburst at the party glance over at us and stare, some smiling, some with nervous expressions on their faces like I’m going to haul off and beat his ass again.  Though to be fair, I just might, so I guess their looks aren’t
un
warranted if you want to get picky.

             
“You didn’t go to the park yesterday.”

             
Since this is not what I was expecting him to say, I blink a few times to adjust.  But then I’m fine and I’m cocking my head to the side, putting on my hardass look to let him know this isn’t crybaby Rachel—I drowned her on Saturday, so she won’t be making an appearance today.

             
“I went to see Dean instead.”

             
The fact that his face actually darkens at the mere mention of Dean’s name has a warm glow of satisfaction running through me. 

             
“I waited for you at Starbucks, and then at the park.  I almost came by your house.”

             
“I wasn’t there, I was out—”

             
“With Dean,” he finishes and nods.  “So you said.  Tell me, Rachel, did you tell
Dean
you slept with me a few hours before you went running to him, or did you just omit that? Act like it didn’t happen?”

             
“Isn’t that what we do?” I yell back, both relieved and offended that he thinks I was
with
Dean.  “This isn’t the first time we’ve been together, Tripp, and if I remember correctly, it was you who snuck out the last time.  I’m just following protocol.”

             
I shove by him, my anger pushing away any fatigue that had been there when I woke up this morning.  Asswipe, acting like
I
was the one who left
him
. 

             
I come to an abrupt halt when he closes his hand around my arm and jerks me back.  My already hot temper spikes dangerously and I whip my head around to show him exactly how close he is to being decked again.  Even for us, this often in this few number of days will be a record.

             
But he doesn’t cringe or let me go—he never has and I hate that I love that about him.  Instead, his eyes burn into mine as he steps closer until I’m forced to inch back and look up.  I hate when he does that and he knows it.  “I let you go Saturday, Rachel, because I didn’t want to yell at you after…after.  But I can’t let you go now, I just can’t,” he says, and for a second I see something different in him, that same something that I saw when he was pushing inside of me, when he held my eyes like I was the only thing he’d ever need, the look that I didn’t want to see because it was all I’ve ever wanted to see.  I blame that for the reason that I follow him when it’s the last thing I want to do.  When we’re seated in the home bleachers of the football stadium (cliché much?), I shove my hands into my pockets and sink lower into my North Face. 

             
“I don’t know where to start.”

             
“How about with the last time this happened? You should have been waiting at my car two years ago when we hooked up Tripp.  You’re too late now.”
All righty
, looks like now is as good a time as any to open every wound I carry and make sure I’m a total bleeding mess before I head to class.  Super-duper.

             
Apparently Tripp is thinking the same thing because his eyebrows raise and his mouth opens slightly.  But no words come out, and for some reason that incenses me more than any argument or denial he could have offered up. 

             
“You were right, Tripp, this is enlightening shit you’re telling me.  I’m glad we had this talk.”  Ripping my hands from my pockets, I stand to leave and he puts his hand on my arm again.  “For fuck’s sake, quit grabbing at me.  Say something or leave me the hell alone.  I can’t take any more of this.”

             
“Rachel, I love you.”

             
The air leaves my lungs and I’m left staring at him as he stands up and turns me to face him.  Jesus Christ, we’re like Elmer Fudd and Bugs Bunny in a constant game of strategy; pursuing, retreating, fighting, and just when one of us thinks we’ve won, the other brings out the bat and beats their opponent bloody before running off.  I’m not sure who’s Elmer and who’s Bugs, but I know for damn sure I want to control the bat from now on.

             
“I know you don’t understand, and after the things you said Saturday and the way you left, I realized I have a lot to tell you, but I think that’s the most important thing.  I love you, Rachel, I’ve always loved you.”

             
“You sure have a funny way of showing it, Tripp, what with the girlfriend you’ve been harboring these past few years.  Unless you’re going to tell me she was just a way to make me jealous.  Bang up job of that, b-t-dubs.”

             
“I broke up with Lauren at the party on Saturday night, before I came to see you.”

             
Something inside of me freezes and then jolts back to life, but before I can decipher it or his words he’s turning me, cupping my face in his hands and looking at me in that way again, the one that says I’m all he needs.  “You shouldn’t have done that,” I whisper because I do know what’s happening inside of me and it’s too much.  He’s everything I’ve ever wanted and never thought I could have, not since that night, and now after everything that’s happened since then I’m not sure we belong together.

             
When I tell him this he listens, but the entire time he shakes his head until he eventually cuts me off, stops me with the softest kiss I’ve ever had, his lips a whisper on mine as they hold me.  “I was afraid of you, of us, Rachel, because you mean everything to me and I don’t want to fuck this up.  But I love you, I’ve always loved you, and I want to be with you.”  He takes a breath and rests his forehead against mine.  “Let me be with you and Gracie.  Let me finally love you, Rachel.”

             
It’s Gracie’s name that reminds me not everything is black and white, and not every whim should be followed.  I push away from him and watch the confusion cross his face.  “Stop.  Please stop.”

             
“Rachel,” he says but I shake my head.

             
“I can’t do this right now, Tripp.  It’s too much.”

             
This time he lets me go when I walk away.