When You're Ready (29 page)

Part of me wanted to pepper Zoe with a million questions about all of the girls Scout dated, but the other part—the less confident, more paranoid part—didn’t want to know. Scout looked like a guy who dated drop dead gorgeous women, and I didn’t need to be reminded that I couldn’t compete with the women he was used to.

“What about you and Fernando?” I asked, hoping to shimmy my way out of the spotlight. “How long have you guys been together?”

Zoe’s perfect pout stretched into a grin. “Since we were 20, so about six years.”

“Wow, and now he’s finally ready to get married.”

“No, now
I’m
finally ready to get married,” she corrected. “Fernando proposed right after we met, but I said no. As a matter of fact, I turned him down a bunch of times until now.”

“Why?” I was genuinely intrigued. The story usually went that women had to cajole men into marrying them after years of hinting that they’d like to “take things to the next level” or start a family. But really, I had no clue how these things actually worked. All of my relationship lessons came from my mother’s failed couplings, or from rom-com heroines, and those women
always
wanted a ring. I eyed Zoe like she was some kind of rare bird, some kind of weird, but awesome woman from a different time, or at the very least, a different mindset. 

“We were way too young. I mean at 20, what do you really know about love?”

“That it’s dangerous,” I mumbled to myself.

“Dangerous?” she asked, and I was surprised, and a little embarrassed, she heard me. “In what way?”

Maybe it was the slight buzz from the beer, or perhaps it was the fact that it actually felt
good
to talk to Zoe, but instead of clamping my mouth shut and keeping my fears under lock and key I decided to share. “My parents were madly in love. I’d always see them kissing or dancing or laughing or cuddled up. Even though they’d been together for years they still behaved like two teenagers completely infatuated with each other.”

“That doesn’t seem so dangerous,” Zoe said. “It’s actually very sweet.”

“Yeah, but then my dad died and my mother completely fall apart. She didn’t even come out of her room for months, and when she finally did, it was like I didn’t exist.”

“How old were you?”

“Ten. I lost both my parents when I was ten.”

Zoe turned to face me, but I didn’t meet her eyes. “But you’re mom’s still alive, right?”

“Technically.” I swallowed the last of my beer and kept talking. “But it’s not the same. Her life is all about partying, her stupid boyfriends, and getting drunk. It’s like she’s reliving her teenage years or something, and that doesn’t leave much time for me.”

We sat in silence for a few minutes as my mind drifted to my mother. Before my father died I was her “little lady,” her “Nola darling,” but after my dad passed away I was just a girl she’d given birth to, but cut loose. I tried not to think of her too often, but it never worked. I was
obsessed
with Sandy Jane and my overwhelming, and perhaps irrational, fear of becoming her. I didn’t want to be an irresponsible mess of a woman like she was. I didn’t want to be the type of person who would walk away from the only person they
were
supposed to love forever, so I tried to shield myself from getting too close to anyone at all, and in the process I’d become completely fucked up.

“Losing the love of her life had to be hard, though,” Zoe said, cutting into my thoughts. “Maybe it broke her.”

“Yeah, maybe,” I agreed hesitantly. “But it broke me too.”

I took out the phone Scout bought me and began absentmindedly scrolling through the apps. He’d insisted on getting me an iPhone even though I thought it was unnecessary and way too pricey. He got it anyway, though, so we could use FaceTime whenever we were apart, but I suspected he just wanted me to have something really, really nice for once.

I guess it was fitting Zoe and I were talking about my mother since she’d left me several messages
for me
while my old phone was on the fritz. I was curious to see what she wanted, but I couldn’t actually bring myself to listen to her voicemails, convinced she was just asking for money…
again
.

My mother may have abandoned me, but I couldn’t quite turn my back on her. When I was a teenager, I worked a bunch of afterschool jobs to sock away cash for college and buy food, but I’d also pay the light bill from time to time or give my mother a few dollars whenever one of her boyfriends split. After I moved to L.A., she never called to ask me about college or how I was adjusting to California, but she’d ring me up every so often to ask for cash, and each time, no matter how strapped I was, I would give it to her. She was still my mother after all.

“Hey, I’m going to grab another beer, want one?” Zoe asked, interrupting my thoughts for a second time.

“Sure…” I said, suddenly wondering what the heck my mother wanted this time. “I think I should eat something, though, maybe I’ll come with you.”

“No need, girl, you relax. I’ll grab us a couple of burgers too,” Zoe said already on her way down the beach.

All alone, curiosity about my mother’s calls started gnawing at me again. This time, I couldn’t ignore the urge, so I dialed my voicemail and braced myself for yet another financial request. Thankfully Scout had paid my tuition so I had a little breathing room in my budget, but I couldn’t keep bailing my mom out, no matter how much extra money I had. I mean, when would it end? Would I still be fielding these same calls when I was 30 or 40 and had a family of my own?

I punched in my password and waited for my mother’s Midwestern twang to light up my ears. Even though we’d moved countless times, my mother somehow still retained her accent, which made her sound a little like Suze Orman when she got all worked up. I took a deep breath and listened to the first message.

“Nola, it’s your mother. Call me.”

She left that same message a few more times before she started to get annoyed and left a terse voicemail that included just the right amount of mom guilt. “Nola, this is your mother,
again
. I’ve been trying to reach you all week, call me back, okay?”

I hit delete and went on to the next one, but before I could listen to it, I noticed the sun had suddenly disappeared. I glanced up to see if the clouds were rolling in, but instead met the gaze of a gigantic man with an equally gigantic grin on his face.

“So I didn’t get your name before,” Bear said, stroking his beard in a way that made me feel creeped out.

“I didn’t tell you what it was.”

“Feisty!” he chuckled, “I see why Flex likes you. He always did like a bitch with some attitude.”

I rolled my eyes, but didn’t speak. I’d been around this guy for all of three minutes and he’d already dropped the b-word more than once. He was clearly a Neanderthal who needed to be avoided at all costs.

“So, how long have you been sleeping with Flex?”

“Excuses you?”

“Fucking,” he said, reaching for an even more vulgar word than before, “How long?”

“Why don’t you go ask him?”

“Well, I
could
,” he said, kneeling in front of me, “but I’d rather ask
you
. You’re way better looking than that fucker.”

I sighed and rolled my eyes again. “Listen—“

“Bear,” he said, pounding his chest.

“Whatever. You should really go find Scout. I’m kinda busy right now,” I said, turning my attention back to my phone.

“Maybe we could be busy
together
,” he said, placing one of his enormous hands on my leg.

I knocked it off and stared him down. “I don’t think so. You know I’m with Scout, right?”

He started to chuckle. “And?”

“And I don’t think he’d appreciate this conversation.”

“And I don’t think I really give a fuck,” he spat.

“Well, why don’t we ask him?” I stood, picked up my boots, and turned to leave, but Bear grabbed my arm.

“Now why would you want to go do that? We’re just having fun. Don’t you like to have fun?” He licked his lips and
I
tried to yank my arm away but he held on tight. “Flex and I used to have
a lot
of fun back in the day, fucking bitches and getting into all types of trouble. Why don’t you sit down so I can tell you all about it.”

“I don’t think so. If I want to know anything I’ll ask Scout.”

He clucked his tongue and shook his head. “You expect him to tell you the truth?”

“Yes,” I said, reflexively. “Of course.”

“So you think he’ll tell you about the crazy shit we did?”

I nodded. “If I want to know…”

Bear pulled himself to his feet and came closer to me. “So you think he’ll come clean about the lying, the robberies, the girls we banged, and the—”

“Get the fuck away from her!” Scout yelled, running up to Bear and me. Bear finally let go of my arm, which now had a red imprint where his hand once was. Scout saw the marks on my arm and shoved Bear, hard. “Walk the fuck away.”

“Why? We were having fun. I was about to tell your girl about all of the shit we used to get into.”

Scout turned to me. “Baby, you remember where my bike is, right?”

“Yes…”

“Go wait for me there, okay?”

“But,” I peered over his shoulder at Bear who was cracking his knuckles and stretching like he was preparing for a fight, “why don’t you come with me?”

“I’ll meet you there in a sec, baby. I just need to take care of something real quick.”

“Just come with me.”

“I will, in a minute. You just go ahead, okay?”

I looked between Scout and Bear and the bad feeling I had the first time I saw the pair square off in the parking lot returned. I grabbed Scout’s hand and tried to tug him backward. “Scout, just come--”

“Dammit, Nola, just go to the bike and wait for me.”

“So that’s your name, huh? Nola?” Bear said. “Makes sense. A pretty girl like you would have a pretty name like that, right
Nola
?” He rolled my name in his mouth until it sounded obscene and filled in innuendo.

“Don’t you fucking speak to her,” Scout snapped and got in Bear’s face.

“Aww, calm down Flex. Your girl and I were just talking. Remember when we used to share bitches and pass them around like they weren’t shit? I guess you’re not trying to share this one, huh?”

“Bear I think you should leave while you can still walk away.”

A sly smirk crossed his ginormous face. “C’mon, Flex. We’re just talking. I was just telling
Nola
about some of the shit with used to get into. Remember that time we broke into that house on Crawford Street?” He turned to me and winked, “
Nola,
you’re gonna love this story. This old couple was living in this big ass house in our neighborhood. Both of them were retired and everybody thought they had a lot of dough. So one night we decide to get a little piece of it. Flex popped the window and we let ourselves in. But as we’re going through the house looking for something good to grab the couple came home,” he turned back to Scout and grinned, “remember what happened next?”

Scout’s cheeks flushed red and he balled his hands into two tight fists. I grabbed his arm again and tried to pull him away, but he shrugged me off. “That’s enough, Bear,” he said through gritted teeth. “You’ve had enough fun.”

“No, no. I should finish telling
Nola
the story,” he said. “So, we’re in the house right? And the old guy comes in and finds us going through his things. Flex starts screaming that we should haul ass and get out of there, but the guy had already seen our faces. I had a record so I couldn’t take a chance on leaving any witnesses, so we…”

Scout punched Bear in the mouth, opening a gash on his hand and busting Bear’s lip. “I told you to shut the fuck up! Nola,” he turned back to me, his hand pouring blood, “go wait by the bike….
please?”

His eyes were pleading for me to just do what he asked, but I couldn’t. Between the blood, and Bear’s words, it was like my feet were glued to the ground and wouldn’t move.

I couldn’t leave any witnesses,
echoed through my head so loudly I had to know what the hell Bear was talking about.

Did he and Scout run out of the house, get away, and decide to never do anything that dumb again, or did they…

“What happened to the couple?” I asked, afraid of the answer.

“Nola, baby, please just go wait by my bike,” Scout said frantically. He was normally so confident and assured, but the look of terror on his face at that moment scared the shit out of me.

Still, I couldn’t leave before finding out what happened to the couple, and more importantly, I had to know Scout wasn’t anything like Bear, then
or
now.

I looked at Bear, and then at Scout. “What happened to them?”

“Well,” he rubbed his wooly beard, “the old fucker ended up dead.”