Blue Dream (18 page)

Slowly, I nod. I've seen the statistics. I've seen the reports. I've heard the testimonies of loved ones who were left behind. Those were scare tactics in the less flashy rehab centers. The ones I turned myself in to before I was offered help. The ones that were barely more than a rundown building with food so abhorrent, I had to smoke pot to get my appetite back.  

Doc disappears, the dread I was expecting non-existent. I expected his words to assist in the ever long decimation stint I've been on yet instead, I feel slightly relieved.  It's an odd emotion to feel. Unsure what to do, afraid if I spend too much time continuing to reflect it will retreat, I walk out of the room and head for the entertainment area. As I arrive at the practically vacant room, I find myself doing something I haven't before.

Flopping down in the middle of the couch, I reach for the remote on the coffee table at the same time a blonde mimics my action. Our hands knock and I immediately surrender.

She flops her hair over her shoulder as she declares, “I will share the content of what we watch, but dibs on the remote.” When I don't answer she turns her flaw free face to me. “Hate to be a bitch, but I am not about to watch another Desperate House Whores of Wherever marathon. Not that I think you're that kinda guy, but I’d rather not take the chance.”

Uncomfortable by her proximity, the speed of her mouth, and the sheer intensiveness of energy, I feel myself prepare to get up. “Okay.”

Instantly she flies a hand to block me from standing. “Whoa. Chill. You can have the remote if it's that big of a deal.”

Gingerly I move her hand. “It's not.”

“Cool.” She turns the flat screen on. “What do you wanna watch?”

“I should go.”

“You should stay,” she counters. Taken back, I lift my eyebrows. “You look like you need a friend.”

“I don't.”

“You do.” After a shrug she introduces herself, “Kara.”

My retreat momentarily ceases. I don't have friends on the outside any more. Couldn't figure out the reason for making friends in here. But Doc had a point. I am alive. I can feel. I am luckier than most. Maybe the only way to become someone better is to start at the smallest turn. This could be that turn or at the very least practice for when it comes.

“Ryder.”

“Cool.” Her green eyes cut back to the T.V. “I am addicted to 90s sitcoms.”

“That's a helluva addiction. I didn't realize you needed to be put in a place like this for that.”

She giggles and nudges me in the side. “Cute.”

Genuinely curious, I ask, “Why 90s sitcoms?”

“They typically had happier and more positive messages.” There's a very short lived pause as she scrolls through Netflix. “Morals of the episodes. They aimed to teach lessons and make you a better person. My parents were shit for that so I had to learn my lessons from people like Mr. Feeny.”

The tug in my chest is an immediate reminder that this happenstance is so much more.

“You cool with some classic Ben Savage?”

Subdued by the continued nostalgia, I simply nod. Maybe I'll never see Presley again. Maybe our love will never find itself together again. Maybe I'll never be given the absolution only she can grant. Regardless of the infinite possibilities waiting ahead, our memories big and small are eternalized. There's an appeasement in that I've been longing for for almost a decade. 

Presley

Babies are intoxicating. Their softness. Their sweetness. The innocence that lays in their eyes. There's something magical about a little blank slate human who has yet to be dilapidated. It's revitalizing.

“You are so beautiful,” I coo at Elena Allen, one of the older babies who is about to move to the next classroom. “Yes you are. So sweet. So adorable.”

Elena giggles and swipes her hand at my glasses. I giggle in return and push them back up my face. How could I not want one of these someday? How could anyone not?

“Ms. Morrison,” Dana's voice has me looking up and over at the door where she stands with a family. “The Collins are here for their classroom interview.”

“Hey,” I warmly greet. Handing Elena to Lizzie, who happens to be about to do art with another child, I inform them, “Give me one second.”

Lizzie swiftly grabs her from me and places her down at the small art table. Carefully I make my way over to them, clean my palms with hand sanitizer, and shake Noah's hand first. “Good to you see again, Mr. Collins.”

“Noah,” he promptly corrects.

“You must be Shelly. I'm owner and director, Presley Morrison,” I introduce myself. She wiggles to adjust her daughter to try to shake my hand. Quickly I deny, “It's quite alright. You just hold little Shelby close. I won't take offense whatsoever. Hello gorgeous...”

Shelby makes a happy baby face at me. There's something about six month olds that makes them irresistible. The oversized bow in her platinum blond hair makes it more difficult.

“Well it is a pleasure to meet you,” Shelly gushes. “Your school, your website, your presence is all fantastic. I know there's a wait list, I know it's a long shot, but can I just say I badly want in here?”

Her accent is as gorgeous as she is. If you spliced Heidi Klum and Charlize Theron that would be the intimidating perfection that stands in front of me. Politely I state, “I'm flattered. I work relentlessly to make this school the best place I can for children as well as the families that bring them here. You are aware that this is the classroom, so I'm going to step out and leave you with Miss Lizzie Lumfkin who has been with us since we opened.” I point to the energetic young woman getting ready to paint. “In this room there is also Rachel Hall and Cassidy Demar.” I point to them as well. They do their best to greet in return, but one is at the changing table and the other feeding. “They will all make you feel as welcomed as possible. They'll also answer any questions and any concerns you may have. I'll be just on the other side of the door if you need anything.”

“I'm gonna step out with you,” Noah insists.

“You sure?” My ability to remain professional is impressive. Looking at the happy life him and his wife share reminds me of the one I should've had with his brother. Then again, if we would've never split, if I wouldn't have walked away, I might not have any of this. Sure, in ways all I did was subrogate the large family I wanted with one person for several families with lots of people, but I'm not certain I would prefer the other way of life over this one.

Over the past couple of days I've taken a step back and forced myself to evaluate the pros and cons of how my tragedy with Ryder ended. Of course, Katherine is right. I have lost part of myself, part of my passion and fire, but at the same time I discovered a love for a work I might not have otherwise. I have a success I might've never been bold enough to dream about while I was so wrapped up in him. I like to think letting go of Ryder was purely to save him, but I think subconsciously, I wanted to save what I could of myself too.

“Positive.” Noah nods. “This is Shelly and Shelby's moment.”

“You're so wonderful,” Shelly coos at him.

With a faint smile I usher her in. “You are already wearing the classroom feet covers. It is a strict policy. No shoes. Ever. The covers get washed at the end of every day and there are back up batches in case something goes wrong. I do have a night crew that does laundry and thoroughly cleans the classrooms. Whenever you're ready head straight back.”

“Come on Shelby,” Shelly says to her. “Let's go meet what could be your teachers.”

Noah and I exit through the door. Once on the other side, we have a seat on the bench across from it.

He firmly states, “Shelly loves it here. I imagine Shelby will as well.”

“I hope so.” I fold my hands in my lap. “I think you and your family would make a beautiful addition. We have a child moving onto the next classroom in a couple of weeks and will have an opening.”

Noah nods and sighs, “I want that spot.”

Flattered at the praise of my own success, I prematurely relax.

“Kids?”

Suddenly feeling incarcerated by the question, my eyes search for an excuse to escape while sending out telepathic messages for help. When nothing seems to be willing to come to my rescue, I adjust in my seat and answer. “No.”

“Why not?” Noah bluntly ponders. He angles his body towards me. “You're wonderful with children. You'd make a beautiful mother.”

His words, which pierce my fragile spirit trigger tears. However instead of letting them fall, I push them down the back of my throat. “Thank you, Noah.”

“It's a fact. So, why not? Why no kids?” Before I have a chance to explain, though with what I'm uncertain, he further pushes. “Aren't you married?”

“No,” the word attacks him sharply enough to push him backwards. “I um...I am not.”

“Interesting,” he mutters his breath as if baffled by something. What could he possibly be confused about? Noah states, “Neither is Ryder.”

Silence floods through me. Is that a good thing? Is that...is that a bad thing? Is that even a thing that should affect me?

“You know, growing up, I figured it would be Ryder with the beautiful family first. That I would be cool Uncle Noah who buys the best presents and invites them to my ski cabin. I had this image of celebrating Thanksgiving and Christmas while watching the two of you wishing for the love that you and Ryder had. It's amazing how visions change.”

Even more stunned by this confession, I gnaw on my tongue. I can't eat anything right now. I don't need too. I can conquer this reaction. I can.

“In all honesty, I felt you two belonged together. Sometimes you see things and in your gut you just know for a fact they're perfect for each other. It wasn't all Ryder's fault your relationship went to shit.” Prepared for him to lay the blame I brace myself. “He had some outside influences that encouraged him to pull the plug.”

“Friends?”

“My parents.”

Now I look perplexed. “I knew I wasn't always their favorite but-”

“You were a threat.” The information lifts my eyebrows. “You were a threat and a reminder of the mistakes they made with him. You nurtured Ryder. You cared for him. You built him up and supported him in ways a mother should a son because you loved him. You were a reminder she didn't do those things. You were a reminder, she indeed did have a mistake she couldn't stop making. You were a reminder she was not perfect.”

Never having had that thought appear in my mind, I fold my arms across my chest in disbelief. “But that wasn't the intention. I just...loved your brother.”

“I know.” He pauses. “But you loved what she couldn't. You loved what she had spent years ignoring. And my father...” The trailing of his voice lets me know there's even more there than what's about to slip out. “He's a difficult man. He was even more difficult back then. He spent many of his moments with Ryder emotionally beating him. Deliberating destroying him every chance he could. Much like my mother he was a reminder that he indeed made mistakes. Ryder was the embodiment of all of his insecurities. He was the apotheosis of the parts of himself he loathed. Before you, Ryder rarely ever spoke up against my father. Before you, he rarely ever disobeyed what he was told. You gave my brother the strength to face him in ways he never thought he could. You changed Ryder's life Presley. Thank you.”

Noah's words cause my tears to edge closer to escape.

“If you can change my brother's life for the better then, I have no doubt the positive affects you will have on my daughter, now.”

Unable to sit here any longer, I abruptly stand. “I have to use the restroom. Can you excuse me for just a moment?”

“Take your time,” Noah says, pulling his phone out of his pocket.

Rushing down the hall towards my office where my private restroom is, I mumble to Dana as I pass her, “Please go keep Mr. Collins company for a moment.”

As soon as I'm on the other side of my office door, I rush to the restroom, shut the door, and begin to cry uncontrollably.