Catching Raven (15 page)

We hit up Freebirds for some burritos and chips ’n queso. As soon as we
walk in, Chase and Mia stand up and join us in the order line. Chase and I pay,
then we all grab a table and tear into our food.

A few bites in, Chase starts throwing curious glances between Raven and
me. “So, are y’all a thing now?”

“Something like that,” I reply, dunking a chip in queso and popping it in
my mouth.

“Yeah, but he won’t give me the label,” Raven gripes.

Chase glares at me like I’m an idiot. “You won’t give her the label? The
hell is wrong with you?”

“We’re taking it slow. Besides, everyone knows my heart belongs to you,”
I bat my eyes at him.

Mia laughs and Raven chokes on her rice.

Unamused, Chase refuses to let the subject drop.

“After all these years, you still won’t budge on the label?”

Mia leans forward in her chair. “Whoa, whoa, wait. What do you mean after
all these years?” She cuts her gaze to Raven. “You told me you’ve only liked
Eric for the last year.”

“It’s complicated,” she dismisses.

I freeze with my drink near my lips. Why would Raven tell Mia she’s only
been into me for a year? Is she ashamed of her feelings for me or something?

“Unbelievable,” Mia leans back, irked. “Not only am I the last to know
everything, but I’m deliberately served bullshit.”

“You and me both,” I mutter, raising my glass in the air.

Raven ignores my comment and sips on her sweet tea. No doubt I’ll be
hearing about this later. Probably somewhere in the ballpark of thirty times.

Chase clears his throat. “Anyway….”

“Enough about us. What about you two?” I ask, all too eager to shine the
spotlight on someone else.

Mia perks up and locks eyes with Chase. I’m sincerely hoping Raven and I
don’t look this sappy in public.

“Same as you guys. Taking things slow,” she answers.

“What’s your definition of slow? Cause this,” I motion between the two of
them, “is moving faster than a bad case of the Taco Bell shits.”

Mia scrunches up her nose. “That’s disgusting.”

“Ew, Eric. We’re eating here,” Raven complains.

Chase laughs and gives me a knowing look.

“We’re doing what works for us. There. How about that?” Mia sasses.

I slap my palms down on the table and stiffen. “Hold up. You mean to tell
me that people can take their relationships at whatever pace they desire? No
conventional methods necessary?” I turn to seize Raven’s face in my hands and
give her a hard shake. “My God, Rave. What have we done? Did we miss the memo?”

Mia kicks me under the table. “All right. You made your point.”

I release Raven and settle back into my chair with a triumphant smirk.

Mia frowns.

“Don’t look so offended, Strawberry. Rave and I, we’ve been on training wheels
for years. Can’t seem to get off the damn things. It’s relationships for
retards and I’m the biggest one. I haven’t even taken her out on a real date
yet.”

I pause and process those last words.
Way to miss the mark, Eric.

As if I didn’t feel undeserving of her already, now I’ve sunk to a new
level of humiliation. The single most important person in my life has been
settling for mediocre romance. WTF is wrong with me?

The rest of the group falls back into a familiar rhythm of laughter and
sarcastic banter, while I’m off in my own world desperately trying to figure
out a way to rectify the situation.

r     a     v     e    
n

“Turn around and let me get a good
look at you.”

I spin and face my laptop screen so Tori can check out my outfit. I’ve
chosen a floral sundress that flares out at the hips and rose pink Jessica
Simpson pumps, forgoing my usual assortment of accessories and over-the-top
makeup. I wanted to change it up for a more natural look and take Eric by
surprise for our date. He’s always telling me to keep it real in all forms.

“Do you think he’ll like it?” I ask timidly, smoothing out non-existent
wrinkles in my skirt.

She bends forward to put her cigarette out and leans back to reassess me.

“That new habit will kill you, by the way,” I add.

“Really?” she feigns shock. “But they’re so good.”

“Can you taste the essence of death? Cause she’s distantly calling your
name.”

“Quite the opposite, actually. I taste life in those babies. Besides, do
you know how many times I’ve heard that warning?”

“And yet you’re still smoking,” I reply flatly.

“We all have our vices. Some are just more harmful than others. At least
I work out to compensate for it. That’s gotta add a few years, right?”

I shake my head, knowing I’ll never be able to get through to her.
Hopefully one day she’ll come to her senses and quit on her own accord. Life’s
too meaningful to die of something so inconsequential.

“Back to the dress. Yea or nay?”

“Definitely yeah. And can I just say how stoked I am that y’all have
finally pulled your heads out of your asses?”

“You and me both.”

“Where’s he taking you?”

“No idea. It’s supposed to be a surprise.”

She grins. “Even better.”

A loud knock on my front door cuts our Skype session short.

“That’s him. Gotta go,” I say, wrestling my feet into my pumps and
rushing to the other side of the room for one final glance in the mirror.

“Okay. Have fun tonight. Call or text me when you get home and tell me
everything.”

“Will do,” I assure.

“Bye!”

“Bye!”

The call ends. I exhale, seize my clutch, and try to be casual. “Come
in.”

Eric lets himself in. I slow my pace in the middle of the hallway,
anxiously awaiting his reaction. He closes the door and turns to face me. His
eyes widen. A slow smile appears as his eyes rake my body from head to toe.

“Do we really have to leave this apartment right now?”

“Yes.”

His shoulders sink. He strides over, tilts my chin up, brings me in for a
series of chaste kisses.

“Hate it when you ruin my fun,” he says.

“Get used to it.”

He releases my chin and digs through a bag I didn’t even realize he was
holding.

“What’s in there?”

He swings it away from my prying eyes.

“None of your business. Is Mia home?”

“No, she’s job hunting. Why? You wanna take her out instead?”

“Ha ha. Very cute.”

I smile. “I try.”

He glances at the clock on the microwave.

“Shit. We gotta bounce or we’re gonna be late. Come on.”

Eric drives like a maniac until we reach our destination. He cruises into
a parking lot filled with cars, finds a spot somewhere in the middle. He parks,
cracks the windows, and kills the engine. A large movie screen graces the lot
next to a couple of food trailers. The sun’s just beginning to set in the sky.

“Ever been to a drive-in?” Eric asks.

I shake my head, feeling very out of place with my dress and heels on.

“They’re the best,” he insists.

“I’m way overdressed. Why didn’t you tell me to change?”

“We didn’t have time. You take forever to get ready as it is. Besides,
I’m a fan of the outfit,” he gently tugs on the hem of my dress and gives me a
crooked smile.

He reaches into the backseat and grabs the reusable bag I saw him
carrying earlier. He pulls out two plastic forks, two plastic cups, and a
variety of different desserts, placing them all on the dash. Everything from
molten chocolate cake, to strawberry cheesecake, to tiramisu greets my eyes. My
stomach growls in response.

“Picked these up from H-E-B on the way over. Thought you might be
hungry.”

Oh, my God. Pretty sure I just fell in love with him all over again. Of
course, in true Eric fashion, he also pulls out a large bottle of wine.

“We can’t drink that in here,” I tell him.

“Says who?”

I give him my no-nonsense stare. “Eric, if we get caught we’re screwed.
We’re in a car for crying out loud.”

“Relax. It’s just one glass. You’ll be the one doing most of the work.
You know wine is not my preference.”

“There are people all around us.”

“So we’ll wait until it gets dark,” he says with an obvious tone.

He sticks the bottle down between his legs and peels off the foil seal
from around the neck.

I glance around nonchalantly to make sure no one is watching. Thankfully,
everyone’s absorbed in their own conversations.

“Do you have a wine opener?”

“Sure do.”

He reaches over, pops the glove box open, grabs a paintbrush. He uses the
sharp end to press down on the cork with all his might.

“You look constipated.”

“It’s a good look on me, right?”

I stifle a grin.

He presses down again, his face turning as bright red as the sunset. He
exhales harshly. “Hold the bottle, dude.”

I double over and hold the bottle still while he concentrates on
whittling the cork down. We’re starting to draw attention, making me paranoid.
With a squeaky
pop,
the cork shoots straight down into the bottle. I sit
up and immediately glance around to find everything exactly as it was. Eric
throws the paintbrush back into the glove compartment and relaxes.

“Damn, they really make you work for it.”

“Not so easy when you don’t have a proper opener, is it?”

He doesn’t answer. Instead, he cradles the bottle between his feet and
waits for the sun to fully set before pouring me a glass.

“How often do you come here?” I ask.

“Probably three or four times a year. I figured since we both love movies
and it’s become tradition for me, I’d bring you. The vibe is spot-on. Beautiful
sunset, breathtaking girl, classy desserts, rundown parking lot, sketchy
neighborhood, cork-filled wine, plastic utensils:  It’s urban meets upscale.”
He looks over and smiles. “Just like us.”

“Why do you insist on believing you’re unrefined? You’re not.”

“I am when I’m sitting next to you,” he argues.

“Whatever. I’ve never treated you that way.”

“I know. That’s what I love about you.”

I swallow past the lump in my throat. That’s the closest he’s ever come
to dropping the “L” word. Since he’s not one to express vulnerability more than
once in a near decade, I hold on tight to the feeling.

As if on cue, our attention is summoned to the screen when the opening
credits for
The Breakfast Club
start rolling. I squeeze his hand and
shift around in my seat, unable to contain my excitement. Thank God it’s not a
stoner comedy. With Eric, you never know what you’re in for. Could’ve been
something stupid like
Dazed and Confused
or
Pineapple Express
.

“It’s eighties night,” he explains.

“You’re the best boyfriend ever.”

My body tenses.

Nooooo!

Must fabricate an explanation before he freaks out.

“Uh, I mean—”

He silences me with a reassuring kiss.

“Shh. No talking during the movie,” he whispers against my lips.

He sits back and stares at the screen without a care in the world, as if
I didn’t just drop one of the most frightening words for a commitment phobe.
Only word worse than
boyfriend
is
exclusivity
. Of course, I could
have called him the old ball and chain. That little gem signals imminent death
in the eyes of tools everywhere.
See, Rave? It could’ve been worse.

I reach out and not-so-secretly slide the tiramisu off the dash until it
magically falls into my lap. Would you look at that! I peek over at Eric, then
back down at the dessert. Eyes on Eric. Eyes on yummy dessert. Finally, he
sighs and says, “Just grab a fork and eat it, Raven.”

Well, if he insists....

I snag one of the plastic forks sitting in the cup holder and dig in.
Tastes like heaven. He grabs the other fork and tears into the chocolate cake.
I lean over and steal a bite. Or three. Before long, we’re both completely
engrossed in the movie. Then we’re engrossed in a heavy make-out sesh. I blame
Molly Ringwald and Judd Nelson. They started it. Cliché? Yup. Do I care? Nope.
I’m a Princess and he’s a Criminal. Sound familiar?

e     r     i     c

I park the car with a weighted heart
and even heavier conscience. It’s that time again. I’ve put off visiting my mom
for far too long. Miraculously, she’s been in the same spot for the last six
months.

Never fucking happens.

I glance down at my hand to make sure I’m in front of the same address
I’ve written down. Ladies and gentlemen, we have a match. I kill the engine and
brace myself for the familiar shitstorm that’s brewing. Old habits die hard.

I slip my sunglasses into the collar of my shirt and knock on the door,
eager to get this over with. A few seconds later, it opens up to reveal a
shirtless, tattooed, middle-aged man with long greasy hair.

Mom and her wannabe rockers....

“Can I help you?” he asks, sizing me up.

“I’m looking for Holly. Is she here?”

“And you are?”

“None of your concern.”

Over his shoulder, I recognize my mom’s favorite old scrapbook displayed
proudly on the end table. It’s filled with all her favorite childhood
memories—ones that are “pre me.” That’s all the confirmation I need. Rugged
Fabio starts to shut the door when I notice the gold wedding band on his
finger. Mom’s not married.
Fantastic.
What a piece of shit. I stick my
foot in the door and push my way through.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

I ignore him and search the apartment. “Mom?”

My mom stumbles out of the bedroom wearing what I’m assuming is Fabio’s
T-shirt. She’s sans pants. She tucks a loose strand of blonde hair behind her
ear. A brief moment of surprise registers. It’s instantly replaced with anger.
She attempts to cover her bare legs.

“Eric, what are you doing here? I told you to call first.”

“Nice to see you too, Mom. How’s life treating you?”

“Don’t be a smartass,” she snaps, backtracking to fetch a pair of shorts
off the floor. She turns her attention to the wannabe rocker. “Mark, this is my
son, Eric. Eric, this is Mark. He’s a good friend.”

“Clearly,” I deduce.

Reluctantly, he steps forward and offers his hand. I don’t bother to
shake it.

“Don’t be rude,” my mom scolds.

I point over my shoulder. “Don’t you think his wife would find it rude
that you’re fucking each other behind her back?”

“Watch it,” she warns.

“Don’t talk to your mother that way. What’s going on between us is none
of your business,” Mark adds.

I laugh at their blatant lack of credibility. My hands leisurely run
through my hair before I turn back to the woman who was forced to give birth to
me. I’ve been here all of two seconds (which is one second too many) and I’m
over it.

“You know, I actually came here to have a real conversation with you. I
wanted to see how you’re doing and share what’s new in my life. Explain how I’m
dating a girl I’m crazy about, how I’m considering going back to school and
switching jobs, how my art continuously keeps getting better and better. But
you don’t care about any of that, do you?”

Too much emotion. I pull a Mia and slip my sunglasses over my eyes to
shield myself from her disarming stare. My mom and I don’t talk about this
shit. Ever.

I give her a reasonable five seconds to respond, but she comes up short.
What else is new? We always seem to fail each other on every count—except one.
Handing me off to my uncle was arguably the best thing she’s ever done for both
our sakes, even though I hated her for it at the time.

“What a waste of a trip,” I mutter, heading for the door.

“Eric, wait,” she pleads.

I stop.

She looks torn, but doesn’t say anything more.

“For the record, I didn’t ask for this shit to happen to me any more than
you did. Keep that in mind the next time you want to blame me for all your problems.”

That one penetrates her I-don’t-give-a-fuck exterior. She actually has
the decency to look hurt. It doesn’t last, though. Never does. Her face flushes
with shame when her eyes meet Mark’s. Oh, darn. Looks like she has some
explaining to do.

I slam the door and manage to avoid letting it hit my ass on the way out.
The blinding sun hits my face like a spotlight, exposing my discomfort. Already
one step ahead with these shades on. No wonder Mia uses this tactic—works like
a charm.

Even though I did my part, I feel incomplete. Closure is a luxury many
people don’t even realize they have. Going through life in a perpetual state of
disconnect is exhausting. And aggravating. What’s worse, your closure is often
tied to another person. Problematic when they don’t feel like cooperating.
Thank you, Mom, for not only making my life ten times harder than it had to be,
but for refusing to validate my pain on top of that.