Chase Me (3 page)

“I love you,” I slurred as Brooklyn sang me a soft song and toyed with my hair. I quickly drifted off to sleep surrounded by her comfort and warmth which was the opposite of what I had felt today.

“Good Morning,” Brooklyn screamed into my ear. My head felt like it was going to explode.

“I think I am dying,” I whispered with a sore throat, and a need to just sleep for a year.

“You can’t die from a hangover, but I can make you wish you were dead,” Brooklyn laughed and then began to beat a wooden spoon on a metal pan as the Ipod dock sounded out Five Finger Death Punch at maximum levels.

I covered my ears and begged for anything to make her stop. I normally would have wrestled the damn remote away from her, but I couldn’t move without pain.

“Please,” I begged, and cracked my eyes to see the smile on her face, and my mom behind her.

“You ever going to do this again?” Brooklyn asked as she turned the music down a little. My mom merely crossed her arms, and was going to let my brain splatter out of my skull and repaint the wall.

“No,” I silently mouthed, and then without warning Brooklyn ripped my pillow from me to see my fingers were crossed beneath it.

“Right,” Brooklyn stated. “You did that when we were five. Doesn’t work now.”

I nodded my head.
Yes, it did
. You never got too hold for finger crosses, scouts’ honors, and pinky swears. Life was too damn miserable to have to be a grown up all the time, so if I wanted to be a child she should let me. I was only getting older.

“Brook,” my mom called out, and they had some kind of hidden conversation. The kind where you knew she would bust your butt for something, but said nothing. She would only give you the eyes and then your ass automatically started to twinge.

“Yes ma’am,” Brooklyn sweetly replied as she turned the music off. My mom took the pot from her and walked it out of my room. “You are so lucky she is here. Bring home another asshole whose name you don’t know because
you refuse
to let me be there for you and I will make this hangover seem like a picnic in the park. Now get up and go hydrate.”

That was my Brooklyn. When we finished college I realized how short life was going to be and tried to make it the most fun, while she went on to law school and became the bossy type. One day when she is like seventy and retires I will be the adult and she will be hitting up the bingo halls looking for a good time.

“It hurts,” I whined as she opened my blinds to see the snow was falling and the sun was excessively bright.

“I’ll bring you some medicine.”

I sat up on the bed as my head throbbed to the same rhythm my heart had set out. I couldn’t even hear over the pulsing in my ear. Brooklyn had to tap my shoulder for me to open my eyes and take the pills.

“I have to go to work, but your mom is going to get you going and then Mike is expecting you,” Brooklyn ordered and then she disappeared into the bathroom.

I got up and placed a hand on my head trying to shove the pressure back inside and keep my brain from becoming splatter paint. I smelt food and wanted to vomit as I rounded the door frame and walked into the living room.

“Kate,” my mom called out. “Want to tell me why Henry called me and said you fractured his eye socket.”

“I didn’t hit him that hard. He is a liar,” I protested, but the look on her face said she didn’t care. “You know he is firing Mike before he can retire, and forcing me to be lady-like
–his words-
and work in his office.”

My mom was so pale and skinny that I had a hard time seeing her like that. I tried to hide my fears that she was really sick, like antibiotics can’t fix it sick, but I think she knew. I squinted under the throbbing pain in my head and sat at the bar wooden bar stool as I watched her scramble eggs. Then she scooped them out and added black pepper and ketchup.

“Do you remember when you started eating your eggs like this?” My mom asked and I shook my head.

“No, I just know you always made them like that.”

“When you were little we went to a farm to get some hen eggs to learn how to make frittata. You got so upset when you learned where eggs came from. We gathered several different types of eggs. That next morning you refused to eat the baby chickens I had murdered
–your words-
I had scrambled for you. Those eggs had cost an entire shifts pay, so when Mike heard he came over and brought you the pepper and ketchup. He let you add it to the eggs until you were convinced that it did not resemble a dead chick. Then you ate them up and have been finicky about them since.

“Henry didn’t get to see that. He doesn’t know that. I can’t do anything about what he does with his business or his life, but I can tell you that carrying around anger is eating plain eggs. You need to find a way to get over him being absent and make it okay so you can move past this anger.”

I didn’t want my eggs, and just rolled them around on the plate. I was bitter that he was gone my whole life, but I didn’t hate him until I met him and he spoke. I had the life I wanted. I had my mom. I had Mike for a dad. I had Brooklyn for a sister. I didn’t need the misogynist that donated his sperm to give me life.

“I’ll try harder.”

Those three little words had me riding shotgun on the first class flight into hell. I had lied to my mom, but she just seemed so frail I couldn’t tell her I wanted him to die by a thousand paper cuts.

“Listen to me Kate,” my mom started and then she placed her hand on mine. “I don’t know what went on here last night, but I have never heard Brooklyn as worried as she was. She thinks you are spiraling and you are going to hit bottom. Then Henry called with the same concern and an injury. It is not like you to just hit someone. I taught you to fight back, not start the fight. Those two people care. I care. We all love you, so whatever is going on, let us help you.”

I nodded and my mom laid a kiss on my forehead. I knew Brooklyn loved me, but Henry was the damn devil and didn’t love anyone but himself and his twit. I even understood Brooklyn calling my mom, but for Henry to do it was more of him being a tattle tale and I despised narks.

“I have to get to the garage mom,” I smiled as the drugs started to kick in. I still felt like hell, but I would be safer there than here with Brooklyn’s amp. “Do you want to come see Mike with me?” I asked and her whole face lit up.

“I’m not dressed,” she started and I carefully took her hand led her to my room.

“Let’s make you the beauty queen we know is hiding in there,” I whispered and my mom grinned. She loved Mike and Mike loved her, but it would take an act from God to bring them together. They were both so afraid of losing the friendship they had made that they missed the fact that you are supposed to marry your best friend.

“Let’s do it,” she softly voiced her excitement. I knew she was trying to hide it, so we were going to make her gorgeous. Then she and Mike could take out the 55’ and I could fix the Fastback.

For the next three days I worked on the cars while Mike spent time with my mom. There were moments when I wanted to ask why they weren’t together, but love was fleeting. I supposed that was why they never went forward as a couple.

I was a conflicted person. I believed my mother was in love, but didn’t believe it lasted for more than a moment in time. Whether it be five minutes or five years it always fades and someone always winds up crying themselves to sleep. Maybe I was damaged, or maybe I saw the big picture and didn’t want the hassle.

Moments like now when my mom and Mike were laying on a blanket letting the snowfall on them. Like the world didn’t exist outside the two of them. Like she didn’t have a doctor’s appointment tomorrow that could tell of her fate. Watching them just be, made me believe I might be wrong about love, but then every morning after a night at the club when the guy tip toes out of my apartment made me believe in what was real.

“Hello,” I answered the garage phone as its incessant ringing was driving me nuts.

“What the hell are you doing there? Where is Mike?” Henry shouted through the phone.

“Talking to me like that will make you hear dial tone,” I replied and I heard him take a forced deep breath. “Now, try again and act like your momma taught you manners.”

“Kate,” he growled and I waited until he was ready to complete his sentence. “You’re fired. Get the hell out of my garage!”

Chapter 3

“It is too early in the morning for you to be up singing,” I groaned as Brooklyn was singing a tune on her way to shower. I looked over at the clock to see it was early. “It’s 5am,” I shouted as I pulled the pillow over my head.

“Yea it is also Friday. If you don’t want to wind up working under daddy dearest shouldn’t you be looking for a new job? Your student loans will come calling soon if you don’t.”

“I have a job. It doesn’t pay anything, but the rewards are phenomenal,” I replied as I tried to snuggle under the blankets.

“What is your pretend job today?” Brooklyn asked and I sighed.

“I am a part time groomer.”

“I am almost afraid to ask and I probably don’t want to know. Who do you groom or what do you groom?”

I cracked one eye open and saw she wasn’t leaving without an answer so I tossed the pillow at her. “I groom myself.”

“I know what your problem is,” Brooklyn spoke calmly and I sat up in the bed to hear what she had to say. “It’s daddy day.” I shot her my middle finger and climbed back under the blankets. “You have to see him with your mom today at the appointment.”

“He is just my tadpole donor, and his name is Henry, not daddy.” Then because I hadn’t had any coffee my mouth exploded words, like a volcanic eruption of grammatical blah. “I mean who even fucks a man named Henry. When you orgasm do you fake them, count them, or is it like busting out in song singing
I’m Henry the VIII I Am
by “Herman’s Hermits.” I mean do you make up your own lyrics to it like ‘Oh Henry the second I am exploding because I am doing the second Henry.’ I don’t even know or want to know it is all gross.”

“Yea, clearly you have no issues with daddy day,” Brooklyn chuckled sarcastically. “I’m going to put on some coffee and I will bring you a cup to turn down your demonic mode before I shower if you want me to.”

“No, I’ll make it now that I am up before the sun,” I stated with a hint of bitchiness.

I went into the kitchen and started a pot of coffee when I heard Brooklyn singing in the shower. She was singing “
Henry the VIII
,” and I felt like she needed something to cool her singing streak.