If I Break (9 page)

“Lauren! I thought that was your car!” she squeals, dropping it all on the floor.

“Hi, Raven,” I say cheerfully, running down the stairs. She meets me at the bottom and wraps me into a big hug.

“It’s so good to see you! I’ve missed you so much!” she says, squeezing me tightly.

“I’ve missed you too.” I tell her honestly, letting her scent take me back to my childhood, when any problem I had could be solved with a piece of chocolate cake, albeit from the store, since Raven couldn’t bake a piece of bread if her life depended on it. She steps back, scrutinizing my appearance.

“You look beautiful; I love the sweater,” she says, gliding her hand across my shoulder. Raven, as always, fashionably inclined and I often wonder what would have happened if she had grown up in a big city. I’m sure she wouldn’t have ended up a librarian. “So what brings you here? How long are you staying? And where is that handsome nephew of mine?” she smiles.

Okay Lauren, let’s start thinking. Think, think; say something; keep smiling.
Unfortunately, all I’m doing is smiling because I can’t think of a word to say. I really need to start planning ahead.

She frowns at me and brushes her scarlet bangs out of her face.

“Uh huh. How about you help me take these in the kitchen and tell me all about it?” she says, grabbing two bags herself and leaving the room. I pick up three bags and follow behind. I need to think of something; I’m definitely not ready to tell her that I’ve left my husband. I walk into the brightly lit kitchen and set the groceries on the table. Being here reminds me how gloomy Chicago is sometimes. Even though she doesn’t cook, she makes sure to have all her favorite snacks and plenty of fruits and vegetables in the refrigerator. She starts to unpack bags and put groceries away, but I can tell her full attention is on me.

“So, how is everything?” she asks casually.

“Everything is good,” I nod, pulling a carton of milk from the bag.

“You didn’t call me this week.”

“I know. I um, I wanted to surprise you,” I smile, hoping that doesn’t sound like a lie.

“You did! When I saw that Mercedes parked in the driveway, I couldn’t believe my eyes! So, again how long do I have you guys?” she asks as if she’s a hotel desk clerk.

“Oh, well, I was thinking I’d stay a week or two,” I tell her, busying myself taking out a bottle of juice and avoiding her eyes.

“You are?” she asks surprised.

“Yeah, well, if that’s okay with you,” I say hesitantly.

“Of course it is, honey. I love your company and you know that you’re always welcome here; it’s just...two weeks is quite a long time. Is Cal here?” she inquires.

Here’s my chance; just tell her; just say it!

“N-no, um that’s actually why I’m here,” I say meekly. She stops going through the bag and gives me her full attention; her look is intimidating.

“What’s wrong?” she says, raising her voice slightly.

“Oh, nothing’s wrong. It’s just that Cal’s gone on another business trip, and the penthouse gets lonely at night. I thought, I haven’t seen you in a while,” I laugh slightly. God why didn’t I just tell her? I missed the perfect opportunity, now this whole time I’m going to be on pins and needles and have to remember my own lies.

“Oh,” she looks at me skeptically, the look quickly replaced by a smile. “Well, I’m really glad you’re here,” she says, giving me another hug. “How about I finish up here, you go to your room and get settled, and I’ll order us some lunch?”

“That’d be great,” I smile as I get up from the table. “You sure you don’t want any help?” I ask again.

“No, I’m fine. Go get settled,” she insists.

I walk out of the kitchen and head for my car. I hate lying to my aunt, or lying in general, but if I told her why I was really here… I open up the trunk and heave my big suitcase out, setting it on the ground with a plop. As I roll it up the walkway towards the house, I notice Raven standing at the door with a huge smile plastered on her face and the phone close to her ear.

Please tell me she’s not talking to who I think she’s talking to.

“Lauren honey, Cal’s on the phone!” she calls. My heart stops for a minute. She loves that man so much, I swear, if he weren’t my husband and he was just a little bit older, I know she’d be on him like a Chanel bag in the clearance section, if there is such a thing.

“I’m kind of in the middle of something,” I call to her as sweetly as I can, squashing my annoyance and anger as I head back over to the car, trying to look busy shuffling through my bags.

“Lauren Brooks! Get over here right this minute, you can bring your bags in later,” she says in a calm but forceful tone. I feel my shoulders drop to the largest obtuse angle as I slowly walk up to the porch, a small pout on my face. I remember I’m supposed to pretend I’m happy. I take the phone from her and toss her a huge smile.

“I’m going to take this in the house,” I tell her.

“Sure,” she tells me. I walk into the dining room and close the door behind me. I take a huge breath and bring the phone to my ear.

“I knew you were going to be at Raven’s,” he says, before I even let him know I’m there.
How wonderful of you
, I think to myself and roll my eyes.

“You’re not talking to me?” he asks. I sigh in disbelief. He still thinks I’m “not talking to him.” I’ve left him, and he’s shrugging it off as a temper tantrum. Obviously, he doesn’t get it.

“Two calls. It must be my lucky day,” I mumble sarcastically, pacing the room.

“I know. I was wrong,” he says.

“You really mean that? Or are you just saying what you think I want to hear?”

“I mean what I say.” He sounds offended.

“Cal, I’m tired of doing this with you,” I sigh.

“Well, what do you want me to say?” he asks defensively.

What do I want him to say? What the fuck do I want him to say? I want him to say he’s sorry for everything, sorry that he’s played with my emotions, sorry that he’s such an ass, that he leaves me alone at home for days without a single phone call, sorry that he’s made me into a person I don’t even recognize, that he’s eroded my self-confidence, sorry that he exists in my life!

I don’t hear anything except silence on the other end. Oops, I must have said all that out loud.

***

I’ve been sitting here in my old bedroom in silence for twenty minutes, waiting for him to call me back. I shouldn’t be waiting for him. I
should
be happy that he’s not attempting to call me back. I brush my fingers through my hair and sigh. I hear a soft knock on the door.

“Honey, is everything okay?” Raven asks quietly walking into the room.

“Yeah, everything's fine,” I say to her, forcing another smile.

She opens her mouth as if she’s about to say something, but then she smiles and changes the subject. “I completely forgot I told Mrs. Ingram that I’d have lunch with her today, before I knew you were coming. Would you like to join us, she’d love to see you?” she asks.

“No, it’s okay. I think I’m just going to stay here and think some things though. Tell her I said hi.”

“Ok, if you need anything just call my cell,” she tells me as if I’m a 12-year-old again.

“I’ll be fine,” I assure her.

“I’ll see you later honey,” she says shutting the door. I suddenly feel exhausted. I start stripping the big quilt and colorful sheets off the bed, replacing them with some sheets I brought from home. After I’m done, I look around the room, taking a deep breath. This place will take some getting used to again. I crawl into the bed, hugging the pillow as if it were a stuffed animal.

May 9th 2008

“I went to University Of Illinois for two years before I transferred to Indiana State, where I played football. Believe it or not, I originally majored in criminology. It’s funny how I jumped from criminology to journalism because they’re so different from each other. Initially, I only took it in high school because of this girl I had a crush on. Then I changed it because criminology was getting too complicated. I thought it was the best thing I ever did in my life. So when I graduated, I moved back to Chicago. My dad helped me get a job at
The Tribune
where my boss assigned me the Entertainment section. Who the hell reads that? But anyway, the point is…” Jason can’t shut up.

I continue to nod and smile, pretending to be interested in what he’s saying. He’s been going on like this for twenty minutes; he hasn’t asked a single question about me except what I wanted to order. He then tells me that the dish he’s having is better and I should order that. I glance at my watch for the third time. I’ve never been this bored in my life. I don’t know if he’s nervous, and he’s just rambling on to cover it up, or if he’s really that self-absorbed. He seemed so different back at the club. Looks can sure be deceiving.

I take a sip of my water. The ice has melted. Looking around, I admire how elegant the restaurant is. The piano is playing softly in the background. I could really enjoy this atmosphere—if Jason would just be quiet for a minute.

“I remember my first piece for journalism 101. It was on a Dean sleeping with a student. I had a lot of fun with that, even though it only received a C. My professor always told me I could do better, and on my last paper I finally had an A,” he continues.

“So what about you?” he finally asks.

I almost choke on my water; the opportunity to talk is unexpected—I thought he’d at least give me a rundown of every article he’d ever written before he asked
me
a question.

“Well, I attend Chicago University. I’m majoring in English and minoring in art history,” I tell him.

“The art world is a hard world to break into,” he tells me, as if I don’t know.

“That’s why I’m majoring in English,” I tell him, a little annoyed.

“So what kind of work do you do?” he asks.

“What do you mean?”

“I know you’re an Art History Major but do you do any art work?” he asks absentmindedly while signaling the waiter.

I just told him art history was my minor, but, whatever. Close enough.

“Well, some painting and sculpting, but my passion is drawing,” I tell him.

“Yes, can you get our check?” he asks the approaching waiter, who nods and walks away. He turns back to me. “I’m sorry… you were saying?”

I shake my head. “It’s not important.” It’s not like he was paying any attention anyway.

“Have you heard about the museum’s anniversary gala?” he asks. Has he already forgotten the art history thing?

“Yes. I have,” I tell him, trying not to sound sarcastic.

“You would probably have a wonderful time there. It’s too bad you can’t get tickets.
The Tribune
only received three. I was lucky enough to get one of the press passes, since it will be the entertainment event of the season,” he boasts.

Should I tell him I’m going or should I not? Hmmm.

“I’ll be sure to have a full report on it for you,” he smiles. I decide not to tell him. I will keep smiling, and maybe he’ll get the hint. My phone begins to vibrate in my purse. I take it out and see it’s Hillary. Oh, I love you Hillary!

“Excuse me for a minute,” I tell him, walking to the front entrance. “I’ve never been so happy to hear from you,” I say gratefully into the phone.

“I take it your date sucks?” she asks excitedly.

“Other than the food, yes. I’ll be home in an hour. Jason is probably the most self-absorbed person I’ve ever met. The whole conversation tonight was all about him. I probably got three sentences in,” I tell her.

“Aw, you poor thing!” she states. “Well, you can’t strike gold twice.”

I smile, thinking about my date with Cal, which makes this seem like an appointment with a dentist.

“So, does he have anything else planned after dinner?” she asks.

“I don’t know, but I can’t take any more of this.”

“Remember the guy I met at the party you didn’t want to go last week to Jinere, or Johnae I'll never be able to say it right. Anyway something foreign and he’s ridiculously hot. I’m making him dinner and he may stay over for desert...” she warns with a hint of excitement in her voice.

“Have fun Hillary,” I say. At least one of us will be having a good time tonight.

“Want me to wait up for you?”

“No, I’ll be fine.”

“Okay, night, hun,” she says, and I hang up the phone. I look at my watch; it’s only 9:12. This night is going way too slow. I walk back into the restaurant and see that Jason isn’t at the table. I suppose he’s gone to the restroom. Thank goodness. It’ll be quiet for a few minutes.

“Excuse me, miss?” asks a small voice from behind me. I turn around to see the hostess who seated us at the table when we arrived.

“The gentlemen who was with you had an important call and had to leave but he’s called you a cab. It’ll be here in twenty minutes,” she informs me.

He’s ditched me? He’s ditched me. After an hour and a half of listening to him talk about his boring job, and attendance history in class he leaves me? I sigh and notice that the hostess is waiting for my response.

“Thank you,” I say, smiling to hide my annoyance.

She nods and walks away. I take my jacket from the back of my chair and put it on. Who would have thought at the beginning of this evening I would end up sitting in the lounge room alone, waiting for a taxi to take me home because my date ditched me?

***

I stare at the blank canvas in front of me and see…a blank canvas. I have no inspiration. I see nothing. I move the easel back to the wall and grab my sketchbook off my desk. I have to flip all the way to the back to find an empty page.

I start to make a light mark with a pencil in the middle of the paper. All of my drawings start off this way, and then I go with what I feel. Painting is not that easy, you have to have your colors mapped out, your setting, and you can’t paint stray marks and wait until they turn into something.

That’s why I love to draw; it’s therapeutic. My thoughts drift to the anniversary of the museum tomorrow. I feel butterflies starting to play in my stomach. Since it’s the anniversary, I know they’re going to have all types of new collections flown in just for the night, even though they probably will already have new pieces in that I haven’t seen. It’s been forever since the last time I was there. I’ve always enjoyed being there in my own world. Tomorrow will be the first time I’ll actually go with another person outside of school. I’ve always kept art as a private reward for myself. I wonder if Cal is into art. He didn’t seem too excited about the event but most people wouldn’t be. He does get credit for actually suggesting a date based on my interest, aside from the fact that he had tickets to an event that would be difficult for an average person to get.