Save Me (The Me Novellas) (3 page)

“
I haven’t even moved in and you’re already asking when I’m leaving.” This time when I pushed off from the bar stool, he didn’t stop me. And I wouldn’t have let him. “This is a mistake.”

“
Moving in?” I could tell from the tone of his voice that he thought it was, too.

“
No.” I stared at him. Then I traced a circle in the air with my finger around both of us. “This is a mistake. Us.”

“
Katie–”

“
Don’t,” I said. “Don’t make it worse. I’m done.”

“
Done with me?” he sounded incredulous and I wondered if anyone had ever broken up with him before.

Probably not, and I felt a small sense of pride in what I hoped would be a long line of women breaking up with him.

“
I deserve better.”

Ben chuckled. “Better than me? Ha. Good luck.”

Everything he was crystallized in that moment. Good-looking, yes. But completely self-absorbed. A barrage of memories over the last nine months hit me. Dates at the restaurant. Working out at his gym together. Cruising for parts for his Camaro. Jumping into a freezing cold lake because
he
wanted to. Not once did we do things I wanted to do. It was always what Ben wanted. And I’d let him. And the first time I asked for something—that afternoon, sitting in the bar, desperate and alone and needing a place to stay—he’d balked. Because it wasn’t what he wanted.

I tossed a five on the bar and glanced down the bar. Dylan was drying and stacking mugs. He frowned at the cash on the bar, shaking his head, letting me know I didn’t need to pay.

“
You’ll be back,” Ben said. “Begging.”

I left the money in place on the bar and looked at Ben. “Only if I need a mechanic.”

“
Whatever.”

I didn’t say anything, just turned and walked toward the door. I wasn’t going to let him see me cry. Because the crying wasn’t just about him. It was about the downward trajectory my life had taken that day. I wasn’t going to miss him, but breaking up with a boyfriend, no matter how much of a jerk he was, still hurt.

And I
might
have been PMSing.

“
You’ll be back,” he called. “Less than a week.”

I didn’t know where I would be next week. But one thing was crystal clear as I headed back to my car. I wouldn’t be with him.

THREE

“
What an asshole.”

Dani and I were sitting at Panera the next morning. I’d ordered a cinnamon roll but it sat untouched in front of me.

Dani bit off a piece of her bagel and chewed. Her blue eyes, the kind of eyes guys could lose themselves in, were full of sympathy. “Seriously, Katie. I had no idea what a jerk he’d turn out to be.”

I’d told her about my break-up with Ben. And my parents impending move. And my plan to find a bridge to jump off.

I nodded. “I know.”

“
I mean, you guys dated for almost a year.” She shook her head in wonder, her reddish-brown hair bobbing obediently. “I thought
…
I don’t know. I thought you guys were serious. I thought he might be It. You know?”

I knew. Not because Ben and I were the perfect match, but because she’d been trying to set me up with Mr. Right since sixth grade. Her taste in boys had gone from bad to worse as she aged, though, so I had learned early on to sidestep any suggestions of blind dates or friends of Ron’s, her boyfriend of three years.

“
We need to find you a new boyfriend,” she announced. She took a sip of coffee and winced. She’d never liked the taste.

“
I kinda need a place to live first,” I reminded her. “Then I can work on the next ex-boyfriend.”

She waved her hand dismissively. “Oh, please. That is so not an issue.”

“
How do you figure?”

She looked pointedly at me, her eyes narrowed. “Katie. You’ll live with us. Duh.”

I knew she’d offer—that’s what best friends did—but I still cringed. I was not a neat freak in any way, but her apartment gave me nightmares. Literally. Like I’d go to sleep and then wake up screaming because I’d dreamt that her apartment had come to life and eaten me.

“
I don’t know,” I hedged.

She tucked her hair behind her ears and took another bite of her bagel. I was convinced calories and carbs were allergic to her body because she never gained an ounce of weight. “I already texted Ron.”

I raised my eyebrows at her.

“
When you were getting more coffee,” she explained. “He’s fully supportive. Says you can stay as long as you need to.”

Where? I wanted to ask. In the spare bedroom that was currently piled three-feet high with his record collection and newspapers they were supposedly recycling? I wasn’t sure, but I was fairly certain I’d seen a hobo living in there once.

“
That’s really nice of him,” I said.

She nodded. “I know. He’s the best, isn’t he?”

I pictured Ron. Brown wavy hair, hazel eyes and an oily smile that screamed used-car salesman. Except he repaired bikes. And DJ’ed on the side.

“
Yes,” I lied. “He is.”

She beamed. “He really is. And I think he’s going to ask me
…
”

Dani had been waiting for a ring since she was ten. Her life plan included getting married and having kids. Period. It was why she didn’t go to college, why she worked for a temp agency, accepting short-term receptionist and secretary assignments. Because the minute she got married, she was quitting work and starting her real full-time job: baby-making. I was pretty sure my mom would have rather had her for a daughter.

“
Really?” I asked. I wasn’t sure Ron was the best specimen for a husband but she loved him. And he loved her. Which was more than I could say for my choice in men.

“
He had a copy of one of my Bride magazines out while he was in the bathroom.” She could barely contain her excitement. “When I went in to take a shower, I saw it. It was opened to an advertisement. For a jeweler!”

I resisted the urge to point out that the only reading material available in Dani’s bathroom was two years worth of Bride magazines. And that Ron apparently suffered from IBS because he spent an awful lot of time locked in that tiny room. Whenever I came by the apartment, I made sure I had an empty bladder. And I knew that if I was like Ron, sitting for hours on the toilet, I’d be looking for something to do, too. Including picking up back issues of Bride magazine.

I picked at the cinnamon roll, bringing a tiny bite to my lips. “Wow. That would be awesome.”

“
I know,” she squealed. “I was so excited, I spent the rest of the day looking at dresses online. I’m thinking of pale blue.”

“
For bridesmaid dresses?” With my fair skin and light hair, I looked awful in pastels. But with my luck, she’d probably just ask me to be an usher anyway.

“
No, silly,” she said. “For my dress. White is so last year.”

I didn’t think a white wedding dress ever went out of style, but I kept my mouth shut. I had more important matters to discuss.

“
Back to the living situation,” I said.

“
Oh. Right.”

“
I appreciate the offer,” I said, choosing my words carefully. Because, after all, I did need a place to stay. “But, I just want to be clear. It’s a temporary thing.”

“
Of course it is, Kat.” She struggled through another sip of coffee. “I know you’ll find something. And you’re going to graduate and get a great job and I can say I knew you when
…
”

I rolled my eyes. “Oh, please. I’m getting an English degree, Dani. Not going off to star in some blockbuster movie or write a bestseller.”

“
I know. I’m just proud of you. That’s all.” Her voice was a little wistful.

And, in that moment, I felt like a rotten best friend for all of my snarky thoughts about her and Ron. She loved me, unconditionally, and knew how to make me feel better. She wasn’t placating me. She meant what she said. And it did help.

“
Thanks,” I said. And I meant it. “OK. So the moving in thing. I’m hoping a month, max.”

“
That’s it?” She pouted. “I was kind of looking forward to some girl time. Like high school, you know?”

I nodded. “ I know. But I’m hoping that I can find my own place. I started putting together a resume. If things go well, I should get some interviews lined up pretty quick. Hopefully, find a job. And then find my own place.” I wished I felt as confident as I’d sounded.

She nodded. “Right, right. But maybe you’ll still have some time to help me pick the right shade of blue after Ron asks me to marry him?”

“
Of course,” I said. “I’ll always have time for you.”

Unless I was having to fight off hoboes in my new room.

FOUR

A queue of minivans and SUVs were lined up outside the house when I got home. My mom stood on the doorstep, talking to a Hispanic man I didn’t know. She gestured inside, making wide motions with her hands. He nodded and motioned to the truck parked in the driveway. Two men hopped out and went through the door. A few minutes later, they were hefting my mother’s floral couch through the doorway.

I crossed the grass. “What’s going on?”

My mom turned to me, smiling brightly. “Jorge here is taking the couch.”

“
Who is Jorge?”

“
The man with the couch. I listed some items on Chris’ List. He’s buying the sofa.”

“
You mean Craig’s List?”

“
Oh, right,” she nodded. “Craig’s List. We’ve got people lined up down the street, ready to pick things up.”

I looked over my shoulder. “Yes. Clearly. So, are you bringing anything with you to Florida?”

She held up a finger, silencing me, while Jorge paid her. He produced a stack of twenties, counting out in Spanish. Two hundred dollars. My mother thanked him and pocketed the money in her navy polyester slacks.

“
What were you saying, dear?” she asked.

“
Florida. Are you taking anything with you? Furniture? Clothes? Pictures of me from kindergarten?”

“
Of course.” The next car pulled into the driveway, a minivan, and a young woman stepped out of the driver’s seat. She opened the back door and reemerged with a sleepy toddler. “A few clothes. All my make-up. The Lupus people came and picked up the rest. Donations.”

So people with lupus were going to have my kindergarten pictures. Awesome. “But no furniture? What are you going to use there?”

“
Mitch found us a furnished unit at the resort.”

“
You mean the retirement community?”

“
No one calls them that there,” she said, frowning. “That makes us sound old. They are resorts.”

“
Resorts are where people vacation,” I pointed out. “And your ’resort’ has a median age of eighty. Living in Florida makes you sound old. I think it’s the state motto: ‘Age Here’ or something like that.”

My mother glared at me but didn’t get a chance to respond. The woman from the car balanced her toddler on her hip, his head lolling on her shoulder as she climbed the three steps to our small porch.

“
I’m here for the bookshelves?” she said, her voice barely a whisper. The toddler, a boy, startled before burying his face in her neck.

“
Oh, of course!” My mom flashed her a smile. “Are they going to fit in your car?”

She nodded. “I think so. I have the back seat down.”

“
Do you have someone to help you, dear?”

She shook her head.

My mother turned to me. “Katie can help.”

I frowned at her. “I can?”

“
Yes,” she said firmly. “You can. The two small bookshelves in the living room. They’ve been emptied. You just need to bring them out. Put them in her car.”

I sighed. “Fine.”

I trudged into the house and was shocked to see the half-empty living and dining rooms. The oak china hutch and matching dining room table were gone. The flat screen TV from the living room was gone, as was the low entertainment center it had sat on. My mother’s doll cabinets were emptied, the glass shelves dusted and stacked against the wall.

I grabbed the first bookcase and dragged it across the carpet. It was a low, two-shelf one but it was solid wood and it was heavy. I got it to the front door and then hefted it up. By the time I got to the woman’s car, my arms ached and I was covered in sweat. And I was pissed.

Not because I was having to help put my mother’s furniture into some stranger’s car. I mean, I wasn’t thrilled about manual labor, but I felt bad for the woman trying to pick things up. No, I was upset because my mother hadn’t offered any of it to me. Her own daughter. Neither she nor my dad had mentioned anything about selling stuff.