Six
Six
“You know, I’ve been thinking, ever since our fight yesterday morning, we haven’t really had a chance to spend any time alone. So, what if I stayed over at your place tonight?” asks Travis hopefully, as he pulls into the driveway. I feel a twinge of guilt in my stomach. Just a few minutes ago, I was alone in a parking lot with a guy Travis detests. And I honestly can’t say that being so close to Thomas has left me completely cold.
I take a deep breath before I respond, trying to come across as serene and unbothered. “Yeah, sure. That sounds great.” I really need to get a grip on this situation and get back to being the Vanessa I’ve always been, the one who doesn’t fall for the first halfway charming guy who comes along. The one who isn’t a liar.
When we walk in, I find a note on the stand in the entranceway: I’ll be back late—I’m having dinner again with Victor and colleagues. Kisses. I’m going to forget what my mother looks like if things keep going like this.
We quickly take off our shoes, and I turn on the heat. Barefoot, I walk across the Persian rugs that lie scattered between the hallway and the living room. Those rugs were the first major purchase my mom made when, twelve years ago, my father was hired as an accountant in a large multinational corporation, a job that was supposed to guarantee us a more affluent lifestyle. Twelve years of living, and these carpets look like they were just rolled out of the store yesterday.
Travis curls up in the recliner next to the sofa in the living room, while I go to the kitchen to see if there’s anything to make for dinner, but the refrigerator is empty. What the heck! Thanks for the consideration, Mom!
“I guess we’ll have to order in. There’s nothing here,” I shout to Travis from the kitchen.
“Okay, pizza or sushi?” he asks. If nothing else, he does know my tastes in takeout.
“They opened a Japanese restaurant nearby, and it looks like it’s really delicious,” I tell him, pulling the menu out from under a magnet on the refrigerator. I join him in the living room and sit on his lap.
“Japanese it is, then.”
“Want something to drink? Soda, beer, something like that?” I ask after placing my order online.
“A beer would be good; I don’t have to drive anymore today.”
“Did you know my mother always keeps one for you in the fridge? We may run out of food in this house, but there will always be a beer for Travis.”
“She loves me almost more than my own mother.” He chuckles complacently.
“Don’t kid yourself. It’s only because you remind her of my dad in the good old days. Only better.” I stick my tongue out at him and then go retrieve the bottle from the kitchen. I open it and hand it to him.
“Well, that’s a low bar to clear,” Travis adds, taking a drink.
It hurts a little, but he isn’t wrong. For years I believed that my dad was the perfect man, my undisputed hero, my safe haven. No one else would ever measure up. By the time I was in high school, Mom and Dad were fighting more and more often. My mother had always been dissatisfied with her life—our life—but, by the time I was a teenager it seemed like she resented Dad so much that she couldn’t even stand to hear the sound of his voice. I never really understood why. We weren’t fabulously wealthy, but Dad made sure we didn’t lack for anything. That wasn’t how Mom saw it, though. In the years that followed, things just got worse: the fights, the accusations, the separation, the threats, and finally the divorce.
I found myself tossed around in this tempest, used as a buffer, a pawn, and a scapegoat. Dad finally had enough and walked out. He left us the house and a bit of money. And he left me, even though I’d always been on his side. Dad and I had always had a special relationship; things with Mom were…harder. Watching her yell at Dad made me sick, and I told him it wasn’t his fault that she chose to be a stay-at-home mom rather than pursuing her career the way he had. But that was before I found out about Bethany.
Apparently, they had been together for years, in secret. She was younger than my mom and more accommodating. She was also well-established in her career. The only thing she was missing was a family, so I guess, she decided to take mine. Mom and Dad’s last big blowout had been over Bethany. Specifically, over the fact that my mother had found out through mutual friends that Bethany was pregnant. Very pregnant. My parents had just separated, and Dad was about to become a father again.
It was a blow to both of us. I felt betrayed, abandoned, wounded to my core. It was like my heart had shattered into uncountable splinters. But I was not ready to give up on my father completely. So I tried my best to accept my father’s new partner and their child. I stifled my pain and started visiting their house. Every time I walked through that door, my stomach would churn and toss, but that was something I was willing to tolerate if it meant I could still be with him. But I hadn’t counted on Bethany taking an instant dislike to me. “I don’t want her here,” were her exact words as I eavesdropped on their whispered discussion in the kitchen on my fifteenth birthday. She was convinced that I wanted to reconcile my parents and take Dad away from her.
I knew at that point that it was only a matter of time. I was terrified by the thought that, sooner or later, my father would have to choose between us, and I knew he would not choose me. I was his daughter, but she was his lover and the mother of his infant child, and she was with him all the time, working steadily to wear down any resolve he had.
Slowly, my father had begun to show up less often, call less frequently, until, one day, without me even realizing it, I saw him for the last time. From that moment on, his new life without me had officially begun. My sixteenth birthday was the first that I spent without him. Without seeing his smiling face as I unwrapped my presents or blew out the candles, without hearing his off-key voice singing “Happy Birthday.” I missed him terribly. I missed the atmosphere of warmth and family that only he could create. The special attention he gave me to make me feel cherished. I haven’t heard from him since.
I spent the first year calling him every day and crying, blaming myself and hating myself because I had not been enough to keep him around. He didn’t love me enough because I wasn’t worth loving. But that phase of self-pity was followed swiftly by searing anger. I came to hate him completely. He had chosen another woman over my mother, another child over me, new memories over the home we had built together. He had stolen from me the chance to grow up with a loving father, all to indulge the whim of his mistress. The pain of it wore me down; I wasn’t myself. I was angry with the world. I felt tossed aside and overlooked. Then one morning I had simply woken up and stopped. I had stopped crying, stopped blaming myself, stopped hoping for his change of heart. I even stopped hating him. Because I had realized that if he was capable of abandoning his daughter, then I, too, must be capable of learning to live without him.
I banish those bad memories and allow my thoughts to drift to Travis. Our story began just a year after I cut ties with my father. Travis was the twin brother of my best friend, Tiffany. Tiff and I met in high school, during the first semester of our freshman year when we had to write a paper together. We were so different that, at first, I hated the idea of studying with her. Yet, it was those very differences that wound up uniting us so deeply, eventually blossoming into a solid and loyal friendship that has now lasted for more than four years.
With Travis, however, everything was different. The first time I saw him was the day I went to their imposing mansion to work on the joint assignment I had with his sister. I was immediately thunderstruck by his curly red hair and dazzling smile. He didn’t seem to notice me, though, and I was too shy to approach him, so I spent the next two years quietly fantasizing about my best friend’s aloof brother. It took a lot of help from Tiff and an evening at the amusement park for Cupid to take his shot.
I was down in the dumps that night, and Travis was there for me. He bought me cotton candy and gave me a stuffed animal he won at a shooting booth. Over the next few days, he invited me to dinner, then to the movies and a few of his basketball games. Those first months were incredible. All the attention, love, and care that my father no longer lavished on me, I found in Travis. I don’t know exactly when the magic ended, replaced by indifference and insensitivity, but I began to realize that having a girlfriend like me was more convenient for him than anything else. His parents liked me and he lived to please them, and I never made much trouble. No matter how much he neglected me or took me for granted, I hung in there. It’s been a year now that I’ve been asking myself the same question: How much longer do I intend to just hang around?
When the takeout arrives, I put aside the past and gorge myself on sashimi, tempura, and soba while we watch TV. Almost halfway through the movie, Travis wraps his arm around my waist and pulls me onto his lap. So close to him, I allow myself to be guided along, as he positions me to his liking. And then he is kissing me, touching me, undressing me. I reciprocate, but my mind is elsewhere, lost in the memory of a pair of arrogant green eyes, a cocksure smile, the sound of a low, rough voice—no! I suddenly break away from Travis, who looks at me puzzled, his eyes clouded with desire.
“What’s wrong?” he asks.
I bring two fingers to my lips and, incredulous and guilty, try to regulate my suddenly labored breathing. I have never experienced such a thing before. Thinking of another guy while making out with my boyfriend? That is not me, and I am not going to allow that tattooed jackass to get inside my head and ruin this moment.
“N-nothing. I-I thought I heard the sound of the keys in the lock.” I spit out the first plausible excuse I can think of and start kissing him again to allay his suspicions. Travis wastes no time with foreplay. He gets up from the couch, taking me in his arms and carrying me upstairs to my room. We spend the rest of the night there, indulging in familiar, even mechanical sex that, I suddenly realize, stirs no particular feeling in me at all.
***
It is the smell of hot coffee and pancakes that wakes me the next morning. Beside me Travis is still sound asleep. I stare at him for a few seconds, and I let my fingers wander through his auburn curls, tousling them gently. I still feel a little guilty for having brief fantasies of another man, my mind playing tricks on me. Then I wake him up and persuade him to come downstairs to have breakfast.
As soon as we cross the threshold of the kitchen, I spot my mother, standing in front of the stove and beaming beatifically. “Welcome back, Mom,” I say through clenched teeth, directing a glare at her. I haven’t seen her since Monday morning, and now she’s trying to play Susie Homemaker?
She greets us with a radiant smile. Hypocrite. I know she’s longing to snap back at me, but she would never make a scene right in front of Travis. Not when it would reveal what a harpy she really is.
“Good morning, honey! And good morning to you, Travis. I made you guys coffee!” she chirps, pushing the steaming cup under my nose. She is trying to buy my good mood. I know her. I grab the cup and sit down at the table without sparing her a glance. Travis follows me, but, unlike me, he greets her warmly.
“And pancakes too!” she adds. She sets the plate down on the table and slides it toward me in one smooth movement. Apparently, she will make time for grocery shopping if it means she can give her dearest Travis the perfect breakfast. I look up at her but, before I can say anything, she’s already reaching into the refrigerator and grabbing the whipped cream and maple syrup. She pours the syrup over the pancakes and makes two small mountains of cream on top of it. Fine. I surrender.
I give my mom a break, forking up a piece of pancake and dipping it in whipped cream.
“Travis, dear, did you sleep well? Are you going to eat anything? I know you don’t like pancakes, but I can cook you some bacon if you’d prefer that. Or some eggs?”
I cannot suppress an eye roll.
“Thank you, Mrs. White, I will gladly have a cup of coffee,” he replies.
“Oh, dear, how many times do I have to tell you? Call me Esther! Here’s yours, no sugar.” She hands it to him with a giggle and pats his shoulder.
“Call me Esther,” I mimic under my breath. Travis stifles a laugh.
“So how are your parents? Your sister?”
“Dad is in Europe these days. Tiffany’s okay, but I need Nessy to help me convince her not to keep majoring in sociology. She would do great at Dad’s company with me someday, but she’s dead set on becoming a criminologist.”
“And what’s wrong with that?” I ask. “Tiffany succeeds in everything she does. If she wants to become a criminologist, she’s going to be the best criminologist in the country. You should be on her side, you know. You’re her brother, her twin!”
“Don’t listen to her, Travis,” my mother interjects. “My daughter lives in la-la land sometimes. Tiffany should follow your example and carry on with your father’s business.” Mom draws closer and rests a hand on my shoulder. “My Nessy should also understand the importance of building a realistic future for herself that can guarantee her financial stability, rather than wasting time chasing fantasies. I’ve always told her that she should study law…”
Okay, that’s enough. I get up from the table, furious. I haven’t seen her in forty-eight hours, and now she’s going to show up just to tell me how I should live my life? No way. “Thanks for breakfast, Mom, but no one asked for your advice.” I storm up to my room to finish getting dressed. As I do, I listen with one ear to my mother and Travis, who continue chatting cheerfully in the kitchen.
***
“I can’t believe you’re trying to get Tiff to change her major,” I blurt out as soon as we get into the pickup truck. Travis rolls his eyes, but I just keep going: “You do know that money and social prestige are not the only things of value in life, right? You and my mother are insufferable when you get together.”
“You always blow everything out of proportion. Maybe your mother is right.”
I huff and make to turn on the radio, but Travis intercepts my hand and squeezes it. “Hey, last night was good. Let’s not ruin it.”
I take a deep breath and, overwhelmed by a wave of guilt, I don’t protest.
Arriving at campus, I immediately catch sight of Alex near the entrance of the liberal arts building. I run up to him as Travis moves to walk with some boys from the team.
I jump on Alex’s back, and he gasps. “Nessy! I’ve been looking for you!” he grins, dropping me to the ground.
“Found you! Tell me everything.”
“My mother came back from Italy today…”
“Wait, what? But you just got back from Santa Barbara a week ago!” I say, flabbergasted. Sometimes I forget how much his mother travels for work. She’s seen so much of the world, I envy her. When we were thirteen, she took us with her to Washington, D.C., and we went on a guided tour of the city. It was a beautiful day, still one of my happiest memories with Alex.
“Yes, she had to organize an auction in a library in Florence. And she told me to give you this little souvenir. Here, I think you’ll like it.” He takes a paper bag out of his backpack and hands it to me. Inside, I find a package wrapped in tissue paper, and I tear it open like a little girl on Christmas Day. When I realize I’m holding a first edition of Pride and Prejudice , I almost faint with excitement.
“Alex! Is this a joke? Your mother got me a first edition of my favorite book?” I shout incredulously. “I…I…I can’t accept this, it must have cost her a fortune, I don’t…” I try to give it back to him, but he blocks me.
“Nessy, my mother doesn’t want it back, she made me promise I would force you to keep it. Besides, you know her, unearthing goodies like this is her job. She likes to share them with people when she can.”
“But it’s too much! I mean, look, it’s an actual first edition! I would have been happy with a little David magnet too.” I continue to gaze in wonder at the novel, turning it over in my hands. “I just don’t know what to say!”
“A ‘thank you’ will be more than enough,” he replies, amused.
“Thank you! Thank you so much!” I hug him very tightly.
“Let’s get coffee before class, shall we?”
I nod, contemplating the novel. It really is beautiful.
We sit across from each other at a vacant table and sip our drinks while chatting about nothing in particular. I tell him about the warm welcome I received from my mother this morning after days of absence and her conversation with Travis.
“So,” he goes on, wiping away some grains of sugar that fell from his doughnut, “how are things with you and Travis?”
I put the coffee cup down and look at him. “Oh, let’s call it…good.”
“Let’s call it?”
I stretch my legs under the table and sigh. “It’s been a weird time, this summer. Travis has been gone a lot, and now we are trying to get back into the swing of things.”
Alex nods, but he doesn’t seem entirely convinced. “I don’t know, Nessy. In these two years, I’ve never seen you as distant from him as you are now.”
I shrug my shoulders, caught out. I don’t have a chance to argue because I’m distracted by a group of boys. Among them is Thomas, with his phone in hand and Shana in tow. They sit on the high stools in front of the counter, and I notice that Thomas has his head bowed, peering at something on his phone. Shana reaches over him and flirtatiously whispers something in his ear, but he pays her no mind. Then she starts stroking the back of his head, but that’s a bust too. Thomas just continues to look at the phone, dead to the outside world. Finally, the redhead is annoyed enough to turn away and talk to a blond-haired boy I don’t think I’ve seen before.
“Who are you looking at?” asks Alex, bringing me to my senses.
“Um, nothing, I’ve just never seen that blond-haired guy there at the counter. Do you know him?” Yet another lie. What is happening to me? Alex turns and stretches his neck to look at the group of boys.
“I think he’s an engineering major. Why?” he asks suspiciously.
“Curiosity.” I redirect the conversation quickly to something that will distract Alex—my relationship with Travis. About ten minutes later, I see the guys walk toward the exit. I follow them with my eyes but I notice that one of them is missing. As they reach the threshold, I see Shana turn in my direction. The nasty look she gives me makes my skin crawl, even from a distance. I straighten up in my chair, confused and flustered. Since when does Shana know I exist?
“Hello, stranger.” Thomas’s deep voice is right next to me, and I can feel his warm breath on my ear, which causes a strange flickering sensation in my belly. I gasp as he slides into the chair beside me, with his legs splayed and one arm stretched across the back of my chair. Alex looks at us with wide eyes.
“Stop calling me that,” I hiss, regaining lucidity.
“Calling you what?” he retorts, pretending not to understand.
I glare at him. “You know what. What the hell are you doing here anyway? You’re not welcome.”
“I’m greeting a friend. Isn’t that what ‘friends’ do?”
“You and I are not friends. I already told you that.”
Thomas chuckles, takes my hands, and crushes them against his chest, right where his heart would be.
“Are you telling me that last night was just a game to you?” he asks, seemingly hurt.
I look into his eyes, stunned, not daring to look at Alex and see his reaction. Then, Thomas bursts out laughing, and I realize that he is only mocking me. Again.
“I wanted to experience the thrill of saying that for once, rather than just hearing it yelled at me.” He smiles at me with satisfaction.
“You’re such an idiot.” I lower my eyes to my coffee, uncomfortable. I hear Alex clear his throat. My God, what a mess.
“Am I gonna see you in any of my classes today?” Thomas needles.
“No, fortunately.”
“Too bad, I’ll miss seeing your pouty little face every time I turn around,” he teases me.
“Well, I certainly won’t miss having classes constantly interrupted so someone can feed his ego.” I get up from the table, sling the book bag over my shoulder, and gesture for Alex to leave with me. Our first classes are going to start soon, and I have no desire to waste any more time with this bigheaded, tattooed prick.
“Okay, now explain to me what just happened. Do you know that guy?” Alex asks the moment we leave the cafeteria.
“No! Of course I don’t! We just have a couple of classes together, and he’s on the basketball team with Travis, you know that. He’s just a blowhard who thinks he’s God’s gift to women, nothing more complex than that.”
“We are talking about Thomas Collins, right? He never talks to a girl without ulterior motives.”
“If by ‘ulterior motives,’ you mean ‘irritating me at every available opportunity,’ then you are quite right.”
“You know what I mean, Nessy. Don’t be naive.”
I burst out laughing. “You’re way off base, Alex.”
He crosses his arms over his chest. “Then why are you blushing right now?”
“What? I’m not…I’m not blushing!”
“You are, though,” he insists with a grimace that says “gotcha.” “Look, I don’t know what you two are up to but—”
“We’re not up to anything!” I interrupt.
“I’m just saying, you’re better off not getting involved with him. You know I’m no Travis fan, but Thomas is somehow even worse. Besides, frankly speaking, I doubt he’s pursuing you for your own sake. He hates Travis.”
I know he’s saying this for my benefit, and I even know he’s got several good points. Yet, for some strange reason that I cannot fully grasp, his advice annoys me.
“So he couldn’t possibly be attracted to me? Is that what you mean?”
“What?” he asks in amazement.
“I get it. Who could possibly be interested in a girl who spends her day reading or studying, a shut-in with no social life at all?” I look away from Alex, not wanting him to see my eyes get misty.
“What are you talking about?” Alex grabs my arm and pulls me back, forcing me to look at him before we enter the classroom. “Guys like Thomas don’t love anyone. All they know how to do is use women. Don’t fall into this trap,” he explains to me calmly.
“I’m not falling for any trap. Travis has already warned me to keep my guard up. He doesn’t even want me to talk to Thomas.”
“I hate to admit it, but Travis may have actually gotten something right this time,” says Alex.
“Well, I hate to admit this, but you are blowing things out of proportion,” I retort, annoyed. All this scaremongering is getting old, and I hate being treated like some helpless child. I know exactly what kind of man Thomas Collins is. And I know full well that people like him ought to be kept at arm’s length, if not farther away. “You should trust me,” I grumble as we sit down. “I mean, yes, he is indisputably hot, with that bad boy appeal, but I’m not an idiot.”
“That ‘bad boy appeal’…” he repeats, incredulous. “So you are into him, then?”
“What? No! I didn’t say that!” I sputter. Alex gives me a puzzled look, which manages to make me feel even more discombobulated. “And you seem to have forgotten the most important part of all this: I am in a relationship. I would never cheat on Travis. You know that about me.”
It’s true, what I’m saying. I am not a cheater. But why then do I feel like such a wreck whenever Thomas is around?