A Fine Mess (Over the Top) (21 page)

Superpower wish: regenerative abilities,
regrow my heart
.

Pacing, I wear a path on my floor, quick, short steps as I glance furtively at my door. As hard yet rewarding as the past month has been, today might set me back. I visit Dr. Renford twice a week, and we examine the whys of what I do. The end of my relationship with Kevin, Jim’s death, Sawyer’s betrayal—they’re all catalysts, change and trauma my triggers. She takes me back further, to my grandmother and my coping mechanisms in times of stress, unearthing uncomfortable feelings. Although the sessions are draining, I feel lighter when I leave, like releasing clenched hands.

My urges almost bested me once. Four necklaces in hand, I was about to pay for them when the saleslady asked, “Are these gifts?” I stuttered. I shrugged. I remembered the list of questions Dr. Renford said I should ask myself when the urge to shop strikes:

Do I need these things?
No.

Why am I here?
To forget Sawyer.

Will I feel better or worse afterward?
Definitely worse.

I apologized and hurried out of the store empty-handed.

I’ve found strength I didn’t realize I had, fortitude that drains as I glance at the door. Yesterday, Dr. Renford suggested I think about my farmhouse, about letting go of things, emphasizing that the people who owned them will live on in memory, their lives no less special when their belongings are gone. Tackle small sections, and give myself twenty seconds to decide if items should be kept or donated. She suggested I open up to my friends, too. Erase the secretive aspect of what I do, shedding shame along the way. Build a support network of people.

Hence my wringing hands.

Raven should be here any minute, Shay’s face up on my computer shortly. The girls rallied when I shared my news about Sawyer. The half-truth I told: he changed his mind, his bachelor status reinstated, all words of love simply him caught in a fantasy. There were indignant shouts, choice insults hurled. That night they crashed at my apartment, Shay with a dozen cupcakes, Raven with alcohol. We binged and hugged and danced to cheesy tunes, my headache the next morning totally worth it. Shay returned to Vancouver a few days later, both she and Raven calling me daily, reminders I’m not alone.

My friends have wrapped me with love, and I’ve reciprocated with lies.

Knocks sound through my door. Blinking rapidly, I fix my hairband and smooth my blue skirt, taking time to adjust the shoulders of my cable-knit sweater, as though looking put together will make me so.

No turning back. Truth it is. Face the fire.

I open the door.

Raven pulls me into a hug, holding on longer than usual. “How are you?”

“Okay.”

“Like
okay
, okay. Or just okay?”

“Is that a trick question?”

She drops her purse on the floor, hangs her jacket, and gets comfortable on my couch. “Have you heard from the asshole?”

I sit beside her, legs tucked below me. “No. But I blocked him on Facebook and Twitter. On my e-mail and phone, too. If he tries to reach me, a SWAT team will have him on the ground in seconds.”

She smirks. “I’d pay to see that.”

I would have, initially. Sawyer left a churning mess of resentment and hurt in his wake. Yelling at him on the phone was liberating, anything to inflict a fraction of my pain on him. Time tames tempers, though. Not working together has helped. I miss the creative thrill Moondog inspired, but I’ve thrown myself back into my purse and accessory business, designing new styles and searching out new buyers. Still, I analyze his call relentlessly—picking apart each syllable, scrutinizing the consonants. I can’t help thinking something happened, something he won’t share that embittered him. The Sawyer I fell in love with would only push me away to protect me. The Sawyer I’m
still
in love with.

When you lose your sight, your visual memory heightens.

But his voice was so sure, no waver of doubt when he shattered my world. There’s nothing left to do but accept his story and live with the ache in my bones.

The girls, however, have maintained their fury. “I was thinking of putting a herpes ad in the
Vancouver Sun
,” Raven says. “Something tasteful with his picture. Make sure it gets distributed to all the bars.”

As if my pending confession weren’t enough, the thought of him in a bar, sending a woman a drink and taking her home, turns my stomach, an ulcer imminent. “I doubt that would stop him. He’d probably sign copies and hand them out.”

She unzips her black Doc Martens and tosses her boots on the floor, mirroring my pose, feet tucked below her. “Such a fucking asshole.”

“I thought Shay reserved that name for Kolton.”

“I’m cool with Douchelord. Or we could call him Derek.”

“Derek?”

“Remember the hottie from lunch with Shay? I went out with his friend last night, got talked into going to dinner, which I normally avoid. Derek didn’t shut up about this pyramid scheme he started, then he ordered lobster with truffle butter and a stupid-expensive bottle of wine, and claimed he forgot his wallet. I think Derek would be fitting.”

I snort. “I’m sorry. That’s not funny. But oh my God, does Shay know?”

“No. I’m trying to find the best way to tell her, like make her really guilty about it.” She gestures to my computer on the coffee table. “When are we Skyping?”

I check my watch, my mouth suddenly parched. “Now.”

“Why the secretive meeting? Are we starting an occult group?”

The thermostat hasn’t changed, my nerves the only catalyst for my damp palms. I shake my sweater, the momentary air cooling my face as I connect with Shay on Skype. “I’d rather tell you both at once,” I say.

Shay’s face pops up, her curly hair filling the screen. “Hello, lovelies.” She blows a kiss at her camera. “Fancy meeting you here.”

Raven slides over, her hip pressed to mine as we squeeze together, and she leans toward the screen. “I’m not talking to you.”

When she doesn’t embellish, Shay says, “If this is about the time I was drunk and mistook your shoes for the toilet, I’m done apologizing. It was an accident. It could’ve happened to anyone.”

“Nope. Totally over it. I get to use that gem in your wedding speech one day. This is about your Cupid activities when you were in town.”

They laugh as Raven recounts her horrendous date, and I strip my blue nail polish off in sections.
Tell them. Tell them. Tell them.
If they pity me like Sawyer, treat me with kid gloves, I doubt my therapy techniques will help much. If they get mad, I’ll probably buy all of Yorkdale Shopping Centre. Still, they deserve the truth, and I’m tired of hiding. “I have a problem.”

Raven waves at the computer to quiet Shay, the two of them choking on their laughter. “Sorry, what?”

I fold my arms and fist my hands under my armpits. “I have a problem, something I haven’t told you about. It’s why I wanted to talk.”

Shay scrunches her nose. “We suck. We totally hijacked your meeting. What’s up?”

Bouncing my heel, I squeeze my sides tighter, the air in the room stifling. Maybe I have a resident ghost who likes to mess with thermostats. “I shop a lot,” I say, the same words I used with Sawyer. Hammering bangs from the hallway, my neighbor remodeling his apartment. My pulse thrums with each thump—faster, harder, louder.

When I was sixteen, I came clean to my parents about cheating on a French test. My teacher warned me a call would be coming, and I walked home a bundle of nerves. Twisted with distress, I debated joining the circus. I planned my horseback riding act, where I’d stand upright and do backflips atop my galloping mare. In the end, I endured the disappointment on my father’s face and the grounding I deserved. The buildup was worse than the main event. Stressing. Overthinking. Hopefully, the same holds true today.

Raven runs a hand down her dark hair. “Okay, but that’s not news. Your craft room is full to bursting with stuff.” She looks down the hall as if she can see the crammed space.

My apartment is neat, the glass dining table behind us spotless, nothing but a blue antique pottery bowl in the center. The open kitchen is as tidy, only a pad of paper, coffee machine, and toaster on the white granite counter. Sure, my craft room is packed to the gills, but the apartment as a whole is ordinary. Normal.

They don’t know the half of it.

“I shop a lot,” I say again. “Not just the stuff in the craft room. I bought a farmhouse after my nana died, and I’ve been storing things there.”

Thump, thump, thump
goes the hammer. My heart competes with the sound.

Shay’s face gets bigger as she leans toward her camera, her hazel eyes large with worry. “What kind of things? Like how much stuff?”

“Lots. Things from antique and thrift shops. Flea market finds. And I keep things, too, like my nana’s belongings.”

Confused, Raven squints. “But I was there when you went to donate her things. Did you buy them back?”

I uncross my arms and shove my hands under my thighs to stop the trembling. “No. I lied. I drove everything to a storage place until I bought my property. I did it again, recently, with Jim’s things. I kind of panicked when Kevin’s mom was getting rid of his stuff. The need to keep it got out of control. It’s all at my place.”

“Are we talking hoarding, Lil? Like an actual illness?” Shay asks.

“Yes and no. More of a compulsive shopper, but I hold on to things, too. And when I’m stressed or anxious, I shop to calm myself. I keep everything and organize my purchases. I feel like the stuff I have…” This is the worst part, the moment my crazy shines. No backpedaling now. “It’s like the items I buy embody the person who owned them. Like letting go of things would be letting go of them, even if I never met the owners.” I search Shay’s face for any sign of horror or judgment. She only bites her lip.

Raven frowns. “I’m such an ass.” She angles toward me, her skinny jeans pulling tighter. “All those jokes I made, making fun of you. If I had known it was this serious, I’d never have done that.”

Shay talks over her. “How come you never told us? We could’ve helped, maybe. Or you wouldn’t have felt so alone.”

The relief is instant, their concern wrapping me like the ocean, keeping me afloat. As a teen I’d get migraines. Lights would flash behind my eyes, the pain a vise around my temples. I’d burrow under my covers and sleep in darkness until it lifted. Then there was tranquility, bliss; the absence of pain is most appreciated in the aftermath.

I squeeze Raven’s wrist, overcome with lightness. “It’s all right. I know you were joking.” Then to Shay, “I was embarrassed, and I’d convince myself I had a handle on things, until I didn’t. This time got to be too much. Which is good, I guess. I’m seeing a therapist now, and she suggested it’s time I tell my friends. My parents will be next, but I’m not ready for that.”

Shay’s eyes fill half the screen, my friend probably wishing she could jump through the computer. “I’m glad you told us and you’re talking to someone. Anything you need, I’m here for you. I really hate being so far from you guys.” Then she pauses. “Does Sawyer know? When he was up there, is that when it came to a head? I swear to God, if that’s why he ended things, I’ll key his car.”

I pull a lock of hair over my shoulder and twist it around my finger. “Between you and Raven, he’ll end up driving a wreck with STD posters of his face plastered around town.”

Raven smacks her hands together. “I can make it a student art project. Imagine the parent phone calls. Maybe I could get myself fired.”

Her joke lightens the mood, and I grin, thankful. “A creative idea, but I’ll pass. Sawyer saw the property. He helped me realize I needed to talk to someone, but I don’t think that’s why he broke up with me. He actually said it’s why he
stayed
with me.”

Shay cocks her head. “I don’t follow.”

“He knew something was off with me when Jim died, said he planned to break up when we got back from Belize but stayed to make sure I was okay. I’m not really sure why he ended things. I mean, he says it’s because he doesn’t want a commitment, but it doesn’t compute. Not with how emotional it got between us. Even after Belize, he said things that don’t jibe with his phone call. I still miss him, even though I shouldn’t.”

No matter how much time passes, he’s still everywhere. Making fun of my flossing when I’m washing up, under the covers when I wake up flushed from a dream. The anger has been carried out to sea, hurt left in its place like refuse washed ashore. But his quiet moments after the farmhouse niggle at me, too—how he’d zone out, frowning while deep in thought. Something more was going on. Afraid he might say my issues were too much for him, I never asked. Not that it matters now.

“Have you seen him?” I ask Shay. Maybe hearing he’s resumed his life of women and debauchery will help me put him out of my mind. Thinking it is one thing; knowing he’s moved on will make it unavoidable.

She shakes her head. “No. I’ve bugged Kolton, but I think there’s a guy code in effect. He says Sawyer’s fine, working as usual. Won’t elaborate. I have zero intel.”

More mystery. More unanswered questions. More days and weeks of missing him.

“Whatever,” I say, convincing them as much as me of my indifference. “What’s done is done. I need to focus on me. I’m planning on tackling the farmhouse soon. Going up in a week or so.” I face Raven and pick at my cuticles, a fresh wave of nerves rushing. “Maybe you’ll come with? I have to make all the decisions, but you can help pack the stuff I donate. If you’re busy, I get it. I can do it on my own. Just, if you want to, it would—”

“Of course I’ll come. Tell me when and I’m there.”

“I wish I could be there, too.”

At Shay’s whiny voice, Raven leans in and kisses the screen. “We don’t love you any less. But the cupcake shop you frequented might go out of business.”

Shay’s eyes light up. “Honestly, the one here is ridiculous. They make these mint chocolate cupcakes with pieces of Junior Mint in the icing. Orgasmic.”

“Might be worth a flight,” Raven says. “Actually, I was thinking of flying down there when school’s out. Maybe spend a few weeks with you. Would that be cool?”

Shay shrieks. She squeals and claps, my girls bubbling with excitement as though I didn’t just confess I’m a freak, and my relief is palpable. I no longer have to pretend I’m normal. If I’m stressed in a shop or need to vent, I can rely on them.