Catching Raven (21 page)

“Of course I did. Making a decision to terminate a pregnancy is never
simple or easy, especially when you’re the one going through it. The constant
back and forth weighs heavy on your soul. At least, for me it did. But bringing
you into this world and raising you under all those circumstances didn’t feel
right, either.”

She leans forward and clasps her hands, her face becoming serious.

“I need you to understand something, Eric. Despite everything I’ve
confessed, you are, and always will be, the best thing to come out of that
situation. I love you infinitely. That feeling has stayed with me since your first
breath, and it’ll be there long after your last. Maybe I didn’t want you in the
beginning, but when I finally had you, my heart inflated with so much love it
hurt. I didn’t want to be responsible for screwing you up. I told myself I’d
rather have the heartache of losing you to Max than the guilt of failing you.
I’m sorry things didn’t work out that way. But before you decide to crucify me,
please keep in mind that I was a traumatized kid who was scared to death of the
unknown, and had no clue how to handle it.”

I exhale and run my hands through my hair, glancing up at the ceiling and
allowing the tears to flow. “Jesus. We’re so fucked up, Mom.”

“But we’re fighters,” she retorts. “And we’ll figure this out together.”

I lower my chin. “How?”

“We’ll start with therapy.”

“And after?”

“Then we’ll get to know each other again...if you’re open to it,” she
adds, not wanting to push anything on me prematurely.

We have such a long way to go, but it’s a start. Repairing the
relationship won’t be easy, but hopefully it’ll be worth it. I have to trust my
gut and go with it. The upside is it can’t get much worse. If the idea of
cutting ties with her seems better than our current situation, then we’re about
as shattered as we can possibly be.

I nod my acceptance.

She slumps back against the couch, her actions mirroring how I feel
inside: exhausted, relieved, and cautiously optimistic. For the next several
minutes we sit in silence, reflecting on everything that’s happened. I glance
over at the counter. Her glass of tea is covered in beads of sweat, the ice
mostly melted.

Her soft voice cuts in. “What have you been painting recently?”

My gaze drifts to the blank canvas that’s been sitting there for days.

“Absolutely nothing,” I answer, bringing my attention back to her. “Can’t
seem to get inspired these days.”

“Why not?”

“It’s complicated.”

“So un-complicate it.”

I don’t want to delve that deep. We’re not ready. The less she knows
about Raven, the better. When you find your person, you try your damnedest to
shield them from any baggage that comes along with you. I may not have always been
successful, but it wasn’t for lack of effort. Like it or not, Mom’s still
baggage. And even though Rave and I aren’t together anymore, I’m still
protective of her.

“What’s her name?” my mom asks, sensing my struggle.

“I’d rather not discuss it.”

“Is it the girl you wanted to tell me about a few months ago?”

I keep my lips sealed and my expression unreadable, refusing to budge on
this one. She drops the subject and swaps it out for a different one.

“What about painting?”

“What about it?”

“Are you in the mood?”

“Mom, I already told you it’s not happening.”

“Oh, come on. Meet me halfway.”

I clench my jaw to stifle my irritation. For years I’ve adopted the
mentality that this woman doesn’t deserve shit from me. Retraining myself not
to think that way takes constant reinforcement, and a lot of getting used to.

“Fine. We’ll paint. But I’m telling you right now, the only one who will
be painting anything worthwhile is you.”

I stand up and gather all the supplies. The tarp is already laid out from
my last failed attempt. And the one before that. I toss her a can and move
back, allowing her to step into my universe. She shakes the can vigorously and
spouts the first streak of paint. Watching her reminds me of being a kid again.
The way she fearlessly attacks the canvas, pouring all of her emotion into
layers of vibrant color. My eyes close as I breathe in the fumes. I’ve never
considered art to be my calling, but honestly, I can’t imagine doing anything
else. Nothing compares. One of the many things I’ve discovered about myself
since being here.

Somewhere in the middle, my mom decides to stop and offers me the can. I
shake my head. She sticks her hand out further, prompting me. Reluctantly, I
seize it and step forward to finish what she started. I visualize Raven’s face
to try and conjure up some inspiration. Then, I proceed to do something I
haven’t done in months; I paint. All it takes is a few lines for the creative
barrier to collapse. Every repressed emotion comes flooding out and releases
onto the canvas, freeing me. And if that experience wasn’t notable enough,
something even more remarkable happened:

Today, I met my mother.

e     r     i     c

After finishing up my Skype session
with Dr. Coleman, I pack up my bags and venture outside. Beaches are overrated.
I’m ready to get the hell out of here. A heavy dose of perma-vacation boredom
was all it took for me to realize I’m not built for this shit. Didn’t help that
Mom overstayed her welcome and ended up bouncing a few days ago. She and I are
supposed to start family therapy next month. We’ll see how that one goes. Not
holding by breath in case she decides to revert back to being a vapid
narcissist.

Stay positive, Eric.

Hope for the best; prepare for the worst.

To her give her props, she appears to have a firm grasp on reality. No
more of this noncommittal, I-refuse-to-take-ownership-of-my-transgressions
bullshit. Only took twenty-six years to reach that point, but alas, we’ve
arrived. Forecast for family bonding looks promising. Chances of selective
perception have decreased; meanwhile, compromise is gaining momentum.

I throw my bag into the truck, climb inside, and start her up. A memory
flashes before my eyes when I stare at the window in front of me. A little boy
standing alone, watching the driveway, tears streaming down his face. An echo
of gravel crunching beneath the tires reverberates in his ears. Abandonment
finds a new soul to burrow in.

I was that kid.

Only this time, nobody’s getting ditched.

Grinning, I throw the truck in reverse and crank up the music. “It’s My
Life” by The Animals blasts through the speakers. Easily could’ve been my
life’s motto. I lower the windows, throw one arm up on the steering wheel, and
belt out the lyrics.

My paint-splotched fingers drum along to the beat. Head bobs too and fro.
Raven’s Audrey Hepburn pendant sways from side to side, secured from the mirror
above. A gust of fresh air causes my shirt to flutter against my skin. I glance
in the rearview mirror and chuck up the deuces to a rapidly shrinking Crystal
Beach.

* * *

Four-and-a-half hours later, I swerve
into Raven’s apartment complex with an empty stomach, a full bladder, less than
a quarter tank of gas, 12% battery life on my phone, and 2% worth of patience
left. The clock on my dash reads 3:12 p.m., which actually means it’s 4:12.
Should’ve stopped home to shower beforehand, but I’m too anxious/excited to see
her. Totally unable to decipher which one is more prominent. My heart hasn’t
been this strung out since my heroin days.

Kidding, only kidding.

After spending an eon apart, it’s imperative to make a good hygienic
impression. I wrestle deodorant out of my duffel bag and reapply, then toss it
when I’m done. I jump out of the truck and take a sweeping glance around the
parking lot. No sign of Raven’s car. My feet carry me to the stairs and tackle
them two at a time until I reach her door.

Knock, knock, knock.

I do the potty dance for a hot minute, then knock again—more forcefully
this time.

No answer.

She’s probably at work or with Mia. I huff an exasperated breath and
sprint back down to my truck, praying to God I don’t piss myself along the way.
I cruise out of the parking lot, debating whether or not to call Mia. I don’t
want to deplete my battery life even more. The girl likes to talk, and I’m not
in a particularly chatty mood—unless of course, Raven’s there.

Thinking, thinking….

Nope. Definitely not worth the risk. Our convo needs to be done in
person.

Remembering that Mia lives with Chase now, I hop on Mopac and head in
that direction. Fifteen minutes and an aching bladder later, I burst through
their door without knocking, and race to the nearest bathroom like I’m
experiencing a severe case of the Taco Bell shits.

Instant relief follows.

Toilet flushes.

Hands get washed.

Footsteps register at the exact moment the door flies open to reveal a
bold, yet confused Chase. He observes the scene.

“Dude, what the
fuck?
”

Outstanding formal introduction.

“I had to go, man,” I stress. “You don’t even know. I almost gave myself
a golden shower on the way over.”

Mia’s voice cuts in.

“Eric?”

I lean past the doorframe and give her a sexy smirk.

“Oh, my God!” she runs up and collides into me. My arms instinctively
wrap around her torso and lift her up off the ground. “Hey, Strawberry.”

She wiggles free, unable to contain her excitement, and smacks the side
of my arm. “Where the hell have you been? We missed you.”

“Sorry. Needed to get away and recharge.”

“Took you long enough. Next time keep us in the loop,” she warns. “You’ve
chewed me out for using the exact same tactic, remember?”

Girl’s got a solid point.

I sneak past them and head for the kitchen. “I know, I know. I’m an
asshole. I should’ve called.”

“When did you get back into town?” Chase inquires, trailing two steps
behind me.

“Like, twenty minutes ago. I stopped by Raven’s place but she must be at
work or something.” I come to a gradual halt and spin around to face them.
“Figured she was with you two. Obviously not.”

Chase and Mia both tense up and exchange a knowing look.

“What?” I ask, eyes darting between them.

Mia’s expression becomes apologetic.

“Raven’s gone.”

I blink a few times, not fully processing what she said. It takes a
moment or two, but then it hits me like a ton of bricks. My throat goes dry.

“What? Where?”

“She left for Cali about a week ago,” Chase answers.

My chest tightens. She left without saying goodbye? Dead silence falls
over the room. Feels like someone just pulled the rug out from under me. Here I
was under the impression I had some extra time set aside to prepare myself and
make amends. She’s long gone, and everyone knew it but me.

My fists ball up. I shoot Chase an accusatory glare. “You told me I had a
month left. That was three weeks ago. What the hell happened?”

“She bumped up the date,” Mia explains.

“And y’all didn’t think to update me?”

“It was a snap decision. We barely got any notice ourselves,” Chase
responds.

Mia nods in agreement. “He’s right. She stopped by the morning of to say
goodbye, then she left. You never would’ve made it back in time.”

Caught in a daze, I sink back against the wall for support. My legs feel
weak and my heart feels heavy. The combination drags me straight to the floor.
How did this happen? Things weren’t supposed to turn out this way. I was going
to come back and surprise her. Tell her everything I should’ve said a long time
ago. Indulge her about my past. Fantasize about the future—our future. Profess
how much I love her. Now it’s too late.

Mia crouches down in front of me and makes eye contact. She doesn’t have
to say anything. The look on her face says it all.

“I’m so sorry, Eric.”

I nod absently, unable to form a single thought.

She tilts her head up toward Chase. He shrugs in response, not knowing
what to say. Her worried gaze swings back to mine. “Is there anything I can
do?”

Just as I’m about to shake my head no, an idea strikes. I lurch forward
and slap my palms against the wood floor animatedly. She reels back in
surprise. I hop to my feet and she automatically follows suit.

“What do you need?” she asks pointedly.

“Give me her address.”

r     a     v     e    
n

For the last couple weeks, I’ve been
settling into my new life and getting acclimated to my surroundings. It hasn’t
been without its challenges. An hour ago, I was on the verge of tears. As of
now, I’m in love. It switches constantly. Classes don’t start for another six
weeks, but I wanted to come out here early to establish myself and make the
transition as smooth as possible. Aside from the panic attacks—every hour on
the hour—it’s going swimmingly.

Living conditions are a joke. I’m in a crappy, rundown studio apartment
because it’s the only thing I can afford out here. The place is half-furnished,
and seriously under-decorated. My body is surviving solely on microwavable
Spanish rice, Mac & Cheese, and boxed wine. I try not to complain, though.
This was my decision. Pursuing my dream is worth the sacrifice. Must keep
reminding myself that there are people out there in the world with real problems
who would kill for my situation.

Perspective: it’s jarring.

On the upside, I’ve made a new friend. Her name is Everly. She lives down
the street in an even crappier studio apartment, and is quite literally a
starving musician. I’ve concluded that this is how all the skinny bitches stay
slim—food deprivation. And not necessarily by their own accord. Although, there
are plenty of
those
types walking around, too. Guess I can kiss my
curves goodbye for the time being. Until I can afford to eat real food, I’m stuck
on the Welfare diet.

The biggest challenge I’m facing is being jobless. Traffic here rivals
Austin’s, so Metro is the new limo. Good thing I found a place near the
University that’s within walking distance. Mission
Land A J.O.B.
has
commenced. Prospects are slightly disheartening, but the high turnover rates
aren’t. I’m biding my time for a phone call. Fingers crossed.

I take a short break from sketching designs and glance around at the
beautiful scenery. I’m sitting on a park bench in Arlington Garden, enjoying a
macchiato and soaking up the warm rays. Being outside helps me combat
homesickness. I don’t know why, but whenever I’m outdoors, my future seems
brighter, my dreams so much more attainable. In a city where the possibilities
are endless and the rejection is vast, all or nothing stakes force you to
really live. Also, I like the people watching. Everything goes, fashion-wise in
the Southern Cali. So many unique ideas.

Suddenly, the sound of a child’s laughter steals my attention. I twist my
head and stare over my shoulder. An adorable little girl, probably no older
than four or five, is busy playing in the wildflowers. I smile reflexively. As
if she can sense me watching, she glances up and freezes. When she decides that
I’m not Stranger Danger, she comes trotting over, her tight ringlets bouncing
with every step.

“Hi!” she exclaims in her miniature voice.

She tucks her arms behind her back and sways from side to side like she’s
proud of herself for making the first move.
Bolder and braver than many men
I’ve encountered.
I set my coffee down on the bench and unfold my legs,
then lean forward just a tad—enough to be friendly, but not intimidating.

“Hello there. What’s your name?”

“I’m Lily.
Not
after the flower.”

“That’s a very pretty name,” I praise. “My name is Raven.
Not
after the bird.”

She smiles at our mutual connection.

“How old are you, Lily?”

“Five.” She gets on her tippy-toes; her curious little eyes peering over
the top of my sketchbook. “Whatcha drawing?”

“Dresses.”

“I like dresses.”

“Do you?” I tilt the sketchbook toward her so she can see clearly. “What
do you think of these?”

She rocks back on her heels and ponders. “Hmmm. They’re pretty, but they
need color.”

“Oh, don’t worry. They will. These are just the outlines.” I explain.

“Okay, good,” she says, relief evident in her small features. “Having no
color is soooo boring.”

Couldn’t agree more. Is it possible I have a little fashionista on my
hands? Someone call up Anna Wintour and tell her I found a prodigy. This one
doesn’t pull any punches. It’s that unfiltered quality children possess. They
say what they mean and mean what they say. At least when it’s coming from a
five-year-old, it’s cute and endearing. Perhaps I’ll get lucky and all my
professors will be repressed children trapped inside adult-sized bodies.

Doubtful. Very doubtful.

Her lips drop open. “You should make a princess gown!”

“You think so?”

She nods emphatically.

I chuckle at her enthusiasm. “Maybe I will.”

“Lily!” a voice hollers.

Her eyes widen. “Uh-oh. That’s my mom. I gotta go.”

“Okay. Bye.”

She starts to run off but circles back around. “When you make that
princess gown, make sure you give her a sword, too.”

“I like how you think. You already know how to accessorize.”

She grins, waves adiós, and dashes off.

We’re all so eager to grow up and become adults, and then we get here and
realize it’s not all that it’s cracked up to be. Things that were once so
beautifully effortless become overly complex. Love, friendship, forgiveness,
dreams—all so much easier to navigate during childhood. Every crucial decision
was made by playing eeny, meeny, miny, moe, and potential love interests were
left to the fate of flower petals.

He loves me. He loves me not.

Speaking of love interests….

Nope. Not going there. Too painful. It was so much easier to keep
everything contained when I was surrounded by friends and family. Being
deprived of his love is tormenting. It’s almost as bad as receiving it. Because
once you experience something so powerful, so all-consuming, you can never
really go back to the way you were before. And anything that comes after pales
in comparison.

Annnd...
there goes the urge to sketch.

Feeling tapped out, I close my sketchbook, grab my coffee, and traipse to
the nearest Metro station.

Forty minutes later, I arrive back at the complex. I slip inside the door
and gingerly climb the stairs, fishing my key out of my front pocket. Can’t
wait to crawl into my bed and crash. When I reach the hallway, my feet come to
an abrupt halt.

What the?

My heart begins pounding furiously. Breathing becomes shallow.

Eric’s sitting outside my door, browsing on his phone, unaware that I’m
watching.

What is he doing here?
I close my eyes and reopen them to make sure my mind isn’t
playing tricks on me.

Negative.

I stay put, unsure of what to do. Half of me wants to sneak back out
while I still have the chance, and the other half wants to sprint in his
direction. Am I supposed to let him in? It’s not like I can kick him out. He
traveled all the way here. But why?

I tilt my head toward the ceiling and curse my love life—or lack thereof.
I straighten my shoulders and start walking toward him. When he hears me
approaching, he glances up with a hopeful expression on his face. It’s a look
that squeezes my heart. He hops to his feet and slides his phone into his
pocket, prepared to give me his full attention.

I come to a smooth stop in front of him and stare. He waits patiently for
me to say something. I’ve got nothing. I still can’t even wrap my brain around
the fact that he’s here. The corners of his mouth lift into a grin. Something’s
different about him. There’s a sense of ease that wasn’t there before. He looks
happy. Peaceful. And utterly handsome, but that’s nothing new.

He clears his throat to break the ice. “I, uh...hope you don’t mind that
I waited here.”

I do.

But not really.

“How long have you been waiting?”

He glances down to check the time on his phone. “About an hour.”

“Wanna come in?”

I can tell he wants to say something sarcastic, but refrains. “Yeah, that’d
be cool.”

I shove my empty coffee container in his hand and step in front to unlock
the door. He inches closer, making me hyperaware of his presence. My fingers
fumble with the key like some blind drunk chick. When I finally manage to get
the door open, he follows me inside, kicks it shut, and surveys the apartment.

“A studio, huh? This must be killing you.”

“It’s not that bad,” I lie.

He gives me an amused look, knowing better. “You’re on my level now.”

I ignore him and flip on the kitchen light. It flickers a few times, then
casts a dull glow over the room. The incessant buzzing noise is an added bonus.
I set my sketchbook and keys down, then rest my back against the edge of the
counter.

“Where’s the trash?” he asks.

I point below the sink. He walks over and discards my cup, then stands in
front of me, invading my personal space. My body’s natural inclination is to
curl into him, so I do the opposite and lean back with nowhere to go. Having
him here feels so normal, yet so strange. It’s as if no time has passed, even
though it’s been almost six weeks. That’s half a season. But who’s counting?

He swallows. “How have you been?”

“Depends on the day. I’m dealing in my own way. I’m sure you can relate.”

He nods. “You have no idea how much I’ve missed you.”

I choose to bypass that comment entirely. “You seem different.”

He rubs the back of his neck like he always does when he’s feeling
uncomfortable or vulnerable. “Yeah. A lot has happened since I last saw you.”

Wouldn’t doubt it. That’s what happens when you break up with someone and
shut them out.

“Anything you care to share?”
Such as: Where have you been staying
this whole time? What were you doing there? Why are you here now? When do you
plan on leaving? Are you trying to get back together? Are you dating someone
new?

For a brief moment our eyes lock and it’s as if he can hear the onslaught
of questions running rampant through my mind.

He exhales a heavy breath. “A lot, actually.”

He wanders into the living room, which also happens to be my bedroom. He
plants his hands on his hips and stares out the window, deep in thought. I have
an overwhelming urge to walk up behind him and wrap my arms around his torso
for comfort, but I can’t seem to move.

“I’m slowly working on rebuilding a relationship with my mom. She came to
visit me at my uncle’s beach house and we were able to talk through some
things. We have a long way to go, but we’re in family therapy and learning how
to move forward.”

“That’s great, Eric.” I wasn’t expecting that.

“We laid everything out on the table. Good and bad. She’s actually doing
pretty well.” He makes eye contact. “I have faith in her, Rave. It’s different
this time. We’ve covered more ground in one month than we have in my entire
life.”

Hearing him call me “Rave” makes my stomach flutter like I’m fourteen
again. Plenty of my friends use that nickname, but whenever Eric says it, it’s
so much more intimate and personal. It’s not just a term of endearment; it’s a
branding.

“I’m so glad y’all are on the same page. I’ve wanted you to be happy for
so long, and seeing you this way makes everything worth it. I feel like you’re
finally getting everything you wanted. Happiness, peace, and stability.”

“Yep. There’s only one thing missing.”

He saunters over and places his hands on the countertop, caging me in. I
couldn’t even tell you how fast my heart is beating because I have no idea what
the hell happened to it. Logic tells me to push him away and be done with it.
My heart wants to pull him closer and kiss him senseless.

He rests his forehead against mine and closes his eyes. “I want my girl
back.”

My shoulders go lax. A glimpse of a silver linked chain around his neck
catches my attention. It looks oddly familiar. The tips of my fingers brush
along the side of his neck as I pull the chain out from underneath his collar.
He drops his gaze to the Audrey Hepburn pendant displayed in my palm.

“Thought I’d return it.”

“I didn’t even know you had this. It went missing a couple months ago.”

“That’s because I swiped it before I left. I wanted a little piece of you
after the breakup, so I stuffed it in my duffel bag ahead of time. Sorry I
didn’t mention anything.”

I release the pendant. “I’m not going back to Austin.”

The corners of his mouth lift into a smirk. “How convenient. Neither am
I.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Got a job at an art gallery nearby.”

Poof!

Romantic haze dissipates.

“Oh, my God. You got a job? Are you freaking kidding me?!” I’ve been
applying nonstop and he secured a job before he even crossed the California
border? Lies.