Holding On (36 page)

We were standing on the porch now, right in front of my door. A few more minutes out here and my teeth were going to start to chatter.

This time the smile he gave me, though small, was genuine. “Sure,” he said. “It counts for something.”

“I mean, it completely sucks when you want someone and they clearly don’t want you the same way,” I said as I bounced in place just a bit, trying to fight off the cold.

“Yeah,” he said with a sigh. “I know. I better let you get inside. It’s freezing out here.”

“Okay, well thanks. For walking me home,” I told him.

“Not a problem,” he said as he turned and made his way down the steps. “See you later, Britta,” he called over his shoulder.

I wasn’t sure why. But I just stood there watching him as he began to blend into the darkness. For just a second, I’d thought he was going to ask me to the dance. My initial reaction was a small spark of panic—wondering how I would politely get out of it. Because Jamie surely would not approve. If I’d ever had any doubt—and I really hadn’t because honestly, the thought had never really crossed my mind—now I knew she was completely opposed. But when it turned out to not be an actual request, I was disappointed. Whether I wanted to admit it or not. And had he really asked me? I think I just might have said yes.

So, really, I told myself, it was probably a good thing he hadn’t asked. And honestly, I wasn’t even sure if his offer to be a back-up still stood. Seemed to me, he’d withdrawn it. Not that I wanted him to be my back-up.

That was just silly.

Tristan was a complete sweetheart and too good to be anyone’s back-up plan.

When he reached the end of my driveway, he turned around. It wasn’t until that moment that I realized I was just standing there, in a contemplative daze. He raised his hand and I quickly returned his wave. Then I hurriedly let myself into the house, attempting to banish all thoughts of my best friend’s brother as I went.

3

I was on the way up to my room when Mom’s voice called me back downstairs. She met me at the bottom of the steps. She had the kitchen phone in her hand and an unhappy look on her face.

“I just had an interesting phone call with your father,” she told me.

My stomach dropped and I cringed. As soon as her words were out I felt bad that she had to deal with him. No wonder she looked so unhappy. She should be able to be done with him completely. But, because of me, she’d always be linked to the jerk.

“Apparently he’s been unable to get a hold of you on your cell phone.” She paused to look at me with raised eyebrows.

I shrugged. “I wasn’t in the mood to talk to him.”

“Ever?” she asked.

I had no idea why she sounded so surprised.

“
Ever
,” I agreed.

She blew out a sigh. “Oh, Britta,” she said as she shook her head. “You need to talk to him. He said he tried to reach you over the holidays. He sounded really hurt. Did you block his number from your phone?”

“Yes. I don’t want to talk to him.” I couldn’t believe I really had to explain this to my mom. She, of all people, should get it! He sounded hurt?!
So what
? I wondered. After what he did to us…? Just thinking about it made every muscle in my body tense. “I’m sorry he called the house phone.” I don’t know why, but I didn’t see that coming. I guess I figured he was doing his obligatory reaching out during the holidays and once they had passed, I had thought he’d forget about it.

Apparently not. Apparently he was trying to pretend to be interested a while longer.

“You need to call him.” Her voice was firm but the look on her face was pained.

I understood what she was doing. She didn’t want to have to deal with him any more than I did, I was sure. Yet, she probably felt it was her maternal responsibility to force me to fix things. But I didn’t want that. I sure didn’t need it, either. Neither did she.

She tried to hand me the phone. “Why don’t you call him now?”

“I’ll do it later,” I said. I made no move to take the phone from her. When I said ‘later’ I meant maybe in a year or so.

Or maybe never.

“I think maybe we need to talk about this.” A sigh accompanied her statement.

I felt horrible already. She was moving on. She didn’t need him pulling her back into the past. And I was sure it was. Because that’s exactly what happened to me. Every time I thought about him, I thought about what he had done.

“No. We don’t need to talk about it. I’ll call him,” I said with a sigh of my own.

“When?” she demanded because she was my mother and she knew me well. “Because this is important. He’s your father. You need to talk to him. I think it’s time you two move past what happened.”

“Why? Have you?” I asked. My tone was a little more accusatory than I meant for it to be. She flinched, telling me she hadn’t. How could she have? I instantly felt bad. I was saved from feeling the need to apologize when the doorbell rang.

“I’ll get that,” I offered. I had no idea who it would be. It wasn’t as if we had company frequently popping in.

As I was swinging the door open I belatedly wondered it could be Mom’s boyfriend. Um,
man
friend? Significant other?

Or heaven forbid…my
father
…coming to demand I speak to him.

It wasn’t either of those two.

It was Tristan.

I immediately realized he could be my salvation. And more than anything at that moment, I wanted to be saved from the conversation Mom was forcing me to have.

“Oh, hey!” I said as I pasted on a smile. “I was wondering when you would get here!”

The door blocked his surprised expression from Mom’s view. His eyebrows were furrowed and he was frowning slightly. As he opened his mouth to speak, I rudely—but necessarily—interrupted him.

“The CD is upstairs!” I said with a little too much cheer. I assumed he’d come back to discuss his non-invite to the dance. But we weren’t going to do that here, in front of my mom. So I thought I might as well try to take advantage of his sudden appearance. “The CD that you made me last summer? The one I forgot to bring over earlier today. I know you want it back and I keep forgetting to give it to you.” I threw in a small palm to the forehead gesture for good measure.

“Hi, Tristan,” Mom said with a smile as she moved so she was behind me.

“Hey, Lila,” Tristan said as he gave her a small wave. Then he returned his confused self back to me.

“It’s up in my room,” I told him. I had my back to my mom. I made what I hope to be a
just-go-with-it
face. I grabbed him by the hand and tugged him inside.

“Ohhhkay,” he said as he kicked off his boots.

Still holding his hand, I towed him up the stairs behind me.

“We’ll talk later!” Mom called after me.

“Uhhuh,” I noncommittally replied.

We reached my room and I pulled Tristan inside, shutting the door behind us. When I was dating Corey, Mom of course had a door-stays-open rule. But since I was with Tristan and it was completely not the same thing, I figured it didn’t apply. I mean, why would it? It was pretty much just like having Jamie or Willow over.

“What are you doing here?” I asked as the latch clicked shut.

He shrugged and gave me an amused smile. “Picking up a CD? You didn’t like it? You want to give it back?”

I actually loved the CD he’d made me. Tristan was a huge classic rock fan. That should be obvious to anyone if they paid any attention to his attire. I used to mercilessly tease him about listening to such old school music. Then one day last summer he handed over a CD with all of his favorites.

His point was proven and I never teased him again.

“No,” I told him. “You can’t have your CD back. I was just trying to avoid a conversation with my mom.”

“I figured,” he said. But he looked relieved. “I was hoping you hadn’t changed your mind about it.”

“No,” I assured him. “I still listen to it all the time.”

He smiled at my response.

“Soooo,” I asked again, dragging out the question. “Why are you here?”

“Oh,” he said. He looked like he just remembered the answer to that. “These.” He dug around in his front pocket and pulled out my keys. He held them out to me. “I found them on the way home. They were on the side of the road. I stepped on them, actually. But I think they’re just fine. I knew they were yours. I thought maybe you’d need them in the morning or something.”

He handed over the big clump of keys with its multiple key rings. Definitely mine, no mistaking it. One of the key rings was a giant, purple “B”.

“Oh, thanks! That was so lucky! It’s supposed to snow tonight. They would’ve been buried and I
never
would’ve found them then,” I said as I took them. “They must’ve fallen out when I pulled my hand out of my pocket. You didn’t have to walk them all the way back here, though. I could’ve gotten them from Jamie.”

He just shrugged. “It’s not a big deal. Like I said, I thought you might need them.”

He was still leaning up against my door. His eyes began wandering around my room. He’d been to my house probably hundreds of times before. Dad used to be famous around here for his grilling capabilities. He was the master of neighborhood barbeques. Our family had hosted them monthly during the summer. Sometimes more often, as in, whenever the urge struck him. I couldn’t remember a single time though, where Tristan had actually been up to my room. I glanced around. I was glad I’d made my bed and that the only clothing I’d left out was a dirty pair of jeans I’d tossed aside. Mom had placed my shopping bags on my bed so I could sort through them myself. No dirty bras or underwear scattered about, though, thank goodness. I hadn’t thought of
that
while I was dragging him up the stairs.

I found myself checking my room over, just like Tristan was doing. My walls were a pale pink. An embarrassing remnant of my princess phase that had lasted…well, longer than I cared to admit. And while I’d thought about painting the walls, I’d never gotten around to it. Mostly because I couldn’t decide on a color I
did
want. My comforter was a simple cream color and my furniture a deep cherry. Other than the pink, the room wasn’t anything too embarrassing. No posters or movie memorabilia hung from my walls. They’d come down last year. Now I just had a few family pictures and several big collages of my friends and me.

Luckily, my pictures of Corey had all been ripped off of my mirror. I wasn’t sure why but I was glad I’d done that. Not that Tristan ever would’ve said anything. But considering I’d just insisted I was over Corey, I was glad there weren’t any pictures lingering to refute me.

“Things looked kind of intense with you and your mom,” Tristan noted. His eyes finally settled back on me. So far, he’d made no move to come any further into my room.

I shrugged. “They weren’t yet but the conversation was headed that direction,” I admitted.

“Anything you want to talk about?” he hesitantly asked.

I had known Tristan as long as I’d known Jamie. Since the summer before fifth grade, fourth grade for him. The year we’d moved to the neighborhood. I’d been so excited that there were kids my age to hang out with. Dad had set up the sprinkler for us every single Saturday that summer.

I shook my head to tell him ‘no’.

Then, without meaning to, I blurted out, “It’s my dad. He had the nerve to call here to complain to my mom that I blocked his number from my phone.”

Tristan tilted his head to the side and narrowed his eyes at me. It seemed more curious than accusatory. “Why would you do that?’

“Why do you think?” I demanded.  I hadn’t actually talked to him about my dad before. But I knew he’d heard the story. I knew he’d overheard at least a few of my many breakdowns.  I’d sobbed on Jamie’s shoulder about his horrible choices and the end of my parents’ marriage. So while I hadn’t brought it up with him directly, I knew he was well aware of what had happened.