Mending Michael (20 page)

MICK

"About that," I repeat.

Her tentative smile makes me nervous to say what I should say.

"I... would love to start something with you. Something steady," I take a breath and continue. "And I want that. I do. Really. But... I don't think it would be fair. To you. With all I..."

"Michael. I get it. We've had this conversation before. It's fine."

"No. I can't make you my first priority, Holly. And you deserve to be."

Her mouth moves to speak, but I lower my hand to hers to stop her.

"There is just so much of my
shit
, to quote someone very wise," I raise an eyebrow, "that I have to get together."

She cocks her head apologetically.

"And I am so far from getting it together." I squeeze her hand. "But I will...I will, Holly. And if you...are still interested then...then I would absolutely love to start a relationship with you."

My throat is dry, and I am completely anxious about saying what I'd just said. I know I've said this to her before, but I feel I have to say it again. Make sure she knows I really like her. I want her so damn badly, but I’m fucking messed up. Too fucked up to be in a relationship with her. Not now when I'm so depressed and my life is in such turmoil. "I get it, Michael. I understand," she says disappointedly, a sad expression paints her face.

I don't know if that should make me feel flattered or contrite. "I'm sorry."

"Oh, please, don't be. It's not a good time. I understand. We've gone over this. Besides, I'm going to be spending a lot of my time in New York now, and...I'm probably dropping out this semester and..."

"Dropping out?" I ask, surprised by her decision.

"I can't do both. It's just...too hard for me," she admits.

"Wait. Is that what your father wants? Because I would think he'd want you to finish your education before taking some job."

"He's crazy. He wants me to do both. He expects me to do both, but..." Holly takes a sip of her red wine. "I can't. I'm not that smart."

"Holly. The semester is done in two weeks. Just take your finals. Tell Wall Street they have to wait."

Dark brown eyes jump wide in front of me. "Are you crazy? Tell my father to wait? No way. I mean, I can't really drop out anyway, it'd be more like fail, but..."

"What about the classes you’re doing well in? You're just gonna skip out on the finals?"

"Well, oh, God, I don't know." She puts down her glass and lays her face in her hand. I'm still holding onto her other hand, caressing her palm with my thumb.

"Does your internship
have
to be five days a week? I mean, for the next two weeks, they can't handle things without you for a couple days a week?"

She laughs beneath her breath. "Of course they can handle things. They're still teaching me everything. It's just, well, my dad told me to come in every day, and...I'm kinda embarrassed to say this, but...I don't usually question my father."

"Oh, Holly. I understand. He must be a powerful man, but...can you at least tell him you're sick? At least on exam days. It'd be a shame to just drop out."

Holly stares at me, responding with silence.

"If I've overstepped my bounds, I'm..."

"No, no, no," she interrupts. "You're not overstepping. No. You just... make sense. Maybe I can...call out sick. That's a good idea. Maybe." Her words are weak, contemplative, but I let it go.

"Holl. We seem to always talk about me."

"Well..."

"No. Tell me about you. What is it you really want? Because I know it's not a job on Wall Street."

"No," she says with a sad laugh. "It's not a job on Wall Street that I want. But that's the thing." She sighs. "I don't know what I want. So..."

"So you're going to do what you hate."

Holly bites the side of her lip.

I finish my second beer and suggest we leave.

Back in my driveway, I sit, uneasy, in the passenger seat. "Listen, Holly, I am so sorry if I said anything to upset you." Running my fingertips up and down her arm, I say, "You do so much for me. You're always there to make me feel better, and you help me make...well, important decisions. I only wanted to do the same for you. But...maybe I was wrong."

She's looking at me thoughtfully, her brown eyes squinting, thinking. "No. You're not wrong. You're right. It's just. I wish it were easy, you know, to figure out what I want to do with my life and all. It's my problem, I'm sorry."

My hand lands on her forearm when I stop rubbing. "Now see, you're wrong there. Because I want to be involved in your life. I want to know..."

She interrupts me, yanking her arm from my grasp. "How? Why? You don't want to start a relationship with me, you said that merely an hour ago, yet you want to be involved in my life. How does that work exactly?"

Now this takes me by a bigger surprise. She's not angry, just factual. "Oh. I guess." I shake my head. She's right. She's right. "You're right. It doesn't work. I'm..." I look at her again, then I tell her, "You do what you need to do, Holly. And I'll do what I need to do. Maybe we can...meet up when we're done."

Her sad smile mimics my own feelings, and I send her away with a chaste kiss. As I watch her drive away, a fiery ball, the size of a melon, burns up my insides and tears me apart. I want so badly to be with her. I need her. She heals me. Being with her, holding her when I get the chance, helps me to see that things aren't as bleak as they seem. She pulls me up and out from my despair. And I want to be able to do that for her as well. But with the huge mess I'm in, it wouldn't be fair, not at all, to try to make things work with her. Not until I can give her my all.

I just wish that could be right now.

HOLLY

The drive back to my dorm sucks. I hadn't meant to use Michael's words against him—him wanting to be involved in my life but not wanting a relationship—it just came out. But it started bothering me when the longer he went on about not wanting to start something with me that he hadn't mentioned Lara, or the tender embrace I found them in after he lost Kenna in court. Maybe it was something purely innocent and platonic. But maybe it wasn't. And furthermore, where does she fall on his priority list? Does she come before me?

I try to push thoughts of Michael aside over the next few days, but it's impossible. For one thing, I notice that I think of him as Michael now, and not Mick. When did that happen? When did Mick Ross become Michael Ross? And when did he start taking over every other thought in my head?

***

I take Michael's advice and call in sick with my father on final exam days. Though I try to spend most of my very rare free time studying, I admit I spend a lot of the last week thinking about Michael. Wondering how he's been and if anything has gotten better for him. I avoid Donny's, not only because I don't want to see Michael just yet, but because I've been working so freaking hard, still not grasping what it is I do at my job, and I'm so damn exhausted. Since it's exam week, schedules are messed up, and I don't get to spend much time with Rose and the gang at the coffee shop. But today I promise Rose that tonight we can get a bite to eat, since I'm not going into New York right after class.

Today's exam question in Developmental Psychology is to choose one of the different types of attachments in children and give an example as to what could cause the type of attachment and how a child with the chosen attachment would act. I decide to choose the resistant-insecure child attachment, otherwise known as the ambivalent child. I discuss how an ambivalent attachment develops when a caregiver's inconsistent emotional and physical availability confuses the child, causing the child to worry incessantly about the caregiver, and by doing so, behaves fussy or clingy and will naturally be wary and insecure of anyone who is not his or her usual caregiver. I go on to discuss examples and how psychotherapy could help a child with resistant-insecure attachment and what techniques would work best.

When I'm finished with my essay, I can't help but think of Kenna and Charity. Not knowing Charity, or her parenting techniques, I can't fairly or accurately assess what goes on in their household. But I do wonder what type of attachment a child raised by a drug-addict may develop. I recognize the familiar pull in my chest that now comes when I think about Kenna or any of those children I'd heard about in court last Friday. I want to take each and every one of them and tell them that somebody loves them. I may not be perfect, and my parents may not be perfect, but I have never doubted their love or their undying protection of me. And it had never occurred to me before meeting Mick and Kenna that some children may not have ever experienced that type of security. I wish I could change that.

Since it's Thursday night, the pub on the other side of town is crowded with college kids, most of whom who are done with exams and getting ready for their last weekend on campus.

"So, you going home this weekend?" I ask Rose while we wait for our drink order to come.

"I am. Saturday morning."

"Oh my God, Rose, I'm gonna miss you so much."

"Me too. What about you? You going home this weekend?"

"I am," I say sadly.

"You don't look too happy about that. You really hate that job, don't you?"

I take several huge sips of my Hurricane and answer Rose. "More than anything."

The expression on Rose's face is the same that it always is when I talk about anything finance—
irked
.

"I know what you're gonna say." I stop her on the defense.

"You don't know."

"I do know. You think I'm stupid for listening to my father."

"Oh my God, Holl, I don't think you are stupid at all." She sighs and sits back in her chair. "I'm sorry I made you think that."

"Please," I say indifferently, waving her apology away with my hand, "I
am
stupid for listening. It's just...I respect my father's opinion. I always have. I know he's controlling, and I know he's the one making me do this, but in his defense, have I really let him know I'm not happy? No. I'm always wishy-washy when it comes to talking with him, because he always knows what's best." Rose sits forward, leaning her elbows on the table and listening intently. "He's a really smart man, Rose." I push some stray hairs behind my ear and pause. "But until now, I didn't have any idea what I wanted to do, so I let him choose."

"Wait. Until now?" She extends her arms and grabs at my hand. "You know what you want to do with your life?" she asks with huge eyes and a wide smile, excited as a kid in a candy store.

"I do. I want to be that person who puts lipstick on clowns," I say seriously.

Rose's face drops. Her mouth, her cheeks, even her eyes look like they sunk down her face an inch.

Cracking up, I say, "Teasing. But, yeah, I think I do..."

She smacks me on my hand. "You're horrible," she declares.

"I couldn't resist. Anyway, I really do have an idea what I'd like to do though."

"Okay."

"I want to study social work. Specifically children."

Rose's eyes are so big it's funny.

"What? You don't think I'd be good at that?" I say in a mock sour tone.

A silent chuckle makes her chest rise and fall. "Is this another joke?"

"Rose," I say seriously now. "I'm being serious this time. I think I want to be a social worker. It occurred to me today after my psych exam, so I haven't thought about it too long, but...it kind of makes sense to me."

"Sense?" she cuts in, not meaning to offend me, but succeeding anyway. "Since when were you interested in social work? That's like... getting involved in other's... problems and stuff. You hate that. I would think you'd want to do something fun, like fashion, or interior design or something."

"Thanks," I say defensively this time, highly insulted. "Glad you see me as being so shallow."

Rose grabs my hand again, "Holly, you're not shallow. That's not what I mean." She sighs, frowning so deeply I know she didn't mean to hurt my feelings. "I just...what made you want to do social work? Tell me. I really want to know. I want you to be happy. I do."

"I know I come across as one-dimensional, but really, there's a lot I don't...I don't want people to see."

"Holly. I don't think you're one-dimensional. Not at all. I just never saw you passionate about...well, about people." She squints her eyes, looking confused.

"Well, I'm not passionate about people. You're right. But I found out recently that I'm really passionate about seeing justice served to innocent children."

"Innocent children? When?"

"When I went to court to see how Michael, Mick's, case would turn out. I mean, I first felt this twinge of pain when that lady took Mick's niece from him. I told you about that?"

"Yeah."

"Well, I felt bad, you know, but then, when I went to court and listened to some of those cases, I felt like that judge made all these wrong decisions. Not that I know all their circumstances, but that's the thing. I
wanted
to know. And I've always enjoyed my psych classes and then today's exam question. It just all kind of came together for me. I can't explain it, but I really want to do this."

"Well then, good for you. Are you going to talk to your dad about it?"

I nod. "That's gonna be the tough part. Wanna come with me?" I ask, half teasing, half not-so-much.

"You got this, Holl. I hear the passion in your voice. He will, too. You said yourself, you were always wishy-washy. You don't sound wishy-washy right now, so...I know you can do this."

"Yeah, I can. Thanks, Rose."