Say When (8 page)

I set down the phone and crawl across my bed to Tyler. His cherubic little mouth has fallen open and the empty bottle lies askew on the pillow. I wipe a drop of milk off his cheek and kiss his forehead. Poor guy. I worry about him going home with Karri. I worry he’ll be neglected if she’s back on meth. A lead weight sinks in my stomach when I realize I must confront her when she gets here. I can’t let her take him home unless I’m sure he’ll be safe.

I lie down beside Ty and gently drape my arm across his little body as I turn my gaze toward the pale pink canopy of my four-poster bed, the bed I begged my mom to buy me after my dad’s death.

I remember seeing it in the department store. My mom told me it reminded her of a princess bed, and I begged her for it, even though all those pink frills were a little too girly. Actually, I thought the bed was hideous, and I still do, but I have never been raped in this bed, and I sink into its cozy, pillow-top mattress.

The billowy comforter envelops little Tyler like a cloud, and I smile as his nose twitches and he lets out a soft sigh. I wish there is some way I can protect him from the monsters outside this room, because I know they’re out there. I lived with one for eighteen years. It terrifies me to think of who could hurt Tyler, too.

Chapter Nine

I hear loud rumbling as a truck pulls into my driveway. Karri’s fuck buddy is here. My mom will be pissed when she sees him. Whatever he’s driving, sounds like it’s missing a muffler. I scoot off my bed and rush to the window.

Oh, God. The truck is even uglier than it sounds. I do a double-take at the paint job, which isn’t a paint job at all, but rusty primer. The monster tires are balding on the sides, and the truck is missing a tailgate and the front fender. Probably the only thing of value is the booming stereo system, which rattles my bedroom windows.

My mom screams my name from the downstairs foyer, and I know she’s seen the truck. She’s probably terrified that big eyesore will lower the value of our home, or worse, that one of her country club friends will see someone of such low class parked in our driveway.

I check one more time on the baby before I rush downstairs. Karri is already at the door, holding her finger on the bell. I swing the door open, exasperated when I see she’s popping bubble gum while fiddling with one of the many studs in her earlobe. Her usually spiked pink hair is wild and uncombed, her makeup is smudged, yet she’s wearing this casual smile on her face as if she just got laid. Either that, or she’s still buzzing from the meth. I decide it’s probably a little bit of both.

“What the hell, Karri?” I snap.

Her eyes widen and she tilts her head, looking at me as if
I’m
the one who’s on drugs. Finally, she juts a hand on her hip and narrows her eyes. “What’s
your
problem?”

Un-fucking-believable. The girl has to be smoking some serious shit if she doesn’t see what’s wrong with this scenario.

“What’s my problem?” I growl. “You leave your kid all day. You don’t even bother to call your mom and tell her you’re okay.” I wave toward the hunk of junk defiling my driveway. “Then you show up at my door with that loser?”

She rolls her eyes before pushing past me. “That loser is my only method of transportation right now.” She turns to me with an expectant glare. “Where’s my kid?”

I gape at her. Anger seizes my chest and infuses my skull.

No “sorry.” No “thank you.” She doesn’t even ask how Tyler is doing.

“Your kid is sleeping,” I hiss.

“Good,” she says as she marches up the stairs, her heavy combat boots thudding against the hardwood. “Maybe he’ll sleep through the night.”

Of course,
I think to myself.
That way you can party without interruptions.

She’s already scooping him off the bed when I get to my room. Ty whimpers as Karri straps him into the carrier. She makes no effort to comfort her child.

Why am I standing here watching this when I should be smacking her upside the head?

As she turns to exit my bedroom, I jump in front of her, blocking her path.

Karri rolls her eyes. “Would you move?” she grumbles. “Robbie is waiting.”

Like I give a rat’s ass about Robbie.

She tries to walk around me, but I step to the side and latch onto her arm. “How can you do this to Ty?”

“What?”

“You’re back on meth, Karri. Don’t lie to me.”

“No, I’m not,” she says.

I don’t like how she averts her gaze when I try to make eye contact.

“Karri, come on,” I plead, hating the note of desperation that slips into my voice. I need to make her understand she’s not just placing her life in danger, but Ty’s, too.

Karri smacks loudly on her chewing gum while giving me a glare. “Oh, you’re the meth expert now? A girl wants to have a little fun, so she must be on drugs?”

“Karri, listen to me,” I say, not buying the bullshit that she’s just having “a little fun.” “You can’t be a mom
and
a meth head.”

“No shit.” Her voice rises, and Tyler squirms and fusses in his carrier. “I’m not a fucking user. Robbie and I had too many beers last night. I was hung over.”

Oh,
I think to myself.
That makes it all better.
“Getting wasted on beer is bad enough, but I don’t believe you.”

“I don’t give a shit what you believe,” she snaps as she uses the carrier to knock me out of the way.

I tumble to the side, but grasp the wall for support and spin around. She’s already marching down the stairs. Fear and rage fuel my movements as I chase after her. “Why didn’t you have the money to get the oil changed in your car?” I call at her back.

She reaches the center landing with a thud, rattling the carrier in her grip. She turns on me, as I stumble toward the landing. “Um, maybe it’s because I’m a single mom paying for all of Ty’s shit by myself.”

“Your mom buys his diapers and clothes.” My voice rises along with my ire. “The welfare department gives you formula.”

Her smile thins as she narrows her eyes. “I pay for his daycare.”

I look down at Ty, who is fully awake now. His eyes are wide and watery and he whimpers while sucking his thumb.

My head feels like a pressure cooker, ready to explode in a fit of rage. My vision tunnels on Karri. “What is it for an oil change, like thirty bucks?”

Karri averts her gaze as her shoulders fall. “Okay, so I fucked up. What do you want me to say?” she asks in the most pitiful voice ever, as if she’s been victimized by her own stupidity.

I shake my head. Even though I should feel vindication that she finally admits to screwing up, the disgust I feel for her leaves a sour taste in my mouth. “I should have told your mom a long time ago.”

Karri’s eyes widen. “Don’t you dare. What kind of friend are you?”

I clench my fists in a lame attempt to hold back my anger, but I’ve had enough of Karri’s bullshit. The pressure cooker inside my brain explodes, and I unleash a verbal assault. “This isn’t about us, you dumbass. This is about what’s best for Ty!”

Karri doesn’t even blink. She looks at me with derision in her eyes, as if she knows this isn’t the
real
Christina yelling. This is that
other
Christina who’s still learning how to assert herself. That
other
Christina will lose her momentum and the real Christina will resurface, eager to please everyone and put up with being treated like a doormat.

“You know what?” she says as her condescending glare travels the length of my body. “I’ve had enough of your bullshit.” She turns and clutches Ty’s carrier to her chest before marching down the rest of the stairs.

Panic seizes my limbs, and I find myself rooted to the spot, unable to stop her as she reaches the bottom step. “Where are you going?”

“Out of here,” she calls over her shoulder.

I don’t know where I find the strength to move, but I sprint after her. “Leave Ty with me. You’re in no condition to take care of him.” I follow her through the foyer, determined to stop her.

When she reaches the door, her shoulders and neck are rigid as she grips the handle with whitened knuckles. “You’re not his mom, I am,” she speaks on a low growl, not even bothering to turn around and face me.

I vehemently shake my head as tears well up in my eyes. “You’re not a mom. You’re a user.”

Karri slowly turns toward me. She plasters on a smile that doesn’t mask the hatred in her eyes. “Fuck off, Christina.”

She jerks open the front door. The big greaseball is standing on the threshold. He’s got this dark look in his eyes, like he’s a bull waiting to charge. And just like that I lose my nerve because the guy terrifies me.

Karri shoots me this smug look, and then saunters up to the greaseball and hands him the carrier. She stretches out a thin, bruised arm and shoots me the bird before sauntering off.

When they settle the baby seat in the center of the truck, not even bothering to strap him in, my heart sinks to my stomach. I realize that my friendship with Karri is over. For some reason, that doesn’t upset me as much as it should. But when I think of losing Ty, a blade twists inside my heart. I clutch my chest with one hand while watching them drive off.

How could Karri do this? How could I let her do this?

Chapter Ten

My mom is standing at the bottom of the stairs, hands on hips, looking ten degrees of pissed off when I brush past her. “What the hell was that about?”

“Nothing.” I heave a sigh as I turn toward her. I know she is still angry with me for dumping Jackson, and Karri’s intrusion is all she needs to rip me a new one.

Her lips pinch together, and she slowly unscrews her face. I know it takes all of her effort to force a smile. “Jackson called me. He said you’re not answering his text messages,” she says in a haughty tone before looking at me as if I’m Prince, her little Shih Tzu, and I’ve just crapped on the carpet.

“So?” I say, feigning indifference as I check for imaginary grime beneath my cherry candy-colored manicure. “We broke up, remember?”

Mom’s lips twist again, the rage simmering beneath her plastic veneer. “Call him, Christina. It’s not too late to fix this.”

I roll my eyes to the ceiling. “What if I don’t want to fix this?”

Mom wags a finger at me like I’m an errant child. “You don’t know what you’re saying. Look at what Jackson is offering you. A lifetime of security and comfort. Do you want to end up like that tramp friend of yours? I saw the lowlife in that hideous truck.”

“Just because I don’t want to marry that asshole does not mean I’m going to end up like Karri.” Sure, I haven’t had the best taste in men (Jackson is a case in point) but I’m not a total idiot like Karri.

Mom clucks her tongue. “How else do you think you’ll end up if you don’t find someone to take care of you? You’re studying art for Christ’s sake. Do you honestly think you can support yourself?”

I hang my head in my hands and groan. My mom has never supported my love for art, but when I came home with that ring from Jackson, she said my creativity would come in handy, as refined wives need to show an appreciation of the arts. Other than that, nothing I’ve created has impressed her, not until last summer when Jackson’s family took me to their home in The Hamptons and I was given the chance to paint murals for several of Jackson’s parents’ wealthy friends. She didn’t look at the pictures of my artwork I sent her. She didn’t care that they’d paid me an ungodly amount of money for painting scenic landscapes on their walls. The only thing she cared about was that wealthy people had approved of my art, and their validation meant I’d be accepted into affluent society.

“Mom, can you just do me a favor and back off? Please.”

“And watch you throw your life away?”

When I look up at her, she’s got this wild look in her eyes. I realize she’s terrified. I suspect it’s because she knows she’ll look bad in front of all her country club friends. She’s been pushing us to set a date, probably so she could brag to her rich friends, no doubt.
My daughter has reeled in a big fish, so now I get to rub it in all of your faces.

Now she’ll have to explain to them that I let my big fish get away. I bite back a laugh. I’m so tempted to tell her I had to throw him back because his penis was under the legal limit, but she doesn’t look in the mood to handle a joke right now, so I opt for the truth.

“I’m not throwing my life away. I’m actually living my life the way I want to for once.” I turn and march up the stairs. I hear her gasp behind me, and I know she’ll try to follow me to my room and pester me some more. “I’m done talking about this,” I call over my shoulder.

Once I get to my bedroom, curiosity gets the best of me, and I finally check those text messages from Jackson.

Call me
, he writes. No please or would you. It’s a directive. So like Jackson. All business unless he’s trying to get his pecker sucked.

Next message.
Where are you?

I check the time he sent it. Twelve-thirty last night. I smile as I think back to where I was at half-past midnight. Oh, yeah, I was fucking a hot guy. One who actually had the ability to reach my G-spot without a rubber extension.

Final message.
Not in the mood for games, Teenie. If you want this ring back, you’ll call me now.

Uh, fat chance, pencil dick
, I think as I delete all three messages. I wonder if it ever occurred to Jackson I didn’t want the ring back. Really, could a guy be so thick-headed?

I notice one more message, from Grace, asking me how I’m doing. I fire back that I’m dealing with life and she quickly responds.

I’m going to Dylan’s. Wanna come?

Dylan’s? Just the thought of going back there makes my pulse quicken. What if Andrés is there again? How will I face him after the way I ran out this morning?
I don’t know.
I write back.
Let’s just hang out at your place.

I hate myself for being such a chicken. What happened to the Christina from last night, who told off Jackson and made a serious move on a sexy Latin stud?