The Girl I Was Before (21 page)

“Cee Cee’s coming over for dinner, so maybe you two can hold off your…
dating…
until tomorrow?” Joyce says, her back still to us. I let my eyes fall shut, embarrassed that I’m not as brave as Houston.

His grip loosens, but he still hooks his pinky around mine. “Probably smart, in case Leah has questions,” he says. He doesn’t look worried at all. In fact, his face is nothing but calmness, like one of those soldiers standing guard outside the palace in London. Inside, I’m still working to keep my fingers on the holes in the dam that is every fear I have over what this all means. I like Houston. I like him a lot. But telling Leah—making this a thing that’s not just a secret is so very big. I haven’t even worked out what to tell Cass in my head. I might be okay with us waiting more than a day. He though…he seems ready to roll.

When Joyce finally turns, she doesn’t speak, but her expression says volumes. This isn’t how she saw this step going for Houston, but she’s never going to tell him not to take it. I let go of Houston’s hand completely, nodding toward the stairs, toward Leah’s room, partly as an excuse. He smiles, and leads me up the stairs. With every step we take, I realize I let go of his hand because I’m afraid it’s my last chance—to let go.

“Hey, are you really okay…with waiting? We should probably talk about it before we talk to Leah,” he whispers, his hand brushing into mine, tempting me to grab hold again. Something holds me back.

“Yeah, we should get on the same page…with what to say,” I smile. He leans in to kiss my neck quickly, and I keep my breathing in check, careful not to show how terrified I am of this step. He moves to his door, and I let the air slowly escape my lungs, quietly, so he can’t hear the breath I’ve been holding.

I’m that girl—the strong one. People follow me.

“Dinner won’t last long. It never does with Cee Cee,” he says, pausing at his door. “She’s…” his lips twist on one side, his eyes gazing down at the floor before coming back to mine, a touch of sadness suddenly added to them. “She’s Beth’s half sister, but she’s nothing like Beth at all. She’s not even really family—honestly. She wanted to know Leah, though. And Leah gets a trust from Beth’s dad when she turns twenty-one. That’s the only reason we do this, because Cee Cee likes to visit with Leah. And Leah seems to love her. She comes over once every few months.”

“Oh,” I say, feeling sicker now that Beth’s memory has entered into this equation. I feel selfish for wanting Houston, and I feel guilty for wanting to keep him my secret. “Sure, I understand. If it’s family, I could just…you know…go hang out with Cass or something? She’s already texted me because she feels bad about today.”

“No, please stay…I mean, I think my mom would love you to stay,” he pauses, looking downstairs. He bites his lip, holding in a chuckle. “I mean, I know it doesn’t
seem
like she wants you to stay. But she does. She’s just…we’re…dating. Just dating, apparently,” he says, holding both hands up, playing offended by my little display downstairs.

“I’m sorry. I freaked out. That’s going to happen. If we could just…call this dating?” I say, my fingers finding my scalp, ruffling my hair, scratching at my head that suddenly feels full, hot, and itchy. This is overwhelming.

“Sure, Paige,” Houston says, stepping to me again. He puts one hand behind my head, steadying it and cradling me to him. He kisses my forehead, his lips brushing against my skin. “We’re dating.”

His eyes stay on mine as he backs away. He gets my fear. I so don’t understand his lack of fear. Maybe things are less scary on his side. He already has the kid. I’m eighteen. Those three years between us—sometimes they feel massive.

I back into my room, and when I close the door, the enormity of the last hour hits me. It seems a decision was made. Maybe I made it. Maybe it was made for me. I’m excited about it. I’m terrified. I both want to cry and laugh at the same time.

I’ve gone mad.

I realize suddenly I haven’t spoken to my mom in more than a week. And at some point, I’m probably going to have to share where I’m living with her. Unless I move out. Would dating be more appropriate if I moved out?

I consider texting Cass. There’s so much to catch her up on. I know Cass won’t tell my parents. My sister keeps secrets. Yet one more thing she’s better at than I am. But I’m the leader.

I’m the leader.

I decide instead to keep my worries to myself. For the next hour, I freshen up, changing into a white-lace dress and cowboy boots. I touch up the ends of my hair, spraying curls into place. I opt for the pink lipstick, a subtle shade for me—different from the bold red I usually go with. This color says youth. But it also says strong.

The longer I look at my reflection, the more I remember how I used to feel in high school and before. That girl is still in there. There’s a knock at the door downstairs, and I listen to Leah sprint down the steps. I hear the formal voice Joyce uses with their guest—and it makes me smile, because now hearing her talk to someone else, I realize how informal she is with me.

Houston’s door is still closed when I step from mine, so I head downstairs before him, a tiny part of me also a little jealous that Leah is hugging another girl about my age, excited by someone other than me.

Leah, Leah, Leah.

And then the visitor stands tall, her jet-black hair clearing her face, the shiny red of her lips like a bullet, aiming for my artery. She aims to shoot me dead. And she did not come here tonight to visit Leah.

She did not come here for Leah at all.

Chandra came here to see me.

H
ouston

I
know
we said we’d wait to be more public about…things, but then she put on cowboy boots. And a white lace dress? There’s symbolism in that—something about virginity, and
NOT
virginity. Her legs make me bite my knuckles. I bite them every time she walks by. She’s walking by…a lot.

She’s being…weird. Flirty maybe?

Or maybe not. Maybe it’s just nerves.

She keeps moving around the living room and kitchen. It’s like she can’t get settled. She’s like a damn feral cat. She doesn’t seem to know where to stand, or where to be. Damn, I think that’s my fault. I shouldn’t have made revealing that there’s an
us
such a big deal, shouldn’t have let my mom make it a big deal.

But it is…a big deal.

Of all days for Cee Cee to show up—I’ve been in a room with her maybe five times in my life. The first time I met her was when Leah was born. She was the only one from the other side of the family—from Beth’s dad’s side—to show up. Martin Campbell’s name means oil around here. He’s a bigger deal in Texas, his name on buildings and rigs off the coast. I remember the first time Beth told me who her father was. She was sitting in the passenger seat of my shitty-ass car, coming home from a football game, and one of her father’s trucks drove by, with the silver and black CAMPBELL logo on the side.

“Fuck you!” she screamed as it passed. She didn’t talk the rest of the way home, and when she got out of the car, she slammed the door. I waited in her driveway for two hours until she came back out, shutting herself inside the car with me again. She proceeded to tell me the saddest story I’d ever heard—at least until our own story happened. Her dad had a mistress, and another daughter, and then one day, he decided to pick them instead.

As much as they share a father, they’re nothing alike. Martin Campbell passed all of his traits down to Cee Cee—harsh, abrasive, entitled; the litany of unflattering yet confidence-boosting attributes goes on. Bethany was always completely her mom—generous, cautious, and fragile. I’ve never met Cee Cee’s mom, so I can only guess she sways more on the Martin Campbell way of living.

Beth’s dad—Cee Cee’s dad—has never met Leah. I offered, a few days after she was born. My dad was my world, and I felt like it was important. I kind of thought maybe, if he just saw this beautiful little girl, he’d get it, that his heart would soften a little. He told me, in not so many words, that he wasn’t interested in meeting “some bastard granddaughter” of his.
What irony that his bastard daughter was now standing in my house.
A few days later, paperwork showed up at the door for our signature. He wasn’t interested in knowing her, but by god he would buy her. The trust paperwork was pretty straight forward, bestowing her with nearly half a million dollars when she turns twenty-one. Bethany wanted to say
no
, but I’m not a fool. I know Martin Campbell’s money means a good life for our daughter. That money means more than college—it means she gets to be whoever she wants. I talked Beth into signing. And I can handle seeing Cee Cee once or twice a year to make sure it comes to her.

That’s my penance. Cee Cee shows up because—as much as she’s Beth’s opposite, I think maybe she also always wanted to have a real sister. And maybe having a relationship with Leah is her way of remembering Beth. Or maybe, she just feels guilty for not knowing her enough.

“So someone has a birthday coming up,” Cee Cee says, putting on this high-pitched little kid voice. It’s annoying, and a little belittling. An annual visit, I remind myself—I can survive this hour.

“Her birthday’s not until July,” my mom corrects. She barely tolerates the visits. I don’t think my mom thinks the money is worth it. I don’t think it’s her choice though. And Leah isn’t old enough to be able to choose.

“I know that,” Cee Cee says, rolling her eyes, but letting them glow bright again when she kneels down in front of Leah. She winks at my daughter, then hands her a small gift bag. “I was just looking for an excuse to spoil you.”

Leah’s grin is the only reason I wave my mother off. Paige has disappeared into the kitchen, behind the counter. I wasn’t down here when Cee Cee came in, but Paige told me they made their acquaintance with one another. I hope Cee Cee wasn’t rude to her. Maybe that’s why Paige has gotten weird.

Weirder.

“An iPod!” Leah screams, clutching the electronic device in her hand and bouncing around in circles. It’s too much, a gift my daughter has no need for. I glance at my mom and her look reflects mine, but we don’t do anything about it. It’s not like we can take it away.

“And guess what?” Cee Cee asks, urging Leah to repeat.

“What?” she says, her gift pressed in her hands against her chest, her skirt swaying against her nervously excited legs.

“It plays videos!” Cee Cee says. More jumping. More swaying.

“Like movies?” Leah asks.

“Uh huh!” Cee Cee says.

“Can I watch one? Daddy, can I watch one now? Can I, please?”

I look to my mom for help; she waves a tattered potholder at me, dismissing herself into the kitchen, behind Paige, busying herself with the pre-bought lasagna she put in the oven earlier. My mother didn’t put much effort into this visit, and she has no interest in helping
wow
Leah with Cee Cee’s non-birthday gift.

“Oh, princess. I’ll need to set it up, but maybe later, okay?” I say. I’m buying myself time. My dad used this same line with me for dozens of toys that he didn’t feel like assembling—and I hated having to wait every time he did. That’s where Leah’s at right now, her chin dented with the dimple from her frown. If only I could tell her what this gift feels like to me and her grandma…like a bribe. I just don’t want to give it any more attention than I have to.

“Maybe your new friend knows how to find one,” I hear Cee Cee say, her voice lower; low enough that I don’t think I was suppose to hear that part.

“Paige? Can you help me get a video on my iPod?” Leah asks, holding her device in her hand, moving closer to Paige.

Leah stops in front of her, her hands holding it up, and Paige takes the pink, metal device in her own hand, a strange smile playing out on her face. It doesn’t look happy, but just the opposite. Leah continues to ask, begging in her persistent way at Paige’s waist, but Paige remains silent, her eyes fixed on the iPod.

The discomfort of the silence breaks my mom first, who disrupts it with the clatter of a heavy pan on the counter and the announcement that dinner’s ready. I move into the kitchen to help, but I give a look to Cee Cee first, and I can’t help but note the way she seems to be obsessed with Paige, and the way Paige is refusing to look at her.

“Time for dinner. Go wash up,” I say to Leah.

“But what about my iPod?” she asks. I don’t like that she’s taken with it so quickly. Mostly, because I didn’t give it to her, and I don’t like that I feel that way either.

“Later,” I say, nodding her toward the sink. I’m shorter with her than I mean to be, and her frown comes back.

I hate Cee Cee.

We all gather around the table, and I notice Paige stalling, taking her seat last, laughing silently to herself and shaking her head when the seat at the end is the last one open, the one next to Cee Cee.

My mom wastes no time, scooping helpings of food onto everyone’s plate, wanting to get through this ransom dinner we’re beholden to. The last time we had Cee Cee for a visit, it was Leah’s actual birthday, and Cee Cee showed up drunk. My mom asked her to leave, but she said she had a right to see her niece—unless we’d like her to call her daddy and tell him we kicked her out. I’m surprised my mom agreed to this dinner when Cee Cee called. I wasn’t here for that call though, so maybe she didn’t.

For several minutes, the table is filled with only the sounds of Leah’s humming and forks scratching at the surfaces of our plates. Despite all the noise, I seem to be the only one actually eating—everyone else opting to push their food around in pretense. I shrug and lean forward, scooping another helping onto my plate. No sense in wasting what’s a pretty decent frozen lasagna.

“You seem so familiar,” Cee Cee says finally, holding her fork out, pointing at Paige.

Paige sets hers down carefully, taking time with her napkin against her lips, not that she’s eaten a single bite. She places it next to her plate then pushes back from the table slightly, giving her legs enough room to cross underneath. She turns her body to the right—her head cocked so the curls in her hair slide down her shoulder.

“Wow,” she says, her lips wrapping around the smallness of that word, making it sound so much bigger than the three letters it is. “You’re really going to take this thing far, aren’t you?”

Not that anyone was actually eating before, but nobody is chewing now. Even Leah has stopped humming.

“Am I missing something?” I ask after a few painful and long seconds of silence as we all watch the showdown at the dinner table. I feel stupid that I’m still smiling. Clearly, by the tone in Paige’s voice, I shouldn’t be smiling. Whatever this is—isn’t something funny. But it’s damn sure uncomfortable.

“Oh sweetie. You’ve always been the one in control of how far this thing goes,” Cee Cee says. I watch as both women level one another with similar looks. It’s pretty obvious they know each other. And it’s pretty obvious they hate each other. The only part I’m missing is
why
.

“I have, haven’t I?” Paige says, her eyes never leaving Cee Cee’s face. I glance at Leah, and my mom is a step ahead of me, leading her from the table, distracting her with her new iPod and accompanying her into the other room. I’m left in here, on the set of the
Bold and the Beautiful
.

“Okay, I’m going to need the full story on this one,” I say, folding my hands on the table. I may as well be invisible, because Paige is standing now, walking to the door. She pulls it open, pressing her back against it, her eyes giving Cee Cee a challenge.

“You’re going to get a call from the Herald Tribune. You’re going to tell them you were wrong. Understand?” Cee Cee says, standing, moving closer to Paige until each of them flanks one side of the open door.

“Yeah, so I’m pretty sure I’m not. What happens in that scenario?” Paige asks, and even though there’s a certain swagger to her defiance, I can also see she’s nervous, her fingers rubbing anxiously on the doorknob behind her back.

Cee Cee smirks, letting out one of those breathy laughs I thought chicks only did in teen movies. Is that what scoffing sounds like?

“Thanks for dinner, Houston. You might want to do better background checks on your renters, though. Just sayin’,” she says, leaving without even acknowledging Leah in the next room.

She wasn’t here for Leah.

She never really is.

“Paige?” I ask.

Her head falls to the side along the door, her gaze on my daughter at first, then finally sliding to me. As long as I’ve known her, she’s never looked nervous—she’s never looked scared. She’s wearing both right now.

P
aige

T
hat was unfair
. That was so fucking, unbelievably, horribly unfair.

Houston is waiting for an answer. His mom is just over his shoulder, distracting a beautiful, innocent little girl, but her eyes are on me, too—waiting. I don’t know what to do.

“Paige?” This is the second time he’s said my name like a question.

“I’m sorry, Houston, but I can’t stay here any more,” I say. I shuffle past him up the stairs and close my door, careful not to slam it. I don’t want it to look like I’m throwing a tantrum, but that’s exactly what I’m doing. I’m so rattled—thrown by her level of
crazy
. I don’t know who told her I was here, but she knew. That…all of that…tonight? It was all orchestrated for me, for her to
get
at me. I hate that I let her get to me. Chandra might actually be dangerous, and right now—I need my sister. I need to call her. We’re broken, but we’re still stronger together.

I knew he’d follow. There’s a soft knock at my door, and when his eyes ask if he can enter, I nod for him to come in.

“Mom took Leah to the park. We have…some time,” he says, wanting me to know I can feel comfortable being honest. It’s not the people in the house, though, it’s this mental game I’ve been roped into.

“I don’t know…ha—” I stop, a look of surprise on my face because I literally don’t know what word to say next. I shrug, then move to my bed and sit on it, looking around at my few sparse things. It should be easy to move out; I’ve barely made this room my own.

“Just tell me. Whatever it is, whatever
that
was. Just tell me, I won’t judge you…I promise,” he says.

I’m the girl who rules the playground.

I let my lungs take in as much air as they’ll hold. My mom always says that a deep breath is like a giant reset button for the body. I’ve been breathing a lot lately, and somehow I keep waking up to the same shit.

He doesn’t make me talk until I’m ready. And we spend almost fifteen minutes in silence—me trying to open my mouth to make words, then just as quickly shutting it again and putting my hands to my head, trying to figure this out.

My lips are parted, and I feel Houston’s hand slide over mine, his touch trying to give me strength, when my phone begins buzzing on the bed next to me. The number reads
UNKNOWN.

I pick it up and hold it in my hand, not sure if I’m going to answer or not. Then Houston moves his hand to my wrist, relaxing my grip and taking my phone from me.

“Hello?” he answers.

My eyes lock open staring at his mouth.

“Hold on, let me see if she’s here,” he says, bringing the phone down to his lap, cupping it.

“Are you here?” he whispers.

I look to the phone in his hand.

You’re going to get a call from the Herald Tribune.

I nod
yes
, and Houston hands my phone to me, careful with the exchange, like we’re passing a bomb. He has no idea that we are.

“Be that girl,” he whispers. “I swear to god I’ll still think she’s beautiful.”