Uncut (Unexpected Book 4) (62 page)

I
bang my drums hard.
This isn’t the end
, I repeat. She’s getting to know her over-protective father and brother. It’s been three weeks since we started the break and I hate to admit it, but her “counseling technique” is working. I’ve talked to her more than I did for the past three months after our break up with Tristan. The urge to look for her is replaced by the urge to find a way to discover my place and then make room for her in my life. Yes, finding each other, our special kind of love. Damn, I should head upstairs to the piano and set all these thoughts and notes straight, translate them into something permanent. Create the song that’s been pushing its way through for such a long time now.

A short version of my love story, an uncut kind of love that had no boundaries, shape, or form. Three hearts that fused into one. A pure love reduced to ashes, short-lived due to the social etiquette that dictates who we are, who we love, and who we become.

As I hit the cymbals, the front pocket of my pants buzzes one more time and I give up trying to keep up the rhythm and pick up the call.

“Hello.”

“Hey,” my sweet butterfly greets me. “Busy?”

“Never for you, Butterfly,” I say, checking the time on the wall clock. Midnight. Right, it’s our phone call time. “Wasn’t it my turn to call you?”

“Yeah, but while I was on the phone giving a report about Gracie to your sister, she told me you were in the music room—banging the drums.” She sighs. Right, she stayed at AJ’s to care for Gracie. “How was the premier?”

“Fine. I was asked multiple times where my girlfriend was tonight. That would be you, so maybe next time you can join me.” I wait for a comment, maybe a protest about visiting California, but she says nothing. “The after-party sucked.” I pick up my T-shirt from the floor and clean the sweat dripping off my body. “Nothing I really want to discuss tonight. What’s up with you? Ready for Saturday?”

“Hmm, so no to California or any premiere for now,” she finally responds. I make my way out of the room and toward the stairs. “Sorry about the party—you can vent whenever you want. Saturday . . . nope, I’m not ready for Saturday but I will be by then. Dad will come with me as he wants to be there for me while Jessica recovers. How’s the search for the
right
building going?”

I have four different prospects, but I’m not ready to tell anyone. Not my family, nor Thea. Their faces, their voices—or maybe their comments—will influence my decision. A decision I have to make based on what’s best for the company and not for me. Three of them are in Vancouver and one is in Seattle. The studios are ready to move, if only I can make up my mind. If I open them in Vancouver I think I’ll relocate too. It’s only a forty-five-minute flight, or a three-hour drive, so visiting my family won’t take long.

Thea told me to make the best decision, not to think about her or what’d be best for us. She believes that we do belong together and that our individual lives will align. If not, we’ll still be special soulmates, the kind who can remain friends and walk through life looking after each other.

“There are a couple I’m looking at. It’s all about numbers, and . . . I miss you,” I whisper as I make it out of the house and onto the beach. The waves remind me of her, one crashing against the other becoming one. “Any chance we can get together and check if the chemistry is still there?”

If I can at least wrap her in my arms and listen to the beat of her heart while I relax with that unique lavender scent that is all Thea. But I know the answer: no. My little butterfly is in the process of morphing herself, and along with her, I’m morphing too. Adapting and learning to cope with losses, gains.

“Maybe. I’ll think about it. How about if you’re my date at a wedding? A cousin of mine from Arizona is getting married.” I walk into the dark water, letting it wash my feet and thinking about the wedding she’s mentioning. Tara’s daughter is getting married. She’s my parents’ friend, and Arthur’s sister-in-law. Yesterday I told my parents I wouldn’t go, but I guess I have to go now. “I have never met her, but her parents are cool.”

“It’s a date, Butterfly.”

“I’m glad I was able to chat with you tonight, Mattie.” She yawns on the other side of the line. “Talk to you tomorrow?”

“Of course, I’ll call you this time. I love you, my beautiful butterfly.”

“Love you too, Mattie.”

“Jessica, how are you?” I hold on to Dad’s hand tightly.

According to Dad, Jessica checked herself in with the help of a friend. Now she’s allowed visitors and she contacted my father because she wanted to see me first. I’m reserved about this meeting. Not knowing what to expect is killing me. She already looks different. It is the first time that I recall seeing her without makeup, and her brown hair is back. That platinum blonde she wore for years washed away along with the lost eyes.

“Better. I’m working on . . . so much,” she says. A ghostly smile takes over her lips but doesn’t touch her eyes. “There’s a long way to go, but lately I’ve been thinking so much about Evan, about you. I failed my children, but I think I failed you the most.”

Her arms cross the flat metal table, and I reach for her hand with my free hand. Her nails are short, her skin isn’t as smooth as I remember, and for the first time I can sense I’m meeting the genuine person.

“I let your father.” Mom bites her lip as Dad clears his throat. “Martin exploited you, and I didn’t let you meet your father . . . I . . . am sorry for everything.” She sniffs. “There’s so much more I have to reflect on, things that only now are making sense. I’m going to be here for about a year, so during birthdays and the holidays maybe we can exchange cards, presents? I want another chance.”

“I’d like that, Jessica.”

There is still a long way to go for her, but I remain silent and listen to what she needs: A support system.

“We’ll start building a new relationship,” I suggest, hoping that someday we can have a normal mother and daughter bond. “We’ll write each other and see where that takes us.”

“Thank you, Aggie.” Her shoulders relax. “I want to be there for you, if you ever need me. This time I’ll be what you need—a mother.”

My heart flutters, but my mind stops it.

“You want to tell me what else you have been up to?” I point at the outside garden. “There was an exercise group when we arrived. Anything interesting here?”

Jessica fills me in about the classes she attends: early morning t’ai chi, painting, some sewing—where she sucks—and she also plays bingo every night.

“I thought bingo only happened in Catholic schools and nursing homes.” She laughs.

“It does?” I wouldn’t know. There wasn’t any religious education involved in our house, and I had tutors at the studio. Some requirement that I had to complete to be able to act. “How would you know?”

“I went to Catholic schools all my life, Aggie, but since Martin is an atheist. I-it doesn’t matter.”

Martin being an atheist doesn’t surprise me, as he only believes in himself. Well, this explains why I never went to a church. My mother being a catholic is unexpected; this is the first time I’ve learned anything about her childhood. Does she have parents? Do they know about us? I want to ask more, but I bite my lip and desist going that route. I have no idea if bombarding her with questions will affect her recovery. I do hope someday we’ll continue this conversation and that she’ll tell me what she was like and what she dreamt about back then.

“There were nuns,” she suddenly says, and cringes, “at the school. Those urban stories about slamming you with a wooden ruler are real. They’d pull your ear and take you to the principal’s office. I was there daily.” She laughs. “Those days, talking back was a sin and you had to pray ten Hail Marys before heading back to class.”

She continues talking about her twelve years in Catholic school. Worse than jail, no probation, and
only
girls in her class. But seems like the penitence didn’t work too well on her. Jessica sounds like James Dean: a rebel without a cause. Did she wear a uniform? I bet that if she did she must have done something extreme to it. Cut the skirt too short, wore the wrong blouse, donned hot pink socks.

“You’re going to be okay, Jessica.” I squeeze her hand.

“You too. I’m proud of you, Aggie.” Her words freeze my blood, and my limbs lose any sensation. “After everything, you found a way out and survived. I’ll follow your example; this time I’m not letting anyone pull me back down.”

I rise from my seat and hug her tight, hoping that it’s true. That I’ll have a mother, and that this time she’ll love me.

Dad hugs me while we walk through the hallways of the center. He promised Jessica to come by in a week as she wants to talk to him.

“Jessica was sweet like you are,” Dad says. “That’s what attracted me to her, and Martin was . . . He abused her. I tried to protect her from him, but she couldn’t break the addiction.”

“Did you love her?”

“In a way, yes. She wasn’t the love of my life.” He gives me an apologetic shrug. “But I did care a lot about Jessica.” Dad pushes the door open and growls. My eyes adjust to the sunlight and I find why he’s not happy. Matt. “What are you doing here?”

“Making sure Thea’s okay after visiting her mother,” Matt answers, taking a step forward, and then two backward when Dad gives him his typical
I’m going to kill you
look.

I twirl the bangles of my left arm, watching him. “Thank you, it was better than I thought.”

“I’m glad,” he says, taking my hand and pulling me into a hug. “Sorry, I couldn’t help myself. This is hard for you and I just wanted you to know that no matter what or where I am, I’m always with you.”

Closing my eyes I grab onto him. Those words just about killed me. He decided. He’s leaving Seattle, I just know it.

“Thank you for coming, Mattie.”

“Always.” He kisses behind my ear. “See you later, Butterfly. Arthur, I’ll see you around.” He salutes Dad and walks away jumping into his old Jeep and waving when he drives by.

“Ready to go, Thea?” Dad links our arms and we walk to his truck.

“Did you judge me?” I ask him. He gives me a shrug and starts driving. “You know, for being with two men?”

“No, they both treated you like a queen. They loved you. It’s strange, yes, but I’ve seen a lot of the so-called normal relationships where there’s no love or respect. Where I’ve witnessed some like the one you had where there’s love, I approve.”

So much for being in love. My heart thumps inside my hollow chest, reminding me that it’s healing, but a part of it will remain dead for the rest of my natural life.
I miss Matt. I miss . . . I miss us.