“Do you love him?”
She rolls her eyes. “Yeah.”
“Then it’s enough. Love is magical. It can do things, things you can’t even imagine.” I smile. “Just have a little faith.”
“Okay.” Emma returns my smile with one of her own and leaves to change. I cross my fingers and toes, hoping, begging that what I said turns out to be true for her.
My prayers are interrupted when I hear the depressing buzz of my phone from somewhere on the bed.
Caleb.
That’s all I think about as I frantically search for it under the pile of clothes and books and rumpled sheets.
By the time I manage to find it, I miss the call, but it wasn’t from Caleb. It was my mom. What was I thinking? Of course Caleb wouldn’t call me. Maybe he butt-dialed me earlier or something. We have nothing to say to each other.
The phone starts up again—my mom.
“H-Hello,” I say as I try to tamp down my anxious heart. I have a bad feeling about this.
“Layla. How are you?”
Even though her tone is distracted, I can’t stop the pleasure of hearing from her. Her voice is soft and always manages to stay at the same decibel, but her face changes when she is angry, becomes even more beautiful—painfully beautiful. It’s hard to look at her. “I’m great. How-how are you?”
“Good. Good. I wanted to talk to you about Henry’s party.”
“Right. Sure. I remember. It’s next week. Don’t worry, I’m not gonna be there.”
I made a mess at her Valentine’s party last year; I was drunk and high, and I vomited all over the Cupid ice sculpture. It was in the papers. Mom was so embarrassed that she decided to banish me. Since then, I’ve barely been to the city or her parties.
“Yes. That’s very thoughtful of you, but I just wanted to remind you anyway. It’s imperative that you not come.”
“Okay. I won’t be there. Pinkie promise.” I flop down on my back, my toes grazing the floor. How pathetic is it that your own mother calls you to remind you about your non-invitation?
“It’s not a joke, Layla. This party is especially important, and I don’t want anything to ruin it.”
Meaning: I don’t want you to ruin it.
“Care to share?” I ask, curling a strand of my hair.
“Pardon me?”
My mom would never say excuse me or sorry. That’s too common and uncultured for her. Pardon me, on the other hand, is a sign of being ladylike, which I am not, by the way.
“About the party. What’s so important about it? It’s just Henry’s birthday.”
“It’s not important.”
“But you just said it’s important.”
“No, I didn’t.”
Frowning, I sit up. “Mom, why are you being weird?”
“Layla.” She sighs again.
“Mom, just tell me, or I might decide to show up after all.”
Instant fear. I can almost hear her gasping. Oh, the horror of her crazy daughter showing up to ruin everything. I’m like the plague.
I hear the tinkle of her bracelets through the phone. She changes hands when she is uncomfortable. “Caleb has agreed to attend.”
Cold seeps into my bones, starting up in my ears, traveling down the side of my neck, pervading my entire body. I can fucking feel it moving. “C-Caleb?”
“Yes. He responded to my invitation.”
Even though Caleb doesn’t have anything to do with Henry, my mom insists on having him around for every occasion. Caleb is the son she never had.
“Okay,” I mumble.
“And I don’t want to spook him.” I clutch the phone harder as she continues. “Because I want him to move back to the city. His place is here, working for his father’s company. I want things to go as planned.”
My eyes scrunch closed. “Sure. Yeah. It’s better if I’m not there.” The pressure increases and tears threaten to fill the shuttered confines of the sockets.
“I’m glad we’re on the same page.”
“Yeah.”
There’s silence after that, long and stretched. I don’t know why we’re holding on to the connection, why we’re listening each other breathe. Maybe Mom wants to add something. Maybe I’m afraid to be alone after she hangs up.
I’m still thinking about the maybes when Mom speaks up. “Okay then. Call me if you need anything.”
That’s what she always says at the end of a conversation. “Yeah. I will.”
I won’t. I never do.
A click and she is gone. My tears lose the battle and fall down my cheeks, a river of guilt and sadness, maybe even anger. I’m not sure. I fall back on the bed and curl into a fetal position with the phone tucked beneath my cheek. Sobs rack my body—guttural, animalistic sounds I don’t recognize, never thought I could even make. I never thought my chameleon heart could break this much. I’ve never felt so alone in my entire life.
So unloved. Such a freak of nature.
I feel a soft hand on my shoulder. “Layla,” Emma says softly, glowing in the tangerine dress. “Layla, what happened? What’s wrong? Why are you crying?”
Through hot tears, I look at her. She is a stranger to me. We hardly know anything about each other. She doesn’t know how rotten I am, the things I have done. Her concern for me is unwarranted. If she knew, she wouldn’t be here, consoling me, looking distressed on my behalf.
If I were stronger, a better person, I’d turn her away. I wouldn’t grab on to her blind kindness, but I’m not a good person. Haven’t I proved that already?
I sit up, turn on my side, and hug her like a child. Emma is surprised, but she puts her arm around me anyway. I tuck my face in her neck. It’s unfamiliar. It smells of watermelon, sweet and comforting.
She pats my back. “Hey, what’s wrong? What happened?”
“N-Nothing.” I clutch her harder. I need the connection. I need to know I’m not repulsive, like my own mother thinks.
We stay like this for a few minutes before I move away, embarrassed. “I’m sorry for pouncing on you.”
“It’s okay. I don’t mind. What happened?”
I can’t tell her. I can’t. She’ll hate me and then she’ll leave.
“It’s nothing.” I sniff, smiling awkwardly. Then I swing my legs down and jump to my feet, clapping. “Let’s get you all ready for your date.”
Emma looks at me like I’m crazy.
________________
I’m contained in a bubble, thick as glass. I can barely hear and see through it. It feels like I’ve traveled back in time and I’m going through the same cold numbness I felt when Caleb left. I’d drench that numbness with Grey Goose or pot or creating chaos in the world. My favorite was drunk driving. People would look at me with accusing eyes, would honk at me, and I’d laugh. It soothed something inside me, being accused. I was a bad person, and people needed to know that.
Being good sucks, by the way. I need the drugging fumes of pot to forget Caleb’s out-of-the-blue call. Why the fuck did he call me? Maybe to un-invite me to the party like my mom did. It’s all for the best, really. I don’t care about the party, nor do I want to see Caleb. I never want to see him again, if I can help it. How would I even face him? What would I say?