Chapter 18

 

 

I can’t concentrate on dinner. I try so damn hard to stare at the chip bowl, to reach in and pick out one and focus on dipping it into the salsa. But I’m not really seeing it. All I see is the two of them in my peripheral vision. I glance up just as she puts her hand on his thigh. She smiles and flirts with Aiden as if it’s her damn job. As if she was raised by sirens and bred into a life of flirting. She is that good at it. She’s confident and sensual and everything I’m not.

I look back at the chip in my fingers.

I set it on my plate, not caring to take a bite.

“Jenn, you look awful,” Mom says.

Dad stops whatever he’s talking about, and now both of my parents are looking at me with concern. Great. The guy I was falling for is here with another woman and I’m here with my mom and dad like some kind of child. To make matters worse, I’m dressed like a child, too. My hair is pulled into a messy bun and I’m not wearing any makeup and if Aiden looks over here and sees me, he’ll know he made the right choice with Miranda.

“I’m fine,” I say, but I don’t even have the energy to put fake enthusiasm in my words. It’s taking everything I have not to cry. And that makes this ball of rage swell up inside of me until I want to punch something. Rage is better than tears. I can’t cry. I’m better than that.

“She’s working too hard,” Dad says, more to Mom than to me. “She’s got the job and college and now the internship. It’s too much for one person.”

“You should quit working at the shop,” Mom suggests.

I shoot her a look. “Are you kidding? Never. I love that place.”

“Just for a little while,” Mom says. She’s giving me that pitying look like I really am a child again.

“You should focus more on school anyway,” Dad says. “That’s more important than the shop. I could find a temporary replacement for your job.”

“And then I wouldn’t have money for bills,” I say.

Dad glances at Mom, who nods. “We can spot you some cash until the semester is over.”

“Oh my god, no,” I say, sinking my head into my hands. “I love my job. I’m not quitting. And I don’t need money or pity from you guys, okay? I’m totally fine.”

Mom’s lips press together. “I just don’t want school to run you ragged.”

“It’s not school,” I say, shaking my head. “School is fine.”

My parents exchange a look that in thirty years of marriage means something to them that I’ll ever be able to decipher.

“Oh…” Mom says, and that pitying look seems to grow three sizes bigger. “Jay.”

I roll my eyes. “No, Mom it’s not Jay. I am completely over him.”

“So what is it?” she says, keeping her voice low as if we’re talking one on one. But I know Dad is listening. He’s always listening.

“It’s… nothing,” I say, shaking my head. I guess it’s fine if they think I’m overworked with school, because the truth is embarrassing. “Maybe I’m just tired from all the schoolwork.”

Mom takes a long breath and then lets it out slowly. She puts a hand on my back. “We’re here for you if you need us.”

Time I find the energy to fake a smile. “Thanks, Mom.”

The waiter delivers our food and my taco salad smells pretty amazing. I want to eat, I do, but I can’t stop glancing over at the bar. I wonder if Aiden has seen me, but I don’t think so. He’s not looking around and since he’s sitting at the bar, his back is to me. I stab my fork into a piece of chicken and then glance up again.

Now she’s all up on him, leaning close and grabbing his hand and—oh my God. She just licked his finger! She put the whole thing in her mouth and pulled it out slowly like she’s some kind of porn star in a competition called “Who Can Be The Biggest Skank?”

But she’s not in a competition. She’s in a freaking restaurant!

Who does that?

Seriously?

It’s not like we’re in a freaking strip club! This is a restaurant that happens to have a bar. It’s not even a club. It’s a family friendly place. I glance around and see all kinds of kids here with their parents. Miranda is just trashy, and there’s no other explanation. I guess men like trashy.

I stare down at my food, taking a deep breath. My parents are talking about the shop and how it’ll need some renovation work soon, and I nod along, like I’m paying attention. Really, all I can think about is how quickly Aiden moved on from me.

We had an amazing night together and now he’s just with another girl. Like our night never existed. Like all those cuddles and hand holds and flirty texts never happened. How does a guy do that—move from one girl to the next?

A bitter, dark part of my heart laughs. I know how it happens. I know damn well how it happens.

Guys can’t help themselves.

If someone offers them sex, they take it. I guess Jay wasn’t a complete asshole. He gave me some valuable advice.

After a few minutes, I notice them get up and walk toward the door. Aiden seems to be guiding her because she’s so drunk. Ugh. I never pictured Aiden as the type to take advantage of a drunk girl, but I’ve clearly been wrong about guys before. Good thing I didn’t let myself fall for him. Good thing I told him we were just friends.

Good thing.

Otherwise, this pain I’m feeling in my chest might be a broken heart.

Good thing it’s not.

 

 

As the weeks go on, I find myself thinking less and less about Aiden Strauss. It helps that I’m busy with so many other things in my life. I work as much as possible—more than I even need to—because I have this need to prove my parents wrong. Then I go to class on Tuesdays and Thursdays and take notes until my hands hurt. Then I go to PT in the evenings. I’m really loving working there, and I’m really getting the hang of working with people in rehabilitation.

I’ve now been trained to use the ultrasound machine which is a wand we rub over a person’s injury to help it heal better. I also work with people who have had ankle fractures and get them walking again. It’s so rewarding to see a patient come in wearing a walking boot and crutches and then, after a couple of weeks, they’re waking without the crutches.

I know without a doubt that I want to do this for the rest of my life. On the days I intern, I stay late talking to Martha about everything her job entails. She tells me that the schooling is hard but that all the stuff you need to know becomes second nature after a while. Plus, there’s yearly conferences you can travel the world to attend and they teach you about new technologies for physical therapy. It’s all so cool and I’m so excited. Unlike many of my friends, I lucked out and found the perfect career for me.

Now if only I could get back on my dirt bike. I still haven’t been to the track. Not in the five weeks since I walked in on Jay cheating on me. My bike is dusty in the back of the shop, which I know is a travesty to the sport. I should be keeping it clean and starting it up regularly to keep the bike maintained instead of letting it sit there and rot, but it is what it is. I just can’t bring myself to ride.

I don’t want to see the track, or hear the roar of bikes, or smell the exhaust. That smell used to be my favorite thing, in a weird way. I also loved the smell of race gas, but now every time a customer orders some, I see if another worker at the shop can handle it because I hate the smell. It reminds me of Jay. And then I’m reminded of how stupid I am. And then I want to throw up.

I don’t even watch professional motocross on TV anymore. Even though Aiden is here in Louisiana and not racing each week with Team Loco, I still can’t watch the races without being reminded of him. The TV is constantly showing the smiling faces of his teammates, and occasionally a reporter will announce that Aiden Strauss is out with an injury but should be back soon.

So now I’m not participating in my favorite sport because of Jay, and I’m not watching my favorite sport because of Aiden. Guys can really ruin everything.

Luckily, I am okay at work. I’m still fine working behind the counter and checking out customers and restocking merchandise. Every time a bike starts up out in the mechanic bay, I don’t flinch or anything. These are the sounds of being at work, and I guess my brain doesn’t associate it with Jay because all of that horrible shit happened at the track, not here.

I miss motocross. I do.

I miss the feel of the wind in my hair. I miss the speed and the rumble of the bike beneath me. I miss how I could pull back on the throttle and soar over a jump and feel, just for a second, that I was weightless. That nothing else mattered except for this.

There hasn’t been a single time in my life where riding a dirt bike didn’t fix all my problems. It’s the world’s best stress reliever.

But here I am, too scared to go back to the track. I’m afraid I’ll cry. I’m afraid I’ll run into my ex. Or my fake ex.

Or the bitch who slept with both of them.

I grit my teeth and try to shove it all out of my mind. It’s Wednesday the twelfth, and it’s my mom’s birthday.

I’m standing in my kitchen with a bunch of cake ingredients covering my kitchen island. I pour the correct measurement of sugar into my bowl and then crack some eggs. Focus, Jenn.

I’m making my mom a cake like I do every year for her birthday. Then we’re celebrating at my parent’s house and all the extended family will come over and Dad will grill burgers and hot dogs and we’ll all have a good time. It’s September, but still warm enough to swim, and all my cousins will play games in the pool while the adults sip on beer and have a good time.

This is a good day. A fun day.

I will not let the thoughts of a guy ruin it for me.

I concentrate back on my cake and pour the batter into the cake pan. I grab myself a glass of wine and plop onto the couch while I wait for the cake to bake. I’ve already planned out how I’m going to decorate it thanks to some Pinterest research, and I know Mom will love it.

I can’t believe that a few weeks ago I had actually considered inviting Aiden to be my date to this thing. Ugh. I should have known that even a fake relationship wouldn’t last this long. Apparently I’m not worth it. Apparently Miranda is better.

I down the wine and have to exert a great deal of willpower to avoid getting up for a refill. I can’t be drunk at my mom’s birthday party. I just can’t. So I have to suck it up and deal with it. I am strong. I am independent.

I’ve got this.

After all, I’ve finally stopped flinching every time the door to the shop opens. I’ve stopped wondering if maybe the customer that’s about to walk in the door is Aiden, because I know it won’t be. I’m finally back to normal—well, mostly.

Maybe I’m finally over him.