Tori

The next three days feel like they take forever, but at the same time, I’m glad that I have them. I glad I have the time to myself, to really think about everything that’s gone wrong in my life and how I want to make it better. And when Serge returns, just like he promised, I feel more relaxed than I have probably since I got into the business.

No wonder celebrities do this shit over and over again. It really is like a spa. Except there’s individual therapy three times a day, group once a day, and nearly every minute of my time is planned and accounted for to the point that I need to ask permission to take a piss.

So it’s not all sunshine and roses, but I’m happy. And I’m even happier that Serge is here.

“Hey,” I say, wrapping him in a hug. It feels like it’s been months since I’ve seen him, not just a few days.

“How are you?”

I nod. “Okay. How are things?”

The polite smile fades and my throat closes up. Shit. He’s realized he doesn’t want to be with me after all.

“The center’s losing its funding,” he says, and one panic is replaced by another.

“What?” I don’t believe it. That center is everything to Serge. It’s the reason he’s been able to stay sober all these years. Losing it must be devastating him. And he looks hurt, he looks worried, don’t get me wrong, but he doesn’t exactly look like a guy that’s devastated. “What are you going to do?”

We walk to one of the plush couches and he sits sideways on one end and I do the same on the other, our knees touching in the middle of the couch like we’re kids at a slumber party. At least I think that’s what kids did at slumber parties. I never got invited to any because I was weird and frequently dirty as a kid.

He gives me this shy, almost uncertain smile and rubs the back of his head nervously. I cock an eyebrow, waiting for him to spill it.

“Well, nothing’s set in stone obviously, but I’ve been thinking of ways to raise the money we need to keep the center going, and I was thinking about organizing a benefit concert. Depending on how well it goes, maybe a couple a year, whatever we need to keep the lights on the place. And then I could get back out there, at least a little. I think I’m ready for it.”

My heart turns to lead, but I try to keep my face neutral, try not to show how much that thought freaks me out. Before rehab, I would have jumped at the idea of Serge wanting to get back into the game, but I understand more now. I know what it means that he’s even considering it. I know what a big deal it is, and I’m worried I’ll lose him to his demons.

Or that I’ll get to meet them and lose my own tentative hold on sobriety. I’m pretty sure I won’t be able to keep on the straight and narrow if I’m staying with Serge and he’s falling off the wagon.

But I’m not going to rain on his parade. He’s still hesitantly smiling, obviously waiting on my input, like a puppy hoping I was serious about the word ‘walk.’

“That seems like a good solution,” I say carefully, not wanting to discourage him, not wanting to make this about me. Because that’s something I’ve learned about myself in the last week and a half. I make everything about me and it needs to stop. I might be famous, but I’m not the center of the fucking universe.

“And…” he says, dragging the word out, his smile growing, “I was wondering if you might be interested in joining me?”

There it is. There’s the noose to hang myself with. I know I should say no. I should tell him that it’ll be too much pressure and I’m sure I’ll fail. I should tell him that the stress will be too much, that I’m sure I’m going to ruin it all by being my normal fuck-up self, but I don’t.

I don’t tell him any of that.

“I’d love to,” I say instead, smiling back, hoping he doesn’t see through me. But I think Serge is too excited about his new endeavor to really notice. He kisses me hard.

“That’s so awesome, Tori. I think we’re really going to be able to do something great for the center. For the whole community maybe.”

His eyes are bright and wild with excitement and I can already see how much this means to him. I want him to succeed and I’ll do everything I can to help, but I don’t have a lot of faith in myself.

Serge stays another hour, talking about this or that, before he leaves and my heart goes with him. I don’t know what’s wrong with me, but every time I see him walk away, I feel like he’s taking a piece of me with him.

I leave the visiting area, now without someone to visit with, and wander around the place, settling by the pool. Visiting hours are pretty much the only time where every minute isn’t accounted for, and it’s the first time I’ve actually been able to sit by the sparkling pool and look out over the ocean vista.

It’s nice. But it would be nicer with Serge here. Hell, if Serge were there, I’d take a cinder block wall as my view instead of this.

“Miss Winters?” someone says from behind me, soft and gentle. I turn to see one of the nurses. “You have a visitor,” she says.

“I do?” Maybe Serge is back. I don’t know why he would be — unless he just missed me so much he couldn’t stand it, I think, snorting to myself — but I jump out of the chair and follow her back to the visiting area.

Serge isn’t there. I’d spot his tall, broad frame and arrogant stance anywhere. I look to the nurse with a question, and she points far into the corner.

And the whole world narrows in on that one spot, on the woman sitting by herself in a shady alcove surrounded by potted palms.

What is she doing here?

She looks pretty much exactly how I remember her — short honey-blonde hair pulled into a messy ponytail, pieces of her bangs falling in her face — but older. Even from my distance I can see the new lines in her face, the wrinkles on her forehead. I guess that’s what happens when you don’t see someone in nearly a decade. I take a deep breath, put my shoulders back, and walk right over to her.

“Hi, Mom,” I say, sitting down slowly.

“Hi, baby,” she says, leaning over the couch to hug me. I just go stiff, not really knowing how to respond. She pulls back, frowning.

“What’s wrong? I flew a long way to come see you.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re my baby and I thought you might wanna see your mother?”

“You’re not here to tell me how much I’ve screwed up my life and how disappointed you are in me?”

She frowns, looking confused. “Is that what you’ve been thinking all this time?”

“What was I supposed to think? The last time we talked, you told me I was throwing my life away.”

“Honey, I was worried about you,” she says. “Look at where you ended up. Was I wrong?”

I sigh. “I guess not.”

“I love you, baby, and it just breaks my heart to watch you go through all this struggle and know it’s my fault.”

“Mom, it’s not—”

“Yes it is. I should’ve been there for you. I should’ve been a better mother.”

I never really thought of my mom as a bad parent, more of an absent one. But it wasn’t her fault really. She got pregnant in high school and decided to keep me. She had to drop out of school and then my dad — I’ve never met him, but from what I’ve gotten her to tell me, he was an older guy in town that took advantage of her — left and never sent her a dime of child support. Then she was left raising a baby by herself, without a high school diploma. She had to work three jobs just to keep the shitty roof we did have over our heads.

She’d come home from a double shift, make a bowl of cereal for dinner, and pass out on the couch before it was half-finished, but bone tired and impossible to wake. I learned to clean up, to make my own food, to get myself to school, all of that shit. And when I was old enough to, I easily found my way in with a bad crowd that made me finally feel less alone.

Like I said, it’s not something I blame her for exactly, but it wasn’t the kind of upbringing I’d wish on anyone. She did the best she could with what she had, but it was just never going to be enough and that wasn’t really her fault.

“You can’t blame yourself, Mom. I’m a big girl, I can fuck up all on my own.”

“Language, Victoria.”

I roll my eyes.

“But enough about me,” she says brightly, swiping at tears in the corners of her eyes. “How are you? How are things here?”

“Everything’s fine here,” I say. “It’s the out there that I’m worried about. What happens when I’m not under lock and key anymore?”

My mom frowns and leans forward to pat my knee. “Tori, you have always been the strongest little girl I’ve ever known and I know you can beat this thing. And if I can, I’d like to help you. I want to be there for you.”

“Wait… You’re really not disappointed in me?” I ask, incredulous. I always thought that she was. She tried so hard to raise me right. She never drank or did drugs even though they were in ample supply in our shitty little hometown. I think a part of my self-loathing has always been tied to the expectation that she’s disappointed in me.

“No, sweetheart. I might be disappointed by some of your choices or the things you’ve done, but never you. I’m so proud of all you’ve accomplished in your life. So very proud. And I’m still certain you’re going to be the woman I always knew you could be.”

Her words bring me back to Serge and his offer. The chance to do something for good, for someone else instead of myself for once. I smile.

“I might be taking on a new project when I get out of here.”

“Oh?” she asks, her voice careful and measured.

“Yeah. A friend of mine is going to be organizing benefit concerts for his community center… They do such great work. The kids are so great, Mom. I told him I’d help him, with performing or organizing. Might as well since the record dropped me, right?”

Mom looks impressed, but narrows her eyes at me anyway.

“Who is this ‘friend’?”

“His name’s Serge—”

“That heroin addict you’ve been spending time with? Do you really think that’s the best idea?”

I’m taken aback by her forthrightness, but I don’t let it catch me totally off-guard.

“He’s not an addict, Mom. He got me into this place. He’s been clean for seven years.”

“Really?” That seems to surprise her.

“Yeah. He’s a really great guy. You should see him with the kids. It’s amazing.”

“So he’s not a drug user? You’re not going on wild benders with him?”

“No, Mom. Have you been reading TMZ?”

“Where else am I supposed to get my news about you?”

Ouch. Low blow.

“Fair enough,” I sigh. “No, that’s all sensationalist reporting. And I’m not helping him with his sobriety, either. It’s the other way around.”

She smiles and gently pats the back of my hand. “Well, he sounds like a nice guy. I’m glad you’ve finally found someone.”

“It’s not like that—” Well, it kind of is. Or I think it is? I don’t really know. We definitely have a thing, I just don’t know if we are a thing. “I don’t know what it’s like. But he is really good for me. I just think I might be bad for him. Being in this place makes me realize how hard it must be for him to deal with me going through all of this.”

“Have you talked to him at all about that?”

“Not really,” I mutter under my breath.

“Well, it sounds like you know what you need to do. You need to make him know how much you care about him and how good he is for you. And hopefully he’ll think it’s mutual. I’ve got a sneaking suspicion it is.”

“You haven’t even met him,” I protest.

She shrugs. “I don’t need to. I can see what he’s done for you and that kind of thing doesn’t work one way, Tori.”

I chewed my lip, not sure if I should really get my hopes up or not. It’s true that Serge has kept his word and visited every chance he’s been allowed. And I’ve talked to him on the phone at least twice, though those conversations were a little awkward and short. I never have been very good at long talks on the phone. I prefer face to face.

“Maybe you’re right,” I finally say, not sure if I believe it or not. Could Serge be as crazy about me as I am about him?

I try to imagine doing everything he’s done for me for anyone else. There aren’t many people I would make the trip to visit. It’s pretty much him and Onyx. For him, it’s probably Ian and I guess me.

“I am,” she says warmly. “A mother knows.”

For the rest of visiting, we sit down at a table and dump out a puzzle, getting to work. Puzzles were a cheap form of entertainment in my childhood, but normally they were always missing a piece because they were from the library or Goodwill. I don’t know if this one is missing any pieces, but we’re probably not going to find out since there’s apparently a thousand of them.

But over the puzzle, we catch up and bond again. It’s been so long since I’ve seen my mom that it’s kind of like hanging out with an old friend you haven’t seen in a while. It’s awkward at first, but we quickly fall into our old patterns. Only this time I’m not a surly seventeen year-old determined to get emancipated and go to LA. This time, I’m feeling much more level-headed, way more grown up.

I’m not sure when that happened, but if I had to guess, I’d say it was in the last week or so. When I finally stopped blaming everyone else for everything that’s wrong with my life and finally accepted some damn responsibility. It was the most adult thing I’d ever done, and ever since then, I’ve felt like a bit of a different person. A more competent person. Someone I think I might one day be proud to be. And I think it has something to do with Serge, but also with this place, and maybe it really is just finally time for me to stop acting like I can do whatever I want whenever I want without any consequences. Took me long enough to realize it, but better late than never, right?