Lindsey

 

I’m not much more than acquaintances with Sebastian, Will, and Yan, but it will hurt more when it comes to Isaac and Anika. I can’t escape the feeling that I’m falling short in all my relationships lately. With my parents, with Jenson, and now with my roommates.

I arrive home and am pleased to see Will and Sebastian parked on the couch, battling it out in some futuristic alien game, and Isaac banging around in the kitchen. The kid uses almost every utensil we own to make a package of Ramen—I guess that’s the future chef in him.

“Anika home?” I ask as I pass through the kitchen.

“No. Work.”

Well, there goes my plan to break the news to all of them at once. I’m not sure when we’ll all be in the apartment at the same time again. “We need to have a roommate meeting.”

“For the last time, I didn’t use your loofah, Phillip did. But it was on accident.”

I catch myself on the door frame, slowing my momentum on the way out. “What?”

He waves me off, avoiding eye contact. “Oh, nothing. Forget I said anything. Also, you might want to throw it away.”

“Who the hell is Phillip?”

“My boyfriend.”

Now I’m really thrown off. Isaac spends a lot of time talking, but not once has he mentioned a boyfriend. “You have a boyfriend?”

“I have for the past few months, yes. I’m meeting his parents over Christmas.” He bends over the stove, giving the sautéed onions his close attention.

“What. . . Where have I been? When were you planning on telling me this?”

“Girl, where haven’t you been? And you didn’t ask, so it never came up.” He shrugs. “Just because I’m super nosy about your business doesn’t mean I go blabbing about mine.”

I don’t think he meant for the words to sting, but they do. How inattentive have I been? I consider Isaac to be a good friend—one of my best friends here, really, not that I have many options. But it occurs to me that I’ve never stopped moving long enough to express interest in his life. I just dismissed him as nosy and borrowed his car when I needed it.

Really, I’m just an asshole.

“Wow. I’m sorry I never asked.”

He switches off the burner and turns to me. “It doesn’t bother me. I talk enough for the both of us, and it wasn’t like I was going to put my happy relationship up on a billboard. I know how you are.”

I furrow my brows, reentering the kitchen. “How am I?”

“You don’t let anyone get too close. You’re this untouchable ice queen, without really being an ice queen. I envy you sometimes, but I also feel bad for you.”

I scowl. It’s hard not to be offended after a statement like that. “What the hell does that mean?”

“Forget I said anything. It’s fine.”

“No, please, don’t clam up on me now.”

He removes the pan from the burner, switching it off and taking his time meeting my eyes. When he does, his are pitying. “Life is meant for living, Linds. Don’t forget to try it every once in a while.”

I open my mouth and shut it. I want to argue with him, but I don’t have to do much soul-searching to know he’s right, especially when the feeling of déjà vu is so strong it’s dizzying. It wasn’t long ago that I had a similar conversation with Sebastian. And when I try to remember the last time I had a fun night out, I have to think back months. It was probably the night Jenson found me at Crazy Town.

Jenson. . . He was an anomaly. Unexpected and sudden, in both his arrival and departure. It was purposeful that I never let myself rely on other people for happiness, but I can’t remember the last time I smiled as much as I did with him. The last time I felt so unburdened.

“Geez, it wasn’t meant to be personal, Linds. Cheer up, sweet cheeks. You’re pretty and young. There’s plenty of time for you to learn that you can’t run on passion alone. You’ve got to invest a little heart, too.” He approaches me, and I’m stiff in his arms when he draws me into his side and kisses me on top of the head. Then I sag against him. In relief, sadness, regret. . .

It makes me teary-eyed—the adjustments I’m about to make, the relationships I formed and hardly realized, the fact that somewhere in the madness of the past six months, Isaac became something more than a friend. Like a brother, only one who has the innate ability to recall random information from the past five years of Vogue issues.

“I’m sorry.” I press the heels of my palms over my eyes to physically block the rising tears. “Everyone’s spitting their wisdom at me, and I’m beginning to think you all know more about me than I do.”

“No, doll. All we can do is judge whatever you’re going through objectively. Only you can decide what’s right for you. Now, what’s this meeting about?”

He says it so casually, like he hasn’t just shaken me right to my foundation. Life is moving on as usual, and meanwhile, I’m facing an impending identity crisis. I feel that I’m losing my grasp on who I am, who I thought I was. Maybe in the process of convincing myself what was right, what I needed, I never really got to know myself at all. But I force down my panic for the sake of handling the situation at hand.

I step away from him and brace myself to let him down. “I’m going abroad to travel with a band of hooligans and I can’t be your roommate anymore. I’m hoping nobody will hate me for jacking up their rent.”

Isaac blinks at me, frowning. “So you joined the circus and decided not to tell me.”

“Close, but no. I’m going to Europe with a band to assist their tour videographer. Maybe more than just Europe, I don’t know yet. It depends on the kind of reaction we get from the footage. Anyway, I leave in a month.” Saying it out loud makes me realize how outlandish it sounds. Not everybody would uproot their life at a moment’s notice in favor of a transient one abroad with four unpredictable band members, but not everyone is me. I’m going to see places I’ve only dreamed of, lose myself in foreign cultures that haven’t yet been completely diluted by modern society, and hopefully put my name on the map and ensure my job security for the remainder of my career.

Isaac claps his hands together in my face, absolving me from my thoughts. “Then what are you worried about? Damn. I’d burn this place to the ground to do something like that. The rest of them won’t care at all. Come on, let’s tell them together.” He wipes his hands on a dishrag and herds me into the living room.

Will and Sebastian don’t bat an eye when we approach the couch, and I clear my throat a couple times before Isaac stands between them and the TV and claps again. He’s big on making an entrance. “Guys! Lindsey has something important to tell us.”

Will leans around Isaac’s body and mashes the buttons on his controller, chewing his lower lip in concentration. “What up?”

“Uh, did you hear what I said? It’s important.” Marching over to the game console, Isaac pretends he’s going to switch it off, causing Will and Sebastian to jump to attention, finally.

“Damn, hold up. We’ll pause it,” Sebastian says, clicking something. The apartment goes abnormally silent in the absence of all the gunfire and explosions.

“Okay, what’s the emergency?” Will asks.

“Are you pregnant or something?” chimes in Sebastian.

“Jesus, no, I’m just not going to be your roommate anymore,” I blurt, before realizing my entire plan to be tactful about the news has gone to shit. “I mean, I was offered a job overseas, and it won’t make sense to keep paying my portion of the rent when I’m not going to be here for the next four months, at least. Once I start getting paid, I can maybe send you guys another month or two’s rent to get you by until you find someone else. I mean, I’ll have to find a place to store my stuff, but—”

Sebastian holds his hand up, effectively silencing my nonsensical chatter, before focusing his gaze on me. Well, trying to. His eyes are narrowed to slits, and I’m pretty sure he’s stoned out of his mind. “Hold up. Ho, ho, hold up just a minute. You’re leaving the United States? Like forever?”

“Four months, remember? I just said that.”

“That’s awesome,” he says, flopping back on the cushions. I take the fact that his face is now crumpled in a sleepy smile as a good thing.

“Thank you,” I say with a mixture of relief and surprise.

“And don’t worry about the roommate thing. This place is dirt cheap as it is, and I doubt we’d find someone else desperate enough to live with us,” Will, the voice of reason—and sobriety—says.

“Wow, thanks.” Sarcasm promptly replaces relief. “I just thought I’d put you guys in a bind, the money situation and all. . .”

“I actually choose to live here,” Sebastian interjects, holding up a finger. “Not because it’s cheap, but because it’s fun as hell. My mom left us when I was a kid, so it’s nice to have some females around. You know—yelling at us, telling us not to use your girly-ass soap.”

Temporarily ignoring the sanitary state of the couch, I sink down beside Will. “Wow, I’m sorry. I’m glad we could, uh, yell at you.” I don’t know what else to say to that. This conversation is headed in every direction I never expected.

“I don’t mind it because I’m never around. You know, with my hours and all,” Will continues reasonably.

I nod in understanding. “Right. The strip club.”

Will quirks an eyebrow. “What?”

I glance at Isaac for confirmation. “You work at a strip club, right? You have crazy hours, you’re never here at night. I thought you were maybe a bouncer or something.”

Sebastian covers his smile while Will responds. “I work at a distribution center.”

“Oh. . .” I glance back at Isaac, who’s shaking with laughter. “I feel like I don’t know any of you. Like where the hell is Yan, what does he do?”

“Yan is a bartender. At a strip club.” Sebastian’s answer is punctuated by giggles.

I shake my head, but I can’t help the chuckle that rises out of me. What is this life, and how did I end up in the middle of it? “Wow. I feel like this is too little too late, but I’m sorry I didn’t get to know you guys. Now I feel like I’m missing out.”

Will pats my knee. “It’s fine. And I wouldn’t worry about storing your stuff—those places can be super unreliable, especially when you’re as cheap as you and only drop, like, twenty bucks a month on them. You can leave your shit here. No promises we won’t use your razors if you leave them, though.”

“Yeah, they make your skin smooth as fuck,” Sebastian supplies.

I press my lips together, fighting emotions. I knew saying good bye to Anika and Isaac would be tough, but I didn’t prepare for the wave of sadness and regret that hits me when I realize I didn’t bother getting to know my other roommates. Our chaotic living situation provided a lively backdrop to the monotony of my days.

Just then, the front door flies open, and Anika waltzes in. She takes one look at all of us sitting in the living room, together for once, and freezes in place. “Does someone have cancer or something?”

Before I can answer, Sebastian chooses that moment to let out a highly inappropriate burst of laughter. “Nah, Lindsey just wanted to tell us she’s leaving the country forever.”

Anika looks at me just as I glare at Sebastian. There’s no amending this now. “I’m not moving away forever, but I am moving.”

“Oh-kayyy,” she says slowly, dropping her keys into the bowl. Then she starts down the hall and I’m left to chase after her, my chest hollow in response to her reaction. This isn’t going how I envisioned at all. Behind me, the boys murmur amongst themselves, probably speculating if they’re about to witness a girl fight or something. I catch the door she’s swinging shut, pausing on the threshold.

“I’m not moving away forever,” I state again, at a loss for words.

She drops her purse on her desk, runs her hands through her thick hair, does everything but look back at me. “That’s good to know.”

“I wanted to tell everyone at once, but Isaac kind of rushed things along.”

“Isaac does that, but leaving the country isn’t usually a rushed kind of thing. How long have you known about this?”

It takes all my effort to close my gaping mouth and grasp for explanations I can’t find. I didn’t expect to have to defend myself when it came to Anika. I assumed she’d be my biggest supporter. “Since yesterday.” When she tilts her head in disbelief, I throw my hands up. “Seriously. I knew nothing about this job until yesterday. This guy called me out of the blue last week to tell me about this crazy opportunity, and yesterday was the soonest we could meet.”

Anika sinks down into her desk chair and spins around, her features still speculative. “A random guy just calls you up with a half-sketchy, half-amazing job offer, and you don’t say anything about it?”

“I didn’t know how it would pan out. It’s not exactly an everyday thing, being offered a position with a world-renowned band on an international tour. Especially not for me.” I frown. “I thought you’d be happy for me.”

“You didn’t give me a chance. You just do things. Like lah-dee-dah, I’m Lindsey Farrar, I can do whatever I want with no regard for anyone else’s feelings.”

I didn’t anticipate having to defend my choice. I didn’t expect to feel resentment toward one of my closest friends, either. “It’s not about anyone else. When I’m working twelve-hour days at a job that pays nothing, then coming home and immediately jumping into hours of work for what few clients I have, it’s just me. Nobody’s offering to take that load off my shoulders, and nobody’s volunteering to pay my bills. It’s. Just. Me. I had to make sure it wasn’t a dead-end offer to con me out of money I don’t have.”

“Like that photographer guy, Craig? Or was it Greg? Sebastian couldn’t seem to remember.”

I slump against the door frame. My automatic reaction is a bolt of anger at Sebastian, and therein lies the problem. Because it’s not Sebastian at fault here, it’s me. I’m an asshole friend, an asshole daughter, and an asshole girlfriend. And I wasn’t even that last one—because of me.

“I didn’t want to bother you with that because—”

“Because, what, we’re not friends or anything? Because we never bonded over our mutual distaste for rap music made after the nineties, people who put their Christmas lights up right after Halloween, sweaty dudes humping our legs at the club, and cleaning man-hair out of our sink every day?”

“No, we’re friends, I just. . .” I cross the room and sit carefully on my bed a few feet away from her, partly expecting her to recoil. “I’m sorry. I came out here with nobody, with hardly anything, thinking everything was going to be a battle. I thought I wouldn’t have time for relationships, but I was more afraid I might screw them up. I didn’t see the point in putting effort into something that might have to take a backseat to work. And I’m sorry. I didn’t count on ending up as roommates with someone like you.”

Anika tilts her head, not completely sold, but softening. “It’s not you against the world, you know.” 

“I don’t think that,” I say inadvertently, though I know better. I wipe my clammy hands on my snake-print leggings and blink at my thighs. “Okay, I guess I do.”

“You know, sometimes you make life a lot harder on yourself. It’s painful to watch.”

“I’m a train wreck.”

She wheels her chair over to me, working against the resistance of the carpet, and the strain on her face makes me laugh. “Life is a train wreck, but other people can make it hella easier. And a lot more interesting, if you know what I mean.” She makes a lurid hand gesture, putting one finger through a hole she’s made with her other hand.

I smack her hand away. “You and Isaac are on a roll with your motivational speeches. You’re conspiring against me, aren’t you?”

“Yes, absolutely. You can’t be trusted to take matters into your own hands most of the time. Now, I’ll forgive you for being a prick, but only if you do one thing.” I nod and wait expectantly, the smug grin on her face telling me that brain of hers is up to no good. “Tell me you love me.”

“Really?” I release a short laugh. “One thing, and that’s what you want me to do?”

“It’s a big thing, coming from you.”

“Fine.” I take both her hands in mine and, with the straightest face and sincerest tone I can manage, tell her I love her.

She rolls her eyes. “See? You didn’t die, did you? The world didn’t cave in, and your dreams didn’t spontaneously combust. Remember that.” It’s then I realize she had an ulterior motive for making me say those words. And my irrational fears didn’t come to life. My dreams didn’t combust. My heart didn’t implode.

“You’re so pleased with yourself.”

“Well yeah, I got you to do the impossible. So, where are you moving to?”

“I’m not moving. The band I’m photographing is touring most of Europe over four months. I’ll be back eventually.”

“Until you get swept away by some sweet-talking French artist who knows the way to your frozen heart. You know they’re stylish over there, right?” I follow her pointed gaze and look down at my clothes in feigned shock. “Come along now, let’s figure out what I can bear to part with from my closet. Consider it a short-term loan, because you’re going to return it. I know you’re coming back.”

After that rocky conversation, we’re somehow back to our usual antics. Anika thrusts her stylish clothing at me while I fruitlessly turn down garments of fur and lace, knowing they’ll end up in my suitcase anyway. And yet, the tone of our relationship already feels different. I’ve spent much of my life thinking I had to do things in a certain order, accomplish everything on my list of dreams before I could allow myself to indulge in things like friendships, love, or something as simple as bingeing TV shows. Because I really did believe it was me against the world. I adopted that ideology, and I clung to it like an island while everything else in life changed and raged around me, and I didn’t allow maturity to reform those beliefs. I didn’t adapt to what life threw at me.

It’s when people like Anika come along that refuse to let you struggle on your own, and people like Jenson tell you they love you, that you realize you’re not as unchanging and indestructible as you thought.  

 

I’m more nervous about a holiday than I’ve ever been. I’ve made plenty of revelations over the past couple weeks, but none so difficult as knowing I need to make amends with my dad. It will be the first time I’ve seen him face to face in five years.

My mom and my grandmother pick me up curbside at the airport. I’m too busy embracing them to notice it was my grandmother who drove, until my mom climbs back into the passenger side, a cane wedged in front of her seat. There aren’t any laws banning those with MS from driving, so it’s significant that my mom let her elderly mother drive her to the airport to get me. She knows how sensitive I am to her illness, and up until now, she’s done everything she can to protect me from its reality.

I drop my carry-on by the stairs inside my mom’s house in Fort Lupton and follow her into the kitchen. I haven’t been back in months and I don’t want to waste any time. She automatically hands me a mug of coffee, just how I like it, and we sit in the breakfast nook. If it weren’t for the current situation, I’d look into the mug’s black depths and see Jenson.

“How are all your friends handling the news that you’re leaving? Tell me everything,” she says, her fresh face untroubled, looking from the outside like she isn’t afflicted with a neurological disorder. I may have fibbed a little and made it seem like I spent less time working and more with all the friends I don’t really have.

“They’re supportive,” I say, thinking of my roommates and our unconventional relationship.

“That’s good to hear. I’m glad you have people rooting for you. Means you’ll probably come back,” she teases.

“Yeah. Maybe earlier than expected if I suck. The band seems like a handful, I just hope I’m up for the job.”

My mom adjusts her dark hair in its clip and nods reassuringly. “Of course you are. You were willing to trade in everything familiar to you for the unpredictable. This, living your dream, will be cake! It’s a big step, but it’s nothing you haven’t done before. You have all the tools you need to succeed, right at this moment.”

I smile gratefully, wishing I had her unwavering confidence. Despite the unpredictability of the arts, she’s never doubted me. “I’m just glad I was able to take a break and come back to see you before the tour started.”

“Me too, hon. Now remind me when you’re planning on seeing your dad.”

I try not to let my disappointment show. I’ve relayed my plans for the holiday to her a few times over the phone. Her lapses in memory aren’t anything new, but it’s going to take some getting used to after months of not seeing her. “Tomorrow. I’ll spend Christmas Eve with them, then come back here for Christmas day.”

“Oh yes, I remember you telling me that.”

I press my thumb into a chip in the porcelain mug. “Just for lunch, probably. I don’t want to spend more time over there than is necessary.”

A moment of silence stretches, and I look up at her, at the gray eyes that match mine. The sadness in them makes me want to punch someone. My dad, namely. “You haven’t seen him in a long time. I know he misses you. Don’t let your anger win over the occasion.”

“It’s hard not to.” There are moments when I think I miss him too, but then I remember the sham that was their marriage and every happy memory seems tarnished.

She reaches across the table and takes my hand in hers. “If this situation taught me anything, it’s that the good days are too precious to ruin with something like anger. We both made the decision to end our marriage. And no matter what you believe, disease can’t be the thing that holds a family together.”

For her sake, I try to take the words to heart, but it’s hard not to be angry. Someone always seems to come out on the losing end. Jenson and his alcoholism. My mom and her disease. It’s tough to forget that when on the flipside, the other person involved always seems to move on to bigger and better things. My dad and his new fiancé. Raven and whatever she’s doing now—I never asked about it, but it must be better if she hasn’t looked back.

“You shouldn’t have to go through this alone,” I murmur. They are the best words I can come up with right now.

“I’m not. Far from it. But enough about me, have you packed? Thought at all about what you’re taking with you on your trip?”

Such normal questions to ask when everything about this situation—hers and mine—seems daunting. “A little.”

She levels her gaze at me. “Aren’t you excited?”

“Yes.” It comes out a little defensively, because no amount of excitement can quell the anxiety I feel when I think of the thousands of miles, plus the whole freaking ocean, that will soon separate us.

“Honey. . .”

“What will I do if something bad happens and I can’t get to you?” I don’t want to burden her with my fears, but they’ve built up too much to keep contained.

My mom sighs, a V appearing between her eyebrows. “Then it happens, and you’ll get to me when you get to me. Life doesn’t stop when you get sick, Lindsey. Not for me and definitely not for you. I won’t let it. There is no cure, and no amount of worry from you, or you waiting on me hand and foot, will change that.”

There’s a part of me that wants to crumble, give up this opportunity for something comfortable and familiar, but how can I when her whole life has changed and she’s still sitting tall and strong across from me?

“It would make me feel better,” I say listlessly.

“Because you have a good heart. But trust me when I say that it’s far more beneficial for me to know you’re doing something you love, even if you’re far away, than compromising your dreams for what ifs.”

I can’t argue with that. My mom is not her disease. She is fire and heart, and after two decades of life, I’m still learning things from her; the most important lesson being that you can’t waste time on what ifs. Sometimes you rush headlong into things, and you crash and burn. You hurt, you make changes, you adapt. But perhaps the worst possible thing you can do is go about life without living, without loving, and wonder what happened if you had. I make a promise to myself not to do that, at least professionally.

Meanwhile, I ignore the ache Jenson left in my heart.

 

My stomach sinks when I notice the front door opening as soon as I park in my dad’s driveway. I’d counted on having a few moments on the stoop to myself, one last chance to debate whether to bolt, but it’s too late. I keep my eyes down, but there’s no mistaking the broad form that steps onto the front porch.  

He waits there for me as I walk more carefully than necessary up the shoveled sidewalk, heart pounding and arms crossed against the bitter cold, but I can’t avoid his gaze for long. I look up into eyes I haven’t seen in half a decade and everything seems to melt all at once. The anger and resentment I’ve amassed for years, the distance I’ve kept between us. Time dissolves and I’m just the girl whose father took off her training wheels before she was ready because he knew she could ride her bike without them. The one who made chocolate chip pancakes for Father’s Day without a care in the world that they were misshapen and half burnt.

I pause for half a second before stepping into his outstretched arms. Guilt and relief clash in my mind. The fact that this reunion could’ve taken place long ago if it weren’t for me battles the contentment I want to feel. My father remains silent throughout my internal conflict, only removing his arms from around my shoulders when I make a move to step back.

He takes one look at me, at my open mouth poised for an apology, before he says, “It’s okay.”

I swallow the lump in my throat, blink back hot tears, and nod. Those words, that acceptance, trumps any ill feelings that might’ve persisted. His mouth quirks up in a smile, the same one featured in our dusty family albums, and I match it with my own. Maybe all those memories don’t have to be for nothing. There is happiness and love in them that can’t be shadowed by the events that followed.

Then he’s beckoning me inside, into the warmth of a home that holds familiar furniture and a few photos of me, but still has just enough room to make new memories. I become reacquainted with someone who’s his new fiancé, but an old friend, and I feel okay. I remember what my mom said, that life doesn’t stop for anyone, ever. I thought I’d have to repeat the saying like a mantra to get through this day, but it soon fades into the background of cheerful Christmas music and the smells of Snickerdoodle cookies and eggnog.

Things are beginning to click into place, the gaps in my world filling in.

This is me adapting, and it doesn’t hurt as much as I thought it would. This is me living with heart.