“Did you have to go so fast?”
“Ow!” he cries as he hangs his helmet on the bike then rubs his arm. “Yes, I did. You want to have time to get prettied up before we go, don’t you?”
“Is this your subtle way of telling me I look like shit?”
“Claire, it’s impossible for you to look like shit. Come on. My mom’s dying to see you.”
I stand still for a moment as I emotionally prepare myself to see Jackie Knight. Chris takes a few steps then looks back at me.
“Are you coming?”
“Does your mom know?”
Does she know what a horrible person I am, I want to ask. Does she know I kept the worst kind of secret a person could keep from you?
Chris’s sparkling features are dulled by this question. He takes a few steps toward me and looks me in the eye. “As much as I would love to tell my mom, just to have someone to talk to about it since you don’t want to, no, I haven’t told her. And I won’t tell her until this is all figured out. As far as she knows, we’re just going out to lunch today.”
“You can’t let her think we’re getting back together.”
“That’s what you’re worried about?”
“No, I just don’t want to feel double the wrath.”
This makes one corner of his mouth quirk up in a tiny half-smile, but it disappears quickly. “Claire, let’s just drop one bomb at a time. If she wants to think that us having lunch means we’re getting back together then let’s not shatter her heart any more than it already is.”
He’s referring to the fact that I didn’t contact Jackie for almost a year after I found out I was pregnant. I couldn’t face her while I was pregnant with her grandchild. Then I couldn’t face her knowing I’d given up her grandchild for adoption. I’m beginning to wonder if I should even go to this meeting with Abigail’s adoptive parents today. What kind of parent would allow their child to be anywhere near me? I might sell them to the highest bidder or get bored and leave them at the McDonald’s Playland.
“Hey, don’t start getting down on yourself,” he says as he grabs my face to force me to look at him. “We both fucked up. I should have been there for you, but I was too busy feeling sorry for myself and thinking I could replace you.”
I pull his hands off my face as I turn away. I can’t look him in the eye and talk about this at the same time or I’ll fall apart.
“Please stop being so understanding.”
I walk up the paved brick pathway leading to the front door of the only real home I’ve ever had; the home I shared with Chris and Jackie for three years until I moved into the dorms at UNC two years ago. Jackie and Chris both insist that this is still my home, but something feels different. Like I broke this home and I shouldn’t be welcome here.
Chris rushes past me to get to the door first. He unlocks the deadbolt and my chest tightens. He looks over his shoulder and flashes me a soft smile before he pushes the door open.
“Welcome home.”
The smell hits me first; the scent of the lavender-bamboo scented candles Jackie buys in bulk because she’s certain they’re going to discontinue them one of these days. I step inside and it looks different. Chris must have paid for some renovations. Dark hardwood floors have replaced the beige carpet. The wallpaper is gone and the walls have all been painted soft neutral colors. Most of the furniture has been replaced and the house now looks like the inside of a Pottery Barn catalog, comfy and classic.
I want to cry. Jackie has worked so hard all her life, first as the oldest child in her family then as a single mom to Chris. But she always made room in her heart and her home for her foster children. She deserves this and I’m so happy that Chris has been able to give her the home she deserves.
The water is running in the kitchen and I follow Chris toward the sound. As soon as we step into the kitchen the water shuts off and Jackie looks over her shoulder straight at me. She looks exactly the same as I remember.
Her dark hair is cut short and stylish, but I notice a few red highlights. Her makeup is impeccable, as usual, and she’s wearing a classy gray cardigan and jeans that hug her round hips. Jackie was always stylish and always took the time to make herself pretty, even when she had foster kids climbing the walls.
For a moment we’re both frozen, stuck in a kaleidoscope of memories and unspoken words. Then the first tear trickles down her cheek and I go to her. She opens her arms and I throw my arms around her waist and bury my face in her shoulder.
“Oh, honey. You’re home,” she murmurs into my ear as she smoothes down my hair.
I tighten my arms around on her and breathe in her soft, floral scent. I don’t want to let go.
Chapter Six
Chris
WATCHING CLAIRE AND MY MOM comforting each other fills me with the worst kind of longing for the way things used to be. Claire should have spent the last year here, not bouncing around from the dorm to Senia’s house then to that apartment. She needed us and because of my stupid pride she suffered alone.
They finally release their grip on each other and my mom brushes the tears away from Claire’s face. Claire’s eyes are red as hell the way they get when she’s crying uncontrollably. I’ve seen that look on her too many times.
“I’m so sorry I didn’t come sooner,” she says.
“That’s water under the bridge. The important thing is that you came back and that you never, ever do that to me again.”
This gets a small, congested chuckle and a smile out of Claire, but the pain she’s hiding from my mom quickly returns to her dainty features.
“All right, that’s enough,” I say. “Claire has to freshen up so we can get going.”
“Oh, poo. You just got here,” my mom complains as she glares at me across the kitchen. “You can’t leave yet. You two can hang out later. Let me have some time with my girl.”
Claire looks at me and I can’t help but gaze at her for a moment. I love that Claire has never been good at hiding her emotions. It took almost a year after she arrived at our house for her to allow herself to be vulnerable in front of anyone. But once I tore down those walls I fell irrevocably in love with her. She’s so hard on herself, but I’ve never met anyone more loving than Claire.
I know she gave up Abigail for both of us. I have no doubt that she believed she was making the right decision. But I can’t reconcile the girl I fell in love with—the same girl who made me wait more than two years to have sex with her—with this girl who fell in love with a guy she’s known less than two months. Is this guy better than I or did I just leave her heart wide open for him to get inside?
“Stop staring at her, Chris,” my mom says and I’m snapped out of my thoughts.
Claire looks down at the floor. She knows I’m thinking about something we can’t discuss openly in front of my mom.
“Sorry, Mom, but we have to go. I have to get Claire back to the dorm soon so she can study. I’ll bring her by another time. I promise.”
The disappointment on my mom’s face kills me. She nods, looking a bit defeated, then turns to Claire and grabs her hands.
“In case I don’t see you anytime soon—”
“I’ll be back. I—”
“Shh! I don’t want you to promise me you’ll be back soon. I know you’ve got classes and lots of studying and parties and all that college nonsense. I just want you to promise me you’ll come home for Christmas. It just wasn’t any fun without you last year. Right, Chris?”
Fuck. Knowing Claire, she’s going to think I put my mom up to this.
“Mom, Claire probably already has plans for Christmas. Let’s not put any more pressure on her.”
“Oh, come on. You were miserable without Claire here last Christmas.” She turns to Claire in full gossip-mode. “You should have seen him. He was a mess, brooding in the bedroom with his guitar for days.”
“Come on. She doesn’t want to hear that shit.”
Claire wipes the tears from her cheeks as she stares at me. She’s not thinking about how pathetic I am. She’s thinking of how sorry she is for not being here last Christmas. I want to tell her that she has nothing to feel guilty about, but I can’t speak openly about any of that stuff here.
She finally turns away to face my mom. “I’ll be home for Christmas if I have to crawl here.”
I try not to let this statement get my hopes up, but right now I’m just insanely grateful that my mom seems to be more convincing than I am. They embrace again and I give them a moment before I break up the love-fest.
“All right, all right. You guys can cuddle some more later. Claire and I have to get going.”
I place my hand on the small of Claire’s back, something I’ve done a million times, but this time I expect her to push my hand away or shoot me a severe look. She doesn’t do either. She allows me to lead her out of the kitchen and up the stairs to her old room where she can fix her hair and makeup. I open the bedroom door and wait as she stands at the threshold for a moment.
I take a few steps inside and turn around. “We didn’t change anything. It didn’t feel right since it’s still your room.”
She steps inside and gazes around. Her twin bed is still covered in the lilac comforter and white pillows. Her shelves are still stacked with dozens of fantasy novels. I haven’t even upgraded the ancient desktop computer on her desk. Everything is the same.
“Maybe I shouldn’t have come here,” she whispers.
“Just brush your hair and we’ll get out of here.”
She takes a few tentative steps toward the white desk and sits down in the rolling desk chair. She slowly pulls open the top drawer on the right and pulls out a purple brush. I can’t help but feel nostalgic as I watch her run the brush through her soft, blonde hair.
I can’t stop myself as I spin her chair around and place my hands on her knees as I kneel before her. “I know that everything seems awkward and fucked up right now, but this is your home. Whether or not we’re together. Don’t let that Christmas shit make things weird. You know my mom is just being pushy.”
“It’s not awkward or fucked up and I think that’s what’s getting to me. I expected it to be weird, but it’s not. It’s just… home.”
She looks me in the eye as she says this so I know she’s telling me the truth. I want to kiss her so fucking bad that my whole body aches for it, but I can’t. Claire is not the cheating type and I don’t want to be the source of any more of her misplaced guilt.
“Hey, I know you’ve seen me play a million times, but I’m doing this jam session with Neil Hardaway at a blues club in Durham a week from Saturday. It’s the final stop on this ‘Home Sweet Home’ tour Xander set up for me. I know you have a boyfriend, but it’s fucking Neil Hardaway. You know this is a dream of mine and I’d love to share it with you.”
The pained expression on her face tells me she’s about to let me down. “I can’t. I’ll be with Adam that Saturday. I’m sorry.”
Just hearing his fucking name come out of her mouth, the same lips I’ve kissed for hours, makes me want to punch something. I take a breath to calm myself because this isn’t like me. Only Claire can get me this worked up.
“Don’t apologize,” I say as I let go of her knees and stand up. “Come on. We gotta get going.”
We make it downstairs into the hallway where I open the door to the attached garage and flip the light switch. The stale smell of gasoline and rubber is stagnant in the late summer warmth. She enters ahead of me and immediately walks toward the Porsche.
“Where’s Mr. Miyagi?” she asks, referring to our old Shiba Inu.
Mr. Miyagi got to go to Japan with me in April before he passed, but he was almost thirteen years old. He lived a long life.