Blackbird Page 3

  Hope sits down on the couch and tears open a bag of Starbursts. She hands him a few and I shake my head when she dips the bag toward me. “I think it’d be weird,” she says. “Park can barely hold a civil conversation with me and it’s been so long since we’ve even had a practice.”

  Guy rolls his thumb around the cap and sighs. “Park is insane, Hope. He turns away every drummer. All of them. Either he insists they can’t keep a beat, or they don’t have enough experience, or they sweat too much.”

  Hope laughs. “Sweat?”

  Shaking his head, Guy holds up his hand. “That one’s true. Dude was dripping all over the floor. Dripping. And he doesn’t wear deodorant because ‘it’s bad for the environment.’ What’s bad for the environment is the way that guy smelled. Like old Thai food that sat out in the sun all day. It hurt to breathe.”

  Hope crinkles her nose. “Ew.”

  “I know,” he agrees. “But the rest were all right. I mean, they aren’t you, but they weren’t bad.” He takes a drink and sets the bottle on the table. He shrugs as he looks at Hope. “That’s the real reason. He wants you back.”

  My body reacts to his words before I can stop myself. I fist my hands and narrow my eyes, squinting at Guy. He’s referring to the band—Park only wants Hope playing the drums—but the rest is implied. It’s no secret Park wants to get back together with Hope.

  She nudges my foot with hers and I try to smile, but it feels more like a grimace. Guy chuckles and I flip him off.

  He ignores me and grabs Hope’s hand. “Just one show, honey. Pretty please?”

  “No, Guy. It’s too strange. But I wrote a couple songs you can put music to if you want them.”

  He sits back, sliding his palms over his jeans. “Don’t bother. Park won’t sing them if they come from you, which sucks since nobody else can write lyrics worth a shit.”

  Hope’s brows pull together. “What have you been playing then?”

  Guy huffs out a dry laugh. “Covers. It’s total bullshit.” He turns his head and looks out the window, watching the snow fall. Everybody’s quiet, lost in thought. “I wish everything could stop changing.”

  “Change can be good,” Hope says softly.

  Guy chuckles quietly and raises his eyebrows. “So far it sucks. At least for everybody not included in your little love bubble.”

  “Love bubble,” Hope muses. “I like that.” She opens another piece of candy and pops it into her mouth. “You know, you can join our bubble anytime you want.”

  “Awe, that’s sweet, hon, but I don’t like you that way.” He leans into her and kisses her head. “Keep offering up threesomes, though. I hear it spices up the relationship.”

  “We’re plenty spicy,” I say.

  “Like Thai food,” Hope adds with a wink. I bark out a laugh.

  “I think I just threw up a little,” Guy says, gagging dramatically. “I’m so glad I don’t have to live with you anymore.”

  “You miss my sarcastic attitude and you know it.”

  He rests his head on top of hers and sighs. “I really do. And if I wasn’t gayer than a Christmas sweater, I’d steal you away from this joker in a heartbeat.”

  Hope snuggles into him and I don’t ruin their moment with my shitty retort. Instead I slip out of the room and pull my phone out to call Kel.

  Christmas isn’t going to be the same without him, but at least I can still talk to him.

  *******

  When you live with someone, you learn a lot of interesting things about a person. Like the way Hope talks in her sleep sometimes. Or how she always has to have music playing when she’s doing something she doesn’t really want to. Or the fact she is always losing everything. The remote, her keys, her birth control pills—that one was scary—her brush, pens, the can opener… I still don’t know how that happened—we never did find it.

  But what I discovered this morning is my new favorite thing about her.

  Hope loves Christmas. And I don’t mean she loves Christmas like the average person. Hope loves Christmas like a kid who still believes in Santa Claus. She’s up and bouncing around the apartment before the sun comes up. She has the tree lit and carols playing.

  “Merry Christmas! I’m so excited to watch you open your gifts,” she says, this huge grin on her face.

  Her enthusiasm is contagious. I lower myself to the oversized recliner and pull her into my lap. “Merry Christmas.” I kiss her cheek and then, because she smells so good, I run my nose over her throat and kiss the underneath of her chin.

  She presses closer to me. “Mason,” she whispers.

  “Hm?”

  “You’re going to make me skip to gift three.”

  I pull back and look at her. “Gift three?”

  “Mm-hm.”

  “Does it involve you naked?”

  She nods, her lashes dropping as she runs her tongue over her lips.

  “Yeah, I want it now.” I swing her onto the couch and follow her over, pulling her shirt off and sinking into her.

  8 Hope

  Gift one was the complete collection of the Nightmare on Elm Street movies. He loved them and immediately put one in. That’s why Johnny Depp is being pulled into a mattress on our TV on Christmas day.

  Mason got me a really pretty necklace that I know he can’t afford. He got hired in at Newton’s Pizza with me, but he hasn’t received a paycheck yet. Not that we make that much anyway. But the necklace is so pretty. A small blackbird made of onyx on a simple chain. The eye is a teeny little diamond.

  I almost cried when he latched it around my neck and touched the bird with one finger. After a deep breath, I gave him gift two. The song I wrote for him, typed and framed. Up in the corner, I added a picture he took of us the first night I moved in. Our faces are pressed together and you can see his arm holding the camera, but we’re both laughing, happy. It’s my favorite picture.

  He ran his fingers over the glass and then kissed me deeply before he gave me my second present. A box filled with individual packs of Skittles. Like a lifetime supply.

  Then I gave him gift three again.

  Johnny bites it in a bloody way and I stretch. “I should go take a shower so we can get to the house. Jenny wants us there as early as possible.”

  “All right,” Mason says, dragging the words out. He opens his arms, releasing me. I kiss his chin and stand up.

  “Want to come with me?”

  He grins, his green eyes locking on mine. “As if you even need to ask that question.” He pops up quickly and takes my hand, pulling me down the hallway.

  ~*~*~*~

  Watching Mason with my family and knowing he’s missing Christmas with his breaks my heart. He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t complain or even tell me he misses them, but I know. I can see it so clearly in the way his eyes focus on the tree and he checks out of the conversation.

  If everything goes right, he’ll never miss another Christmas with them again. I’ve been busting ass to pull my grades up. If I can manage to get into my first choice college, we’ll be in Chicago in about eight months.

  Studying is actually pretty fun when I do it with Mason. He rewards me for right answers with kisses and candy, which are great motivators. As well as the main prize—Mason going home.

  When we get home, he passes out on the couch. I did get him up pretty early. Seeing my chance, I slip his phone out of his pocket and shut myself in our bedroom.

  With shaking hands, I place the call to his mom. It rings four times and I don’t think she’s going to answer and then the phone clicks.

  “Mason?” Kellin says breathlessly. His voice is so excited and my heart flutters.

  “No, Little Man,” I whisper. “It’s Hope.”

  “Oh.” I can literally hear his enthusiasm deflate. “Hi.”

  “Hi. Merry Christmas. I just need to talk to your mom for a minute and then I’ll put Mason on. Okay?”

  “She’s not going to talk to you,” he says not trying to sugar coat her di
slike for me—which I appreciate.

  “Just hand her the phone. You don’t have to say who’s on it.”

  He doesn’t respond, but I hear the shuffling of the phone and then she’s there. “Hello?”

  “Hi Gabbie. It’s Hope.”

  “What happened?”

  “No. Nothing. He’s fine.” I sigh. “Well, he’s not fine. He misses you guys. He wants to see Kellin.”

  “Mm,” she huffs.

  “Listen, I know how you feel about me. And you have every right to hate me.”

  “I don’t hate you, Hope. Not at all. I feel so sorry for you. I’m just scared of what you’ll put my son through. What you’ve already put him through. And Kellin. What he saw.”

  “I know,” I murmur. “I’m sorry.” I’ll be sorry for that for the rest of my life.

  “That doesn’t change anything.”

  “I’m in therapy. I go every week. I’ve only missed one session.”

  “Well that’s good, Hope. I’m glad.”

  I close my eyes and take a deep breath. “But it doesn’t matter to you. Does it? I’ll just always be the crazy girl that stole your son.”

  She laughs dryly and the sound resembles Mason’s laugh. My stomach twists. “You can’t understand—you’re not a mother. We have a fierce protectiveness for our children.”

  “Not all moms,” I say quietly. I feel the tears sting my eyes and I blink them away. “I respect you for that, Gabbie. Can’t you respect me for trying to get better?”

  She’s quiet for a long time and I check to make sure I didn’t lose the call. “I’m sorry about your mom, Hope.”

  I don’t respond. I don’t know how.

  “The thing is, you’re a messed up kid and I don’t trust you with my children.”

  I don’t know where it comes from, it’s like it just spills from my mouth. “You’re messed up too. At least I’m trying to fix what’s wrong with me. You just keep getting worse.”

  Cheese and rice. No. I did not just say that. I’m supposed to be fixing this. Not making it worse. Shit.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.”

  “Yes you did. And you’re right.”

  Okay…

  “Why do you love him?” she asks suddenly.

  “He’s my reason for breathing,” I tell her. “He sees inside me even when I try so hard to hide. And I don’t know why, but he likes what he sees. All that’s bad and ugly about me, he likes it as much as the good stuff.” My vision blurs and a tear slides down my cheek. I wipe it away and go on. “Your son is smart, and funny, and he always does what he thinks is right, no matter what. He looks out for people and when he touches me, it’s like I’ve found a missing piece of myself.

  I could seriously go on all night, Gabbie. He’s amazing. I love him more than anything. And I need him to be happy. He needs to see Kellin. I’ll leave when he’s here. I’ll move out if that’s what it takes. Just let him see his brother. Please.”

  She makes a strange noise and sighs. “I don’t know. I need to think about it.”

  I nod even though she can’t see it. “Okay. Veronica—that’s my therapist—she suggested we try out a family session. Maybe if you came to one…maybe you would feel better.”

  “Have you done anything? Since Kellin saw you? Have you hurt yourself?”

  I swallow down the huge lump in my throat and clench my hand into a fist. “Yes. I’m not going to lie. I have. Once since then. After my first counseling session. But I haven’t since.”

  “Does he know?”

  “Yes.”

  “He didn’t tell me… I just don’t know.”

  “It’s always going to be a struggle for me, but I’m battling it. I fight against it every single day. And I’m getting better. It’s getting easier. Some days are harder than others, but it’s like there was this noose around my neck, choking me. It’s looser now. Some days I can even slip it over my head.”

  She’s quiet again and I wait her out, knowing she’s thinking. I’m just glad we’ve made it this far in the conversation. I thought for sure she’d hang up on me immediately.

  “I know what that feels like,” she says finally. “To feel like your choking.”

  I don’t say anything. I know she’s referring to Mason and Kellin’s dad dying.

  “Set up one of those sessions—the family thing. Give me two weeks notice and I’ll be there. Just me. Not Kellin yet. We’ll take it from there.”

  Oh dear Buddha. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. “Okay,” I breathe. “Thanks Gabbie.”

  “Don’t thank me yet. This could blow up in all our faces.”

  “I know, but I’m trying to be optimistic.”

  “I didn’t think you were the type.”

  I laugh lightly. “I wasn’t.”

  “Mason,” she and I say at the same time.

  “Yeah.”

  “Yeah,” she sighs.

  “Okay, I’m going to go wake him up so he can talk to you. He misses you both so much.” I open the door to Mason sitting up on the couch, his hands clasped together between his knees. He smiles at me and I hold out the phone.

  “Your mom.”

  He takes it, holding it to his chest, and grips my wrist with his other hand. “Thank you.”

  “No problem,” I say.

  “No, Hope,” he utters. His eyes lock on mine and he shakes his head. “Thank you.”

  9 Mason

  “Have you been using the exercises we talked about?” Wes, my therapist asks me. He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. He watches me closely, waiting for my answer.

  “It’s been a rough week,” I say. “Hope’s back on the moving out kick. She has it in her head it’ll make everything better. With Mom, I mean.”

  Wes sits back and scratches his full beard. “What do you think?”

  “It doesn’t solve shit. It’s a band aid. And I don’t want her to go.”

  “So how have you handled it?”

  I sigh. I knew when I sidestepped his question he wasn’t going to let it go. “I lost my temper at work.”

  “What happened?” His eyes lock on mine and I smirk at him.

  “I got fired.”

  He smiles and combs through his beard again. “All right smartass. Back up a few steps. What happened that caused you to lose your temper?”

  I look over his shoulder, fixing my gaze on the framed painting of a windmill. I wonder why, out of all the paintings in the world, he chose this one to display in his office. Windmills are useful, rolling with the wind to help provide some service. Lifting water, breaking grain, generating electricity… Maybe that’s why he has it.

  To remind us we have a reason—a purpose.

  “What’s up with the windmill picture?” I ask, putting off his question. Again.

  He pivots in his seat and looks over his shoulder. When he turns back to me, he shrugs. “I like windmills.”

  “Why?”

  Another shrug. “My dad collected them. I guess it rubbed off on me.” He drops his hands onto his lap, locking his fingers. “Did your dad collect anything?”

  I narrow my eyes. Nice fucking try Wes, but I’m not biting. I mirror his posture and mimic his shrug. “This dude was hitting on her.”

  “Hope?”

  I chuckle. “Yeah.” My foot starts bouncing, sending my knee up and down, and I look down at the floor. “I fucking lost it. It’s not like I thought she was interested, but she keeps saying she should leave. I got this picture in my head… Her moving out and then he was there—that guy, Shane from work—and I couldn’t make it go away.” I laugh. “The panic—not the image.”

  “So you panicked. Then what?”

  “He’s been talking shit all night, right? And I’ve kept my mouth shut `cause Hope was blowing him off, but then…” I rub my face with both hands, feeling like such an asshole as I look back at it. “She was pulling a pizza out of the ovens and when she bent over, he was staring at her ass.”

  “Wha
t’d you do?”

  “Nothing. I didn’t do shit. I didn’t do a God damn thing about another guy checking out my girlfriend’s ass, Wes. You’d have been proud.” I exhale a harsh laugh. “But then he looked at me and said, ‘Soon as you fuck that up, Macey, I’m all over her.’”

  Wes brings his chin up and nods once. “What happened?”

  I lock my fingers on top of my head and take a long, deep breath. “I jumped the counter and punched him in the face. Broke his fucking nose.”

  “That it? Did you stop?”

  There’s no judgment in his voice and it makes it easier to go on. I shake my head. “I had my arm back ready to hit him again and Hope—she stepped in between us. I almost…” I shake my head. I can’t even say it aloud. I almost hit her. I don’t know how I registered her face through the rage, but I did—at the last second, I did.

  Wes is quiet and I look at him, waiting. “Why did you hit him?”

  “He talked shit.”

  “Mason. Why did you hit him? Identify it.”

  “He said he was going after Hope.”

  Wes blinks. Waits.

  I stand up and pace the small room, my hands on my head. “He said I was going to fuck up. But I already have.” I stop and face him. “Losing her is my biggest fear and she wants to leave. I can’t fix it and I can’t stand the idea of any