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But after that letter and those drawings she sent me, I am nervous as hell about how she will react to seeing me again. I went about things a shitty way, but what else was I supposed to do? We were in a fucked-up situation and I thought what I was doing would mend it all somehow.
But I was wrong. Dead wrong.
I walk out of the back and go in search of my parents. They stand outside, waiting for me with giant smiles plastered on their faces. After a handful of photos are taken, we head to the car and drive to a restaurant for my graduation dinner. In the car, they reminisce over the ceremony and how nice it was. I stare out the window and pray it won’t be much longer before I don’t see this skyline again.
Once we order food and my parents express their unwavering excitement, I mentally prepare to ask the question I have been waiting to ask for the past two years. Asking is going to burst the joy bubble they are trapped in, but I don’t care. My bubble hasn’t held joy since I was forced to leave Florida and step foot in this state.
“Mom? Dad? Can we talk about me moving back to Florida?” Straight forward and to the point. No need to beat around the bush. A man on a mission.
Mom tips her head to the side as a frown takes residence on her lips. Dad doesn’t move, his expression stoic. Their lack of communication says more than any words ever will. The silence tells me the trip I have longed to make won’t be happening. But I refuse to believe it until I hear the actual words. Until they tell me I cannot go.
“Gavin—” Mom starts, but pauses to look at Dad for silent support “—I would love nothing more than for you to be where you want to be. But things have been really tight for us financially. And right now, we just don’t have the money to fly you to Florida.”
I fucking knew this would happen. Knew it. As soon as we got here, I should have gone to every store and restaurant and applied for a job. Bagboy, stocker, cashier, busboy. Anything. If I had, maybe I would have more than enough money by now to leave. But I was so wrapped up in throwing a pity party for myself, I didn’t do shit.
Fuck my life.
“So there’s nothing we can do? Didn’t you have some college fund for me? If so, cash it in. I have zero plans to go to college, especially here.”
“Son, I wish it were that simple,” Dad chimes in. “We did have a college fund for you, but we had to cash it in shortly after we moved here. Things have been a little tougher than we suspected. I’m sorry.”
You have got to be fucking kidding me. Not only can I not go back to Florida, but college isn’t even an option. I may not have wanted to attend college, but they banked on my not mentioning it. Score one for the parentals. Zero for the child. Fucking bullshit.
“Wow. I don’t know how to respond to any of this. You both knew my plans after graduation. How could you not say anything to me? You could’ve suggested I go out and get a job. If only for three or four months. At least I’d have money to fly home.”
“This is home, Gavin,” Mom says.
“This has never been home, Mom. You know it just as much as I do,” I snap.
“Don’t speak that way to your mother,” Dad states, his voice sharp and stern. “We have had to make tough decisions for our family and I wouldn’t change a single one. You may not have liked our choices. You may not like your life here. But you will respect us.”
Wow. Just wow. So does respect only go one way? The parents deserve it, but their children don’t? What sort of asinine bullshit is that? Yes, I was underage when we moved and didn’t have a say in the matter. I accept it. But to purposely hide this… I am done.
“Sorry, Mom. Sorry, Dad,” I seethe. “I respect you. This just fucking sucks! And I can’t help but wonder why neither of you said a damn word to me sooner. Oh, I know,” I say, holding up a finger and firmly pressing my lips together. “Because you knew this would be my reaction, that’s why. Fucking bullshit.”
“Watch your mouth, Gavin,” Dad snaps.
I shake my head. “It’s a little late for that, Dad. You forget, I’m an adult. Like you never swore when you were younger.”
Mom and Dad go silent on the opposite side of the table, shutting down the conversation. Our server delivers the food a minute later, but I don’t eat a bite. Instead, I open up the photos on my phone and scroll through the folder marked “C+G.” With each swipe, my throat swells and the back of my eyes sting.
Fuck.
There is one singular thing I have wanted for the last two years. One thing that provided purpose and gave me hope. To go home to Cora. To see her beautiful face cupped between my hands again. Listen to her laughter as I tickle her in that spot under her ribs only I know about. Wrap my arms around her waist and draw her close to my body as we lay on the couch and watch Lord of the Rings for the hundredth time.
But now it seems that won’t be happening. Not unless I figure out how to get there on my own. And it looks as though that is my only option. But I will make it happen.
My fourth job interview ends like the previous three. With a “we’ll get back to you soon.” Which equals we have no intention of hiring you. Why is it so fucking hard to get a job? Working retail isn’t rocket science.
I walk out of the preppy clothing store with my head hung low. Where the hell will I get a job? At this point, I am not above selling shit on the streets to get the money I need. Whatever it takes to get me back to Cora. And although I haven’t spoken with her in far too long, in my mind’s eye, I picture her face lighting up the moment we reconnect. As if we scoured the earth to find each other and succeeded.
There is one more interview on my list today. One more opportunity. And I hope like hell it won’t end like the last four. This interview is a long shot, but I have to try. At this point, what do I have to lose?
Two hours later, I walk through the front door of Elite Models. My stomach twists in a knot and a bead of sweat rolls down the back of my neck. When I approach the reception desk, a woman ten years my senior gawks at me head to toe. Her perusal isn’t distasteful, but makes me want to curl inward.
“Can I help you?”
I step closer to the counter. “Yes. I have an interview with Sharon and Gus.”
