I sag in relief and slight hurt. My eyes seek out Veronica, whose hands are covering her face. She pulls them down to look at me. “That went horribly,” She moves towards me, “Are you alright?”
“Yeah, I'm fine.”
“He'll get over it.”
“I don't know. He seemed really pissed.”
“You're not going to break up with me, are you?”
“No,” I shake my head and pull her to me, wrapping my arms around her small frame, “No. I hate that this happened. I don't want him to be mad at us. Maybe I should go find him.”
“He needs space. Let him cool off. I think I should probably head home. I'll try to talk to him. He can't stay mad at you. You're leaving in three days. He'd be a pretty shitty friend if he doesn't talk to you before you leave.”
“I'd understand.”
“I'll come over after work?”
“Yeah.” I squeeze her.
“It'll be okay...he'll get over it. He's going to have to,” she says into my chest. My hands mindlessly rub her back, a million miles away. “I'm sorry,” she says low. It's quiet, just above a whisper, but I hear it loud and clear.
“What are you sorry for?”
“I should have listened to you.”
“It'll be fine,” I reassure her. I don't know if it will be, I can only hope.
When You’re Gone
Vaughn is laying on the couch when I get home. He looks up when I walk through the door.
“Hey,” I greet him, laying my bag near the door.
“Yo.”
“Did Vance come home?”
“Nope.”
I nod, even though he's not looking at me anymore. “Mom and Dad in bed?”
“Dad went up. Mom's in the kitchen.”
I walk straight through and find Mom sitting at the dinner table with her recipe box, and small cards all over the table. She looks up when I approach. “Hey, honey,” she greets me with a warm smile. “How was your weekend?”
I can feel the heat rise on my neck. “It was good. What are you doing?” I point at all the note cards.
“Ah, looking for your great grandma's tiramisu recipe.”
I pull out a seat, plopping down, and place my head on top of my hands. Mom pauses her movements and looks at me. “Everything alright?”
I sigh. “Not really.”
“Can't read your mind, baby. You’re gonna have to spit it out.”
“Vance found out about me and Chase.”
She hums, “And I take it he wasn't happy.”
“No. He’s really mad. It was a little scary.”
“Vance has always been a little hot-headed. His temper’s always getting him in trouble. He is also the most sensitive out of you all. Perhaps this is why he reacts to things much more passionately than you or your brothers.”
I scoff, “Yeah, right. Vance, sensitive? I find that hard to believe.”
“Well, it's true. Just consider how this may have hurt him.”
I ponder on that a bit. Mom goes back to looking through her cards. Is Vance mad because of Chase dating me? Or because we went behind his back? Is he scared that I'll take away his best friend? I would never do that. I couldn't imagine if Wes isolated Taylor away from me. I'd be devastated. Vance has always been a pain in my ass; scaring every guy who dares even to look at me. He had to know that I'd meet someone eventually. He knows Chase better than anyone, and his words from earlier come back. “Chase is just like me.”
While I know Chase has had his flings, I've never seen him treat a girl poorly. Unfortunately, Shannon pops up into my mind. I don't want to think about her, or what she shared with Chase. There's no doubt they hooked up, he admitted that to me. It was before we started talking, but he pushed her to the side like she was yesterday’s dirty laundry. No. I'm not going to go there. He's never treated me badly.
“Aha!” my mom yells out, making me jump, “I found it!”
I laugh, “Great Mom, I'm gonna go up and take a shower.”
“Alright, baby. Love you.” I lean in to kiss her on the cheek and head up to my room.
After a nice shower, I give Taylor a call and tell her all about the amazing weekend I had.
“No way! He bought you a car?!”
“Well, it's our car.”
“You must give good head.”
“Taylor!”
“What?” she laughs.
“I think your mom has dropped you on your head a few times.” I laugh.
“Maybe. I have noticed a flat spot on the back of my head.”
“You're too much.”
I hear a car pull into the driveway. Thinking it's Vance, I scramble off my bed and rush to the window. Pulling the curtains aside, I see the black beamer pulls up in front of the garage, then the lights shut off. Taylor is going on about something, but I cut her off, “Tay, Vance is home. I need to try and talk to him.”
“Kay, good luck. I'll see you tomorrow.”
“See ya.” I end the call while watching Vance get out of his car and move to the front door of the house. I move back to my bed, sitting on the edge, and anxiously wait to hear footsteps come up the stairs. I think I should approach him before he enters his room.
After what seems like forever, I finally hear footsteps. They're heavy, so I know their Vance's. He never takes his boots off until he's in his room. I pull open my door just as Vance is coming up the hall, and I step out in front of him.
“Go away,” he grumbles and tries to move past me, but I move in front of him, “Knock it off,” he growls.
“We need to talk.”
He stops and looks at me dead in the eyes, crossing his arms over his chest. “What could we possibly need to talk about?”
“Chase is leaving.”
“So?” He rolls his eyes.
“Don't act like a dick. Chase is being deployed!”
“I don't care,” he snaps.
“You don't mean that! He's your best friend!”
“Some friend,” he sneers. “Friends don't date your sister behind their back, and then lie about it.”
“If you want to be mad, be mad at me. He wanted to tell you. I was afraid.”
“Whatever.” He pushes me out of the way, causing me to stumble back, and stalks to his room. He slams the door right in my face. Stupidly, I try the knob, but it's locked. I knock and call out his name but he never answers. I press my face to the door. “He leaves Wednesday.”
The next three days go by way too quickly. Chase and I spent every minute we could together. With approval from my mom, I was allowed to stay the night with Chase. His flight was insanely early Wednesday and I didn’t want to sleep our last few hours away. We didn’t. We made love and held each other until a little red car pulled into his driveway. The car that was to take him to the airport.
We walk out to his front door and I plaster myself to him. He lifts me up and my legs wrap around his waist. I grip his uniform tight in my hands as the tears well up, and I try hard to keep it together. I fail miserably; they stream, reluctantly, down my face.