Five Days Until You Page 9

  “And you told me I shouldn’t give up on my dream either. Maybe, just maybe, this is my dream after all, you know? I decided to put off going into graduate school for a year but I’m starting to think that was a mistake. I really like it here.”

  “More than you like it here.” With me.

  “I never said that. It’s just…it’s different. We’re changing Owen.” She’s whispering now. She sounds scared and I hate it. I wish she were here with me, lying on the bed by my side, her arm slung across my stomach, her head nestled against my shoulder. “Maybe we’re changing too much.”

  “Baby, we were together only two weeks ago and we had a great time. I’ve never felt closer to you.” It’s true. The connection we shared that weekend had been perfect. No arguing, no tension. Lots of laughter, lots of kissing, lots of fucking great sex—it had been so good I was reluctant to leave. She’d practically had to shove me out the door and I thought about her the entire drive back home. Reliving all the best moments in my mind.

  Now look at us. We’re arguing. She’s threatening to stay there. She just said maybe we’re changing too much.

  What the fuck just happened?

  “I need some time to think. Can you give me that?” she asks. She sounds stressed out. I wonder again if there’s something else bugging her.

  “I’ll give you all the time you need. Just…don’t forget I love you, baby. I don’t want you to stay there, but if that’s what you really want, then I’m not going to stop you.” I don’t know if I’m speaking the truth. I think I would try and stop her if she made that choice. I’d drive my ass to Santa Augustina and beg her to come back with me.

  “You wouldn’t stop me?”

  “I refuse to make you give up what you want for me,” I tell her vehemently. “I’d hate myself if I stopped you from pursuing something you wanted.”

  “I wouldn’t ask you to give up anything either, Owen. I know what’s important to you.” She sighs. “I’m just…afraid.”

  “Afraid of what?”

  “Afraid you’ll never be around. My father was always gone. Always. But he was up to no good. I didn’t realize that when I was a kid. I was too naïve and in my head and heaven forbid Mom tell me the truth. She hid everything from me.” Another sigh, this one longer. “I talked to her today.”

  “Your mom.” I sit up so I’m leaning my back against the wall. All thoughts of falling asleep are long gone now. “She called you?”

  “She’s been texting me for the last couple of weeks and yeah, she finally called me today. She uh, she wants to see me. They both do.”’

  She hasn’t seen her dad since he’s been in prison. He got out before she graduated college and she still hasn’t seen him. “Your dad too?”

  “Yeah.” She says nothing else and I know she’s miserable. Every time they reach out to her she kind of withdraws into herself. Chelsea doesn’t give me too many details but I know her relationship with her parents is crap. So I don’t push. If anyone has experience with a shitty parent, it’s me. My mom could win an award for the world’s worst mother.

  I’m thinking Chelsea’s mom could be right up there in the top ten. Same with her dad.

  “What are you going to do?” I ask when she remains silent.

  “I don’t know. Look, I’m sorry for being so awful. I’m just—they’re putting me under a lot of pressure. And so is Professor Michaels. He’s sweet talking me all the time, trying to get me to stay there. And Mom is trying to convince me to do the same since you know, she thinks I’m so brilliant and why would I want to waste my time staying in that small stupid little college town when I’ve already graduated? That’s a direct quote,” Chelsea says.

  My blood boils with anger. Her mom isn’t referring to the town. I think she’s referring to me. I’m sure she thinks her precious, smart daughter is wasting her time with a no good asshole like me.

  “They upset you. I understand. You know I understand,” I tell her and she starts to laugh. The sound is like music to my ears, to my soul.

  “You’re so right. I don’t know why I always forget we have bad parents in common.”

  “Maybe because we don’t like talking about them.”

  “So true.” She exhales softly and I close my eyes, savoring the sound. I like all of her sounds. Even when she’s angry, because I can hear the passion in her voice and I appreciate that she never holds anything back. My shy, sweet Chelsea is a firecracker when she’s mad. “All the pressure is getting to me and I took it out on you.”

  “That’s what I’m here for baby.” Relief sweeps through me so hard I swear I feel weak. “Take it all out on me.”

  “But that’s not fair to you Owen, and you know it. Just—give me a little bit of time. A few days to sort this all out.”

  “So you’re really considering staying there?” The relief leaves as fast as it came in and my stomach is twisting up in double knots.

  “I don’t know what I want to do but I’m going to think about it. I have to. I need to do what’s best for me.”

  Her words leave me cold.

  That’s the first time she didn’t refer to us in the same breath.

  I’m sitting in a busy diner on a Saturday morning, my hands curled together and resting on the table, on top of the cracked plastic menu. The smell of breakfast is heavy in the air—burnt coffee, sizzling bacon and the almost sickeningly sweet scent of maple syrup.

  My stomach lurches and I inhale deep, trying to calm my nerves. A waitress approaches, her coffeepot poised in the air and I shake my head. “A glass of water please?” I ask weakly.

  She offers me a sympathetic smile. “Sure thing, hon. I’ll be right back.”

  I glance around, trying my best not to look at my phone and check the time. They’re already ten minutes late. I know how they operate. Mostly families fill the restaurant this early on a Saturday morning, the majority of them young with little kids who behave like they can’t be contained. They’re crawling over the booths, hanging onto their moms or dads, yelling and screaming and carrying on.

  I have no memories of ever coming to a restaurant like this for breakfast with my parents. And I definitely don’t remember trying to escape a booth or crawl all over my mom’s shoulders. She probably would’ve had a coronary if I even attempted such a thing.

  We were a calm, orderly family. I sat quietly and did as I was told. I had good manners and I never spoke unless I was spoken to.

  Meaning, I didn’t get a chance to talk very much.

  “Chelsea.”

  I turn to see Mom and Dad standing there, their faces expressing similar grimaces of annoyance as they hover next to the table. I chose the loudest tourist trap diner in town for this breakfast meeting. If we’re going to see each other again, we’re doing it on my terms.

  Not theirs.

  “Sit down.” I wave a hand at the empty seat across from me and with the grimaces still firmly in place they scoot in together, the perfect married couple joining me and making us the perfect little family.

  What a bunch of lies.

  “There has to be a much nicer restaurant to have breakfast at, hmm?” Mom asks as she settles her Gucci bag on the seat beside her. It looks brand new, soft black leather with the iconic G’s in a subtle pattern all over it. Where’d they get the money to buy that?

  Oh, let me guess—Dad stole it. Probably came from that secret bank account he has.

  “I like it here,” I tell them, though I’ve never been to this restaurant before. Like they’d know that. Funny, how petrified I used to be of lying to them. I swore I would always be honest. I was too scared I’d be punished if either of them caught me in a lie.

  The thing is, once I discovered they were the liars? All bets were off.

  “It’s nice. I’m sure they have great food. The dumps always do, right?” Dad laughs, like he’s so hilarious but I just glare at him. He acts as if the last few years have never happened, like he just saw me yesterday.

  It’s been y
ears since we last laid eyes on each other. I’m a different person. I’m not his little girl anymore. More like I’m the distrusting daughter who’d rather be anywhere but here.

  “It’s not a dump,” I tell him through clenched teeth. “Since when do you have a right to be so judgmental?”

  “Chelsea!” Mom’s eyes are practically bugging out of her head. “How dare you talk to your father like that?”

  I’m about to reply when the waitress reappears, setting the tall glass of ice water in front of me. “Care for some coffee?” she asks and both Mom and Dad nod in answer. The waitress turns the cups over and starts pouring while I sip from my water, grateful it’s so cold. I feel like it’s waking me up, keeping me alert. I can’t slip into old habits. I need to be aware and ready to defend. More like ready to walk out if they push me too hard.

  They both really like pushing me too hard, especially Mom.

  “So you’re considering doing the graduate program after all,” Mom says the moment the waitress takes off. I should’ve known she’d get right to the point.

  “I’m considering it,” I say, repeating the word. “Leaning more towards saying no. At least right now.”

  Her lips thin. “Don’t give up on your goals all for a boy.”

  “Like you did?” I take another sip from my water, enjoying the way she’s squirming in her seat. She can’t deny what I said because it’s true. So for her to pick on me because of Owen is hypocritical. Not that it’ll stop her.

  “Your mother wants you to learn from her mistakes,” Dad says, smooth as can be. “She may have made sacrifices in her life to be with me and some of those things she regrets. I regret them too. Our lives could be different if we’d made different choices.”

  “Do you have regrets for everything you’ve done, Dad?” I ask him, my gaze fully meeting his for the first time.

  He looks away, almost like he can’t face me. “Of course,” he mumbles.

  I don’t know if I believe him.

  We make small talk until the waitress returns to take our order. Mom gets an egg white omelet, Dad orders the traditional bacon and eggs with hash browns and toast and I get French toast with four pieces of bacon because screw it. Owen doesn’t seem to mind my spreading butt so I’m going to eat the sweetest, most calorie laden meal on the menu.

  Besides, it’ll drive Mom nuts.

  We make more small talk about the weather, the town I’m living in, the vacations they’re taking. I marvel at the way they so casually admit they’re spending scads of money while I’m busting my butt to earn as much as possible so I can stash it into my savings account. But I turned down their earlier offer of dirty money so I guess I deserve it.

  Not once does Mom ask about Owen and she knows I live with him. Not once does she ask me if I have any other plans or hopes or dreams. She just automatically assumes I’m staying on here in Santa Augustina and that I’m gearing up to start the graduate program in the fall.

  I’m tempted to tell her I’m not doing it just to piss her off. She’d be furious if I tossed everything aside, everything I worked so hard for, all for a boy that I’m in love with. But what she doesn’t realize is that all those years of working so hard toward this seemingly unattainable, vague goal wasn’t about me, or what I wanted.

  It was about them, and what they wanted from me.

  The realization hits me crystal clear as I’m munching on bacon, of all things. I’m having a profound moment while sitting in this crowded diner on a busy Saturday morning, annoyed at the way Dad keeps slurping his coffee and Mom flicks the food around on her plate with her fork, refusing to eat it. I’m devouring the French toast and bacon, breathing freer as the invisible weight lifts off my shoulders and I know I’ve come to my own conclusion.

  And I’ve never felt better.

  We’re walking out of the restaurant after Dad so kindly paid for our meals, when Mom draws me into a hug right there in the parking lot. I’m surprised since she’s not a big believer of public displays of affection. “I’ve missed you so much,” she murmurs against my cheek. “I’m so proud of you for making the right decision.”

  Dad doesn’t even bother trying to hug me. I’m sure he can feel my hostile vibes a mile away. Instead, he pats me on the back, tells me I look good and offers a blasé, “Love ya, kiddo,” before they start heading toward their car.

  I watch them go, marveling at how they didn’t even ask me if I needed a ride. Which I sort of did, and would’ve taken them up on if they’d offered. But they didn’t, so I watch their BMW back out of the parking spot, the both of them waving frantically as they pulled out of the lot and drove away.

  I keep my gaze trained on their car until I can no longer see it and then I heave a giant sigh, one that I’ve been holding in since I first saw them standing there next to the table inside the diner, looking decidedly uncomfortable. That sweet reunion had lasted approximately one hour. They drove all this way to spend an hour with me, their only child. Not once asking what I really wanted, what I was really all about, never mentioning my boyfriend, none of the normal stuff thoughtful parents would’ve asked.

  But my selfish parents are far from thoughtful.

  More like they’re thoughtless.

  I make my way to the bus stop and settle in on the bench, figuring I’ll be waiting a while. The sun is intense but being on the coast, the temperatures don’t get as hot as they do at home. Owen’s griped about the extreme temperatures more than once and I know he’s been suffering, especially with all the practices he’s having to endure.

  My heart pangs just thinking about him and I’m tempted to call him but I don’t. I need to take a little more time to reflect first. Though I know what my decision is, I’m not ready to tell him yet. There are a few things I need to do. Like get my things in order. Let Professor Michaels know what I plan on doing next.

  Sometimes you have to make sacrifices in order to get what you want. You need to give up one thing to gain another. And that’s what I plan on doing. I’m willing to give up on my parents’ dreams and goals for me for what I want. I’ve been working hard toward my parents’ goals, not my own. I’ve always done what someone else has told me to do.

  But for once, I matter. What I decide is what’s best for me.

  And right now, what I want more than anything else in this entire world is…

  Owen.

  I spot her before she sees me so I lean against the hood of my car and watch her. It’s something I don’t get to do often, study my girl while unobserved. She’s fascinating really. She moves with this innate grace and her hips sway almost magically. I know I can’t keep my eyes off of her when she walks and I don’t doubt for a moment other guys get caught up in her aura as well.

  Though I know I’m the first one who really saw her. Who dug a little deeper to find out who the real Chelsea is. She hid from others. Kept to herself, remained in the background, always quiet, always looking, always learning. Until she met me. I pushed her out into the crowd, forced her to speak up for herself and ask for what she wanted.

  I’m proud of that. Proud of who she’s become because of me. And I say this since I’ve become a better person because of her. I owe her a lot.

  Really, I owe her almost everything.

  She stops when someone calls her name and they start talking. I don’t know who the other girl is, but they’re both laughing and chatting animatedly with their hands, something Chelsea tends to do when she’s excited. They hug each other and then Chelsea is heading my way, still oblivious to my presence.

  She’s wearing cutoff jean shorts that don’t seem to cover much and a bright pink tank top that clings to her chest and makes her look stacked, with black flip flops on her feet. Not what I would call proper moving material but it’ll work in a pinch. Besides, I’m the one who’s doing the heavy lifting, not her.

  I’m so fucking thankful we worked it out, Chelsea and I. She called me exactly two weeks ago, on a Saturday afternoon, her voice high pitched and
sounding a little breathless, talking so fast I had trouble understanding her at first.

  But then I started picking out the words. She met with her Mom and Dad and had a revelation in the middle of a crappy restaurant while eating bacon. That she was living her parents’ dream for her, not her own dream. So she was done. No graduate program for her—at least, not right now. She wanted out.

  She wanted to come back to me.

  The relief I felt at hearing her say those words was enormous. I’d sweated over what her plans might be for days. She left me hanging and with too much time on my hands, I about drove myself out of my mind. When Chelsea finally made that call and ended it by asking me to help her move, I nearly collapsed on the floor with gratefulness.

  There is nothing worse than thinking your girl is leaving you. That’s what kept running through my head those last few days before I finally received her call. I firmly believed she would break up with me. And no matter how much I tried to psyche myself up for it, I knew if she said those words, if she admitted she didn’t want to be with me anymore, I wouldn’t have been able to accept it.

  But luckily enough that didn’t happen.

  “Hey.”

  Her soft voice breaks through my thoughts and I blink, bringing her into focus. She’s standing in front of me, her hair pulled up into a sloppy knot on top of her head, her eyes sparkling, the smile on her face making me automatically smile at her in return. “Hey,” I tell her, keeping my hands in my pockets, though they literally itch to grab her.

  “You spying on me, Maguire?” She rests her hands on her hips and tilts her head, looking sassy. “I thought you were going to put those giant muscles of yours to good use and help me move out of this hell hole once and for all.”

  Giving in to my urges, I reach out and grab hold of her waist, pulling her in close. She comes to me with ease, stepping in between my spread legs, her hands going to my chest as I rest mine on her ass. “Did you really just say hell hole, Chels? Is something wrong with you? I’m not used to hearing you say such naughty words.”