Glamour Page 5

  “Don’t you think Channel Five can survive without you?” I tease.

  “Judging by some of the crew, you’d wonder.” She sets the glass down. “Being a producer of a local news show is demanding. Sometimes I wonder if it’s really worth it.”

  “Worth what?”

  “You know, the stress, long hours … all that goes with my job.” Her brow creases. “I didn’t really have a choice after your dad died. I had to take that job. But it’s hard work. And sometimes I wonder …”

  “Are you thinking about quitting?” I ask.

  “I’m not sure. I’d still want to work in television. But maybe I could find something less stressful. Jon’s been urging me to think about it.”

  “I thought you loved your job.”

  “I used to love it. And I was thankful to have it. But, more and more, I’m just not sure.”

  “Well, after next week, you won’t have to think about it for two weeks.”

  “I can’t believe the wedding is only a week away.” Mom gets a sad expression.

  “Aren’t you glad?”

  She takes a sip of water then shrugs. “I guess so. But I’m a little blue too.”

  “Why?”

  She waves her hands. “I’m going to miss this.”

  “The condo?” I frown. “You’re going to miss this condo?”

  She smiles. “No, silly. I’m going to miss you. And Paige. We three girls, living together.”

  “Oh …” I nod. “Yeah, I’m going to miss it too.”

  “You girls can change your minds and come live with Jon and me.”

  I press my lips together. We’ve had this discussion a number of times already, and we always end up at the same place. Paige and I agree we’d rather live in the condo on our own than move in with the newlyweds.

  “I know,” Mom says. “You and Paige need your independence.”

  “We’ll visit you,” I assure her, “and you’ll visit us.”

  “Yes.” She nods. “I know. It’s just hard letting go of some things.”

  I go around the breakfast bar and hug her. “I know exactly how you feel. And you’re not the only one I’m losing,” I remind her. “Paige is going to get married too.”

  “Oh, that won’t be for a long time,” Mom says reassuringly.

  “I hope so.” I glance at the clock, surprised to see that it’s after six. “Are you and Jon going out tonight?”

  “He asked, but I told him that if you girls were staying home, I would stay home too. I thought we might enjoy a quiet Saturday night together. I can order some Thai food and maybe we can watch an old movie.” She pauses. “Unless you were planning to go to your youth group tonight.”

  “I told Mollie I’d take her,” I begin. “But she’ll understand if I explain this is our last Saturday night together. I better call her.”

  Mom looks relieved. “And I’ll order dinner.”

  To make up for not taking Mollie to fellowship group, I call her and tell her—in detail—about everything that happened at the BBB fashion show. I get her laughing so hard she tells me to stop. “You’re going to make me go into premature labor,” she says, “or wet my pants!”

  So I bring my tale to an end. “That episode should be really good,” I finally say. “I can’t wait to see the footage of Paige standing there in the pool, her hat drooping and mascara running all over the place, and her saying calmly that the water is refreshing.” We both laugh. As I hang up, I’m thinking my sister might’ve looked like a train wreck, but the girl has style.

  Chapter

  6

  “What’s up between you and Blake?” Mollie asks me as I’m driving her home from church on Sunday.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, why are you avoiding him? Or is he avoiding you?”

  “No one’s avoiding anyone.” I drum my fingers on the steering wheel.

  “Yeah, right. I have eyes, Erin. I know they say you lose brain cells when you’re pregnant, but I’m not totally clueless. Not yet, anyway.”

  “No one called you clueless.”

  “So tell me, what’s going on with you two?”

  “Nothing.” That’s true enough.

  “Did you break up?”

  “How can you break up with someone when you’re not even going together in the first place?”

  “Huh?”

  “Blake and I were just friends, Mollie.” I stop for the red light, wishing she would stop this inquisition.

  “Were? Meaning you’re not now?”

  “No. I mean we are still just friends.” Okay, I’m not sure I believe that.

  She gets stern. “Just tell me what happened, Erin.”

  I suspect by Mollie’s tone that she’s not going to settle for any more of my double-talk. “The truth is I’m not really sure what happened,” I admit.

  “Okay, then just start at the beginning.”

  So I explain how I told Blake that I don’t see our relationship as being exclusive or committed … not now, anyway.

  “You mean you think you’ll want to take it to the next level someday?”

  “I’m not sure. All I know is that I don’t want to feel like we’re that serious.” The light changes and I try to act very focused on my driving.

  “Why not?”

  I shrug. “I don’t know. Maybe I’m just not ready for serious.”

  “I still don’t get it, Erin. Don’t you like Blake?”

  “Of course I like him.” I shoot a duh look her way.

  “Okay, then do you love him?”

  “I do love him. But maybe there are different kinds of love.”

  “Meaning you’re not in love with him?”

  I think about this. “Define what that means.”

  “You know what it means, Erin. When you’re in love with someone you think about him all the time. You want to be with him. You miss him when he’s gone. You don’t want to live without him. You know.”

  “Is that how you felt about Tony?” I turn and lock eyes with her for a brief moment.

  Mollie gets quiet and I’m worried I’ve said the wrong thing again. All I need right now is for her pregnant hormones to start another crying jag.

  “I’m sorry,” I say quickly. “I know you loved Tony. And I thought he loved you too. Maybe that’s another reason I feel confused about this whole love business. How is it possible to truly love someone—and then suddenly you don’t? How does a person just turn off love?”

  “I still love Tony.”

  “Oh … ?” I turn down her street, wishing I hadn’t opened this can of worms.

  “And I hate him too.”

  “Uh-huh?” I kind of understand this, and yet I don’t totally get it. When I’m in love—if that ever happens—I want to be wholeheartedly in love. I don’t want any hate mixed in.

  “You used to love Blake too, Erin. He couldn’t have broken your heart last year if you hadn’t been in love.”

  “Okay … I guess you’re right.” I pull up in front of her house, and once I put the Jeep in park I turn to face her.

  “So my question is: Did you stop loving him?” Mollie asks.

  “I’m not sure.” I’m also not sure I want to answer this question.

  “Or are you just afraid to love him, because you think he’ll hurt you again?”

  I press my lips together, trying to process her words. “I guess that’s a possibility.”

  “You honestly don’t know?” Mollie frowns at me like she’s questioning my sanity, like somehow this should all make total sense. She wants it to be cut and dried, black and white. And I just don’t see it like that.

  “I’m not sure,” I say again.

  “Okay, then tell me this: How would you feel if Blake started dating someone else?”

  “I … I don’t know.”

  “Maybe you should think about it. Because Blake is a cool guy, Erin. And he’s good-looking too. I’m guessing it won’t take long before another girl comes along and sees th
at he’s a real catch. And maybe she’ll be ready for a serious relationship. What then?”

  I take in a deep breath, slowly letting it out. “I really don’t know, Mollie.”

  “I guess you’ll just have to figure it out then.”

  Mollie invites me to come in, but I’m tired of this conversation and I make an excuse to go home. As I drive, I’m convinced that Mollie is blowing this whole thing out of proportion. Maybe Blake and I are both just taking a little break, putting our relationship on hold—a hiatus. What’s wrong with that?

  But when I get home and find a note saying Mom and Paige went shopping, I feel inexplicably lonely. I know I could call Mollie and do something with her. But, thanks to her pregnancy, her list of interests has shrunk considerably. I actually think about calling Lionel for one of our old photography excursions, except I suspect he has a new girlfriend. I’ve seen him with Lena twice now, once at fellowship group and today at church, and I don’t think it’s a coincidence. And, really, I’m happy for him. He’s a great guy, but I never could imagine getting serious about him.

  Finally, I decide to take my neglected camera and just head out on my own. When I was about twelve, my dad took me to the La Brea Tar Pits and I haven’t been back there since. Today I plan to lose myself by shooting hundreds of pictures. Thanks to my involvement in the show, my photography has suffered. I’m not even using my video camcorder as much as I used to. I rationalize that I’m getting great on-the-job training, but the truth is a part of me feels cheated.

  But after an hour of shooting old fossils at the tar pits, I still feel lonely. This is the kind of place where you need someone with you, someone to talk with about these amazing things. So I put my camera back in my pack, get into my Jeep, and just sit there like a dummy. It’s like I don’t know what to do, like something is eating away inside of me, but I don’t want to acknowledge it.

  I know I’m feeling sorry for myself. For one thing, I’ve been thinking about the last time I came here … with my dad. And now he is gone. I should be over it, but there’s still this dull ache inside of me. Like something is missing in my life. Dad was the one who really understood me—it’s like if he were here, things would be better.

  Then I consider how my mom will be remarried in less than a week. In a way, she’ll be gone too. And I don’t just mean on her honeymoon either. Oh, I know she sees it differently, but she’s moving on. She will be giving Jon most of her time now. She obviously won’t be living at the condo with us. I can’t even quite imagine how that’s going to feel. Mostly I’m trying not to think about it.

  I think about Paige, and how she’s engaged. Although she doesn’t even have a wedding date yet, she feels partially gone to me as well. It’s like she’s here, but she’s not. She’s thinking about Dylan, planning for her wedding and her new life, which will most likely be in New York. Then she really will be gone.

  I know it seems pitiful, but it’s like I can’t stop myself. I start thinking about Mollie, and the upcoming birth of her baby. Naturally, she’s preoccupied. And I don’t blame her. Once her baby arrives, I’m sure she’ll be consumed by it. Even if I try to remain a part of her life, it’s going to be different. It’s like she’ll be gone too … gone from being my buddy to being someone’s mommy. I can’t even imagine it.

  I’m thinking Blake is gone too. Maybe I did push him out of my life, though I don’t think I really intended to do that. I’m kind of in shock that it even happened. He’d been so patient with me and then he abruptly just walked away. Maybe he decided I wasn’t worth the effort. Or maybe Mollie is right, and another girl came along who treated him better than I did.

  None of these observations make me feel better, but I think I need to face up to these things. I need to accept that I cannot control the people in my life. I can’t freeze them in time like the prehistoric animals that got trapped forever by the tar pits. People will come and go, and there’s nothing I can do about it. So I might as well get over it. Move on!

  But I don’t want to let go of loved ones. And having to let go of them makes me feel like giving up completely — like, why bother to have any relationships at all? If I don’t let people get close to me, maybe I won’t get hurt. And yet that thought makes me sadder than anything. I need people.

  In moments like this, only one thing makes me feel better. And that’s to pray. Which is exactly what I do. First of all, I tell God that I’m confused, and that relationships baffle me. I admit to him that my fear of getting hurt makes me want to push people away. If it’s going to end badly, why even begin? I confess to God how lonely that makes me feel. Isolated and frozen in time—kind of like those prehistoric animals. I don’t like it!

  Then as I’m praying, I realize that God is right here with me. He is the one relationship I can always depend on. No matter what, he does not leave me. He never will. That’s a huge comfort. I’m not alone. Not only that, but I know God has good things in store for me—relationships that will be strong and healthy and good. I’m not frozen in time … in fact, I need to keep moving forward to find them.

  I’m about to start my Jeep when I remember Fran and what she’s going through. I’ve been praying for her, but I wonder if I can do something more. I know Fran’s not married and is currently without a boyfriend. Does she have family or friends around her? Or is she, like me, feeling lonely too? I take a chance and dial her number. Her voice is so weak and raspy that I’m sure I woke her.

  “I’m sorry,” I say quickly. “Were you resting?”

  “No … I was barfing.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Yeah. Me too.”

  “I … uh … I just wondered if you wanted any company.”

  “Company?” She sounds shocked.

  “You know, someone to hold your hair when you’re worshiping at the porcelain throne.”

  “So you figured that one out?”

  “Yeah, it wasn’t that difficult. Anyway, I’m just kind of doing my own thing today and I got to thinking of you, and I wondered if you needed someone to hang with.”

  “Really?” I hear a trace of hopefulness in her voice.

  “Do you like frozen yogurt?”

  “Yeah … that actually sounds good.”

  “Any favorite flavors?”

  “Maybe something fruity. Surprise me.”

  So I swing by Twinkles and get a raspberry and a peach yogurt then drive over to Fran’s apartment complex. I’ve only been there once and can’t even remember which unit is hers, but seeing her little red car parked in a numbered spot tips me off.

  “Come in, Erin,” she calls after I knock. “It’s unlocked.”

  I let myself in and, to my surprise, she’s on the floor amidst a pile of cushions. And Fran looks, as Paige would say, like something the cat dragged in. Her hair is pulled back in a greasy ponytail, her sweats are grubby, her face is pale, and her lips are cracked and dry-looking.

  “Are you okay?” I kneel down on the floor next to her.

  “I’ve had better days.” She explains how she’s scheduled the chemo treatments during the end of the week and on the weekend so that she can work the other days. “Sundays are the worst.”

  “Feel like some yogurt?” I hold up the white bag. “Peach or raspberry?”

  “I’ll try some peach.”

  I take out the little carton, open it, stick in the plastic spoon, and hand it to her. Then I sit down, lean against the couch, and begin to eat the raspberry one.

  “This is good,” she tells me as she takes another bite. “Just what the doctor ordered.”

  “I’m glad.” Then, because it’s so quiet in here, I begin to talk. I tell her how I was at the tar pits feeling lonely and sorry for myself and how I prayed … and how it felt like a God thing that I ended up here.

  “Like you’re my angel?” She makes a sad little smile.

  “Or like God sent me.” I take another bite.

  Sighing, she sets the yogurt carton on the rug and leans back on the
cushions, closing her eyes. “I’m glad he did, Erin.”

  She looks so tired and beat up. I wish there was something I could do to help, but this is all new to me. How do you help someone who’s sick like this? I see her half-eaten yogurt and suspect that’s all she can handle for now. “Want me to put the rest of your yogurt in the freezer?” I offer. “For later.”

  She barely nods. “Thanks.”

  I go into her kitchen, which is really messy, and put the yogurt in her freezer, which is surprisingly barren. I’m thinking Fran needs help. Just the same, I don’t want to overstep my bounds, so I go back to ask her if she minds me cleaning up a bit, but she seems to be asleep. She also seems to be shivering, so I find a couple of throws and cover her. She doesn’t even open her eyes.

  Then I go back into her kitchen and start cleaning, throwing things away, loading the dishwasher, scrubbing down the countertop tiles and sink. Okay, it’s not exactly my favorite way to spend a Sunday afternoon, but at the same time, it feels really good to help someone. Fran continues to sleep while I clean, moving from the kitchen to the bathroom, which is seriously in need. Fortunately, it’s a small space that cleans easily.

  After that, I timidly go into her bedroom, which smells so stale I go ahead and open a window. Then I strip the sheets from her bed, throw them into the washing machine, and remake her bed with fresh sheets. As I hurry to get as much done as possible before she wakes, I’m curious about Fran’s life. Does she have family nearby? Or friends?

  Finally, I think I’ve done about all I can and I’m surprised to see Fran’s still sleeping. She is so quiet and motionless that I actually stand over her, staring hard to be sure she’s breathing. Then, reassured that she’s simply sleeping soundly, I return to her kitchen and open the fridge. And it’s just as I thought—nearly as barren as her freezer. This is not good.

  I quietly tiptoe out of the apartment, hurry to my Jeep, and drive to a nearby grocery store. Then I wonder … what does Fran like to eat? I try to remember how it feels to have the flu. What makes you feel better? I pick out the kinds of foods I think my mom would try to get me to eat. I get different kinds of fruit juice, saltine crackers, chicken noodle soup, applesauce, a loaf of bread, some fresh fruit and vegetables, a couple more cartons of frozen yogurt, and a quart of milk. Enough groceries to fill two heavy bags.