Can't Let Go Page 3

  “You’re no better than them,” I say, intently narrowing my eyes at the money still firmly clenched in his fist.

  “This is nothing. It’s fun for me. You think I’d ever live my life—”

  “Whatever, Dex,” I interrupt him and push by, disgusted that he gambles for entertainment. Doesn’t he realize everyone starts out that way and then the tide turns to a need basis? He grips my arm, twisting me around before sliding his hand down to join mine.

  “I’m sorry, Chrissy. I was just bored and thought I’d go down there. One thing lead to another,” he says, making excuses for his behavior.

  “I just think you should stay as far away as possible,” I advise and take in a breath. “I live the slippery slope first-hand.”

  “I know—I will.” We stand there with our eyes darting all over the room, and the warmth of his hand in mine. “Just stay. Your dad can’t drive.” He leads me back over to the bed.

  Sitting down, we find the same positions we were in hours ago. This time, the television remains turned off though. I roll over to face the wall and he rolls over on his side, facing the opposite direction.

  I lie awake most of the night, listening to Dex’s breathing pattern and light snores. Eventually, I succumb to sleep, because when I wake up, he’s gone again. Leaning over, I wrap my arms around his pillow and inhale the scent that’s left behind, allowing that feeling of loneliness to occupy me again. A small envelope rests in the heel of my shoe. When my shaking finger tears along the seam to open it, I automatically know what it contains. All the crinkled money he won last night overfills the envelope with a small note.

  The last thing I want is gambling money, but thinking about how many times my hard-earned babysitting money was ‘blessed’ to someone else, I shove it into my purse. When I get downstairs, Mr. Prescott is up and sitting at the kitchen table.

  “Dex asked me to tell you goodbye for him. He had an early football practice this morning,” he informs me. “His mom picked him up.” He brings the cup to his lips.

  “Oh, yeah, okay.” I stand here awkwardly shifting back and forth.

  “Take a seat, Chrissy.” He motions toward the chair, and I hesitate before eventually sitting down.

  Mr. Prescott talks to me about nothing important, just how’s school and my teachers. He never mentions the fight or Dex at all. I’m thankful he doesn’t dig into where I slept last night or how I got Dex mixed-up in the fight. It’s embarrassing to always be the basket case his son needs to rescue. A half hour later, my dad joins us with his hair stuck up in every direction, smelling like a scotch distillery.

  16 years old

  Dex: How are things there?

  Chrissy: Nothing different. On the plus side I made Dean’s list this semester.

  Dex: That’s awesome congratulations.

  Chrissy: If I can keep it up, hopefully I’ll get out of this hell hole. Have you ever wished for time to speed up?

  Dex: Honestly, not really. Maybe a few times on weekends with my dad.

  Chrissy: I can’t wait until I graduate and escape this life. Anyway, did you win your game last night? Sorry, I didn’t make it, but I just got this job and couldn’t get off.

  Dex: We won and went out to celebrate for pizza afterwards. No big deal, I understand work.

  Chrissy: You understand work? Dex, you’ve never had to work. LOL

  Dex: Yeah, well my mom makes me do a shitload around here. Especially lately with the wedding.

  Chrissy: When are the upcoming nuptials? Your cousin actually asked me to be her date.

  Dex: Six weeks. Hey, you should come?

  Chrissy: Um…I don’t know.

  Dex: Come on, it will be fun. A few of my friends are coming.

  Chrissy: Okay

  YOU’D THINK I’D know better by now than to mix my dad’s side with my mom’s. But no, here we go again. I stuck my foot in my mouth by pushing Chrissy to come to my mom’s wedding. I hate even the thought of introducing Chrissy to my friends, without even considering Tori, my girlfriend. I tried to keep it quiet, not allowing Tori to know the possibility of getting invited was even viable. Then two weeks ago my mom asked her if she was coming. I kind of had hoped to spend time with Chrissy; it’s been so distant between us lately. The few times Chrissy’s made it to my games, we chat for a few minutes after I head out of the locker room, which I always either make sure I’m last or first. It’s not that I’m ashamed of Chrissy, it’s the opposite, actually. I’m ashamed of who I become in front of my friends.

  Things between Chrissy and I are different. They’ll always be that way. Sometimes after I’m with her, my mind races through the thought of what we could be. If things were different, if I didn’t live with my mom, we’d be closer. Who knows, maybe in some alternate universe we’d be dating. The other night, my mom was watching some damn movie called Pretty in Pink, and all I could think about was Chrissy. Not that I’m super rich like that Blain dude and we don’t attend the same high school, but our drastic differences in life can’t be denied.

  Walking into my mom’s room, my Aunt Kim and my mom’s best friend, Diane, help Mom secure her veil. She’s so beautiful; no one would believe she has a sixteen-year-old son. Then again, when you get pregnant at nineteen, you’re destined to be a young mother. If I bet on how many times people thought she was my sister—well, I’d be my dad. My dad’s an asshole for letting her out of his grasp, and my step-dad hit the jackpot because of it.

  “Oh, Dexter, you look so handsome.” My aunt comes over and begins pinning a flower to the lapel of my tuxedo.

  “Dex,” I correct her, and she rolls her chestnut eyes.

  “Are you ready to walk your mom down the aisle, Dex?” She stresses my shortened name. “Although I guess it’s better than Edge,” she remarks, turning her head toward my mom, who nods and crinkles her nose.

  “Yeah,” I answer, trying to keep this conversation on course. If the topic veers in my father’s direction, we’ll never make it to the garden.

  My dad is okay. He paid his child support. He picked me up on weekends. He even made it to the majority of my junior varsity games, as long as they weren’t at night. Now that I’m on varsity football, I can already assume his spot will be vacant unless he loses his Friday night poker game.

  When my mom stands, her lips turn up slightly and her hands run down the sides of her white wedding dress. It’s a little poufy, but I guess she likes that fairy godmother kind of look. Swishing toward me, I lean down the twelve inches and kiss her on the cheek. “Ted’s going to be one happy man,” I remark, not wanting to get all gushy and sappy, even though I’m ecstatic she’s finally found love.

  “Thank you, honey,” she says, and my aunt hands Mom her bouquet of white lilies. Linking arms with me, I escort her out of her master bedroom that she’s been sharing with Ted for over a year. Stopping at the top of the staircase, I walk down first to wait for my mom as my aunt and Diane hold the train.

  Once we reach the bottom, the light elevator music can faintly be heard from outside. Finding our grandfather clock, I discover we’re about five minutes late. Not very characteristic of my mom, but it’s her day. Diane peeks her head out the side door and the soft lulling music halts before picking back up in the wedding march. My mom shoos Diane and Kim out the door after they each gush over her with kisses and hugs, already exclaiming their congratulations.

  “You like him, right?” her voice low and unsteady, as she examines a bead on her dress.

  “Yeah,” I answer, and her shaking hand grabs onto mine.

  “You’d tell me, right?” she continues to question, and I wonder if this is cold feet.

  “Yeah,” I say again.

  “I love you.”

  “I love you, too.”

  Enough with the sentimental crap, the song we rehearsed to last night commences and I open the door to exit first. She links her arm in mine and I guide her to the array of white folding chairs in front of a man-made arch that Ted’s sister decorate
d. All two hundred people stand and turn their sole attention to us. Women holding hands over their hearts with mouths slightly open and men’s hands clenched together in front of their waists.

  A few of my friends try to appear all proper, standing up straight in their suits. Tori is next to them, along with her best friend, Bree. She smiles to me, and I return it before the sight of Chrissy steals my attention away when I spot her the next row up with my cousin right beside her. Her blue dress clings against her newly developed chest and then flows out over her long lean legs. Man, I don’t remember those legs. It’s only been six months since I saw her at my dad’s party for his birthday. Chrissy’s eyes flicker with giddiness when she sees my mom, but when they veer over to me afterwards, they drop down to focus on the ground.

  I give my mom away to Ted and take a seat next to my grandparents in the front row. My uncle clasps his hand on my shoulder from the row behind us, congratulating me on a good job. Everyone sits quietly while my mom and Ted repeat their vows and claps explode when they’re presented as Mr. and Mrs. Ted Robinson.

  SNEAKING THE ALCOHOL from the half-filled cups the guests left behind, my friends and I hide behind the bushes next to the garage. Tori won’t leave the dance floor with Bree, which allows me to have fun with my friends. I’m about to leave the safe and hidden confines behind the garage when I hear my mom calling me.

  “Dexter,” she calls out into the darkness.

  “Yeah, Mom,” I answer her, and she seems relieved when I reveal myself.

  “Come here.” She motions her finger toward her and from her raised eyebrows I know I’ve been caught. When I approach, I purposely stand five steps back, keeping a safe distance between us. I should have known she’d just close that gap. Reaching up on her tiptoes, she inhales and then her lips turn down. “I’m disappointed in you.”

  “Sorry,” I apologize, rubbing the back of my neck with my palm.

  “The rest of you come out here,” she hollers behind me and all my friends file out from our secret hideaway. “You boys know better. I’m tempted to call your mothers, but just go and join the party. NO MORE drinking. Do you hear me?” For only being five-foot-three, her voice carries a lot of menace. All my friends grumble their apologies and begin to walk past her with their heads hanging low. “Give me all your keys. You’ll be spending the night here tonight.” She holds out her small hand and each one digs in their pockets, fishing out their keys and placing them in her palm.

  Once they’re far enough way, she turns to me. “I’m not quite sure what you were thinking. I’m going to chalk this up to some attention stunt, but Dexter, don’t make me second guess my decision on letting you off the hook for this.”

  “You won’t, I promise.” I shake my head feverishly. She’s always had to take on the bad cop role between my parents. Suddenly, guilt that she’s had to take time from her special day to parent me rises. “I’m sorry,” I say sincerely.

  A long stream of breath flows out of her mouth. “Now, it’s time for you to dance with your mother.” She hooks her arm though my mine, and I escort her toward the wooden dance floor that is illuminated from the twinkling lights.

  “I’m not a very good dancer,” I softly say, not about to push my luck by flat out denying to do it.

  “You’ll be fine,” she encourages, tapping my hand with hers.

  When we enter the wedding again, guests begin to clear the floor and the DJ announces us. Great, not only is this humiliating enough, but everyone is going to be witness to my mom’s feet’s catastrophic death.

  “Everything” by Michael Bublé begins to play, and I hold my mom in my right arm while gripping her left hand just like we practiced every night this week. My feet grant me permission to start moving my mom around the makeshift dance floor. The smile across my mom’s face is enough to keep me going. “You’re doing fantastic, Dex,” she compliments, and I smile back, knowing she deserves this moment. Eventually I stop box stepping and change it up. Although I don’t want to see the video, in my head we’re elegantly gliding across this floor. At the end, I actually dip her small figure just like we rehearsed in the living room. Her proud delight that I actually completed something she worked so hard on is written all over her face. Her two hands come up and rest on either side of my face. “I love you, Dex.” Then her arms move down and she hugs me.

  “I love you too, Mom.”

  Applause abounds through all the guests, and we playfully bow. Well, Mom does, I nod my head instead. As we wander off the makeshift dance floor, Tori runs up to me, grabbing my hand to drag me back out to the floor when the DJ begins playing something more upbeat, but I shrug her off. Her shoulders fall, and she tilts her head in disappointment. Reluctantly, she continues on to her goal with Bree two steps behind. I don’t even give a second glance to watch her body most likely bending and twisting to the rhythm. It’s another girl that captures my sole attention. My heart picks up a beat faster watching her laughing with my cousin. I admire her confidence and assurance that I wish I had an ounce of. My teeth bite my lower lip as I hesitantly walk up to her. As usual, she senses me before I say her name, turning my way, bearing a smile that makes me have to inhale a deep breath to stabilize my hormones.

  “That was beautiful,” Chrissy says, wiping a lone tear lingering from her observation of the dance with my mom. My cousin Karen nods her head in agreement next to her. The two of them attend the same school, so Karen said Chrissy would be her date for the night. Bonus for me.

  “I’ll be right back,” Karen says, placing her hand on Chrissy’s arm before retreating away from us.

  “Yeah, well—it was very rehearsed.” I attempt to act indifferent when truth is, I enjoyed dancing with my mom. There aren’t many times it’s just the two of us anymore. I like Ted, and I’m happy for my mom, but before him I was her number one guy—the center of her world.

  “It showed with how well you did.” She stands there, her eyes on me while mine are on her newly developed chest. “So, is that your girlfriend?” she asks, nodding her head toward Tori.

  Following her vision, I take a glance at Tori and Bree laughing and smiling while dancing around the small square. “Yeah,” I answer.

  “She’s really pretty.” I wish I could tell Chrissy she’s pretty, but I bite the inside of my cheek instead.

  “Um … thanks,” I accept, unsure of what to say next. It feels awkward and uncomfortable standing by her. It’s been too long since we’ve seen each other, leaving us in that get to know each other area before things become casual again. “How have you been?” I ask, and her eyes dart to the crowd of people at the bar and then come back to me.

  “Same.” She shifts her stance, and I hate it that I have this life and she has hers. It’s so unfair that I’m allowed to distance myself from our dads’ fucked-up mess when she’s stuck living in it day after day. “Only a few more years, and I’ll be gone.” She smiles, almost as if she’s currently envisioning herself walking away with her suitcase in hand.

  I’m about to ask her if she has a boyfriend when my friend Gavin stumbles over. Obviously, my mom’s authoritative voice doesn’t have the same effect on him as it does me. Bumping into me, the drink spills a little onto the grass and Chrissy steps back, eyeing him wearily. “Who’s this, man?” He doesn’t address Chrissy, but only me.

  “Gavin, this is Chrissy. Chrissy, this is my friend, Gavin.” I introduce them and Chrissy politely puts her hand out while Gavin exaggeratedly shakes it up and down.

  “Where have you been hiding this one?” He steps forward and stands between us. Chrissy’s eyes look past him to me, scrunching her forehead.

  “It was nice meeting you, Gavin. Dex, I’m sure I’ll see you around.” She begins to walk away, and I place my hand on Gavin’s shoulder, pressing him down into a chair, which he happily does willingly before his head flops on the table.

  “Chrissy, wait!” I holler, jogging to catch up to her.

  By the time I reach her, she’s halfway acr
oss the dance floor. I grab her wrist and she turns, looking at my hand holding onto hers before her vision reaches my eyes. “Yeah?” she asks.

  Unsure of what to say, except I don’t want her to leave. I don’t even know if she is leaving, but for some reason, I want to spend more time with her. “Dance?” I ask, and she cocks her head.

  “You want to dance?” Her lips turn up and a small giggle escapes. “I’ve witnessed you dodging your girlfriend’s attempts all night, Dex.” I like it that she’s been watching me.

  Tugging her toward me, I surprise myself with my dominating actions when her hands land on my chest to stay upright. “I asked you,” I say, and she bites her lip.

  “Okay,” she agrees softly.

  Just then the song changes from fast to slow. “The One” by Static Cycle begins playing from the speakers, and I place her in my arms, similar to how I held my mom only a few minutes prior. At first we’re stiff, keeping our personal space in check as though there’s a balloon in between us. As the lyrics start resonating between us, our walls seem to crumble down with the meaning of the words. She closes her eyes and opens them, wetness surrounding her hazel irises. Without thinking of any consequences, I move my hand up from the small of her back to her hairline. Nudging her my way, she willingly sways into me and places her head on my chest. Her arms move to wrap around my waist while mine encase her body. One hand splayed in her hair and the other on her hip.

  Our feet shuffle back and forth, never truly leaving one spot—our spot. Her breathing seems to match mine in a slow and steady stream similar to our feet. I forgot how good I feel with her by me. How she brings out such a different Dex than others see. I’ve never put anyone in front of my own needs or wants … except for Chrissy. She’s the one who I’d give my last piece of food or clothing to if she needed it. But she’s so alone, and I’ve been such a shitty friend. Now that we’ve gotten older, we don’t have to go to the Saturday betting. Sports, school, and my friends have taken up all my time. As the word one continues to flow from the speakers, I can’t help but think Chrissy’s mine—my one.