Page 50 of When There Was You
When I’m offered—and accept—the job, there’s little time to celebrate. I have two weeks to exit the life I’ve made in California and report for work in Virginia.
My veins pump a cocktail of exhilaration with a twist of anxiety as I nail down the many details. I find a studio apartment from three thousand miles away, sight unseen, thanks to some help from the magazine’s human resources coordinator. It even comes furnished—beyond helpful until I can afford to buy some furniture. As for my current abode, Kendra luckily knows another law student who needs a place and can move in once I exit.
According to my father (and I don’t disagree), my Beetle is too old and dilapidated to drive across the country and lacks the cargo space to haul my stuff. He helps me shop for a car and generously makes the down payment on a brand new red Toyota, and I leave the lot with my first new ride…one that comes with five years of monthly payments. It’s boxy and economical—nothing remotely sexy like American muscle—but earns points for the “sports package” adding a spoiler and pinstriping.
My parents agree to store some of my belongings so I can focus on taking necessities. The same day I drop off storage items, my father and I map out my trip using the newest road atlas, including likely motel stops. It’s almost a straight shot from California to Virginia, so I’m allowing four days, although it could take less. The moving expenses stipend from the magazine will cover those costs and then some.
Then it’s time for goodbyes.
First on my list—and the easiest to leave—are my parents. Even though we’re on better footing since I left home, it doesn’t erase years of neglect.
The hard part is knowing my mother has one foot in the grave, and she’s the one killing herself a little more each minute. “Suicide Is Painless” isn’t only the theme song fromM*A*S*H, it’s hers. Severely underweight, popping Valium and drinking wine every day, she’s so sickly she’s unemployable—and stubbornly refuses to seek help or change. I despise her for it on top of a pile of anger and disrespect.
My father drinks himself into nightly comas, surely continues cheating on her, and seems to remain blissfully in denial about his wife…or he’s given up like I have. I’m unable to deal with their problems, and deep inside, I want to distance myself as fast as possible. Three thousand miles will do that in spades.
Our goodbyes are quick.
I hug my mother first. “Please take care of yourself, Mom.”She won’t.
“You too, honey. Go show those Virginians how amazing you are.”
“I will.”
She squeezes me—as best she can in her frail state. “Don’t forget about us.”
My grip stays loose, worried her birdlike bones will snap under pressure. It’s a relief to let her go and shift to my father.
“Be careful driving to Virginia. Stop if you get tired, butdon’t linger at rest stops. Err on the side of caution, okay? As a young woman, you’re vulnerable traveling alone. And don’t forget to call when you get there…and from time to time.” He gives me a firm squeeze and releases me.
I glance from one parent to the other. We’re not big on verbal pronouncements and sentiments, but it seems right, considering it’s a significant moment. “Love you guys.”
“We love you too,” they echo, and my chest loosens, relieved they said it back. I could probably count the number of times they’ve told me they love me on two hands. Maybe one.
Opening the door to the Toyota, I settle into the driver’s seat and roll down my window. Giving them a final wave, I take off, watching their figures recede through the side mirror until they’re two dots…and then gone.
I release a shuddering breath. Fear of the unknown looms—along with elation. And I’m one step closer to meeting both head-on.
After I make it back to San Francisco, Kendra and I talk past midnight, not really wanting our last night together to end. We laugh, cry, and pledge to stay in touch and kick ass at our respective professions.
The following morning, I pack my remaining belongings. My gaze lingers on the earrings and anklet Mick gave me, then I resolutely place my jewelry case in a duffel bag with my clothes. I’m leaving the big furniture for Kendra’s next roommate, which makes my life easier.
After stuffing everything into my car, I take the apartment key off my ring and leave it with a final note to Kendra.
I absorb one last look as I drive through the city, not knowing when I’ll return, then I accelerate onto the freeway and cruise down to San Jose.
Upon my arrival, Jas, Kit, and I stand in a group hug for five minutes. It’s been too long since I’ve seen my old roomies, and a sharp pang lodges behind my sternum as we reunite.These girls have been there for me through some of my brightest—and hardest—days the past few years. Leaving them fills me with a sudden, unexpected grief. They are two of the kindest, funniest, and best human beings I know—and volunteer life rafts during my stormiest time. Will the distance sink our friendship?
“There goes the mascara,” I choke out.
Jas sniffles. “Mine too.”
Kit huffs out a big breath. “No crying!” she pronounces.
“El Torito’s for old times’ sake?” Jas asks.
I nod and we trade smiles, each wiping our cheeks.
“No tequila,” I warn. “I have to drive tomorrow.”
