Chapter 1
Part 1: Moving Out
Jo
I let out a sharp breath. “Alright. I think that’s all of them.”
I hear Liam chuckle behind me. “It better be. Together, we spent like a hundred bucks on all these tapes.”
I reach back and slap him lightly on the leg. “Come on. We need something to listen to for the road trip.”
“True,” Liam responds. “Or else GreggyRaybbie will be playing the whole nine hours.”
I groan. “I really hope that’s not going to be the name they stick with when they’re trying to get signed.”
“Hey, I tried to convince them to change it. But you know Greg. Once he comes up with something, there’s no changing his mind.”
I hoist up the bag of tapes, the clinking of the plastic covers creating a sudden cacophony of noise. “Alright. I should put these in my car. I’ll be back.”
I feel a hand grip my wrist as I slide off the bed, pulling me back. “Hey,” Liam says softly. “Look at me.”
I turn to face him slowly. His eyes are pleading, concerned. “What is it?” I ask.
He chews on his bottom lip. Before letting out a frustrated breath. “Are you sure you’re ok? You’re not freaking out or anything?”
“About what?” I ask.
He rolls his eyes. “You know what. Going to college, moving to LA. All of it.”
I immediately shake my head. “I’m fine. I promise. You’ve already been going to UCLA for a semester, and you’ve told me all about it.” I sit down beside him. “I mean, I’ve visited you like five times. I know what I’m getting myself into.”
“Ok. Good,” Liam says. He pulls my wrist, which he is still holding, and falls back against the pillows. I land on top of him, and propping myself up on my elbows. His eyebrows rise mischievously below me. “Wanna make out now?”
I giggle breathily. “That sounds great.”
His lips smother mine immediately. They taste of the orange flavored gum he’d been chewing on on the way back home from the record store. His hands drift lower and lower along my back. I let out a soft moan against his lips. Liam grips my hips and begins rolling me onto my back, so he is on top. Halfway there, however, we run out of bed, and I’m instantly free falling. I let out a small yelp as Liam frantically wraps his arms around me and turns to absorb most of the impact when we finally slam against the ground.
“Ouch,” he mutters below me. His hands slide off of my back to flop on either side of him.
“Are you ok?” I snicker.
“Yeah. Yup. I’m greaaat,” he groans.
I suddenly burst into laughter, my forehead dropping onto his chest. I feel him shake beneath me soon after as he joins in. “Alright,” I finally say after laughing for much too long. “I really should finish packing now.” I roll off of Liam and sit up beside him. Liam sits up as well.
“I should probably get going too. My mom wants to have some special mother-son dinner for our final night together.”
“That sounds...nice,” I say.
Liam chuckles and shakes his head. “Yeah. I guess.” He sighs. “I just hope she’ll be ok. I mean, I know it was the same last year, but-”
“But it’s not,” I say. “I get it. You’re going to be away for a whole year now. Not just a semester.”
He glances down at the floor quickly before responding. “Yeah. That’s exactly what it is.” He starts to stand but I stop him by putting a hand on his upper arm.
“Hey,” I say. “I love you.” The words still sound brand new on my lips, even though it’s been over a year.
“I love you too,” he says, his voice now low and quiet. He cups my jaw in his hand and pulls me in for a kiss. I want it to last longer, but it doesn’t. He pulls away and stands up. “Alright. I’m gonna go. See you tomorrow?”
“Bright and early,” I say in a mock cheerful voice.
Liam disappears through the doorway, but I can still hear his faint “Goodbye, Jo,” down the hall. I smile to myself before realizing that there’s still packing to be done. There’s still...a lot of packing to be done.
I look around at all the empty bags scattered around the room. Maybe I was lying to myself when I said I was fine about this whole moving to LA thing. I guess I’d been putting off the thought of it. Of actually moving to a different place-a city-at that. I put my head in my hands and groan as loud as I can in an attempt to block out the flood of nervous thoughts battling their way into my brain.
“You’ll worry about it when you get there,” I say aloud to myself before pulling myself up. “For now, packing is your first priority.”
Liam
I run my fingers through my hair one more time in an attempt to make it somewhat presentable. It never seems to sit right, no matter how hard I try. I’ve given up trying to do anything with it for the past few years now, but tonight is kind of important, so I thought I’d at least put some effort into making it look good. But, alas, the efforts are fruitless, so I soak up what dignity I have left and walk out of the bathroom to meet my mom in the living room.
She finally took the time to pick out a new couch, a dark gray burrow sofa, as they call it. I don’t know why there have to be so many different names for items of furniture.
“Hey sweetie,” she says when I walk in. She’s stuffing cash into her wallet, almost frantically.
“Mom,” I say. “I can pay if you can’t cover tonight.”
Her expression turns frazzled when I say it, as usual. “No, you can’t. It’s your last night at home. I’m paying for a nice dinner at Cattlemen’s for my son.”
I want to continue the conversation, but I know better by now. We’ve had the same conversation about a million times since college. Since before college actually. I knew we didn’t have enough money to put me through school to begin with, and I was planning on going to community college for longer than a semester. But she insisted that it was ok for me to go to a huge, expensive university. That we’d be fine. I knew better. But it’s impossible to argue with her, so I just say, “Ok.”
She picks up her purse and slings it across one shoulder. “So. Are you ready?”
“Yup.”
We drive to Cattlemen’s in my mom’s old Honda SUV, which she must’ve gotten back in 1995. I have a lot of memories in this car, specifically of listening to my parents’ favorite music and singing along. Sometimes we wouldn’t even be going anywhere, just driving around the neighborhood in circles. Sure the speaker system in a 1995 Honda isn’t that great, but we would usually sing louder than the music anyway so it didn’t matter.
The restaurant is pretty packed when we pull up, but luckily we made a reservation a couple days ago. The hostess guides us to a table once we get inside, one that’s relatively secluded. There’s nothing worse than getting seated next to a group of fifteen people all trying to have fifteen different conversations at once, or screaming periodically at...who knows what.
We get settled into the booth and order drinks, me; water, my mom; some complicated cocktail thing. I can almost hear Jo nagging on me to order something other than water. I have a weird thing about ordering the same thing every time at restaurants, which she can’t stand. I smile to myself as I take a sip.
“What’s so funny?” my mom asks.
I swallow and shake my head. “Nothing.”
She smiles, taking a napkin from the table and spreading it across her lap. “Well I’m glad we could finally do this. I feel like I never see you now a days. You’re either at school or with Jo.”
“Yeah,” I say. “Me too.” I can’t help but think that something about the tone of her voice is sort of ...passive aggressive.
We’re silent for a while, both favoring munching on the free, freshly baked bread they put on all the tables over conversation, until a waiter finally comes to take our order. We both decide on steak. Obviously. Because it’s Cattlemen’s.
“So,” my mom says once the waiter has left. “Are you excited to start school?”
I nod. “Yeah. Of course. I love it at UCLA. And now that I’m living with Greg, Robbie and Ray, I don’t have to deal with living in a dorm room.” I make sure not to mention how much cheaper it’ll be to live with them also. It might be chaotic to live with three other roommates, especially when they’re all a part of a band, but I can’t deny the benefits of splitting the rent four ways.
“I know you love it there,” she says. “...it’s just...you only went there for one semester last year.”
“Yeah. So?” I think I already know what she’s going to say. And I wish she wouldn’t. I don’t want to start this fight again.
“Well, you’re going to be...away for Thanksgiving. The week of the anniversary.”
“What anniversary?” I ask. I know what anniversary, and I feel like a jerk for making her clarify. But I just want her to say it. Out loud.
“You know what anniversary,” is all she says.
“Oh yes. The anniversary of my father’s death. Is that what you mean?” My words come out sharp and gravelly.
I can see my mother flinch away from me.
“Why does it matter?” I continue. “Shouldn’t we just ignore it? Isn’t that your thing? To ignore the fact that he died?”
“No it isn’t,” she fires back. "I'm acknowledging the anniversary aren't I? I just thought it would be hard for you to be on your own during it."
“But you can’t even say it. Just say the fucking words mom. He died. He’s dead and we’re going to be alone on the day that he died.”
“Don’t you dare use that language-“
“I just wanted us to be happy for at least one night.”
“I want that too, I-”
“You’re just....you’re stuck in this world where… where Dad’s death is just playing over and over. You can’t even hold on to a job, and I know it’s because of him. But you won’t admit to any of it. You won’t talk about any of it.”
“I just thought that....that the anniversary was a time when we do talk about that kind of stuff.” Her lips tremble when she says it.
“But that’s not what’s going to happen, is it Mom? No. Every year we just end up spending the day avoiding everything. I can’t help you, Mom, if you’re avoiding it all the time. And I’m done trying. I can’t move on if you can’t even come to terms with the fact that he’s gone.”
I can see the pain I’ve caused reflected in her eyes. I can almost feel it. I want her to say something, to yell back at me, but she doesn’t. She just stays there, staring at me, hurt.
“I’m sorry,” I mutter. “I shouldn’t have said-“
“No,” she says. “It’s fine. We’re both just...stressed. That’s all.” I can tell that she doesn’t really mean it.
Maybe I didn’t mean my apology either.
