8
The weeks passed and my life fell into the complacency of routine. Between school, working my shifts at Barton’s, and my internship I had little time for anything else and that was good for me. I liked keeping busy. I had a clear picture of my future and I was steadfastly plodding toward it. No one could ever accuse me of being unsure.
Just call me Slow and Steady Riley. On second thought, don’t you dare.
My parents had always joked that my serious focus was a result of some mutation of the genes. Because they were the most laid back people on the planet (excluding a certain doped out guitarist I knew of course). My father and mother had met at a commune in upstate New York in the early eighties. It had been love at first sight. Or it could have been the copious amount of psychedelic mushrooms they had just ingested. Whatever the cause for their instant connection, it brought about a quickie marriage after dating for less than two weeks.
And yet after all these years and three children later, they were still going strong. Hell, I hoped to be with someone I could remotely stand after that amount of time. I couldn’t imagine sharing a space with anyone that long and not wanting to inflict bodily harm. Who could stand hair in the sink and the toilet seat being left up for more than a month? Not me, that’s for sure.
But my parents were made of different stuff. Because I grew up in a home filled with love and laughter and all that Hallmark crap. I was the baby of the family, born almost sixteen years after my sister. I was the “oops” child. The result of a weekend getaway to Maine for my parents’ twentieth wedding anniversary. So I was raised essentially as an only child, both of my much older siblings having flown the roost while I was still a toddler.
My brother, Gavin, was a schoolteacher, my sister, Felicity, a stay at home mom to my two nieces. Gavin still lived in Maryland, ten minutes from parents. Fliss was in Pennsylvania. Then there was me.
I had never been a partier, more concerned with doing well in school and over extending myself through endless extracurricular activities and a part time job when I was a teen. My parents were proud, if not a little perplexed, as to how they had raised such a straight edged kid when they had spent their youth following The Grateful Dead. Since I wasn’t into the wild and crazy, my brand of teenage rebellion took the course of L. L. Bean and the debate team.
Despite our polar differences, I knew how lucky I was to have my parents’ unconditional love and support. The liberty to make my own choices and go where the wind took me, knowing that no matter where my feet landed I had two people in this world who would always be there if I needed them.
After seeing the relationship Maysie had with her parents, I had been more appreciative of my own mom and dad. Maysie’s parents lived in a constant state of disapproval where their daughter was concerned. Nothing she did would ever be good enough. I hated it for her. No one deserved to feel second best by their own parents.
When my phone rang Friday after classes, I answered it, pleased to hear my mother’s voice on the other end. “Riley Louise, finally! You have been incommunicado for weeks!” my mother exclaimed, scolding me in that pleasant way of hers that let me know she was upset but not enough to unleash the full weight of motherly disapproval.
“I know, Mom. Things have been crazy,” I said, digging my keys out of my book bag as I headed across the parking lot toward my car.
“Such a busy bee. How is school? The internship? I want to hear about everything!” My mom was the most enthusiastic person I knew. When I was a surly teenager, she drove me nuts. Her incessant perkiness was at odds with my more morose and subtle personality. She wanted me to wear pink, I swore off all colors but black. She played Captain and Tennille at full volume; I preferred to listen to Damien Rice with my lights off.
But now that I’m older, I could appreciate her glass is half-full mentality. And I no longer felt the need to buck the system by whining endlessly about all the ways the world sucks.
“Things are good. My senior symposium is kicking my ass. We have to read three books a week. But I’m loving it. The internship is interesting. I’ve graduated from gopher girl, Queen of the Coffee Machine to full-on reporter lackey. I’m hoping to be able to write a piece by the end of the month,” I said as I got into my car. The mundane tedium of small talk wasn’t my mother’s way so I waited for her to get to the grit of the phone call. But she had to go through the niceties first. Having been raised in Alabama, she was insistent on good manners.
“Wow, that’s amazing, Riley Boo!” she exclaimed and I had to roll my eyes at her persistent use of my childhood nickname. Riley Boo, Gavey Love, Flutterfly. My siblings and I had to endure these little testaments of our parents love for our whole lives. It often put our teeth on edge but we’d never even think of telling mom to stop. It was easier to suck it up and not act mortally humiliated when we were referred to by said nicknames in a public setting.
“Yep, pretty amazing,” I agreed dryly. I put the phone on speaker and placed it into the hands free set on my dashboard so I could start heading home.
“How are things with Damien?” she asked in a sympathetic tone. The mention of his name had lost a lot of its power over the last few weeks but it still landed an emotional punch. Seeing him almost every day didn’t help. Particularly when he was making it his mission to remind me of why I had fallen in love with him in the first place. I wasn’t entirely sure what happened with Jaz, but I could tell that they were most definitely not dating.
I had overheard Jaz making a snide comment to Dina, another waitress at Barton’s, about the fact he had never called her after going to The Boogey Lounge. Honestly, I wasn’t trying to snoop, but it did give me a sense of supreme satisfaction to know that she had been handed her rejection so quickly.
She had turned around after her tirade over Damien, to find me wiping down my tables. She had given me a sugary sweet smile, followed by a fake “Hiya, Riley!” before flouncing off to her own section. But I could see her face color with mortification at having me overhear her tale of dating gone wrong.
So, whatever had happened between him and Jaz, he was now sniffing around my skirts more than he ever had while we were together. It must be my magnetic I’m-moving-on-with-my-life perfume. Apparently it made me irresistible.
“Really Mom? Is that why you called? To snoop around in my love life? Because I can assure you, it’s about as interesting as watching paint dry,” I commented as I pulled up to a red light.