Page 26 of Yield to Me

Uncontrollable sobs leaked out of my mother, like a dying cat. I held her. I knew that a man like Grayson would’ve left Regina, like he left everyone else. But there was always a hint of regret in Regina’s eyes, an emotion that lingered whenever she looked at me. Even if she would never admit it, I knew my mother thought of me, their only child, as the reason for Grayson’s departure. I wanted to believe that deep down in her heart, she knew I loved her, more than Grayson ever did or would, but it was hard to tell myself that when she looked at me that way. I sighed, looking around. It wouldn’t take long for someone to come outside and ask what was going on. Some of our neighbors were used to Regina’s outbursts by now, but this wasn’t our familiar territory. I ushered my mother into the car.

I helped my mother to bed, tucking the covers up over her shoulders. I kissed her cheek.

“Sweetie,” Regina said. “I forgot to tell you something.”

“Yes?”

“That sculpture out back? I knocked it over.”

“Which sculpture?”

“The one of the woman kneeling.”

The sculpture had been one of the first ones I had been truly proud of; the tendrils of hair cascading as if the woman had looked up, the defiant eyes, the hands behind her back. In my first few attempts, I had been too nervous to create legs to balance on, so I made her with bent knees, hidden beneath the woman’s dress. It wasn’t anything special, practice using stone, but I told people it was like an execution: the woman wasn’t afraid to look someone in the eyes before they took her down. I had kept it in the backyard since then. It was heavy, made completely of stone.

This was no accident.

In the morning, the sounds of traffic from the main street echoed like wind through tree branches. I shaved pieces of wood off of a long branch, flicking them into the backyard firepit. The sculpture was in pieces next to me, the head knocked off like a true execution, the shoulder cracked, chips of stone scattered on the ground. I thought about breaking the wine bottle lantern structure my mother had asked me to make; we were almost finished—sixty-two bottles cut in half, lined with tea lights along the patio. I imagined the satisfying sound of the glass crashing against the pavement, the scattered colors of green, red, and clear glass in shimmering piles at my feet. But there was no point; my mother would never say anything about it to me, and I would be the one to clean it up anyway. My mother would, no doubt, use the opportunity to do something purposefully harmful in the mess of it, claiming innocence and naivety, then blaming it on me.

Would it be worth it to burn all of Grayson’s pictures? I wondered.

No, it wouldn’t. It was the last physical things Regina had of Grayson, and I didn’t want to even imagine what Regina would do if even that was taken away from her. But the desire for revenge burned inside of me. I would take it out on Grayson if I could since it felt like it was his fault, but neither of us knew where he lived these days. And what would get to him anyway?

What would get to Regina?

I picked up my phone and dialed Michael.

“Are you up for dinner tonight?” I asked. “I could use a night out.”

He picked me up at eight p.m., taking me to a pizza place nearby. “It’s real Italian,” he said.

The crust was thin and soaked with grease. The cheese and pepperoni would’ve slipped off of his slice if Michael hadn’t shoved it into this mouth so quickly. Of course, my toppings did fall off, which made Michael laugh. I ate the rest of the piece with a fork and knife. Michael was animated as he spoke, hardly stopping for a breath or a bite, his words rambling from the agents he had been meeting with, to the new project he was developing. It was a relevant conversation, but it wasn’t a conversation so much as Michael talking at me. I didn’t mind. I wasn’t there for an intimate discussion; I had an end goal in mind. He asked once whether I had turned in my final application to the program; I had and thanked him for his input. I hadn’t taken his advice, but I left that detail out.

“Let’s order another round,” I said. “This one on me.”

“Get a pitcher,” he said.

Two and a half pitchers later, it didn’t matter what Michael said because I interrupted him. “I don’t want to hear about which agent you’re fucking,” I said. “What do I do, when I get in that situation? I don’t want to sleep with everyone like you do.”

“Like I do?” he smirked. “Just because I enjoy sex doesn’t make me a criminal, Riley. Sex is more of a byproduct of the whole ordeal. A lot of them are horny, older, unsatisfied women, so I do what I do best.”

“Are cougars your type?” I asked.

“Women are my type,” he said.

I laughed, tossing my head back. “I don’t suppose you have any set criteria, do you?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You know exactly what it means.” I lifted my eyebrow at him, taking the last sip of my beer. I felt brash. I was usually kind to Michael; snarky, yes, but overly nice, knowing that I would have to work with him for the next few years if I did get into the program. Plus he reminded me of my mother in a way. He grinned, clearly taking it as a flirtatious move rather than an offensive stab at his sexual history. He was proud to use women like that, I guess.

“Want to add more to my repertoire?” he said. Did I want to add to his bedroom notches? Well, if I seriously considered him as a potential bedmate, he was beautiful. His slanted jaw and blue eyes, the slicked back blonde hair, and a body where you could tell that he was lean and hard—not muscular, but toned, without an inch of fat on him. He was the kind of guy who would look beautiful, no matter what position he was in, and he was also the kind of man that knew it. The spark in his eyes, even drunk, was like a sign that he knew he was winning. What he didn’t realize was that even if he was finally getting to me, I had my own reason, and it had nothing to do with actually wanting to fuck him. But it did help that he was good looking.

“Take me home,” I said.

“Aww. That’s it? You’re not even going to give me a goodnight kiss?” Michael said.

I rolled my eyes. “You’re going to walk me inside, aren’t you?”

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