Page 43 of Yield to Me

Chapter 23

Sixteen days went by without a word from Owen. I sent him texts. What’s up? I’d ask. I cursed at my phone, angry for the lack of response. Where’ve you been? He hadn’t been at any of the recent gallery openings, nor had I seen him stride into No Doze, pretending like all he wanted was a cup of coffee. I missed him.

I stared out the windowed wall at No Doze, as if I could make him appear through telekinesis. I washed the same spot on the counter, bored out of my mind, and wanting what I knew I couldn’t have. It was Christmas Eve, and Clay and I had volunteered to take the holiday shift.

Bobby cruised through the entrance. “Ho, ho, ho,” he said. A Santa beard hung below his chin, held up by elastic around his ears. He slung the red bag higher on his shoulder. My posture sagged at the disappointment that the person who walked in, once again, wasn’t Owen. “I bring presents for boys and girls who help out by taking a holiday shift.” He shrugged his shoulders, noticing my bummed expression. “Contain your excitement, will ya?” Bobby said.

I smiled. “It’s been slow,” I said. “A few of the regulars. And orders from Condor and Hustler.”

Bobby shrugged. “Maybe some midnight prowlers once Santa makes his rounds,” he said.

Clay emerged from the back room, and Bobby presented us with tins of homemade goods from his wife: jam thumbprint cookies, muddy buddies, peanut butter cookies with chocolate kisses. Each had a gift card taped to the underside of the tin with a thank you note. Clay and Bobby joked around about a recent football game, Bobby always rooting for the other team to piss off Clay. I zoned out, wondering whether I should copy Bobby, and show up at Owen’s house with a present.

The Disney Parks Christmas Day Parade hummed on the television, though neither my mom nor I watched. I sat at the bar stools, watching my mother add blueberries to the muffin batter, a holiday breakfast tradition since I could remember. Cardboard boxes labeled decorations and plates, bowls lined up against the walls of the living room. A small fir tree was in the corner, decorated with a string of white lights and a single star. It was bland for a Glass Christmas tree, but Regina had claimed she didn’t want to take out the ornaments in the midst of packing.

“So,” Regina said, still concentrating on the batter as she mixed it, blue streaks coloring the creamy mixture. “Have you decided? Traveling to warmer pastures with me?”

I laughed. The truth about California, whether you were in Northern, Central, or Southern, was that a lot of the times, most of the state was about the same temperature this time of year. I shrugged. “Still thinking about it.”

“I might be able to get ahold of one of my old colleagues at the schools, see if you can T.A. or something,” she said. While I wouldn’t mind being a teacher’s assistant at the college level, the middle or even high school level seemed like it would have a different set of challenges, and none that would actually help expand my opportunities. I didn’t want to give up my goals. I wanted to strive towards them. My mother had given up her dream to raise me; she deserved a daughter who could make her proud.

“Thanks,” I said. It was still kind to be offered the options, even if I knew I wouldn’t take them. My mother put the muffin tin into the oven and set a timer. She dusted her hands on her apron.

We pulled apart the freshly baked muffins, sitting on the couch, watching the bands twirl along the television screen. I texted Owen, Merry Christmas, and he sent back, You too. It was the first response he had sent, and I was momentarily relieved that he had finally responded, that he had said anything at all. But then anger won over at the fact that he had waited this long after promising to be there for me. Where have you been? I asked, yet again. And yet again, no response. Fucking asshole.

After helping my mother pack books and picture frames into boxes, I drove to Surrender. The place was locked and the streets were empty, as to be expected. There was even a note on the door saying, Happy Holidays! We’ll return on New Year’s Eve. I knew he could be in the library, watching me from the security camera. I flipped off the recording device perched near the door, and walked back to my car.

You’d do anything for me, I thought, And yet you pull away and ignore me at every chance you get. Make up your damn mind! I rubbed my temple and drove towards his house. He might not even be in town right then, especially if Surrender was closed for the next week, but I had to try.

I pulled up to the gate, and the security guard didn’t open the gate like he usually did, but instead walked to my car. I rolled down the window. “He’ll be back in a few days,” he said.

“Where’d he go?” I asked. I looked up at the house, wondering if he had decorated any of the rooms, if he had a Christmas tree, or if he refused to celebrate, preferring his glum solitude.

“I’m sorry, but that’s private, ma’am,” he said. But I wasn’t paying attention. Owen was standing on the doorstep, staring down at us. I pointed to him, and Owen waved at the security guard. The guard sighed, then opened the gate for me.

Owen shook my hand, then led me to the office. Every single light was on in the house, making the office look strange, awkwardly fluorescent, as if under a microscope. He fixed me a drink at the bar, and my face turned red. I was angry that he could pretend like there was nothing wrong, as if it wasn’t Christmas, as if we had never been anything at all. As if I was a friend who had showed up.

“You said you’d do anything for me,” I said. He stopped, stared at me, and put down the glasses. “You said that, and you meant it.” My throat tightened, and the words were getting harder to get out of my mouth. “And yet you don’t answer my messages. You don’t say anything. You don’t even pretend to care.” I sighed. “Fuck, Owen, you even stopped coming to the galleries. You were going to those long before we even knew each other, and you know it.” I looked around at the room, this place where I had danced for Owen, when he made me feel powerful and beautiful. “It’s like you don’t even exist.”

“I’ve had some,” he paused, looking around, “things come up. Something I have to deal with.”

“So what? I want to be there for you too.”

“It’s not something you can help me with.”

“Then let me be there, Owen. Don’t push me away.”

He took one step closer. “To be clear, I said I would be there for you if you needed me. Not to chat. Not to be some guy you call when you’re bored. When. You. Need. Me.”

“And I need you, Owen. I fucking need you.” I shook the hair out of my eyes, holding back the urge to cross my arms. “I need the person who doesn’t put up with my shit, who teaches me things. Who, for once, someone actually understood me, even understood my art. Who listened to my dreams and believed in me! Who showed me what it’s like to give yourself to someone completely,” I clenched my fists, and my nails digging into my palms, “to trust someone again.”

“Riley,” he said.

“Stop it, Owen! Don’t make up some stupid excuse. Don’t pretend like you feel one way and then do the exact opposite. I want the truth.” I paused, tears filling my eyes. “If you care about me, show me. You can’t make love to someone like that and disappear.”

He watched me for a moment, processing what I had said. Then he stepped closer. I stood my ground, adjusted my posture so I was standing strong, waiting for his answer. He held my cheek in his hand. The warmth of his fingers and his scent made me weak, but I wouldn’t cry. I refused.

“You’re the most passionate, stubborn, fire-filled woman I’ve ever met,” he murmured. “You’ll fight for this?” He searched my eyes, looking for answers. “Even in my darkest moments?”

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