Chapter 35: Chapter Seventeen-1

Chapter Seventeen Mark and I sit down for a cup of coffee at Dunkin Donuts even though it’s very late at night. There are only a few customers around and the worker that hands us our coffees looks like he would rather be anywhere else but there. I don’t even know why we decided to go for coffee. I definitely know I’d have a hard time sleeping tonight. “So,” I say, “what’re you doing in Brownwood?” “Um, some business matters,” Mark replies, taking a sip of his coffee. He scrunches his face up and mutters, “It needs more sugar.” He takes a packet of Sweet & Low and stirs it in his cup. “And you just so happened to just ‘coincidentally’”—I mimic air quotes with my hands—“run into the same store that I worked in? Out of all the stores?” He grins, “Yeah.” “Sure,” I say, positive he followed me or just came to bother me. “You could have just called me or something if you wanted to hang out.” “Well, I do want to hang out,” Mark laughs. “But I did come here for business so, you’ll be seeing me more often. I even actually rented out a house here just for the time I’ll be staying.” He takes a gulp of coffee. “Oh, serious business, huh?” I ask. He nods and laughs. It’s so easy to talk to him. The words come right out of my mouth unlike…Lee. I haven’t thought of him for a while. But there’s a constant urge to think about him. “What’re you thinking of?” Mark asks, peering at me. “Um, have you been in contact with Lee? How’s he doing?” I say, playing with the rim of my Styrofoam cup. I don’t want to come off as too eager to know about how he’s doing. Mark’s smile fades and he turns his eyes out the window. “I don’t really talk to him much. But, I’m sure he’s doing fine. He always is.” “D-Did you know he had a fiancé?” “What?” Mark snaps his head back to me. He regains his composure. “Oh. Did he now?” He takes a sip of his coffee nervously. “Didn’t think he’d recover that fast,” he mumbles to himself, his cup at his lips that block out what he’s saying and leave me to put the pieces together. Did I hear that right? Recover from what? Maybe I was imagining things. “Um, what?” I ask Mark. I can’t ever imagine Lee needing to recover from anything. He seems like the type of guy who has the strength of Iron Man—emotionally and physically. “Hm?” Mark looks at me, back from whatever he was thinking of. “Oh, it’s nothing. It’s none of my business anyway. I shouldn’t leak his secrets without consent.” I frown. Lee will always be a mystery. “Oh.” Mark looks at me, his eyebrows furrowed—he’s trying to figure me out. But he can’t because I put up a pretty good poker face most of the time unless it’s Lee. Everything’s different with Lee. I sigh. “Changing the subject,” Mark says, “how’s it going?” *        *           *             *            *             *              *          *       * I get home around nine and I can feel my senses tingling alert. I knew drinking coffee this late was a mistake. Now, I would never fall asleep. I have school tomorrow too. I groan, placing the keys on the counter next to the door. I shut the door and lock it before I walk inside the living room. I see the light shining from under the door from Mom’s studio—probably working late again. Throwing my bag on the couch, I get myself some water to maybe help the caffeine leave my system. School has been hectic and crazy. First, Karen and I are just on…weird terms. After the whole scenario at the auditorium and kicking her boy—ex-boyfriend’s ass—we don’t know how to act. We’ve hated each other for years. How are we supposed to act? Well, at least now she doesn’t talk to me or push insults my way. We just avoid each other, I guess. Act like the strangers we are. To be completely truthful, I kind of miss her. Yes, Candy is an amazing friend but Karen? We just had a bond impossible to break. But it did. You can’t just forget someone who’s listened to every secret, been through every downfall, stood by you at the most embarrassing times. I guess one day she just got sick of it and finally realized what a loser I was and ditched me. She was always the prettier one. All I did was drag her down. And since I’m being honest, I guess I was kind of happy when she acted rude to me. It gave me an excuse to be rude to her. I’d always been jealous and a bit angry that she was so flawless—a little conceited for that matter—it was just bittersweet when we just stopped being friends. But I’m happy where I am. I’m free, I guess. Even if she did ask me to be friends with her, I wouldn’t. Yes, I helped her out but that’s because I’m human and it was my last token of our friendship for her. I’m in sweats and my hair is up in a ponytail before I go to the kitchen and get myself a good old bowl of cereal. There seems to be nothing good on television so I curl up on the couch with my laptop placed on top of a pillow. Mom is still in her studio, the light flooding out from her room. I haven’t seen her all day.  I get up from my comfortable position and walk to her room. “Mom?” I say when I see her. Unlike most days, today she’s sitting at her desk with loads of papers scattered around her—some crumbled and others erased over and over. She’s sketching, her hand moving fast against the paper. Her hair is a mess, strings falling here and there. She looks older than before. Her wrinkles are deeper. “Mom?” I repeat. Mom finally hears my voice and looks up. Her hand stops moving and she sets the pencil down. Pushing all her hair behind her ears, she smiles up at me. “You’re home, dear.” Her face looks worn and tired. I haven’t seen her so stressed since Dad passed away. She has a fake smile plastered across her face. “Are you okay, Mom? You seem to be working really hard,” I say, pursing my lips. I drape and arm over her shoulders and she puts her hands over mine. “Why are you pushing yourself so hard?” Mom’s smile falters a little. “I’m fine, Ivory. Don’t worry about me.” I stare long and hard into her eyes. I can obviously see how exhausted she is but she’s still putting up a front. If I worry, or show my worry—she’ll have even more on her plate. So I just give a tight smile and nod. “Did you eat yet, Mom?” “Yes, darling,” she responds. “How about you?” “Um, yeah,” I say, scratching my cheek. “I had some dinner with a friend.” Well, I don’t know if you could consider coffee and donuts as dinner. Mark sure didn’t seem to mind. “Oh, okay. Was work okay besides that?” “It was fine,” I say. I glance at her drawings. There are tons and tons of different sketches of the same stage. It’s a platform and flowers are surrounding it in some. Why would she be designing a stage? She was an artist, not some architect. “Mom, why are you drawing these?”