Left Behind

“That’s great! You don’t have long to go then.”

“Yes, but what if she’s, you know…like my mother?”

“Crazy?”

“Not crazy! Bipolar!” I reprimand Ashley’s loose terminology, even though I know she means no harm.

“Whatever. If she’s a bat loon, then you pack up your stuff and come back to Texas and live with me.”

“You know your mom wouldn’t be able to take me in permanently.”

“Who said anything about Mom? We turn eighteen within a few weeks of each other. We can go down to Padre Island, get a cheap place to live and waitress or something,” Ashley says it like it’s no big deal. I actually picture her shrugging after she finishes her declaration. Funny enough, for Ashley it really is something she could easily do. I’m the one who needs the plan, the backup plan and the backup to the backup plan.

“Sounds good. How are you getting through English without me?”

“It went from being my easiest subject to my hardest since you left.”

“That’s because you copied all of my homework and sat next to me for the tests,” I tease, although it’s true.

“So how is mute hot guy?”

“He talks now.”

“And…”

I sigh loudly as I roll onto my back on the bed. “Even his voice is sort of hot.”

“You got it bad if you think his voice is hot!” Ashley laughs.

“It’s not so much his voice, but how he says things. I can’t explain it. He has a quiet confidence about him, he doesn’t really ask when he wants something, he just sort of tells you with a crooked grin.”

“You like a bossy pants? I can’t believe it…I thought opposites attracted.”

“Hey!” I feign offense. “I’m not bossy. And he’s not a bossy pants…it’s more like a confidence.”

“Whatever. Does he know you like him?” she asks.

“I don’t know. He’s hard to read. Sometimes I think he does, and that he sort of likes me too. But then other times he just looks at me differently. Sort of blankly…like I’m not even there.”

“Hmmm…sounds like a catch.”

“Shut up!” I yell through my laughter.

“Maybe you should just jump his bones?”

“Great advice, coming from the girl with less experience than me.”

“I don’t have less experience than you. I have the same barely-worth-mentioning experience as you.”

We talk on the phone for another twenty minutes, catching up about school and our plans for after graduation. I tell her about my bet with Zack and how we’re meeting tonight, a few hours before our group is getting together to work on our project. He’s paying off his bet with a dinner at Meson Ole, his favorite Mexican restaurant. Before we hang up, Ashley tells me that, tomorrow, she’s going to put flowers on Mom’s grave for me.

“You remembered.”

“Of course I did.” We’re both silent for a minute. “Remember the time your mom tried to make teal cupcakes to match my hair for my fifteenth birthday? She decorated the entire trailer in teal crepe paper too? But the cupcakes turned out grey and the crepe paper stayed up for four months and then she announced it was an Easter decoration.”

I smile thinking of Ashley passing the gross cupcakes out to the neighbors after mom went to sleep, so we could pretend we ate them all.

“How could I forget?”

That was one of her manic periods, when mom was happy and liked to throw little parties for us. Mom had remembered Ashley’s birthday, but her own mother hadn’t.

A tear creeps down my cheek. Life was good. I had Mom and she had me. And I was lucky enough to find a friend like Ash.

***

“You look very pretty.” I come down the stairs a few minutes before Zack is due to pick me up. Aunt Claire spots me from the kitchen as she wipes down the counters.

“Thank you.”

“Cute boy in your project group?” She smiles, fishing for the reason why I’ve done my hair and makeup a little more than usual. I hope it’s not so obvious to Zack that I put in more effort tonight.

“Sort of,” I respond shyly. Boys weren’t ever something Mom and I spoke about. Between her illness and general paranoia about people’s intentions, I never wanted to add to her worry. It seems odd to talk to an adult about boys.

“Hmmm… Sort of cute? Doesn’t sound that exciting. Now, a resounding yes to cute, that I’d be interested in.”

Her sarcasm breaks the awkwardness that I feel discussing boys with her. At least a little. She looks so sincere. I sit down on one of the stools, across the counter that separates the kitchen from the living room.

“He’s cute. I meant that was sort of why I took a little time to get dressed. Is it that obvious? Did I overdo it?” Looking down, I examine my outfit for the hundredth time. I bite my lip pensively.

“It doesn’t really matter if it is, his jaw will be hanging open when he sees you in that sundress.” Aunt Claire replies warmly. “Do I know the boy? I know a lot of kids from the hospital, broken arms and all.” She unloads another glass from the dishwasher and reaches up to place it on the top shelf.

“I don’t know. His name is Zack Martin.” I turn, seeing his classic car pull up in front of the house. “There he is now.”

The glass Aunt Claire was reaching to put away slips from her hands, shattering all over the floor.