Labeled Love (35 page)

“More than anything,” I reply.

“Come on, birthday girl. Your momma is waiting for you.” Our hands find each other’s. Holding me tightly, like he always does, he guides me back down the trail.

“How did you know to come here?” I ask him. He glances over adorably.

“Baby, I remember everything you say to me. You told me you used to always come up here with your mom when you were little.”

“Yeah, when Dad had to go into the office on a Saturday, she would take us kids for a hike. It’s peaceful up here. It’s like you’re still in the city, but you don’t feel like it.” I reach up and kiss his cheek. “I love you, Jace.” He stops, picks me up, and twirls me around. The sound of my charm bracelet moving around on my wrist makes my heart feel full. He always makes me feel so special. “Thank you for bringing me here.” He kisses the side of my neck and sets me down.

“You’re welcome, baby.”

Even though I don’t want to leave this spot, I know he’s right. It’s getting late, and I have school tomorrow.

SCHOOL FUNCTIONS WERE
never my thing. I didn’t have the money to go to dances when I was in school, and even if I had, I wouldn’t have gone. The only girl I would’ve danced with is Shay anyway. Hell, if I would have brought her to my school. No way. But, now it’s her senior prom, and she’s got approval from me to attend. I don’t want to disappoint her, so I’m going to prom with her. I know she’s over the moon. She’s gone to dances before with Jules, but she hasn’t attended the big one, even though I’m sure guys were begging to take her, especially that thorn in my side, Cole. She says it’s a rite of passage and who am I to deny her that? Besides, I’m dying to see her in her pretty pink dress she keeps talking my ear off about.

The enthusiasm in her voice has only fueled my motivation to go with her. If she’s not telling me about the type of shoes she’s going to wear, she’s telling me about the type of little handbag she should carry. She’s so excited, but what the hell do I know about handbags? Still, I always listen to every single thing she talks about—her shopping trip with Jules, her nail appointment, her high heels—with only one thing on my mind: finally taking it all off of her.

The other day she asked me about her hair for prom.
“Should I wear it up in a big uppity-do?”
I figured that meant in some kind of bun on top of her head, so I stayed quiet until I heard option two. When she asked me if she should just wear it down, I smiled into the phone. I love her long, soft, wavy hair. There was no question for me. I wanted to see my girl’s hair falling down her back.

I’m pretty much biting my nails with anticipation to see Shay dressed up. She isn’t big on dresses like Jules. She only wears them occasionally, since my girl is more of a tank top and shorts or jeans and a T-shirt kind of girl. I’ve never seen those cute feet in high heels before, so to say I’m a little excited would be an understatement.

Shay sent me a text first thing this morning. I’m a light sleeper because of the endless drama from my mom—and last night was no exception—so I heard the message when it came in.

Pretty Girl: I slept in. Some really hot guy kept me on the phone way too late, telling me he couldn’t live without me. I had to assure him he would never have to worry. I have to eat now, so I don’t blot later when I’m wearing my to die for dress. Then I have to go get a mani and pedi. I love you so much. See you later. I can’t wait to see my boy dressed up.

It’s a long, detailed text, right? Told you she was excited.

Me: Go do your thing, baby. I will see you later. I love you.

Now, I have to figure myself out. Shay did buy me a dress shirt not long ago. I’m assuming now that was a hint. I just have to get some dress pants and shoes. I have to be careful when I shop. I know that sounds bad, and I hate to admit it, but I believe if Grace knew what I had, she would steal my money or hound me for it. I work hard every day. Henry is generous with me, and I appreciate everything he’s done for me.

I try to close my eyes for a little while longer. I did keep Shay on the phone a long time last night. We tried to hang up on several occasions, but we were unsuccessful. I want to drown in her voice every chance I get, especially at night. Nighttime is generally not my most rested time. It should be, but when you have a mother that stumbles in and out of the apartment at all hours, falling asleep is hard. I worry about her. I can’t help it; she’s still my mother.

My mind wanders to last night. When I hung up with Shay last night, Grace still wasn’t home. I checked her room and went outside. Nothing. There were some guys out there. I smelled them before I saw them. They talked in hushed tones, and when I asked them if they had seen her, they just shook their heads no. Walking back into the apartment, I sat on the couch for a little while, waiting. I even sat at the table doodling on a piece of paper. Finally, I gave up, giving rest precedence over where the hell Grace was. I knew I had a big day and an even bigger night ahead of me.

AS I WAKE
up from my small nap, I hear the front door close loudly. I guess Grace is home. I grab my phone, reading Shay’s long text one more time. It’s all the motivation I need to get my ass out of bed to see what mess I’m going to be confronted with. Dropping to the floor, I do a few sets of push-ups. I turn the knob to my bedroom door, opening me up to my shitty existence, and that’s when I see her.

Shit.

Grace is lying facedown in a pool of vomit. My hands go to my hair, and I pull on it hard. What the fuck did she do now? I hesitate for a moment. The overwhelming urge to let her lie there consumes me. Just maybe she will wake up and feel disgusted enough to clean up her act. I’m tired of having to deal with this.

With a heavy heart, I slowly walk over to her. God, this is so gross. I don’t want to have to clean up after her, but who else will? One day really soon, I’m going to walk away from this mess. What will happen to her if I really leave her? Can I live with myself if I just leave her here to die? What the hell did I do to deserve this? While battling internally, I look down. She’s breathing, so I’m not going to panic. Some of her hair is strewn over her face, while the rest is vomit-filled. I put my hands to my face when the realization over what I’m going to have to do hits me. I have to pick her up and undress her. I seriously can’t leave her like this, even though the angry part of me wants to.

Nudging her, I try to see if I can get her up on her own. She doesn’t budge.
Just my luck.
I take a deep breath, literally holding it so I don’t smell her, and lift her up into my arms. She is like holding a little girl; she can’t be more than a hundred pounds. Her eyes flutter open, and she stares at me through weak, drunken eyes. It makes me wonder what she sees. She says nothing.

Her hair hangs over my arm, and I hold back the urge to throw up when her head moves, causing the vomit to rub against my arm. Thankfully, I get her to the bathroom, but I don’t know what to do other than put her into the shower. I don’t want to take her clothes off, but I don’t want to put her in with them on, either. So, I set her down on the toilet to talk to her.

“I am going to leave your bra and underwear on, but I need to take off your shirt.”

She nods, saying, “Okay.” Then she gets up suddenly and lurches forward.

“Wait!” I tell her, but it’s too late. She throws up again, and this time it’s all over me, too. Son of a bitch! “Are you done, or do you want me to put your head over this damn toilet?”

“I think I’m done,” she mumbles, wiping her mouth.

“Sit up then.” I yank her top off, not caring at all at this point. I take off her shorts and put her right into the steaming hot shower with her undergarments on. She just lies there, unmoving. I reach, trying to get the water to wash away the vomit as quickly as possible. After I wash her stringy hair, getting all the vomit out of it, I lift her out. “Here’s a towel. Go change in your room,” I tell her rudely. She doesn’t even look at me. Shutting her out of the bathroom, I lock the door. I sit on the toilet and put my head down. Clutching the hem of my shirt, I pull it over my head and then look under the sink, grabbing a plastic bag and the cleaning supplies that I keep under there. I clean up the mess, yank my boxers off, and get into the shower.

Letting the water consume me, I picture Shay’s beautiful smile. What should calm me doesn’t. Instead, it fills me with dread. No matter what, I won’t let her be a part of this kind of turmoil. She’s over there getting all dolled up for a night she’s always dreamed of, while I’m over here sitting in a room filled of vomit and a life filled with uncertainty. I don’t ever want her to see this side of me. Ever.

I shower quickly, knowing I will take another one later. Right now, I just need to get all of Grace’s fucked-up mess off me.

GRACE SLEEPS FOR
the rest of the day. Fine with me. After I clean up the kitchen, I go shopping for black pants and shoes. Luckily, I have success right away. For doing things last minute, I do all right. I almost forget the pink tie, though, so I have to run back into the store. Shay was very adamant about a pink tie. Now I just have to pick up her corsage. What started out as a really shitty morning is turning into a building excitement to see my girl. She texts me as I leave the flower shop.

Pretty Girl: Almost time! Don’t forget to be here at five for pictures.

I don’t dare tell her I’ve been out shopping for clothes. She probably would have passed out thinking I wouldn’t have clothes on time. Just thinking about her in that moment brings a smile to my face. This is what Shay does to me. I text a quick response and pocket my phone.

Me: Can’t wait!

When I get back to my place, Grace is up and moving around, acting like nothing happened this morning. I can’t focus on her, though. I need to shower again and get dressed.

“Why are you all dressed up?” I turn to Grace’s tired voice as soon as I leave the bathroom and head into my bedroom to finish getting ready.

“I’m going to my girl’s prom.”

“She’s still in high school?” she asks. How sad that my mother doesn’t even know the only girl I’ve ever been with. I remember trying to tell her about Shay over the years, but she’s never had an interest in listening. “You going to put a girl like that on the back of an old motorcycle to her fucking prom?”