This Much Is True (17 page)

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Tally  ~ Promises made, kept, then broken

I
t’s our last night home and Marla and I have already decided that the best way to say good-bye all at once to all of our friends that we’re leaving behind is to attend one last party together.

I’m in my room putting on my usual attire—black jeans and a T-shirt when my mom shows up in the doorway. She gives me the once-over, incredulous,
you’re-wearing-that?-why-can’t-you-put-a-dress-on?
look that only a mom can.

“You and Marla are headed out?”

There’s so much angst and disappointment in that simple question.

Just for a while,” I say soothingly although I remain pissed at her. I’ve been pissed off at her for months. Instead of looking at her, I concentrate on the mirror and put the finishing touches of mascara on my lashes.

“Your dad will be home soon. I thought we could spend your last night all together. With you. I mean you’ll be with Marla all summer. Maybe into the fall with the internship...”

A whining complaint from my mother about missing me? Say it isn’t so.

“Tremblay told you about that, huh,” I say in flat voice. My mom has been so out of it that I’m surprised she even knows I’m leaving for New York tomorrow, let alone that the summer session could morph into being invited to the winter term at SAB or the coveted internship with NYC Ballet. She nods and looks anxious.

“It’s just for the summer,” I add quickly. “We might not get into the winter term. I probably won’t get the internship.”

“You will,” she says emphatically.

“Mom, what’s going on?” The woman has barely said ten words to me all these months. We pass each other in the hallway with contrived waves and forced smiles. I arranged for the housecleaning service and meals to be delivered because my mother has been sorely lacking in the ability to function in any capacity whatsoever—beyond a brokenhearted one—for months. I frown.
Anger. Remorse. Bitterness. Rage.
All these emotions assail me. Dear Mom hasn’t been here for any of the shit going down around here. I
have
. But I really do worry how it’s going to be around here when I’m gone. Yet I’d go bat shit crazy if I had to stay.

“I’m just going to miss you so much.” Her eyes get watery.

She is the exact replica of me. Well,
me
of
her
. I take solace in the fact that I resemble her so much and that when I’m older, I’ll still look more than halfway decent. Maybe, even as good as her when I can eat properly again and gain a few pounds without anyone noticing. Her dark long hair has the same kind of wave and texture to it as mine. Her eyes are this amazing green. ‘Jaded and green’ she used to say and would always laugh. She doesn’t laugh anymore. I never really did. That was Holly’s thing. Holly and my mother Tessa’s thing.
Me?
I was this strange little replica that mirrored their physical traits but none of their amazing vitality. I’ve been too concentrated on ballet to care about anything or anyone else. Remorse swells up inside of me.
I’m not the good daughter.

“Mom, it’s going to be okay.” I look at her closely. “Someday. You have Dad. I’ll be a phone call away. I’ll be with Marla so you don’t have to worry about me. I’ll be fine. This is something…this is something I have to do. Believe me, it would be a whole lot easier to stay…easier than you think, actually. I’m going to miss you guys like crazy, too. It’s just…this is something I have to do. I have to see if I can make it.”

“I know. And,
you will
. I know that. It’s just, well, Tally, please take care of yourself and don’t be so hard on yourself. And
eat something
and
have
fun
and make mistakes because as we all know now…life is short and it can be taken away so suddenly. Just tell me that you’ll try to be happy.”

I’m speechless by what she’s just said.
Happy?
This
prophetic ideology comes from a woman who has effectively shut herself off from the world. I’m sure the irony of her words must show on my face. She gets this twisted smile and frowns slightly. “I realize that I have no right to expect you to be happy since I’ve been such a colossal failure at it.”

I let the words hang there for a moment between us. “I’ll try to be happy…if you try to slow down on the drinking,” I finally say.

“Deal,” she says with a slight nod. “Yes, I can agree to that.” She bites at her lower lip. “Your dad will be happy about that promise, too.”

“Good.”

The doorbell rings.

Marla.

My mother breezes out of the room which seems so unlike her. She’s surprisingly intent on answering the door for me when I tell her it’ll be Marla. I stare across at the space she’s just vacated, stunned by her almost bordering-on-cheerful exit, because it is so unlike her—answering the door, breezing to do so—after all these months and after what she’s just promised me. I actually need a minute or two to recover from it all. I’m taken aback that she knows that I know she has a drinking problem. I’m relieved she wants to admit to it and possibly deal with it. My dad and I have had a few conversations. I showed him the black Sharpie marks I made on the Grey Goose vodka bottle weeks before. I told him again a few weekends ago that someone needed to be watching over Mom. He’d gotten this weird almost guilty look and promised he’d take better care of her especially now that I was leaving.

I strain to hear the stranger’s voice coming from downstairs.
It’s not Marla’s. It’s a guy’s voice.
And it’s only a good ten seconds before my mother and this unknown person stomp up the stairs and make their knowable presence down the hallway just outside my room.

“Tally, you have a visitor,” Mom says in this singsong voice from the open doorway.

I don’t even have time to pick up the castoff clothes from the half-dozen blouses I tried on earlier after finally settling on the standard uniform of T-shirt and jeans in my customary black. I’m already half-prepared to have the usual fashion argument with Marla about my clothing choice. I turn around with my hands on my hips in a battle-like stance and open my mouth to start it. But, of course, it isn’t Marla standing behind my beautiful mother; it’s Lincoln Presley. He hangs his head a little and gives me this sheepish
I-know-I-shouldn’t-be-here-but-just-go-with-it
look.

My normal penchant for fury deserts me and for a second or two, I’m at a complete loss for words.

I finally say, “Mom, this is—”

“I
know
who it is, sweetie. Lincoln Presley. We just met. Downstairs.” She gives Linc this wide welcoming smile. “Tally’s talked so much about you.”

And you wonder where the ability to finesse a lie comes from?

My mother gives me one of these implicit looks that implies
we-will-so-be-talking-about-this-later
.

Linc has said all of two words since he walked into my bedroom. “Hi, Tally.”

A loaded salutation if there ever was one.

“I didn’t know you two were friends,” my mother says sounding mildly accusing.

I wince. How do I explain Lincoln Presley to my mother?

He’s this guy I hooked up with three weeks ago. Yeah. That’s him. That is all it was, Mom.

That explanation really isn’t going to fly. It doesn’t even sound right to me for once.

“We are. Just
friends
, Mom.” I look over at Linc with a raised eyebrow. “He’s on his way back to L.A.; I thought you were gone—on your way by now, Prez.” I seem to remember Charlie calling him
Prez,
and it seems like a guy thing—
a platonic friend thing
—to call him.

Meanwhile, my mom gets this secret smile and proceeds to carry on this innocuous little conversation with Linc. It catches me off guard. I’m just staring at her for a few brief seconds because I don’t even recognize this woman who is talking and smiling and nodding as if she doesn’t have a care in the world. It’s been months.
Months.

Then I realize she’s giving me a golden opportunity to get the room and myself in order so I do my best to hide my anxiety level and grab my castoff clothes from the floor and hastily toss them into one corner of the room. My mom turns on the Tessa Landon charm, which has been long absent and effectively captivates Linc’s undivided attention, while I scramble around my bedroom like a mad woman and attempt to figure this whole thing out starting with:
What the hell is he doing here?

After another indeterminable five minutes, my mom excuses herself to rustle up cookies and refreshments for all of us. Two terms she hasn’t used ever and two things she’s very unlikely to find in our kitchen right now, unless Linc thinks she’s referring to stale bread and vodka. I tell him this as soon as she closes my bedroom door when I think she’s far enough down the hall. Bad, heartless Tally talking like this about her mother. Linc gets this confused look while I retreat a few steps back from him. I’m intent on distance and forgiveness—from God, Holly, and my mother—for being such a bitch and revealing this particular family secret in the last ten seconds to him. I shouldn’t be telling this guy any of these things.
Why am I?
I take a deep breath and settle upon a different tactic.

“How do you know where I live? What are you doing here? Why are you here?” All three questions leave my mouth in quick succession.

“Marla told me,” he says patiently. “Because I had to see you. Because we need to talk.” He gets this beguiling almost defiant look. “Where would you like to start?”

“What the hell is Marla doing telling you where I live?” I ask intent on ignoring that look of his.
He sighs a little. I feel a little guilty for starting the conversation off at such an inquisition level. “Sorry.” I take a deep breath. “Hi, Elvis.” I force a sweet smile. “What. Are. You. Doing.
Here
?”

Now he laughs a little.
That’s more like it.
I smile for real this time.

“I leave for L.A. tomorrow. I changed my flight. Talked to Charlie, got Marla’s number. Found out her plans and changed them up a little. I thought that maybe we could be friends. You said we could. Last time.”

“What?” I hold my breath and let it out slowly.
Think, Tally.
“I leave for New York. Tomorrow. Afternoon.”

“Great. We’ll be at the airport at the same time. That’s what I worked out with Marla.”

“What’s with you and Marla?”

“We’re friends.”

“What?” I ask, incredulous. “Like you and I are friends?” I blush, recalling our very first encounter. “Because that’s going to get mighty crowded. All of us being friends like this. It seems like you have enough
friends
.”

Nika invariably comes to mind, and I’m instantly pissed at myself because I’m thinking of her and the inevitable jealousy that follows.
Again.
I sweep my arm across the room, and he follows my arm movements and slowly smiles.

“Don’t make it complicated.”

He brazenly looks around my bedroom. I cringe a little when he spies my green cap and gown from two days ago hanging up on my closet door. He reaches into his pocket and brings out a little gift box. A small little gift box. It’s ring size. I look at him suspiciously—prepared to launch into all kinds of questions and accusations.
Something.

“Don’t freak out quite yet. It’s nothing really. Just a little something for your graduation. I didn’t know about it, and so I thought I should take care of that now. Since, you know, we’re friends and all.”

“Do you know you get this little southern accent sometimes? Where does that come from?” I ask while attempting to disarm all these uneasy feelings spinning through me even as I unwrap the red ribbon from his little white gift box.

“My mom was from Georgia. We used to visit my grandparents there for years every summer. I picked up a little of an accent from those summers at least some of the time.
Why?
Does it bother you?”

“No.” I stare at the charm inside the box. It’s this little golden sun. “No.”

“I know you can’t wear it much of the time because of your dancing. The
no-jewelry-you’ll-impale-yourself
kind of thing. I’m sure Allaire Tremblay has all kinds of rules about that.”

I nod and look over at him still wary. Enough for both of us. “Yes, she does.” I swallow hard.
How does he remember Tremblay’s name? How does he know so much about me?
All the remaining lies I’ve told him have unraveled right in front of us at the point. He gets this little smile like he already knows that, too. Then I scrutinize his gift—this little golden sun charm.

“I guess it’s kind of impractical from that standpoint,” he says, getting this weird, hopeful look. “But I thought of you when I saw it. So, I thought—”

“I remind you of the
sun
?” He looks a little surprised by the scorn so obvious in my tone. My face gets hot. I’m sure there’s some kind of hidden meaning with the gift that I’m just failing to get.

“No,” he says gently. “It’s supposed to remind you of
me
. Wait. There’s more.”

He looks thoughtful for a moment and then reaches into his other pocket and pulls out a silver bracelet with more charms attached. He does the clasp around my left wrist before I can protest.

I carefully examine the various charms there while he’s clasps the sun one into place and commands me to stay still. There’s a baseball and bat in platinum. There’s a silver moon with a little smiley face and a gold star. There’s a gold heart separated into two halves that fit together when you hold them a certain way, which he promptly demonstrates. I’m busy trying to register what it all means and fighting off all these incredulous feelings of gratitude because it’s basically one of the best gifts I’ve ever gotten when my mom reappears.

“Oh my,” she says with a little laugh. “What is this?”

“A graduation gift,” I say, suddenly feeling uneasy. “Elvis, you shouldn’t have.” I glare at him.

“You call him
Elvis
?” My mother asks with a little laugh. “I love that. That’s so sweet, so…” This little hint of sorrow travels across my mom’s features. I know it reminds her of Holly because it’s something my twin would have said. “Tally,” she says gently. “What a wonderful gift.”

“I thought I would take her out to dinner on her last night in town but I don’t want to take her away from you and Mr. Landon. We could all go.”

I’m looking at him and then at my mom in complete bewilderment. I helplessly watch as the two of them exchange these strange, knowing glances, like they’ve known each other for a decade, and openly share the burden of being personally acquainted with all of my most unlovable qualities.

“I have plans with Marla,” I say. “Lest, there be any doubt about what I’m doing tonight.”

“Tally.” My mother adopts the gentle, scolding tone in just saying my name.

“No. Those got canceled. Lest, there be any doubt, you’re with me,” Linc says with such amazing confidence that I could slap him, but then he gets this amazing smile, and I’m momentarily bewitched by it.