Chasing Vivi(48)

She snickers.

"No, no." I reach for her hair and take a piece of it in my fingers.  "You probably think I tell all the girls that, but I never do."

"Prescott, I'm glad. And thank you."

"But that's not what I wanted to tell you. Well I did, but I didn't.  God, you have the most expressive eyes. I used to envision them as I  imagined us fucking. I'd get lost in them." I twirl her hair in my  fingers. "I don't suppose that was a particularly romantic thing to say,  was it?"         

     



 

"Actually, it was pretty sexy."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"So what did you want to tell me?"

"Oh, right." Taking a deep breath, I sort out my thoughts for a second  because they're pretty fucking scrambled right now. "So, my mom  committed suicide when I was a kid. I was eight years old when it  happened." I stop for a second as the memory nearly overwhelms me. "When  I got home from school that day, the nanny who usually picked me up  went to the kitchen to fix me a snack. Mom always met us in there. That  day she didn't, so I went looking for her. She wasn't out back in the  gardens, where she could be found sometimes. So I checked the other  rooms. I remember calling out her name. It was weird because she was  always waiting for me to get home and so happy to see me. She would ask  me all kinds of questions about school. But not that day. So I went  upstairs into Mom and Dad's bedroom. I found her there. In the bathtub.  She'd slit her wrists. She must've been there a while because there was  blood everywhere. Their bathroom was white and all I can remember was  the stark contrast of the red against the white tub and white marble  floor, where one of her arms dangled over the edge of the tub. I called  out her name and rubbed her hair. Mom had pretty hair. It was dark brown  and long. I hugged her face and grabbed her arm. Then I sat down on the  floor next to the tub and was there when the nanny found me.

"The nanny called my grandparents and the police. It was obvious my mom  was dead. The pool of blood I was sitting in had congealed, but to my  eight-year-old eyes, I was unaware. The shock that Mom had even been  contemplating suicide threw everyone the biggest curve ball, but most of  all me. To me, my mom was the sweetest, happiest, most loving person in  the world. I remember her reading me bedtime stories, taking me to the  park, playing hide and seek and doing the fun things that moms did with  their kids. I don't have those fond memories of my dad. And suddenly,  she was gone with the snap of the fingers. And that was the day I  stopped talking.

"I didn't speak a word for over a year. My grandparents took me to every  specialist, psychologist, and psychiatrist they could find. I was  hospitalized for a month. But no one could get me to say a word. Dad  yelled at me a lot. But nothing. I lived a mute existence. I wasn't  catatonic, which everyone always asks, because I was responsive. I  simply wouldn't speak."

I sigh and suddenly in that space, Vivi is talking.

"Oh, God, Prescott. First off, you were traumatized. It must've been so frightening."

My intoxicated self gazes at her eyes-eyes that are glazed and clouded  with pain on my behalf. I don't want her to hurt for me. That wasn't my  intention. I only wanted her to understand the whole story.

I reach for her cheek and touch her smooth skin. "I don't remember being  scared. I only recall not wanting them to take her away in the  ambulance. They stuck her in the black body bag and covered her face,  and I kept thinking she wouldn't be able to breathe. I didn't understand  the concept of death. That's what the problem was and no one knew how  to explain it to me. It really fucked me up, Vivi. It caused me to push  away from people, especially women. I'm sorry." I scrub my face.

"For what?"

"Everything. Getting so drunk tonight. Being an ass to you all those times. For not being the man you want me to be."

"How can you know what kind of a man I want you to be? You've never asked me."

"Okay. I'm asking now."

She leans into me and kisses my cheek. "As much as I want to discuss  this, we need to table this until the morning, when you have a clearer  head. This is too important to talk about when your brain is fuzzy with  alcohol."

"You're probably right. How come you're so smart?"

"I'm not. Look at all the time I wasted when I was pushing you away."

"Thank you for listening to me. I was afraid to tell you. I've only told about six people this story. Well, now seven."

"I Googled you. At the beginning. There wasn't anything about your mom."

"Granddad probably took care of that years ago."

"Prescott, I'll never ever breathe a word of this to anyone."

"I know. It's why I told you."

She gets up and I ask her where she's going. "To borrow a T-shirt. I can't sleep in this."

"Ah, all right. Hurry back."

All I know is everything feels right with the world as I close my eyes.  That's true until I open them again to the blaring sun and a pounding  hangover. Fucking bourbon.         

     



 





Chapter 30





Vivi





Prescott fell asleep before I could make it back to bed. I lie here  thinking about his tragic story. How awful to find your mother dead in a  pool of blood. The terror of that alone, but then to not be able to  express yourself about it for over a year? The puzzle pieces fall into  place as I think on his behavior and the dominant part of his  personality. His need for control isn't surprising after how utterly out  of control he must've felt as a child. And now, the way he's extending  himself, reaching out to me, makes my heart clench, because I can't  begin to imagine how big of a leap this is for him.

In the morning, he sleeps soundly, allowing me to watch him unobserved.  His face is relaxed and free of the usual lines that crease his  forehead. He looks so innocent lying here, without a care in the world. I  wonder if he's dreaming. I decide to get up and surprise him with a  pancake breakfast. After I brush my teeth, I go to the kitchen where I  find everything I need.

The refrigerator is stocked, thanks to his housekeeper. Gerard, his  cook, has left dinner here, but not breakfast. Pulling out everything I  need, I get the bacon started first. Then I brew some coffee. Prescott  will need some juice, water, and ibuprofen, so I gather those together  and leave them on his nightstand with a notecard. All it says is: For  you.

Back to my pancakes, I whip up the batter and start cooking them in  batches. They can keep warm in the warming drawer. The bacon is ready,  so I pop it in there too, after stealing a piece. There's nothing  tastier than crispy bacon.

All the pancakes are cooked and in the warmer, so I cut up some oranges  to look pretty on the plates. Everything is ready, so all we need to do  is serve it up. As I make sure all the counters are wiped off, my phone  buzzes. It's Vince calling.

"Hey, Vince."

"I wanted to wish you a Merry Christmas. I'm headed out of town for the  week to visit family and then I'll be back. Sorry we didn't catch up for  lunch, but between studying, exams, and work, I didn't have a chance to  break away. You doing okay?"

"Yeah, I'm better, actually. I, uh, landed an IT job at Whitworth."

"At Whitworth? Would that have anything to do with a certain guy you went to school with?"

I let out a happy giggle. "It might. I'll explain it all when I see you. Is Milli going with you?"

"She is. I'm introducing her to the family for the first time."

"Ahh. Good luck. I'm sure they'll love her. Have a great time and Merry  Christmas. Call after the first. We'll get together then."

"Sure thing."

It was nice to hear Vince's voice. I hope his family likes his  girlfriend since it sounds like they're pretty serious. I'm sipping my  coffee and reading the news on my phone when I hear a loud groan.

"Uurrgghh. My head."

Laughing, I say, "That's what too much bourbon will do to you. Did you take the ibuprofen I left for you?"

"Yeah. Thank you."

He comes up to me and kisses me. "But it won't work fast enough."

"You need food. Hydration and replenishment."

He nods and sits next to me. I start to get up, but he stops me.

"Vivi, I just want to, uh, I  … "

"It's okay."

"No. I want to talk about what we talked about last night. My memory is fuzzy. Did I tell you?"

"About your mother?"

"Yeah." He looks almost scared.

"It's okay, Prescott. You told me everything. How you found her and  didn't speak for over a year." I move to put my arms around him.

"And you're okay with this?"

"No, I'm not. It's awful you had to go through that. It's a terrible  thing for anyone to endure, but for an eight-year-old-well, it's just  horrific. I'm so sorry for you."

"I don't want your pity."

This is going to be a difficult thing, I realize.