My mom had a piano in her living room and so I started back up with a couple lessons. And if I didn't have a lesson, I played anyway. Some days it helped more than others.
When I wasn't playing the piano, I filled my time by walking through my mom's neighborhood admiring the old homes, browsing through shops with no intention of buying anything—acquainting myself with the outside world in portions I controlled. I visited Marissa, finally telling her where I'd come from, and I looked things up online I still didn't understand. In a nutshell, I existed. Was this the life I was meant to be living? Was this my destiny . . . to walk through all my days feeling a constant void deep inside, a constant wanting? If I was moving when the question arose in my mind, I would stop and pause, the very small whisper of a feeling telling me it wasn't. What then?
Although my mom didn't seem to want to discuss grown-up topics with me, it seemed she was constantly where I was, constantly reaching out to touch me, looking at me with almost fearful eyes, as if I could evaporate into thin air at any second. I understood it, and part of me appreciated her continual mothering. After all, I'd lived without any for so long. I had yearned for a mother's love for what seemed like forever. But another part of me finally had some freedom and I wanted to try to figure out who I could be on my own. I wanted to be treated like the twenty-one-year-old woman I was, not the child she often seemed to still want me to be. We were both struggling with the dynamic between us. I guessed that would just take time.
In many ways I felt like I'd always be a captive, even if in very different forms: first with Hector, then by the fear Clive Richter created, then of my own doing, and now by my mother. It felt as though I'd never be free to be myself. I'd only ever experienced that with Calder, and I only ever would. With the thought, despair gripped me.
One beautiful early fall morning, I woke up just after dawn and took my coffee out on the patio. The air was cool so I grabbed a throw sitting on the edge of the couch and took that with me. I wrapped it around my shoulders and sipped the strong, hot liquid as I admired the chrysanthemum and ivy-filled planters. I could tell the garden was my mother's therapy. I could tell she nourished it as if it was her own heart - a tangible thing to keep loved and well cared for, beautiful. I supposed we all needed something like that. For me, it was my music. It was where I went to fill up and feel alive.
When I had finished half my cup of coffee, Molly came stumbling outside in a pair of yoga pants and a long-sleeved T-shirt.
"Hey," Molly mumbled.
"Good morning. You're up early."
"So are you. I thought I might go to the Zumba class at the gym. It starts at seven. You in?"
"Zumba?" I raised one eyebrow.
"Yeah, it's this Latin-based dance workout. It's really fun. You should come."
"I'm not up for fun at seven in the morning."
Molly snorted. "Maybe you're right." She eyed me over her own cup of coffee.
"So are you okay with the garden party Carolyn has planned?"
My mom was planning what she called a very small garden party for a few of her very closest, most trustworthy friends. She had agreed not to call the police just yet, but she was bursting to tell those she loved I was back. I couldn't bring myself to deny her that. I gnawed on my lip for a minute. "It makes me a little nervous," I said. "But I'm trusting Carolyn."
Molly nodded, taking a sip of her coffee.
"I think it'll be fine," she said. She paused. "The party part anyway. You might want to be aware that Carolyn has set-up plans though." She raised her eyebrows.
"Set-up plans?"
Molly nodded. "She has this grand scheme to have you fall in love with her neighbor's son, Bentley."
I raised an eyebrow. "Bentley?"
She nodded, picking up her coffee cup again and furrowing her brow. "Yeah, Bentley Von Dorn—that's a mouthful, right?" She snorted. "He's actually very good looking, but he's completely horrible." She looked away, but before she did, I thought I saw some type of possessiveness in her expression.
I raised an eyebrow. "My mom wants to set me up with someone horrible? Well, that's nice."
She looked back at me and waved her hand around in front of her face. "Oh, well, horrible might be an exaggeration. Distasteful is probably a better word. And I'm sure Carolyn has no idea." She looked down at her fingernails, studying them. "Anyway, heads up. I'd stay away." I kept my eyes on her for a minute, but didn't say anything. I had a feeling there was a lot more to Molly's take on Bentley than she was saying, and that perhaps Molly didn't think he was horrible at all.
As we sat there, under the covered patio, soft raindrops began to fall. I watched them, the sadness approaching me slowly like a hesitant friend. Just the talk of a set-up, dating, the subject of love in general made me melancholy. I'd never have that again. Not ever. Nor did I want it. Calder had been my one true love, the other half of my heart. He was gone now and so was that part of my life.