Beth Michele - Scarred Beautiful

She snags a seat on the chair while I get ready. I show her various outfits before she helps me decide on a teal, knee-length, cap-sleeve dress with white flowers. “I love that one. It makes your eyes look really cool with the blue.”

I pick out a pair of white, strappy sandals and slide them on, all the while feeling Peyton’s gaze on me.

“You seem different,” she says, appraising me with a thoughtful smile, “you seem happy.”

“I am,” I respond confidently, and I really am. I’m happier than I’ve been in a long time.

“Matt seems to be having a positive effect on you and it really shows.” She crosses her legs and leans her elbow on the arm of the chair, her head propped in her hand. “What are you going to do once you go back to New York? Will you see each other?”

I grimace without realizing it, my mind racing through all the possibilities but having no answer to her question. “I don’t know. I’d like to but he hasn’t said anything.”

“Why are you waiting for him? Why don’t you say something?”

I shrug, feeling uncertain and suddenly very insecure. “I don’t know.”

“Oh, Fran.” She gets up and comes to sit beside me. “You’ve got it bad for him. I can see it in your eyes.”

She puts her arm around me and I lay my head on her shoulder.

“Yeah, I know.”

“So tell him, sweetie,” she whispers, “so tell him.”

Maybe I will. What have I got to lose? And therein lies my greatest fear. I could lose the very thing I now want more than anything.

“I’m off to get a massage. Call me later and let me know how it goes. Let’s hang out tonight when you get back from your trip.” She gives me a hug and prances out the door, stopping just before it closes. “Just tell him, Fran.” She blows me a kiss and then disappears.

I’m restless as I sit and wait for Matt, standing then sitting down repeatedly like a jack-in-the-box, my hands sweaty, my stomach doing somersaults. I need a distraction. My purse is on the table and I traipse over to it, searching for a piece of gum. When I open up the zippered pocket I see the necklace Mom gave me and smile. Just as I’m about to unclasp it and try it on, there’s a knock on the door and my heart does that funny fluttering thing that happens whenever Matt’s around.

The second I open the door, everything else disappears and the only thing I see is this amazing guy standing before me. With hair damp from a shower, that adorable dimple, and a light blue t-shirt that makes his eyes dance, he is irresistible.

“Hey,” I say, overcome with a sudden bout of shyness like we didn’t just have mind-blowing sex less than an hour ago.

“Hey yourself, beautiful,” he returns, before walking in and embracing me, feathering his lips against mine in a soft brush. “You ready to go?”

“Hmmm,” I reply, already lost, swept away to another planet, his fresh scent tickling my nose, his presence making me forget everything else.

“Let me just grab my purse.” I pluck my bag from the table while Matt reaches down to pick up the necklace I dropped on the carpet.

“Here, you dropped—”

“Okay, I’m ready.”

He doesn’t respond, but he’s staring at the necklace, moving it around between his fingers, examining it.

“Matt?”

When he doesn’t reply this time, I walk closer to try to get his attention.

“Matt? What’s wrong?” I ask, and when he looks up at me his eyes are glassy, his skin pale. It looks like he’s seen a ghost. “What is it?”

“Who gave you this?” he asks, and there’s something different, almost accusatory in his tone.

I gaze down at the necklace and it takes me a second to form an answer, but he doesn’t wait.

“Who gave you this?” he says again, but this time more firmly, his lips set in a frown.

“My mother did. It was a gift she had given me for my ninth birthday and when I saw her the other day, she gave it back to me.”

“I…I…have to go,” he says, his voice hoarse, his eyes looking anywhere but at me.

“What? Why?”

Without another word, he drops the necklace on the table before he’s gone, the door banging shut, an unwelcome echo in my ears. My gaze clouds and I rub my forehead in confusion, the need to sit down overpowers me. I reach the bed, grasping the necklace tightly in my hand as if it can provide the answers I need, but realize there’s only one person who can do that, the person who just walked out on me. I start to stand but sit back down quickly, the room beginning to spin, the solid ground I thought I was standing on has shifted, the rug pulled out from underneath me, yet again.

I can’t believe I just walked out on Fran but I didn’t know what the fuck to do or how to handle the thoughts swimming through my brain, the feeling that I was drowning in them. Rounding the corner from her hotel room, I slump down against the wall, my body sliding to the floor. I can’t slow my breathing and there’s an odd prickling under my skin that just won’t go away. I don’t understand, I keep telling myself over and over. I force my eyes closed, the memories flooding my mind, fresh and raw, like a wound that’s now been re-opened.

Brad walked out, his face red, his eyes swollen. He told me Mom wanted to see me next and I steeled myself by taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly, before I turned the knob and entered her room. She was slumped on the bed and my chest ached at the sight of her sallow skin, her sunken eyes. My mom was still in there and although it didn’t look like her anymore, I could feel her spirit wrap around me, comforting me, even though she was the one who was sick. I took a seat on the chair, pulling it close to the bed so I could be next to her, realizing this could be one of the last moments I might have with her…and I wanted to make it count.

“Mom,” I began, but she silenced me immediately.

“Honey,” she said, her breathing labored, “reach into the top drawer for me and pull out the white box.”

I did as I was told and started to pass it to her, but her thin, frail hand rose to stop me.

“No, Matty, that’s for you. Open it.” She tried to sit up further in the bed but began wheezing and I leaned in to place another pillow behind her head so she could be as comfortable as possible.

I took the top off of the box and inside was a small charm, half of a gold heart.

She squeezed my hand with the little strength she had left, her tired and lifeless eyes meeting my tear-filled ones. “You’re my first-born, Matty. You and I both know that you’ve always had a special place in my heart, a place that’s tucked away, that no one can ever reach. I bought this for you because I want you to remember that. I don’t want you to be tainted and bitter after I’m gone. I don’t want you to be fearful. I want you to be hopeful. I want you to live your life, and someday, even though I won’t be around to see it, you’re going to find a girl who will love you and who you’ll love right back, because you have so much good in you, so much love to give, Matty. Someday you’ll find the other half of your heart.”

A tear slid down my cheek as I pressed her cold hand to my face. “Mom.”

I couldn’t look up at her because I was crying and I wanted to be strong for her, so I moved her hand and held it to my chest, grasping the charm tightly.

“Now,” she whispered, “I don’t expect you to put it on a necklace, I know boys don’t really wear necklaces, but keep it with you as a reminder of your hopeful future.” She hiccupped a breath. “I love you, Matty.”

I climbed onto the bed, snuggling as close as I could to Mom, knowing it was probably for the last time. “I love you, too, Mom.”

And I couldn’t help thinking at that moment that the other half of my heart was dying.

I roughly wipe away the tear escaping down my cheek with the back of my hand and yank the wallet from my pocket. When I open the flap and tip it over, the charm falls into the palm of my hand, the gold heart now dull from time, but the love for my mom stronger than ever.

With a balled-up fist, I bang on the door to Caleb’s room, pacing the small area in the hallway as I wait.

The door opens and I walk in without a word to find Caleb shirtless in a pair of jeans, his hair wet from a recent shower.

“What’s up, man?” he asks, as he slides a polo shirt over his head. “Hey, by the way, thanks for helping my parents out yesterday. Mom rang me this morning and she really appreciated you coming by…and you’re not even listening to a word I’m saying,” he mumbles when he sees me standing in front of the window in a daze.

I don’t hear his footsteps, only feel the hand that lands on my shoulder a minute later.

“You okay?” he asks sincerely, dragging me from the inner turmoil, my stomach a chaotic mess.

“Not really,” I reply, raking a tense hand through my hair. “Not at all.”

“Sit down. Tell me what’s going on.” He takes a firm hold of my arm and pulls me down to the sofa, waiting patiently for me to say something.

I’m not sure where to begin, my brain so muddled with rampant thoughts that there’s no way for my mouth to catch up.

As if Caleb senses my unease, he once again places a supportive hand on my shoulder. “Start from the beginning.”

I unclench my sweaty palm, holding up the charm so he can see it. “Remember this?” I ask quietly, shaking my head from side to side, still in disbelief.