Losing Me, Finding You(9)

“Amy!” my mom snaps, like maybe this is the third or fourth time she's said my name. I blink several times and focus on her brown eyes, the ones that are so much darker and prettier than mine. Despite her German heritage, Mama looks exotic somehow, like maybe one of her ancestors wasn't being entirely honest about the parentage of her child. Unfortunately, I inherited none of that. My eyes are plain, a blue so dull they're nearly gray; the perfect match to my hair which complements the unstained wood trim that lines the walls of the shop. “Go change.”

I don't question the order, don't tell her that I am twenty-one f*cking years old and can make my own decisions about how and when and what I do.

Jodie and Aunt Megan watch me with narrowed eyes as I retreat behind the curtains and slump to the bench, snatching my book up like it's a fine drink, something to soothe my nerves and make me forget my troubles.

“Adam?” I whisper, but he's nowhere to be found.

He's left me.

Adam has left me.

My heart cries out while my body screams, certain that I'll die without his strong, hard arms wrapped around me. What will I do without those dark eyes and that sexy smile?

I slam the covers closed and throw the book against the wall where it bounces back at me and hits me in the arm. My mother peeks her head in immediately to check on the commotion, and I can hardly stifle the urge to scream. Just a few hours ago, I was resigned to my fate. Now, all of a sudden, I can't wait to feel that sense of pain and anguish and longing that it's in my book. Maybe the energy of the motorcycle show is threading its way into my veins. After all these years living just a few blocks away, something was bound to rub off, wasn't it?

“Stop fooling around, Amy. Get dressed.”

“Yes, mother.” My words are hollow but my pulse continues to thrum like a live wire, making my neck feel vulnerable and exposed, almost desperate for the touch of another. I close my eyes and lean back against the wall, running my own fingers down the pale skin of my throat, sliding them under the fabric of the fuchsia nightmare, teasing the soft flesh of my breasts with my nails.

I stop suddenly, tearing my hand away and panting like I've run a mile.

Amy Cross, you need to get out more.

I stand up and drop my dress to the floor, staring at myself in the mirror with wide eyes and flushed cheeks.

Yes, out, out with Austin Sparks, I think as I send a silent apology to Adam, Daniel, and Micah. Hopefully, they'll understand when I don't show up for our dates tonight.



Chapter 6

My mother doesn't speak to me on the way home, but that's alright because I'm wrapped up in fantasies that combine Austin Sparks with a variety of my other favorite book boyfriends, making for a daydream that's almost too risqué for the hot heat of the afternoon. It's only when we pull into the driveway and I see my father's car that I start to get nervous.

“Mama.”

“Go up to your room,” she tells me, as if I'm five years old and unruly. I purse my lips, a habit I picked up from watching her.

“Why?” I demand, tearing off my seat belt and turning to look at her. I can practically feel the brochure burning a hole in my purse. Honestly, I'd love to go up to my room and look at it, choose something to wear, finish my book, but I don't like being told to do so. I never have. What I've lacked is passion and conviction and although I can't lay claim to either yet, something about today has made me want an explanation, at the very least.

My mother shakes her head but doesn't answer, keeping her eyes locked onto the beige paint of the garage door.

“Mom.” I reach out my hand to touch her arm, but she slaps it away with such force that pain ricochets up my bones and into my shoulder, making me pull back and slam into the car door. Her eyes are lit from behind with the fire of misinformation and ignorance. I don't know what it is that she thinks I've done, but it's much, much worse than Austin's lie about me trying to buy a bike.

“Did I raise you to be a whore?” she asks, and I gasp.

“What?” I whisper as my mother takes off her own seat belt with slow, careful movements, like she's trying to hold back another surge of violence. She pulls the rearview mirror towards her and checks her brown eyeshadow, her nude lipstick, and her pink cheeks. She couldn't possibly show my father anything other than perfection. “I don't understand,” I say as she opens her door and steps out onto the pale pavement of the driveway.

“I don't know who that man is or where he's from, but I do know that if you plan to see him again, the wrath of the Lord is going to fall onto your shoulders.” She pauses, one hand still on the handle of her door, the other reaching up to pat her hair. “Go up to your room and pray to Jesus for forgiveness.” My mother slams the door and disappears into the house, leaving me flabbergasted and wide-eyed. I sit there for awhile, unmoving, while the cool air inside the car starts to heat up and makes me sweat. Somehow, she's gotten it into her mind that I … know Austin Sparks. How? Why would she think that? I've never even gone on a date.

I open my door and am ready to chase after her for questioning when my friend, Christy, taps on the roof with her knuckles and makes me jump. My purse falls to the driveway and opens up, sending poor Adam tumbling down the cement in a flutter of pages. Christy picks up the book, thumbs through it and hands it back to me.