Page 12 of I'm Yours

For the thousandth time today, I’ve wished that our lives had been different. That we’d been a match in every way. The day he left for Bozeman to go to college I drove around for hours in the other direction. I didn’t want to risk the chance of running into him and having to tell him goodbye.

I was right all along. He needed to leave Lakeside. From the stories I heard, he thrived at State, even graduated with Honors, and met his fiancée who in less than twenty minutes will be walking down the aisle to him. I wipe away a tear that’s fallen onto my cheek and turn around, parking in the same spot my car had been. Not only do I remember it, the oil stain on the cement is proof that I’ve been there.

My old rust bucket of a car is worth next to nothing, but it’s mine. I look around, all the other cars in the parking lot are newer models that I’m sure don’t make a horrible squeak when they reverse like mine does, they probably don’t smell like feet inside, and they are all painted one color, rather than the rainbow mine is from the different parts my younger brother Samuel has used to piece it together with.

Thank God for him. I truly don’t know where I’d be if it weren’t for Samuel. Having him to care for, even if he is an adult now, allowed me to keep my life on track. I couldn’t screw up, or I’d be screwing up both of our lives. No matter how much my mom wanted to change, to be a good mother and be there for us the way I’d come to rely on Lindsay Sanders, Reed’s mom, she just can’t. It’s not her fault, really. Growing up, I always knew there was something wrong but it wasn’t until the month before we graduated high school that I found out the root of it all. It wasn’t just the fact that Mom liked her vodka or the occasional joint or sleeping with men as often as she could. Mom was diagnosed with bipolar disorder. I had found a sheet of paper from her doctor that had been dated four years prior, and since I knew Mom never took any medication, it was clear to me that she was firmly in Camp Denial, not treating her condition. I might have been a teenager, but even I knew that you needed to take medicine for bipolar disorder.

I remember calling my dad, who had never done more than sending us a birthday card a month late to do with us, to ask him what to do. His only response was that if we told anyone, even the doctors to get her on the right medication, that the Department of Child and Family Services would step in and take Samuel away from us because he sure as shit didn’t want either of us (his kind words, not mine). And since I was eighteen, I’d be left alone to clean up the mess I caused.

Hence, my reasoning for telling Reed I wasn’t in love with him. I was ashamed and wanted to tell him, but I just couldn’t. I couldn’t saddle him with it. He would try to fix it, step in, and take care of my family for me but it wasn’t his job. It was mine. He had a bright future ahead of him. All I had was a minimum of four years raising my brother until he turned eighteen and I could make sure he stayed on top of his studies enough so he could get a scholarship and go to school. And I did manage it, just not the way I had expected. Samuel graduated from high school and went to one of the local community colleges where he studied how to become a mechanic. He’s only been out of school a month and he has five job offers. He’s happy, and that’s all I can ask for.

And the last two years, Mom’s been on her medication and stayed on, with my help, of course. I can’t believe what a difference we’ve seen in her. It’s as if the demons that had a hold on her were finally released. She’s happier, no longer drinking alcohol or smoking pot and hasn’t been with a man in eighteen months. Well, according to her she hasn’t been. And based on the fact that I keep a really close eye on her. We learned that her spending habits, even when we didn’t have enough to put food on the table, and her sleeping with so many different men were two of her coping skills, so removing that from her life has been another thing that helped her heal, or at the very least live with her disease in a healthy way. Life is finally looking up, aside from the fact that the man I still love is about to marry another woman.

One year ago, I was engaged to my short-term high school boyfriend, Billy. I soon realized what a mistake I’d made in saying yes. I hoped it would help me forget. It only reminded me of who I really loved. When Billy proposed, answering yes came so easily to me. We’d been dating again for about a year and I truly thought I loved him. Turns out, there’s a mountain of a difference between being in love with someone and simply loving them.

A knock sounds on my window and I startle, not realizing that I’ve completely zoned out, staring as all the wedding guests walk into the church in their dresses and slacks. Everyone looks beautiful and I know, without a doubt, that when I walk through the doors, I’ll feel just like I did in high school all over again. Like the ugly duckling. I stood out as an outsider in a sea of classmates who grew up together and somehow managed to all be bred from stock that made everyone look like supermodels. Well, most of them, anyway.

I crank down my window. Oh, yeah, not only is my car multi-colored, it also has crank windows, not even electric.

“Yes?”

“Wedding starts in ten. You comin’?” The man blows out the last of the smoke from the cigarette he just took a long drag from and drops it to the ground, stomping it out with his shiny black shoe. He’s in a tuxedo, no doubt a member of the wedding party. Not someone I recognize, so obviously a man Reed met post Lakeside. Post me.

“Um, yeah. I’ll be right there.”

He moves back and I roll up my window, step out, and take a deep breath of fresh Montana air.

“You with the bride or groom?” he asks. I roll my lips together and don’t answer. He doesn’t call me out on it. I stare at the door that I’m walking toward, knowing what I’ll find on the other side. A happy couple about to be wed. And I can only hope Reed doesn’t get a look at me. “You okay?” he asks.

“I will be,” I tell him, offering him a small smile. He’s a good looking guy and when he smiles down at me, I suddenly feel more at ease than I’ve felt in ages.

“Well, it’s not now, but ‘will be’ works. I’m Justin. Best man. I’ve never seen you before, so I figure you must be on the bride’s side.”

“How do you figure?”

“Well… I would certainly hope that if Reed knew someone as pretty as you, he’d have introduced her to his best friend.”

I bite the inside of my cheek and wonder how true that would be if I were still in Reed’s life, even as just a friend.

Justin opens the door for me and I enter, sucking in another much needed breath. The inside of the church is tastefully decorated. Wildflowers in front of the sanctuary and candles lit about everywhere. Piano music is playing softly and I bite back a grin when I hear that music change effortlessly to a tune I know deep in my soul Reed had to have picked out. Reed listened to it constantly. I always pretended to hate it. But inside, I loved every single word of that old country song.Amazed,the song he always loved by Lonestar continues and while I’m so happy for him, I’m sad at the same time. I always considered that our song, and now he’s using it to marry someone else.

“Maybe you’ll save me a dance?” Justin asks, holding my elbow.

I give him a smile and nod, knowing that won’t happen but not wanting to come off as a complete crazy person. I just need to get a look at Reed. Sit in the back, as inconspicuously as possible, make sure I hear the “I do” from both him and his fiancée, then sneak out if I can. Once he’s married, I’ll move on.

* * *

Reed

“Holy shit, dude. You have some fine looking wedding guests here. You’ve been holding back, you asshole.” Justin collapses onto the chair, hand clutching his chest like he’s just caught the falling in love bug.

“What do you mean?”

“I just escorted one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen in my life to her seat and I’m telling you, man, I could fall into her all night. I can’t wait for the reception.” He jumps up excitedly and claps his hands, rubbing them together. I smirk, rolling my eyes.

“Good luck with that.”

“Why thank you.” He grins that signature grin of his that makes his dimples appear. “Now. You have five minutes. Need me to do anything? Crack a window in the bathroom for your escape? Get you a shot of tequila? Give you a hug and tell you I’m proud of you and you picked the right gal? You name it, I’m here.”

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