Do Anything Page 11

  My room is up a spiral staircase—almost like a nest up in a tree. There’s a small bathroom and a door that opens to a balcony. The land curves around the harbor; outside of my balcony I can see the city sprawling from side to side on the other side of crystal blue water. The dwelling is built into the cliffside, the water licking at the rocks below.

  This is one thing I can agree with my mother about: it’s paradise. A little piece of heaven on Earth. The problem is, I still find myself trapped inside my own personal hell.

  I feel my phone buzzing in my pocket. Taking another sip of my coffee, I pull it out and peer at the screen. Kenzie’s duck face pose is staring back at me.

  Swiping my finger across the screen, I try my best to not sound like I’m miserable when I say, “Hello.”

  “Good morning, beautiful,” she chimes in a cheerful voice. I wince as a memory of Holden washes over me. I can still hear his deep and growling voice when he would say the same words to me. I close my eyes, composing myself for just a moment.

  “Morning Kenz,” I answer.

  “So how’s Greece?”

  “Beautiful.” I keep my answer short and, though vague, honest.

  “How are you feeling?”

  “The morning sickness has seemed to fade over this past week.”

  “Well, that’s good because it sounded pretty gnarly. Have you thought anymore about what you’re going to do with Jack and the baby?”

  Her question hangs in the air between us. This is all I’ve thought about from the moment I found out I was pregnant, but I am still not any closer to making a decision. “No,” I lie.

  “Are you going to tell him?”

  “You ask me that every time you call,” I say, trying to avoid answering.

  “Because you need to make a decision.”

  “Why? I have twenty-seven weeks to figure out what I’m going to do.”

  “Anna!” she exclaims. “You can’t figure this out after you have the baby. You don’t have to go through this alone.”

  “Oh, and I guess I should call Jack up and see if he wants to be my rock?” My voice is dripping with venom.

  “I didn’t mean him,” she begins. “I’m here. Don’t you think it’s time to come home?”

  “I’m running out of money, so I suppose I’ll be home soon enough.”

  “That reminds me … I sold the bedroom suite finally.”

  “That’s awesome. I could use it. How much?”

  “A thousand dollars.”

  “What?” I gasp. “I paid over six thousand for that set.”

  “You told me to get rid of it, no matter what. I tried to call you, but you didn’t answer. Are you pissed?”

  I sigh. “No, no I’m not. I just want that thing gone. It was just a place Jack screwed other women, so what do I care.”

  “Your realtor is annoyed.”

  “About what?”

  “She’s such a bitch … what isn’t she annoyed about?”

  “Sorry, Kenz.”

  “What are friends for?” she answers. “She’s been showing the hell out of the place. However, she doesn’t like that we’re selling the furniture. It doesn’t show well according to her. I think her exact words were, ’This place is starting to show like a frat house.’”

  “You really are a life saver for putting up with that for me. No offers yet?”

  “Not yet, but she wants me to talk to you about lowering the price.”

  “She knows what I need to get out of it, so tell her to do whatever she has to so it sells.”

  The idea of ridding the burden of the place Jack and I used to share seems like one piece of the puzzle to fixing my life. In those walls we created a dream together. A dream that he trampled. But now with the baby, I am going to have to accept there are things I can’t wash away from my life. A piece of Jack is going to be with me forever.

  “Are you sure about this?” Kenzie asks, breaking the silence.

  “Sure about what?” I ask, my head spinning with the possibilities of what she might be referring to.

  “Selling your life like this. This is everything you’ve worked for your entire life. Your home—I mean, are you sure you don’t want to raise your kid here?”

  “I’m not sure about much, but I am damn sure I don’t want that place in my kid’s life.”

  “I don’t want you to regret anything later.”

  “And that’s why I love you,” I say sweetly. There are not many people in my life who truly only care about my happiness, but I’ve never doubted that Kenzie is one of them.

  “Thanks girl. What are you going to do with yourself while in Greece?”

  “Actually …” I pause, afraid to say the words. If I say the words I might lose my courage to do what I’ve always dreamed of doing. “I want to write.”

  “Write what?”

  “A book.” I laugh.

  “Oh my God, Anna! Are you serious?” The phone is nearly vibrating from her excitement.

  “Yeah, I figure if I’m ever going to try, it should be now, before the baby comes,” I explain.

  “I’m speechless … I mean …” Kenzie pants. “I don’t even know how to react to this. You were always the favorite of all our English professors. Everyone wanted you to write. What’s the book about?”

  “I’m still working that part out. How’s Ben?” I ask, the topic of me writing making me uncomfortable. It seems as though every time I’ve spoken to Kenzie, the tenseness of her relationship seems to be intensifying.

  “Jesus, don’t ask.”

  “Is it that bad?” I press.

  “I should hop on a plane and fly to you. Find me some hottie to bring back home with me,” she snarls.

  “You don’t mean that,” I argue.

  “The hell I don’t,” she snaps.

  Ben and Kenzie have been dating since sophomore year in college. He, unfortunately, is one of the ever-growing statistics of college grads who have been unable to find employment in their chosen field after school. He wants to design vehicles, but instead he’s fixing them in his dad’s shop. As far as Ben is concerned, their relationship will have to stay as it is until he can provide her with the life he feels she deserves. I’ve always thought it was a sweet sentiment, but Kenzie quickly grew tired of a relationship stuck in neutral.

  “He loves you,” I offer in a soft voice.

  I hear her huff, not pleased about my opinion not aligning with her own. “Sometimes love isn’t enough. Look at you and Jack.”

  “Ouch,” I say, clutching at my chest.

  “Well, it’s true. Look how much you loved him, and you two couldn’t figure things out.”

  Figure things out? I want to shout at the top of my lungs. I want to reach through the phone and wildly shake some sense into her. Ben is living with his parents, saving every cent he possibly can so that he can buy her the engagement ring he feels she deserves. It’s frustrating to me she can’t see what she has in her life.

  “There’s a big difference; no matter how much I loved Jack, he didn’t love me.”

  “He sure claims to. He won’t leave me alone, trying to find out where you are.”

  I roll my eyes. The idea of Jack loving anyone but himself is something I’m now far too wise to accept. “He wants to know where I am because he’s like a child who had a toy taken away. He only wants what he can’t have.”

  “You’re going to have to talk to him soon. I’m not sure how much longer I can stall him,” Kenzie reiterates.

  I know I’ve put my friend in an awkward position, and I feel terrible for that, but I’m still in no state of mind to face Jack. He was my entire world for most of my young adult life. He was the one who guided my decisions and molded my thoughts about what I wanted in life. In these recent months, removing him from the equation has left me questioning those desires. If Jack had never entered my life, would I have pursued a different avenue? He was the one who told me authors couldn’t make a decent living, and a career in the publishing
industry was much more practical.

  There’s a weight on my chest. I have trouble breathing. My body stiffens, and I feel the panic rush over me. I’m living a life that isn’t my own, and I have no clue how to claim the one I want.

  “Soon,” I assure her. “I’ll call him soon.”

  “I hope so—”

  I cut her off; I can’t go around in these circles anymore. I can’t think about Jack. “I need to go, sweetie.”

  “What? We just got on the phone.” Her tone is high-pitched and pleading.

  “I’m sorry, but I promised to go to lunch with some people I met here,” I lie. I know if she discovers I want to hang up just to be alone, she’ll never let me go.

  “Oh.” I can tell my proclamation surprises her. “Any cute guys?”

  “Goodbye, Kenz.” I laugh.

  “Bye.”

  I stare at the blank sheet of paper in front of me. I sharpen my already sharp pencil even further. I think about that laptop Holden had given me, and part of me wishes I had it now. I’m about to do it. I’m going to write a book. I have no clue what it’s going to be about, but I’m going to write it nonetheless.

  I take a sip of the orange juice sitting on the table. Part of pregnancy has meant learning about all kinds of new taste buds. I’ve never been much of a citrus lover, but now I can’t seem to get enough orange juice. I can drink it by the gallon. I peer out the double doors, the salty sea breeze smacking me in the face. I’ve known about the life growing inside me for four weeks, and it hasn’t made it any more real. The woman who owns the room I’m staying in hasn’t noticed yet that my stomach is beginning to grow. I’m not sure she is the type who would say anything even if she did. She smiles a lot. I like it here. I wish I smiled as much as her, finding joy in the simple like she seems to.

  The paper is taunting me. I tell myself to write something. Place a word on the sheet, and then it won’t seem so impossible. The next word will flow and then another, and before you know it, you’re writing. My own advice doesn’t seem to inspire me.

  A flash of Holden runs through my mind. I think of his smell, the way my flesh feels when he is close to me. I shudder. I’m angry I can’t make myself forget. The day he gave me the laptop is replaying in my mind. The words he spoke. ’I see a woman who is beautiful …’ My cheeks begin to burn. To have a man like Holden see me like that.

  I laugh quietly to myself. He’d told me he saw a woman who could do anything. Oh, how wrong he had been. Journaling, that’s easy. I place my random and insane thoughts onto pages that only I will see. This, writing a story—words I hope will one day be in front of the world—it feels so much more monumental.

  Maybe that’s the problem. I’m putting too much pressure on the idea behind the story. This is a time for me to learn from my writing. Perhaps I should just approach it like journaling. I feel a pressure in my hand. Looking down I see something that surprises me. My hand seems to have developed a mind of its own. I’m writing. My fingers move the pencil across the page, and words are spilling out onto the paper.

  It was a kiss that first told me my mother didn’t feel connected to me. She took care of me, clothed me, fed me, and made sure I had all the things a little girl needed. All the things except what little girls truly want. A mother who thinks they are the world, that the sun rises and sets on them. A mother who believes they are capable of anything. Instead, I had my mother.

  The words stare up at me. They aren’t Shakespeare, but they’re mine. When I sat down I had no idea what the story would be. I’d imagined myself writing a dystopian tale where the young heroine is about to save the world, if she can only survive long enough. Or maybe a classic piece about Queen Guinevere and King Arthur. No, the first story I’m writing will be my own. This doesn’t upset me. Instead, I think of the things I’ve done, the people in my life, the hurt I’ve endured. Holden was right; how could I think I didn’t have a story to tell? I touch my stomach, then press my pencil back to the paper. I have so much to tell.

  Marissa wraps her arms around me and presses her lips firmly to my cheek. “Are you sure you can’t stay?”

  I shake my head. “I wish I could.”

  When I came to Greece and found her, I thought it was a prefect arrangement. I’d rent her room, and we’d stay out of one another’s lives. It ended up being a type of perfect I’d never imagined. I’m so glad she had other plans for our relationship. I’d been there a week when she asked the question that changed everything. After seeing me writing in the garden one afternoon, she’d asked about my scribing in my notebooks.

  I was nervous. I hadn’t told anyone except Kenzie my plans to write a book. The last person I wanted to share this with was a stranger. To let her in, let her know this dream of mine felt embarrassing. With a deep breath, I told her. Immediately, she asked if she could read it. I suppose it’s the natural reaction when someone shares this sort of information.

  I’m still surprised I agreed. Perhaps I was seeking some sort of validation. Words from someone who had nothing invested in me. Things I heard from Kenz, or my mother, or even Holden, would always carry a little doubt with them. The people who care about you sometimes feel obligated to praise. Marissa had devoured the pages. I remember watching her expressions as she read. It was a complete range of emotions; she experienced my fears, my pain, and my joy. All the memories I put into those pages were washing over her. She became me in that instant. The first time my words made her laugh out loud, it was like nothing I’d ever felt before.

  “Now, you’re going to send me the new chapters as you finish them, right?” she asks, pulling me in for another hug.

  “Of course!” I exclaim. I’m not a hugger, but I don’t want to let her go. I’ve been myself with her. A version of me I’m usually too scared to share with people. Her advice and insight have become a source of oxygen for me, and I hate the thought of losing that.

  When I told her of my disapproving mother and how she rarely showed affection, she didn’t attack the woman. She helped me to see that the relationship with mom only had as much power as I chose to give it. It was the same with Jack. I’m in control of my life, and these people only have the power over me I allow them to have.

  What frightens me, though, is here, in the safety and sanctity of Marissa’s world, these principles are easy to accept. Stepping out on my own to face that world is another beast entirely. It scares the hell out of me.

  In ten weeks, she’d seen a self-discovery in me I never thought I’d experience. She became a friend I will treasure for the rest of my life—almost the motherly figure I always wished I’d have.

  “Why don’t you come back after the closing?” she asks me.

  I smile. If I could, I would place her in my pocket and carry her everywhere. The only person I’d ever been able to relate to on this level was Kenzie. She knows my soul, inside and out, but it had taken years to develop that sort of friendship. Marissa, however, was an instant kindred spirit. Of course, her reading my deepest, darkest secrets accelerated our relationship.

  “I would if I could, but I should be home when the baby comes,” I say, hugging her one last time before walking through the sliding doors of the airport, turning to wave one last time.

  An amazing thing happens when you retell your life; at least it did for me. In ten weeks, I got to know a girl who had dreams. Big dreams. She was a girl who would howl at the moon and beat her chest. A girl who knew exactly what she wanted to be and what she wanted out of life. But along the way, she got lost. And, in writing her story, I found her again. She is ready to live life hard and free and to its fullest. I’m ready to be that girl again.

  There is one thing I didn’t tell Marissa. One thing I kept for myself. I’ve started writing the second book. I know the words in it are inspired, and it excites me. The Luckiest. It wasn’t until I’d figured out my own story that I could tell someone else’s. Maybe in a way The Luckiest is also my story. A story of a future I can still hope for.

&n
bsp; When Kenzie called last week to say I had an offer on the condo, I was relieved. It led me to making an actual plan for the first time in a long time. I’m going to close on the condo, find a small affordable studio apartment, buy a laptop, and finish writing The Luckiest. I hope to use my friendships in the publishing industry to get a deal; if not, there’s always self-publishing. I’m going to show my child a different way of life than my mother showed me. I’m going to teach her to dream. I’m going to show her love that gives her the courage to soar. At least that’s my plan.

  I’ve also been giving a lot of thought to Jack. If he wants to be a part of this child’s life, I’ll allow visits, but he has to be a part of our world, not the other way around. There is a distinct difference, and I’m determined not to let him sway me.

  I’ve considered writing to Holden, telling him everything. Marissa thinks I’m crazy if I don’t. She told me she believes for every person there are only a few people in this world are suitable match, and letting one go so easily can later be a source of regret. She might have a point, but I can’t help thinking the way we left things is better for everyone.

  I hand my passport to the older gentleman standing at the counter, a huge smile on my face, and he motions me through the gate. I’m going home.

  The fluorescent light above my head is flickering; I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to block out the bleakness of the room. Sitting behind the large conference table, my belly is tucked away, hidden from the world. The receptionist had gushed about how adorable my pooch is when I arrived, and I had to resist the urge to punch her in the face. However, I did manage to derive some pleasure from the situation.

  After going on about how excited my husband and I must be, I was more than happy to explain to her there was no father in this picture. That carved the smile right off her face. She showed me to the conference room, then scurried off, and I haven’t seen a trace of her since.