I’m grateful that I have them in my life. I know I could be a totally messed up, angry, and depressed individual because of the cards I was dealt. Instead, Shelley helped shape me into a positive person, and Maggie continued to help me grow from there. I get sad sometimes. It makes me angry that I have nightmares. It makes me angry that someone took my family away from me without giving me a chance to enjoy them. I can’t imagine what it must have felt like for them though. I didn’t know what was happening—they did.
My wounds have somewhat healed, but it doesn’t mean I’m less frightened. I am scared of the unknown. I am scared to be alone. I am scared to not be alone. I am scared to have people love me, and I am scared to have nobody love me. I live my life in a constant state of fear and need for control. I try not to be obvious about any of my feelings. I put a smile on my face every morning and pretend that I’m as normal as everybody else—even though I know I’m not.
As I wait for the train, I replay Shelley’s letter in my head. My name is Catherine. Holy shit. By the time the train arrives, I feel like I’m going to be sick on it. I cram myself between a group of tourists and take the last empty seat. When I look up, I find an elderly woman in front of me, standing and holding on to the rail. Of course. I stand up and offer her my seat. She gladly accepts it, and I take her place holding the rail.
The Jamaican man that always sits in the corner is there. He’s always playing his Bob Marley a tad too loud on his iPod. Even with the bustle on the bus, I can make out “Don’t Worry, Be Happy” coming through his old school earphones. I roll my eyes for what seems to be the tenth time today and hope that I make it to the supermarket before the afternoon crowd does.
As I’m standing in line to pay for the few things I’m buying, I spot Cole and Erin in a magazine I’m flipping through. Erin has her arm draped around his waist, and he’s on his cell phone, smiling. I love seeing him shine, but I hate seeing him in magazines with his different women. I should be used to it by now, but it still bothers me. Not that it should. I know I could be with him if I wanted to. I just feel like he needs to get things out of his system. And we wouldn’t be living in the same city anyway, so what’s the point? I can’t ask him to give up the job he loves so much for me.
When I walk in the door, the alarm doesn’t go off, so I know Aubry is home.
“Hey, Cowboy,” he greets as he walks toward me in his work clothes. I smile at him. He is so good looking, my Aubry. He grew out of his lankiness and into a fit swimmer’s body. He still swims every morning and most nights in our building’s pool.
“Hey, Aub. You talk to Greg today?” I ask even though I already know the answer.
Greg was the one that started calling me cowboy. He told me the name Blake is a boy’s name. I told him I was supposed to be a boy—not that I really knew this. He then went on to say that Blake was a cowboy name. The boys laughed, and the nickname stuck.
“I did. Did Becky tell you they’re going to New York next weekend?” he asks, and I hear the hopefulness in his voice.
“She did. She said Greg has a game there. You should go,” I say with a small smile.
His face falls. “I was hoping we’d go together. Take a break, you know?”
“Well, I did take the week off. I guess I’ll go,” I say, smiling. I was planning on going anyway. I haven’t seen Becky in so long.
Aubry laughs and continued talking about his job and his new clients while I put the groceries away.
“So what’s up with Aimee?” I ask as I’m rinsing off dishes after dinner.
I laugh as I watch a slow flush cover Aubry’s face.
“She’s an interesting girl,” he says smirking.
“That she is. Please be careful with her. I know she’s not your usual type, but she’s a good girl.”
“You know me, Blake,” he says looking confused. “I treat my women with respect.”
“So where do you want to stay?” I ask gladly getting off the subject.
He looks at me with furrowed eyebrows, and I already know what he’s going to say. Before he can reply, I put my hands up.