One Week Girlfriend (One Week Girlfriend 1)

Though I know that won’t really work. How can I ever forget him? Even for a little while?

“I think Mom wants to talk to you.” He fidgets. Clearly, he wants to make his escape.

“We’ll go to the movies some other time.” I ruffle his dark blonde hair and he ducks from under my grip, shooting me a winsome smile. “What do you think about having pizza for dinner tonight?”

His face lights up as he heads to the door. “Really? All right.”

I watch Owen leave, turning to Mom when the door shuts behind him. She’s watching me warily, her blonde hair—so like mine—tumbling over her eyes. Her eyeliner is heavy, her lips pinched. I have a flash in my mind of me looking exactly like this twenty years from now and the thought alone nearly takes me to my knees.

I refuse to turn into my mother, no matter how similar of a path I’m taking to hers.

“Why does he ask you if he can leave and he doesn’t ask me?” Mom waves a hand at the closed door. “He acts like you’re his mother.”

“If you were home more often, then maybe he would ask you.” I take the duffel bag into my room and dump it onto my unmade bed. I left the place a mess. There’re clothes everywhere, a jumble of cheap jewelry left on my old dresser and the mirror could use a good rubdown of Windex. I use this room to sleep and really for nothing else, since I’m always running around working or doing…whatever.

Imagining bringing Drew to my apartment, into my room, he’d probably be disgusted. He’s sort of a neat freak and everyone that lives here is sort of not.

Like I’m ever going to bring him here anyway. There’s no way we could work. I need to face facts. He’s too damaged, too stubborn to give me a chance.

“I’m home all the time,” my mom has the nerve to say when I come back into the living room. She’s cracked open a beer and she sips from it, blowing out a harsh breath. “I’ve had a tough weekend. I don’t need you giving me crap to make me feel guilty.”

I’d love to hear her definition of a tough weekend. Did they run out of beer or smokes? Maybe her boyfriend flirted with another woman. If anyone has had a tough weekend—hell, a tough f**king week—it would be Drew Callahan.

Oh yeah, and me.

“It’s only Saturday,” I point out. “Don’t you have a bar to hang out at or something?”

She snorts. “Since when did you become such a smartass?”

I don’t bother answering her. Instead, I head to the tiny kitchen and crack open the fridge, peering inside. It’s depressing as hell in there. Leftover Chinese takeout from however long ago and mostly empty bottles of catsup, mustard, mayo and grape jelly line the door. There’s a gallon of milk inside but maybe a sip of it is left and by the expiration date printed on there, it’s also many days too old.

There are two sodas and a crumpled, half empty twelve-pack box inside too. Of course. Heaven forbid Mom goes without her Bud Light.

I vow first thing tomorrow morning, I’ll go grocery shopping with the money I made from my girlfriend gig, so we’ll have real food in the house. I know Owen’s not done growing. He needs to eat and properly, not a bunch of junk shit and fast food. We’ll have one last night of cheesy pepperoni pizza, but come tomorrow we’re eating right.

“I heard you lost your job,” I call to her as I grab a soda and crack it open. The cold surge of caffeine and sugar slides easily down my throat and I shut the refrigerator door to find my mom leaning against the kitchen counter, her near empty beer can hanging from her fingertips.

“Owen told you, huh?” She shakes her head. “It’s such bullshit, what they said.”

“What did they say?” Great. Sounds like it’s her fault she lost her job.

“A customer supposedly complained that when I helped him, my breath smelled like beer.” She toasts me with her can then slugs the rest of beer back. Ironic, much? “I mean, I stayed up late the night before drinking with Larry, so I figure it was a leftover buzz, you know? I wasn’t really drunk. I was fine.”

I just look at her, sipping from my soda can. My life kinda sucks, my mom is completely irresponsible, but I have nothing on Drew.

Nothing.

“Where’s Larry?” When she looks at me, I raise my eyebrows. “Your new boyfriend, right?”

“I don’t know.” She shrugs. “We got in a huge fight and he dropped me off here not even an hour ago. We were supposed to go out tonight.”

God, I really don’t want her here. I wish she would go out and leave me alone, leave me with my thoughts. Owen would come back for pizza but I want to hang out with him. “Maybe you should call Larry and tell him you’re sorry.”

“Why do you think it’s my fault?”

Because it always is? “Maybe you should take the initiative and apologize even if it’s not your fault.” Now it’s my turn to shrug.

Mom taps her lips with her index finger, pulling her cell phone out of her pocket. “Not a bad idea. I’m calling him.”

She walks back into her bedroom, her phone to her ear. “Hey, baby. It’s me,” I hear her say as she slowly closes the door.

I remain where I’m standing long after she’s gone. Thinking of Drew. Where is he, what is he doing? Is he okay? I’m sick with worry and I hate feeling this way. I wish he hadn’t shut me out. I wish he would let me in.

But wishes are for fools.

Drew

After I drop Fable off at her place, I drive around town for an hour, taking in the familiar, comforting sights. This small town where I’ve spent the last three years feels far more like home than where I grew up ever will.