“Yeah,” I answer, tucking my white tank top into my shorts. I grab my hair dryer and turn it on as I flip my head over. I wave the hair dryer around and comb my left hand through my hair. Arissa plops onto my bed and stares at the ceiling. I turn off the hair dryer after a few minutes and brush out my hair.
“Jason and Hunter talked to us,” she says. “I’m sorry. I know I’ve been a real bitch again.”
“Yeah, you have. Can you finally leave it alone?” I put the hair dryer away.
“I’ll do my best.”
“Please. I’m tired of us fighting over a guy who’s just my friend. Nothing more. It’s possible for that to happen, you know.”
“I know. I just forget that sometimes.” She pauses as if she’s thinking how to explain herself. “Are you moving to L.A. with Jason?”
Not what I expected, but it is Arissa. Avoiding the uncomfortable whenever possible because she hates dealing with it. “Only if he has a plan,” I answer, sitting at my vanity and picking up the blush and a large brush. I get just a hint of the color onto the brush and apply it in light strokes.
“I admire you for that.”
“For what?”
“For sticking to your guns and for not being so impulsive.”
I peek at her over my shoulder and ask the question I’m thinking. “What would you do?”
She rolls onto her side and props herself up on her forearm. “If Damian were in L.A. and asked me to move with him, I would do it in a heartbeat.”
“Do you think I’m being…Miss Goody Two-Shoes?” I swivel around and cross my arms on the back of my chair, leaning into it.
“Not prissy. Cautious.”
“Is that bad?”
“Not always. But what’s the worst that could happen if you did go and you didn’t have a plan?” she asks.
“He asked me the same thing last week.”
“Well?” she asks, quirking an eyebrow, not allowing me a fraction to avoid answering.
“We end up broke and move back home.”
“Is that so bad?”
“I thought you didn’t want me to go?”
“That was before Jason came home looking so haggard that one weekend.”
I know she’s worried about him. She’s just as much his friend as I am. For all of her boisterous, carefree personality, she loves deeply. But it would make her look vulnerable if she showed it.
I love her for it. If she hadn’t crossed the street over four years ago, I wouldn’t be here today. I’d still be across the street, lonely and afraid.
“What’s the point if we go, fail, and then come back?”
“The point is you went out there and tried. You took a chance without a plan and left your past behind.”
Tears sting my eyes. “How is it I’m not living with them anymore and they can still mess me up?”
Arissa walks over and enfolds me in her arms. “They’re always going to be there on the sidelines, Sis. They raised you and filled your head with what they wanted to. Your father abused you horrifically, and they both made you feel like you were worth less than dirt.” She lets go and peers down at me. “You don’t get over that shit overnight.”
I wipe my eyes carefully with the tips of my fingers. “I know. I just wish it wasn’t so ingrained sometimes. Some days I feel normal, like my past never happened. Like I always lived with you, Mom, and Dad. Then other days it’s wham, right in my face.”
Arissa grabs a tissue off my dresser and hands it to me.
“Thanks.” I take the tissue and dab the corners of my eyes.
“Just think about it. Maybe your ‘one day at a time’ is more about them than it is about you. You survived with them for over sixteen years living one day at a time. Maybe it’s time for you to go and grab life by the balls. You can do anything. I admire that about you too.”
“Stop making me cry!” I blindly grab a tube of lipstick and throw it at her.
She turns to her right defensively and the lipstick hits her arm and falls to the floor.
A knock at the door makes us both turn. “Come in!” I call.
The door opens and Mom pops her head through the opening. “Are you two coming out to help?”
“Yeah, Mom,” Arissa answers, then heads out with her.
I pick up the lipstick I threw at Arissa and set it back in its place.