Vegas Boys

If not for two subtle indications my mother was unaware of giving me, I would have thought she was kidding.

First of all, she called me Kels. She never calls me that unless she's trying to butter me up (little does she know that it actually has the opposite effect--I hate being called Kels.)

Secondly, she referred to my father as Daddy. I don't call him Daddy. She certainly doesn't call him Daddy. Therefore, she was being unnaturally sweet--on purpose, most likely.

But surely this couldn't be happening. She was leaving me here for even longer? What had I done to deserve this torment?

"Honey," cooed my mother's sugary-sweet voice, "I'm so sorry, but we just haven't found anything yet...and it really just wouldn't make any sense to bring you out here now, when you've already been waiting--"

"So you're just going to make me wait longer?!!" I demanded, my own voice shrill with hysteria in sharp contrast with her too-calm tone.

"Honey, just stop and think about it for a second. If you come up here now, you're going to have to change schools again once we do find a place--and you may have to change schools more than once before that, while we're still looking. If you stay in Vegas and go to school there for a while, then when we find the perfect house, we'll come get you and put you in a new school in New York. Doesn't that make more sense?"

Bullshit. All of it was complete bullshit.

"I can't believe you did this to me, Mom," I said dully, emotionlessly, into the phone, hitting the end button and dropping it listlessly onto my bed before she could try and feed me any more lies.

-----

I just laid on my bed, staring at the ceiling, for I don't know how long. Mostly I was just in shock that this was happening. Surely I didn't deserve such a horrible punishment; the two months I'd spent here already were unbearable--how I was I supposed to make it through twice as much time here?

Mom called back as soon as I hung up on her, but I wouldn't answer it. Dad spoke to her briefly and explained that Mom felt really guilty for letting me down (yeah, right), and that she planned on coming back to get me sometime after Christmas.

Four months. Twice the time I'd suffered through already.

After a while, I got up and tore my calendar off the wall, shredding it into little tiny pieces before throwing it wrathfully in the garbage and staring at the tiny bits of little red X's littering the trash can's contents. In a rage, I ripped open all of my already-packed suitcases and dumped the clothes on the floor, kicking my jeans and T-shirts in a fit of uncontrollable anger. Once I'd flushed all the rage out of my system, I collapsed into the fetal position on the now-cluttered floor of my room, sobbing hysterically until there were no more tears left to cry and my insides felt hollow and empty.

Now lying on the floor, I rolled over on my back and wiped my eyes as the tears began to subside, and stared at the ceiling once more. In that moment, I realized that I couldn't--I wouldn't--let my mother get to me anymore. I wouldn't let her build my hopes up and crush them like this again; I just wouldn't trust her at all from now on.

Fuck you, Mom, I thought bitterly, sitting up and biting the inside of my lip in determination until I tasted blood. I don't need you anymore. In fact, I'm glad to be rid of you.

From now on, I was on my own.

At the time, I thought that day marked the beginning of one of the toughest times in my life. Little did I know that what had seemed like the worst case scenario would actually turn out to be the best thing that ever happened to me: starting over in Vegas.

-----

Later that night--after Dad had decided that I'd had enough time to cry my eyes out and throw a fit, I guess--I was calmly refolding the clothes I'd thrown in the floor earlier, placing them carefully back into the dresser where they belonged, when I heard a soft knock at my bedroom door.

"Come in." My voice was hoarse from crying and cracked embarrassingly.

Dad's head was bowed slightly and there was a solemn look on his face as he stepped into my room cautiously. I tried to smile when I saw him, but it just felt like a stiff movement of muscles to me.

"Hey, Dad."

"Hey, baby."

He'd never called me baby--or any other term of endearment--before, and I tried with little success to hide my mild surprise.

"How are you doing?" asked Dad quietly.

I shrugged, turning back to my dresser so he couldn't see the hurt in my eyes. "I'm okay, I guess."

"Pissed at your mom?"

This took me off guard as well, and before I could stop myself, I jerked my head around to stare at him again. I felt myself grinning a little. "Yeah...kind of."

"Don't be." Dad sounded sad more than anything else. "She tries hard. It's just the way she is--she's unreliable."

I nodded in agreement, though on the inside, I knew better. This little talk reminded me of all the times Mom had tried to reassure me about Dad's intentions; it was kind of odd, I thought, that now he was doing the same for her.

"Do you hate it here, Kels?" asked Dad suddenly.

I turned away again, ashamed. "Well, I hate being called Kels," I said jokingly in an unsuccessful attempt to lighten the mood. His lips tightened into an apologetic smile, but the expectant look on his face didn't go away. "I don't hate it, Dad," I lied, because he seemed to be the only one on my side right now and I didn't want to hurt him, "but I'd rather be home--you know, with my mom. I miss her, I guess."

"I understand," said Dad, nodding, and I believed him. "I'm sorry."

I shrugged again, and then suddenly a thought occurred to me. "Do you...do you hate having me here?"

"No," said Dad thoughtfully, as if he found it surprising somehow. "No, I like having you around. In fact, I'm kind of glad your mother's such a flake. I was going to miss you a lot."

I couldn't help but smile at him then.

Almost hesitantly, he crossed the room to stand before me. "I have something for you," he said softly, reaching into the jacket of his usual suit and pulling out a little black jewelry box.

I took it from him cautiously, a little confused.

"Open it," he urged, a genuine smile flickering across his broad face.

I did as I was told and found a ring inside: a pale blue stone was set into the center of the silver band and flanked by two smaller diamonds on either side.

"It's beautiful," I breathed, awestruck.

"It's a blue diamond," said Dad, and his smile was the widest I'd ever seen him wear. "I thought it would bring out your eyes nicely."

I nodded vaguely, too shocked to really concentrate on what he was saying. I slipped it onto my ring finger; it was a perfect fit.

"I was going to give it to you as a going-away present, but..." Dad trailed off, and I flinched inwardly. "Well, you can have it anyway."

"Thanks, Dad!" I gushed, beaming as I threw my arms around him; at first, he stiffened under my embrace, but after a moment, he relaxed and hugged me back. "It's gorgeous. I love it. You really shouldn't have--"

"I wanted to," Dad insisted. "I'm glad you like it."

I smiled at him again and kissed him on the cheek; he looked slightly embarrassed, but pleased. For all the lies she'd fed to me, Mom was right: Dad just had trouble showing emotion. He did love me.

"Don't worry about school or anything, Kelsey," murmured Dad reassuringly as I pulled away--my stomach twisted itself into knots of anxiety at the words meant to comfort me, but I quickly pushed the dread to the back of my mind. "Everything's going to be okay. I promise." He stroked my hair briefly, smiling affectionately at me.

I sat and stared at the ring as it glittered on my finger for a long time after Dad had left--it was the nicest thing anyone had ever done for me. For the first time since my arrival in Vegas, I didn't cry at all that night: I was thinking that maybe everything would be okay after all.

And I simply refused to shed any more tears over Mom or what she'd done to me.