Chapter Fourteen: Keeping Busy

When I woke up that evening, I had found a sweet note lying on the pillow next to my head. Strong masculine writing had scribbled out a simple but beautiful note.

That was one of the most

Beautiful sights I have ever seen.

Take care of yourself while I am

Gone and if you need anything

CALL ME

N.J. (Sir)

I had read that message over and over again. Each word made my heart melt even more for Mr. Jones. I wanted him desperately now, and I was finally starting to understand what that meant. I wanted him to be the first… to… take my… virginity. I wanted him to be the one to teach me. Something inside me told me that I would be safe and he wouldn't hurt me.

I sighed deeply at the thought… and shook myself out of the thrall that idea had produced, then began getting ready for school. I peeked out the window to see if Mr. Jones's car was back, but his driveway was empty. My heart dropped a bit, but I pushed that thought aside and finished getting ready.

Reluctantly, I made it to the bus on time and took a deep breath as I saw Keith's icy cold stare directed at me and pierced through me. He was curt and rude to me. Yet, I preferred that to his constant attention and groping.

I hurried to the back of the bus and put my headphones on, happily settling in for the ride.

That morning seemed to set a precedent for the next few weeks. I would get up, check Mr. Jones's driveway, see that he wasn't home, then depressingly go about my day only to start it over the next day. I felt an overwhelming sense of lethargy and sluggishness. As if I couldn't function normally anymore…

To keep myself occupied, I threw myself into planning my birthday party, which was fast approaching. During the phone calls, I winced each time I was forced to order some tacky decoration. I about gagged as I ordered lobsters and shrimp… I hated seafood. But it was the red velvet cake and sherbet ice cream that made me start to question my mother's sanity. The caterer on the phone did as well.

"Are you sure?" she asked sounded just as grossed out as I.

"That's what my Mother requested."

"Wouldn't you prefer… French vanilla?" the caterer tried again.

I hesitated to make any changes to the menus, but I was just as sure as the lady on the phone that this choice was ridiculous.

"Maybe… if you just say you are out of sherbet and had to give us an alternative," I hinted softly.

The lady on the phone picked up fast.

"Oh, look… I think I will have to use the last of it up just before the party, and I won't have time to order more."

I found myself smiling into the phone and feeling an odd sense of kinship to the woman on the other end.

"Oh darn. I guess, as long as there is ice cream, Mother can't complain too much," I agreed.

I got off the phone and felt good about one tiny portion of the upcoming boring evening. I looked down the list and found up next was a small string quartet that my parents were swearing that they needed for the party. I shook my head and picked up the phone, wondering if I could accidentally forget to book them and just use the radio in the living room.

I thought hard about it but decided that one change might not throw my mother into a tantrum but two…

I called the lady's name to book the band and got the same unbelievable speech from her.

"I'm sorry… what is the party for?" the woman asked.

"For my Nineteenth birthday," I explained patiently.

"And you want a string quartet… for the party?" she questioned for clarification.

"Ummm… it's my mother planning the party and the soft music was her idea," I explained slowly.

"But… it's your party."

I rubbed my head in helpless frustration. I know the lady wasn't trying to be difficult. She was actually trying to be helpful, but she was just making the situation worse.

"Please, don't remind me," I whispered into the phone, not expecting her to actually listen. "Can you please just tell me if they are available for the night in question?"

"Yes, they are," the lady finally admitted. "I'll put you down tentatively, and if you change your mind… we might be able to find another group more suitable for a Nineteenth birthday."

"Thank you," I said politely.

After hanging up with her, I went straight to my bedroom and finished my homework while listening to my music. I tried my hardest to ignore the burning resentment that was beginning to build in my chest. That night before I went to bed, I stood by the window and stared down at Mr. Jones's empty chair still sitting out his back door.

I couldn't believe how badly I missed him. It felt as if a part of me had been ripped out, and no matter what I did, I couldn't fill the void he left. I just wanted to see some sign of him coming home.

The day of my party dawned colder than my mother had planned. I could tell this upset her because she raced out the door without her normal lecture on my clothing and style.

She had picked out my entire outfit weeks ago. Then forced me to go through the entire makeover process so she could approve the end result. The dress was gaudy and horrendously flashy as everything else about the evening.

And just like everything else, I absolutely hated it.

My hair was to be put up in a strange and uncomfortable hairstyle that made me look like I had a dozen bumps that had suddenly broken out across my scalp. My makeup was piled on so much I could barely move my face. My jewelry was so big I was worried that the giant necklace would tip me over, especially in the insanely high-heeled shoe that Mother had picked out.

I was going to look like some sort of high-paying hooker, and I wondered if that's where my mother was going with the style she wanted me to have.

I trudged down the stairs and slouched at the breakfast bar while Mrs. Short slide a steaming hot cup of coffee right in front of me.

"Happy Birthday party-day, sweetie," she said softly, giving me a gentle hug.

I squeezed her hand with my free one wrapping my other around the cup and slowly sipping the amazingly delicious liquid.

"Are you excited?" Mrs. Short asked me.

I nodded, not vocalizing the word because she would know that I was lying. Unfortunately, I underestimated how closely she was paying attention to me.

"Now...now, girl. You don't have to act like that with me," Mrs. Short said, squeezing my shoulders again.

"It's not my birthday," I muttered into my cup. "It's my mother showcasing this pretend wealth that she and my father have and using me to try to further their 'success'."

I laid my head on my hands and moaned miserably, not wanting to deal with anything today. I was so sad and depressed it was hard to do anything.

I felt Mrs. Short wrap her arms around my shoulders, pulling me upright. "Sweetie, how about I come to grab you tomorrow, and you spend the day at our place? The holidays are coming up, and I need to get my place ready for holiday baking!"

I looked up and gave her a weak smile. She knew that copying her recipes was a weakness for me and the idea of spending a whole day baking with her was too tempting to refuse.

"Sounds like a perfect birthday present," I told her.

She smiled brightly and hugged me once more before going back to her prepping for the week.

I finished my coffee and went back upstairs to begin my own prepping for the night ahead, including several pep talks that were very important.