Capture the Moment (Moments #1)

21. Cleo

twenty-one

Cleo

My mother and I have a strained relationship and it all started after she left my dad and I.

Lorelei Smith was my idol growing up. I did everything to appease the heart of my mother and looking back at all the time I wasted wanting her to love me makes me sick.

I figure skated for fourteen years to make my mother proud and we both know how that ended, but did you know that she hadn't congratulated me once in that time? I don’t want to talk about it, but I also think you should know these things before I tell you about the brunch from hell that I’m currently at.

When I was seven, I won my first gold medal for figure skating. My mother was at the Vancouver Olympics that day—which was fine. I know that she’s an important athlete but when I told her all about my win, her response was “mommy is busy, Ceej.” It was fine the first time but after winning first place over 200 times in fourteen years, hearing the same response can be tiresome.

Gloria always congratulated me, though. She became the mother I never knew I needed, considering my own was still perfectly alive.

My mom and I have only ever agreed on one thing, me going to Brighton University just like her. And well, we all saw how that went.

“So…” Lorelei breaths out the word, looking down at the menu of Café Iteri, the industrial style café just ten minutes from campus.

The restaurant reminds me of an industrial greenhouse, with plants hanging from incandescent light fixtures in the ceiling. The walls of the restaurant are a mix of large windows, allowing in the natural light from outside, and mixture of black and gray brick in the spaces between. We’re sat at a table along one of the windowed walls, seated in plush brown leathered armchairs.

I agreed to meet my mother here this morning after a nice long call from dad, begging me to just talk to her, after I'd ignored her messages.

Putting my parents against each other never ends well for any of us, especially my dad. He usually gets upset while mom gets temperamental. And me? I just become quiet during it all. Which sucks because my brain screams at me to say the most outlandish things the entire time.

“How has Summerfield been treating you?” Lorelei questions me. Her tone is bland as she continues scheming over the menu as if this isn’t the first time the two of us have spoken to each other in six months.

A quiet chuckle is my only response as I follow in her footsteps and look over the extensive laminated paper.

Hmm… they have calamari. What café on a college campus serves calamari at noon?

“Why are we here, Lorelei?” I tilt my head at her, setting the menu down with a frown.

She texted last night while I was with Ryan and Tatum and told me to meet her here at noon without further explanation.

After she’d sent her last text, I tried ignoring her. I truly did. But then Blake texted me, that idiot. He'd sent me a random gif, you know… the one of the smiling Yorkie wearing a bow? Yeah, that. I can’t lie and say he didn’t pick up my somber mood, because he did. His text gave me a reason to laugh that night, it was like he knew how I was feeling even though we weren’t near one another.

Then after Blake texted me, Dad called and in my happiest moments, I agreed to meet with my mother. And well, we all can see how that's going now.

The air between my mother and me feels like thick water. Almost like it is supposed to be fluid and easy to drink but there’s just a strange thickness surrounding us that makes it hard to swallow whatever is going on between us.

“We’re having this meeting because I miss my daughter—”

Bullshit .

“Do you miss me or does the press? I saw you posted up on Rodeo Drive with that drummer, Lorelei. Claiming you can’t wait to expand your family. What family are you expanding? The last time I saw you was six months ago, Mom, ” I snap, and for the first time in a long time, I feel secure to keep going. To fight back even though I don’t think I’ll be the one winning. I’m not usually one to disrespect authority but… I just… Fuck .

“Lower your tone,” she hisses, looking around at the onlookers in the café. Lorelei leans in closer, her electric blue eyes are sharp and vibrant against her deep brown skin as they narrow on me.

“You will not disrespect me. Cole and I—”

“The drummer.”

“My fiancé.” The words are so quiet coming from her lips, I almost don’t catch them.

But I do. I catch every single syllable.

My heart stutters and I’m taken aback. For just a moment, I feel like the little girl that was so excited to be in the same sport as her mom but so disappointed when she'd never see her mom in the bleachers cheering for her.

For me, skating was a way to connect with both of my parents. I didn’t like playing hockey as much as I liked talking about it. But being on the ice and expressing myself through figure skating made me feel close to the woman that gave me life.

If I knew then what I did now, I would have told six-year-old CJ that no matter what you do… Mommy will always be too busy for you.

“Fiancé?” I croak, my throat dry. I reach for the peach tea I’d ordered and take a sip. Fuck, I should’ve ordered something stronger. Who am I kidding? There’s not a drink strong enough in this world to keep me from feeling how my mother makes me feel.

“We got engaged in May.” She shrugs with a small smile before holding out her left hand. A white gold band with a simple yet stunning teardrop diamond sits perfectly on my mothers manicured hand.

“Congratulations,” I choke out, making brief eye contact with her .

She coughs, her eyes darting back to the table and just as she’s about to speak up, the waiter comes over. My mother orders a club sandwich with extra tomato, her go-to, and I order a Chicken Francois, which is basically a fancy way of saying fried chicken and French toast.

We sit in silence for a few minutes before she clears her throat. “Cole has two kids, Ceej. I want you to meet them in a few weeks. We can all go to New York for Thanksgiving, and you can see Gran—”

I tune her out as she continues spewing nonsense about the future. If my mother knew me at all, she’d know that I would never step foot into New York City again. That place can go to Hell for all I care.

“I don’t think—”

“And then after that you and Marcelo could probably patch things up and—”

My breath hitches in my throat.

Have you ever had the wind knocked out of you with just a single blow? I have.

When I was fourteen, I went to a concert with Jace. None of our parents knew that we went away to D.C. for the night to go to a concert, but we did. The concert was held at this tiny club downtown that literally everyone goes to, its standing room and barricade only. I’d been so close to the front, I could practically touch the singer when a behemoth of a woman got knocked into me and next thing you know, I’m practically dying from being out of breath beside a petrified Jace Heart.

That’s what it feels like every time someone brings up my ex-boyfriend, Marcelo Rivers.

Marce—Marcelo and I were like a New York power couple. We did everything together. Fashion week, Hockey games, F1 races; you think it, we probably did it. Everyone in the state, probably even the country, knew about us.

He and I were inseparable for almost two years until December 4th. It was puppy love for me until the rose-colored lenses faded away and I caught him shooting up Nandrolone in his bathroom just before a game with Summerfield.

I loved him so much that I couldn’t process it. Sometimes, I still can’t. Marcelo is the most beloved person at Brighton University, the most favored player, and best-looking guy on campus. I couldn’t fathom the idea of the person that I thought I knew the best doing something I despised the most. And it wasn’t like he needed it. He was good on and off the ice.

But when I caught him, I realized that you never truly know someone. You just know the many faces that they like to put on for the world. We see the masks of their perfect selves while they hide their true vile nature under.

I hadn’t meant to say that I would tell anyone, not aloud at least. But the words spilled out of me faster than I could process and before I knew it, I’d made a deal with the devil for two secrets that cost me more than I’d ever known.

I can feel myself slipping into the darkness of my past and suddenly I’m outside the girls and my apartment. I don’t even remember leaving the café, but I guess that’s what happens when your past gut punches you before 2 p.m.

When I enter the apartment, I spot someone on the couch and heave a breath as I stalk towards the freezer.

No ice cream. No popsicles… What kind of Hell-hole am I living in?

Frowning deeply, I turn to the pantry. Wine… Whiskey… Tequila? Yep. That’s what I need.

I always feel like this whenever Marcelo is mentioned and it’s not even because I miss him. No, I hope Marcelo Rivers is living his absolute best life, stepping on five LEGOs and three charger boxes a day. Instead, I feel like this because in a way, I’m mourning.

Mourning the woman, I used to be before life showed its ugliness and dealt me a bad hand.

“Cleo?” the voice is distorted behind me, kind of like it’s been submerged into water.

Is it getting hot in here? I need sugar. Where are the donuts?

Soft fingers clasp around my wrist, they’re cold and familiar and before I know it, I’m being squeezed into a hug. The aroma of peaches, vanilla, and warm patchouli engulf me from every angle .

I let myself fall into the pit that I’ve dug and let it out. I cry for the girl I was at six and the one at 18. But most of all, I cry for the 20-year-old I am right now, feeling all these things tenfold.

Before I know it, we’re on the couch—Georgia, Sienna, Denver, and me. I don’t know when Denver got here but I’m thankful for her presence. Her warmth is needed at times like this.

When I’ve calmed down a bit, Georgia sighs, placing a single cup of hot tea in front of me.

“I hate to push, CJ… I really do,” She starts, sitting beside me. Her eyebrows are knitted together as if I’m a puzzle she’s struggling to solve. I curl into myself a bit at her examination. “But we need to know what happened between Marcelo and you. I’ve been around your panic attacks about your mom, and they’ve never been this bad. So, what happened?” she asks, chewing on her bottom lip, her eyes darting behind me to Sienna and then back to me.

I sigh. How do I tell them about this? Would they hate me too if they knew? Would they call me an idiot for trusting someone so much? Fuck—

“I…”

The girls lean closer. I gulp, steadying myself trying to find the right words.

“You got this…take your time.” Denver’s voice is probably the softest I’ve ever heard it. She’s looking up at me from the floor, her hand holding mine almost like if she’d let go, I’d disappear.

“Whatever I tell you, please just know that I was stupid, and I would never make that mistake ever again.” My hands are suddenly much more interesting than this conversation. Have these freckles always been here?

“We’d never judge you. You’re our sister, if you hurt, we hurt.” Sienna encourages, giving me a reassuring smile.

“Well…um, two years ago Marce—Marcelo and I started dating and everything was fine. We were fine. You guys saw us, we were so h–happy.” My voice cracks as my cheeks heat up.

Georgia squeezes my knee and nods with a small smile. The action gives me just a bit more strength, but I can’t look at my friends as I lay down the most embarrassing pieces of myself out in the open .

“Then on December 4 th , we had a party at his place. You know, it was typical Brighton shit. They’d throw parties before big games, and they were playing SFU and… Fuck.” My throat catches, snot rolls from my nose before I hastily wipe it away.

When did I start crying? I don’t cry, not really.

I sigh. “Everyone was looking for Marce…Marcelo and I went to find him. He—he was shooting up steroids and I just flipped. I was hysterical and he was angry, and it was just—”

I pause as flashes of that night speed through my brain.

“It was so… bad . I told him I would tell someone and that was the dumbest thing I could’ve ever said because then he… um. He brought up our… tape.” I gulp, my body shakes as I look up, peering at my friends.

Georgia’s mouth forms an ‘O’ as her breathing shakes, she clasps my free hand—Denver and Sienna look murderous and I feel like the biggest idiot in the world.

“I knew that he’d recorded us, and I trusted him. I trusted Marcelo so much that I never thought he’d throw it in my face.” My lips are drying as I speak, the water from my tears drink my body arid.

“He said that if I were to tell anyone then he’d drop it—the tape, I mean. I didn’t believe him. Marcelo bluffs about everything. But then, I told Karmen—my roommate…um. And well, everyone slowly began to ice me out. It was so hard to talk about anything when I went from being the most liked to the most hated all within the span of a week.”

Sienna scoffs from behind me, I feel her as she scoots into my back and wraps her arms around my waist. She’s warm, I’m thankful for her touch as she lays her head on my back whispering quiet curses.

“And then he and I came to an agreement that for four thousand dollars, this would be over—stupid, I know. But it was over for about a week until… until… the texts started. So, I left. And they’ve been texting me from unknown numbers ever since. I don’t think it’s him though, he’d never threaten me—”

“He threatened to expose your most intimate moments! Don’t stand up for him.” Georgia scoffs, running a shaky hand through her waves .

“Yeah…well, he wouldn’t harass me.”

This catches Denver’s attention. “And how exactly do you know that?”

“He’s not the type, when he gets what he wants he leaves you alone. Besides, he’s tried to reach out to me before—”

“HE WHAT?!” Sienna jumps up from behind me, crossing over Denver and straight into my line of focus. “Give me his number,” she demands.

“Huh?”

“Give me that bitch’s number! He’s been fucking you over for almost a year , Cleo. I will kill that motherfucker—”

“Calm down, Si Si… Don’t go all The Bride on us.” Georgia sighs exasperatedly as she leans back into the couch.

Denver eyes me for a long seconds before stalking towards the kitchen. Moments later, she arrives back with my phone and a bottle of Vodka.

“Is this the reason why you’ve been inactive?” she asks, opening the phone up. We all shared passwords in case of emergencies.

I nod.

“Well let’s show those motherfuckers that they can’t fuck with you. You are way too bright to let someone as sinister as them dim your light. Believe me.” Denver’s voice wavers as she holds the bottle up to me, I look up at her tilting my head slightly confused.

“Tonight, we show the world just how bright Cleo Jones is.”