Shift OR Drift

Amberly

Leaning on the hood of my car after reparking and collecting my winnings. I watch as a mysteriously tall man approaches. Killian Scott. That is right, my trusty inquiries helped me find out his name. The man talking to him looks like him. A lot like him. Same black hair with a different haircut, safe to say I like Killian's hairstyle more than the man who walked over to him. His hair is short. Any shorter and it would most likely be a buzz cut. They have a similar build and tall stature. The unknown man carries himself rather correctly as if he is past military service; however, the man looks a lot older than Mr. Killian Scott. He might be in his early forties if I had to guess. Small pieces of gray poke through his rather short hair. Watching closely, I cannot help but watch as they both run their hands through their own hair in sync. Gives me just the right glimpse at the tattoo on Mr. Buzzcuts' hand. A fairly detailed black rose sits on the back of his hand with one small water droplet falling off its perfectly shaped pedal. Peeling my eyes away from the two, Lexy scurries over to me almost like she cannot wait to get away from whatever conversation the now three men, including AJ, are having.

"What's their problem?" I ask shifting uncomfortably, turning my head to the strip to watch two guys take their turn at the drag.

"It's his dad," very much like the indiscreet Lexy she is, she points directly at the man in a suit that perfectly hugs his rather fit body, "Killian Scott's dad," she reiterates, "as soon as he walked up the conversation started way to heavy," Lexy leans next to me.

The arrogant and egotistical Killian Scott does have a family.

Part of me resents the perfect family. It makes me unforgettable being around anyone else's family except for Lexy's as I grew up with them. Being the foster kid, school was rough, really rough for me. Friends were hard to come by as when they invited me over, I learned very quickly I was jealous and even envied the life of those with a perfect family. A loving proud father. A working mother who can keep herself together for more than two minutes. Even better, they were alive. Both were alive.

Lexy's family has been more than gracious to me yet, they are just that. Lexy's family. Not mine. Not my own. Lexy's. Her mother tries to be there for me after everything happened but, just like every motherly figure in life, I pushed her away more than once. To my surprise, Miranda refuses to give up on me though. After attempting to push her away a couple of times, we mostly only visit on birthdays, holidays, and or the occasional family cookout Lexy has to practically drag me to. On some rare occasions, Miranda will come over and corner me. Yet, when she does it, it appears her timing is almost perfect. Like she intuitively knows exactly when I need her or just a motherly moment the most. Lexy is a great friend and all, but she is not a mother. She is a friend. A great friend at that. One who is there for me as much as she can manage. However, I long for more. For the married parents who dance in the kitchen. For the dirty little notes like the ones, Lexy's father will leave for Miranda on the counter not realizing the kids wake up for water in the middle of the night and some of those things are the last things a fourteen-year-old girl wants to read or see. However, I always left them up. Because the fluster and excitement in Miranda's eyes in the morning as she peels the little sticky notes off of wherever Carson left them in a hurry was enough to tell me she loved it. I was not going to be the one to take it away from her.

They give me a sliver of hope sometimes, but then I remember the breakup. The heartbreak. My family life. Being in a relationship, let alone marriage is simply not in my deck of cards that have been dealt my direction. Being lonely with the occasional male attention has become my new normal and I am more than okay with it. A large part of me is more than content with how my life is being lived yet, part of me cannot help but want more at times. The smiles. The trails. Someone who is willing to put their all into being with me and being a part of my life. There is almost a bitter sweetness to it. Yet, when I find myself longing, I have to remind myself of the heartbreak or arguments everyone is bound to have. Or the hate that can boil between two people through the years or when one of them does something rather stupid. I mean love can and most likely will come back but why would anyone want to do that to themselves? Hurt over and over again or be disappointed in someone else when the only one we actually have control of is ourselves. Something I still find difficulties in learning. It does not mean I am a control freak but, just like driving. The shift has to be perfect. Love is supposed to be happy. It does not mean it comes without trials because, it does but, it should not be two people arguing all of the time. Barely able to look at each other. It should be an undeniable pull to one another. Two people who refuse to give up on one another. At least, that is how Miranda explained it to me. I never bought it. Not even for a second. Heartbreak taught me otherwise.