A/N- Certainly it hasn't been more than a month since I last updated? I'm so sorry about this; I've had school and end-of-the-year stuff on my mind. Well, in any light thank you for sticking with me. This story is taking me forever and I have really no idea how to end it. But your support means everything. -love- Desireé
Chapter Twenty-Three, Power Outage
This town is colder now; I think it's sick of us
It's time to make our move, I'm shakin' off the rust
I've got my heart set on anywhere but here
I'm staring down myself, counting up the years
-'Stop and Stare', OneRepublic
The city lights were flickering early that morning, as if the street lamps were too tired to turn on all the way. In the middle of the night, Troy had found his way to the fire escape again, staring out at the sluggish activity going on in New York. Somehow, out here was more comfortable than the floor of his bedroom; the still air reminded him of right around when Gabriella left. Only the silence in the darkest hour of the day could clear his head.
In six hours, they would leave for Sampson. He offered to drive the Range Rover, to which she responded softly but pleasantly, "That would be fine."
He felt the pressure of the brick wall against his back, as he stretched his arms up toward the next level of the fire escape. "What's worse than leaving?" he asked himself, before his heartbeat increased rapidly as Sharpay appeared next to him, her knees brought to her chest as she sat to face him. "Jesus, Evans, you scared the hell out of me."
"Oh, my apologies," she said with a smile. "Couldn't sleep?"
Troy shook his head, and Sharpay bit her lower lip abidingly. "I think I suffer from insomnia," she sighed after a moment. "It's kind of annoying, because during the day I'm a wreck without my coffee, but at night I secretly enjoy the peace and quiet. It gives me some alone time, which I figure everyone deserves once in a while. Funny how we can't seem to function during the day, when the world is at its craziest."
A car alarm went off, the bleating kind that changed tones every few seconds. Troy grimaced; these were the most annoying to him. But he changed his focus and looked at the blond woman, the only company for the moment (not that he minded). "Why do you think we didn't work out in high school, Shar? I mean as a couple. You remember sophomore year. The rumors circulated, we chose to ignore them."
"One word: Gabriella." They both laughed and Sharpay shrugged, saying, "I don't know. Maybe we're too alike. Can't sleep, can't function without someone beside us—don't look at me like that, I know you can't stand to be alone for more than a few days—and can't seem to be the heartbreakers. And you know, Bolton, as well as I do, that those who don't break hearts will always get their hearts broken."
TYWY
The morning after, Sharpay waddled around the apartment, dressed in a puffy bathrobe and silk pajama bottoms, with über-expensive faux fur slippers, ushering Troy and Gabriella out of the house as they tried to leave the loft self-assured. "We're a phone call away, okay?" Troy said to Ari and Harris, who were watching their struggle with the drama queen from the sofa. "We'll be back in just a couple of says. Behave, all right? If Sharpay calls complaining about—"
The blonde harrumphed and clinked her nails against her java mug. "Ahem, Lucy and Ricky? We'll be fine," she insisted. "I'm an excellent babysitter, better than you could ever wish to get at some agency full of grannies." Sharpay coughed dramatically on her fingernails and rubbed them against the front of her robe, earning a slight eye roll from Troy.
"Be good, and enjoy the last of winter vacation while you can," Gabriella said, ignoring Sharpay as she kissed both Harris and Arielle on the heads. She was tempted to say 'I love you' but then again, she was only the mother to one of them. Not to mention she'd only known both of these children for, say, a few weeks. So instead, she smiled weakly and placed a hand on their shoulders somewhat emptily.
The moment Sharpay shut the door behind the departed couple, a smile graced her face and she shimmied with a slight touch of exaggeration. "Time to party!"
This provoked no reaction from either Arielle or Harris, so Sharpay threw up her hands in defeat and plopped down in between them. "Well, what do you suggest we do then? I'm your cool aunt babysitter for the weekend, and I'm also rolling in dough—I mean, like, money. Not cookie dough. That would be disgusting. Yuck. Anyway, I've got extra cash on hand and a mind as blank as a canvas. Oh, that didn't exactly come out right, either. Damn it, I can't talk today—"
"How about," Harris interrupted, turning gently to Sharpay, "we go to the movies?"
"…So we can sit and not have to talk," Sharpay finished with a forbearing nod. "Well, that's fine with me! Hey, maybe I'll call Ryan to come with us. He keeps nagging at me to get together, and this way, I'll get in a good time at the theater and family bonding all in one bit."
As she sashayed away to the phone, Arielle cleared her throat softly and looked at Harris. "You think we'll be like that at their age?"
"Not a chance in hell," he grinned.
TYWY
In the passenger seat of the Range Rover, Gabriella had drifted off for a moment. The nightmare she had was freakish, and unreal; the loft was flooded with children, all of them no older than four or five. As she ran through the rooms, trying to keep track of them all, she noticed one small boy standing on the outside of the fire escape. "Hey!" she had yelled to him. "I don't think you should stand there!"
"I'll be fine," the boy had replied. His hair turned a dark color, and his face grew familiar as he fell backwards and collided with the concrete below.
A scream erupted from Gabriella, as she ran down to the street thinking, In dreams, I can never scream in a crisis. I always lose my voice. And then, Troy to the rescue—he woke her up.
"Are you okay? You keep whining, kind of like you're crying," he said, pulling the car to the side of the highway.
Gabriella blinked awkwardly, stretching a tiny bit before shaking her head. "I was just having a dream; a really bizarre dream. I'm fine, though. Thank you."
Try as she might, she could not fall asleep again after that. Meanwhile, neither could think of any good conversation topics; Troy had about a thousand questions to ask her, mostly revolving around the day she left New York City without Harris, and Gabriella had about a thousand answers.
"Did you ever come back to the city?" he finally said, softly at first. She wasn't sure if she had heard correctly, but when he looked her way, Gabriella knew.
"Almost," she whispered. And then her voice grew louder, "Harris would have been five. I missed him so much, and I was curious as to how things were going. I also—I also wanted to see the new baby girl. But hysterics got the better of me at the Jersey border. I kept telling myself you'd be there, waiting for me to come back. But I knew you had other things on your mind. Like being a father. And making a living."
He sighed, so tired of her modesty. "You've always been on my mind, Gabriella," he told her, keeping a straight face as he watched the road. She knew he was telling the truth this way.
Until they reached a diner for a food stop, conversation did not come up again. When Troy parked, Gabriella unbuckled her seatbelt and hopped onto the pavement. "I'm in the mood for a root beer," she said out loud, and Troy gave her a cheeky but endearing thumbs-up.
"We'll get two," he said as he opened the front door for her. They chose a free booth and sat opposite one another. Troy was playing with the salt and peppershakers before a waitress came to take their order. To his surprise, Gabriella spoke for the both of them. He didn't mind.
"Two cheeseburgers, two root beers, and an extra order of fries. Hold the pickles on one of the burgers," she said decidedly. Troy raised his eyebrows as he smiled, while the waitress penciled in their food and walked toward the kitchen.
"You remembered I hate pickles," he pointed out.
Gabriella shrugged. "Sometimes things just stick with you."
After that, they talked about random things, mostly involving Harris, and sometimes Arielle. Troy told her about school, and first words, and academic accomplishments. "What," Gabriella began, hesitantly, "What did Harris do for Mother's Day?"
"He made April a card to send to her. Since her last name was Bolton, all the kids in his class assumed she was his mom," Troy replied, staring at the salt he had poured into his palm obliviously. "Ari made them for you, though, when she was old enough to write out full sentences. Since they were at the same school, everyone asked Harris if they had two different moms, which was essentially true, they just had the women mixed up."
She gulped, and glanced up at him ruefully. "And Ari kept the cards?" she asked, her head now heavy like it was made of lead.
"I think so. She wouldn't have thrown them away," Troy conceded. He smiled gratefully at the waitress when she brought them their plates and picked up a French fry. "You know, sometimes I wish that we'd never have gotten pregnant so young. We were careless, and of course we got Harris out of it, but I feel like if we were having kids now, things would be different."
Beyond question they would be. And she thought then of what Harris had told her: I'm a miserable teenager. "Do you love him?"
"Harris? Of course, Gabriella! He's my—" The feeling of confidence in his bones weakened. Troy bit the inside of his cheek. "He's our son. I love him with every piece of me. Why would you even ask me that?" However, he was slightly relieved she dared bring up such a sensitive topic. He was sincerely hoping that maybe, if he took a moment, the answer would just roll off his tongue. But nothing was ever that easy.
TYWY
"Well, you nixed the movie idea, so we have to replace it. How about we go shopping?"
"We've already got clothes."
"Then shoes, you can never have enough shoes."
"No thanks."
"Fine. Let's go sightseeing. I have lived in this city for, well, God knows how long and I have never taken a tour on those double-decker buses."
Finally, after a long conversation that consisted of nothing, Harris and Arielle rolled their necks just enough so they could glance at Sharpay and silently say, "As if we're supposed to care?"
"Really, Sharpay, thanks for making the effort but we're fine here. The TV is—" And, because whoever controlled the universe could not help themselves at that very moment, the television set went black and the phone beeped a quick death on the sofa's end table. The power was out.
"Oh, look at that! It's a sign! A sign that says, 'Go shopping with your aunt Sharpay because she's rich and basically is begging you to spend the money.'" Sharpay batted her eyelashes convincingly and Harris frowned.
"We don't have many other options, Ari."
"Yeah, well, I think I'll just take a nap. Have fun, guys."
Sharpay stared after her as she slumped down the hall. "Who rained on her parade?"
Harris shook his head. "If I told you it was basically my dad and mom, you'd do that adult thing and say something like, 'Oh, children are so hard on their parents these days!' which is dumb, because I know it's always been like that, and it will always be like that."
"So, Troy and Gabriella rained on her parade."
He sighed and nodded. It seemed if it weren't his parents, it would be the next people to come into—or leave—Arielle's life.
TYWY
After she had asked that question, Gabriella immediately regretted it. She wanted to know the truth after Harris dropped the news of his state of mind, but her imposition created an awkward atmosphere, and they left the diner sullenly, the tip weak and the signature on the receipt unsteady. "Do you love him?" Troy mumbled on their way to the car.
"Why would you turn the question on me? You know the answer."
"Actually, I don't. You left, after all, without him. I mean, I know, you were mad at me. But Harris really did nothing. Except for just that one little thing."
This tone of voice he used, the way he somehow had been hurt by her and therefore was trying to redirect the pain somewhere else, reminded Gabriella of their high school lives. She stopped and stiffened, feeling his hot breath push on her neck as he came to stand behind her. "That's not fair."
"What? I know you said after we graduated from high school how you always wanted us to be honest with one another. But you weren't honest even then. I heard you talking to your mom one day on the phone. How you'd be in college if it weren't for this baby. If it weren't for me. And you left shortly thereafter. Only to return, then leave again."
Frustration—with not only him, but herself as well—kept her from turning around and coming to face his truthfulness. "That's not fair, Troy," she said, her voice fracturing in an indignant tone of anger.
He put his hand on her shoulder and gripped it tightly, willing himself to control his words. "I kept quiet. What was I supposed to say? Sorry you're stuck here, with me? I couldn't do anything about your unhappiness, and when I asked you to let me in, you didn't respond with anything but abandonment."
Gabriella inhaled, her breath erratic. She turned around and saw the steam cloud puff in front of her face as she spoke. "You can't tell me that, Troy!" she cried, her hands balled up against his chest. "That isn't fair to me, because you never let me in after I came back. You never were the same! And that's why I left again!"
Nothing was quite as hurtful as hearing you are at fault for something. Troy swallowed and said lowly, "You didn't come back. I went to go get you. I had to go to Albuquerque to save my family. And look how that turned out." He held his car keys, pressing the alarm button for no more than two seconds before shutting it off again. "I waited for you for those days, just sitting in an empty apartment. I waited for a phone call, for an email, anything to tell me you'd come back. And I never got one. So I had to go and get you, and you said you missed me, because we didn't get to celebrate St. Patrick's Day together. Well, if I remember correctly, the last holiday we celebrated Christmas, and about thirteen years too late." He stormed toward the car, and she followed, blocking his pathway like he had blocked hers the day she left.
"Don't tell me that, Troy! Because you know what? I'm trying—at least that's something, right?" Gabriella shot back, eyes a tearful red as she tried to hold back tears that probably didn't even belong to her. "I have never felt any more horrible these last few weeks, getting to know two gorgeous children with amazing souls, one of whom isn't even mine, and I know I'm a terrible mother. I know! But I came back! Finally, you know? And maybe Arielle and Harris had to come get me. But maybe that's just it! Maybe all these years, I just wanted to be found, okay? Because I discovered myself the moment I left the second time. I found just what I was: a mother and a lover. After that, though, no one came looking for me, so I didn't go back. I couldn't go back after that."
Surprise burnt an image into his head forever. He stood there, breathing through his nose, grasping the car keys. "That night, at the bar," he said quietly, his eyes never leaving hers, "I tried to find in Cassandra what I knew was in you. But she couldn't be a mother, and never a lover. She never knew… how to love."
And at that moment, she felt the car keys dig into the skin at the back of her jaw line, as he held her for the thousandth time and kissed her again, trying to fix what may not have been broken, but rather gone.