On My Way To Mr. Right

Chapter 23

"Lottie," James called my name. "You coming to my dance tonight?"

I slowly shook my head. I have been waiting for him to invite me and now that he's here asking, I can't say yes because I'm shopping for some stupid dress that I'll probably wear just once. Or maybe not even once, since I have no one to go to the stupid formal anyway.

"Oh," he seemed disappointed. "Well, that's a first. I'm not sure I should ask for the reason," he plastered his dimpled smile but it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Do I want to know?"

"Bea and I are going dress shopping," I groaned. This would be James' first big dance that I'd miss on a shopping trip. How wonderful.

"Wow, that is such a disappointing reason," he let out a low whistle, rubbing his nape, looking disheartened. "But, anyway, I guess I'll take Emma instead."

He ran ahead and jumped on Charles' back playfully. Charles groaned and tried pushing James off of him, but it only made James' grip tighter. Charles was flushing red from lack of oxygen and I couldn't help but laugh at the incident unfolding before me. In the end, Charles and James toppled over, which caused annoying grunts and complaints from student passersby.

Wait—did he say he'd take Emma instead? I mean, who is Emma?!! I don't want that to happen.

But you can't say no to Beatrice.

But I've got to come to watch James!

But you have to shop for winter formal dress.

I can't let James sleep or even attempt to sleep with anyone else again. It gives me a strange feeling in my guts. And hatred fills up my mind. If Bea doesn't want that happening, she should let me go with James!

I’m not even sure about my feelings about James, yet here I was losing my mind on the mention of another girl’s name.

"Charlotte!" I snapped back to reality.

"Rossalyn just called." A smile crept up my lips. Finally, some joyful news.

"What'd she say?" I asked James, who pocketed his phone.

"She says she's coming with her dad to Brazil for Christmas while her parents are processing the divorce."

My eyes widened. "What?!" She's going to Brazil?!

"Yeah, and that she just called to say she's fine and all, that we shouldn't worry."

I opened and closed my mouth a few times, recognizing the shock. Was this real? Or is this another dream? She's leaving us without even a proper goodbye? Even if she did bid us proper goodbyes, will she go to Brazil? What is she thinking? That Brazil will solve her problems?

I sighed. I guess there are just some things I can't control. Maybe Rossalyn thinks it'd be the best for her at the moment. I just hope she gets her act straight. Brazil does her best.

Beatrice plastered a tight-lipped smile, quite sad as we all were. "When's her flight?"

"I don't know. She said she's gotta leave at around," he glanced at his wristwatch. "Eight, she said? So maybe her flight's around eleven or around that time."

"Tonight?" I groaned. I have so much on my plate for tonight already.

Now how am I supposed to convince Bea to watch James' dance?

"Yeah, tonight."

"That's not the best timing."

We all just stared at each other thinking of a solution to manage our time tonight. James' dance, dress shopping, and Ross' flight. We can't do all that at once. I know I can't.

"What time is your recital again?" Charles inquired, mentally calculating our schedule for that evening.

Bea and I let out a chortle. James groaned in response. "It is not a recital, Charles."

Charles rolled his eyes. "Okay, so it's not a recital. What time is it?"

"It's around ten."

An idea popped into my head. "Perfect, then!" I exclaimed.

We could go to Rossalyn's at six and stay there until she has to leave at eight, then shop for the dresses with a little more time to spare. That is if we find the dress immediately. I'm such a genius!

We took James’ truck to come over to Rossalyn’s house before she leaves for Brazil. It was all so sudden and none of us spoke during the car ride. It was either too sad to mention or we were just too stunned to even try and talk about it. The whole thing went from ‘my parents might get divorced’ to ‘I’m going to Brazil to live with my dad’. But I couldn’t let my love for dramatic flair affect our last moment with Ross.

James took a sharp turn which made us tilt to the left. I let out a short squeal, afraid for my life at that moment.

“What is the fork, James? There are a lot easier ways to kill us, you know.” Bea tells him, pissed. James just chuckled and didn’t say anything. That’s what happens when you let a Tucker drive. They make you appreciate your life more than ever.

“So, does anyone plan on crying over Ross’ departure? Because I’ll practice my speech and tears now beforehand,” Charles asks.

“I don’t know what we have left to do with her guys. I think she’s made up her mind about this Brazil trip. I don’t think we can convince her to stay.” I told them honestly.

“You know, if we can’t—if we really can’t find a way to make her stay, we’ll just let her go, okay? I think she needs this break.” James sighs.

I smiled sadly because I knew it was true. Ross has dealt with a lot of crap in her life and she needs this break. I’m just broken that the break she needed didn’t include us in the picture.

“So, here we are,” James exclaims as he parks the car in front of Ross’ house. The lawn was filled with big boxes and my heart was crushed seeing it.

I somehow thought it was all just a prank. Maybe she was just making fun of us.

“I hate goodbyes,” Bea mumbles under her breath. We all got out of the car but none of us took a step closer to the house.

James was the first to make his way to the porch. “I don’t have all night guys.” He said. We followed his lead and let him knock on the door. Rossalyn’s dad answers the door. He was looking beat and his eyes were sad and stricken. We saw him a lot every time we stayed over at Ross. He was a cool dad. But not every cool dad gets a happy ending.

“Hey, kids.” He greets. “Rossalyn’s in her room. Would you please remind her to come down fifteen minutes before eight? I don’t want to forget anything.” He leaves us in the living room and we make our way to Rossalyn’s room upstairs. If you saw us walking, you’d think we were attending a funeral at our pace and facial expressions. This is a depressing night.

When we arrived upstairs, which took an amazingly long time for ten-leveled stairs, Ross’ room was wide open. She was on the bed, holding a photo in her hand and clutching it so tightly that her knuckles were turning white. She didn’t notice us arriving and we stood outside her room, not knowing what to do or say. I fidgeted awkwardly with the hem of my shirt. I don’t like evading other people’s privacy.