As I stand in my bedroom, my face is wet. I'm crying while thinking about how much I wanted her love when I was young. About how she didn't love me because I was broken...different. All the words that had been heaped upon me during childhood--spaz, freak, retard, Liam the Loon.
In the middle of my room, I stand there and cry like a baby for almost an hour. Because I've realized that my stubbornness has caused me to miss out on the opportunity to forgive my own mother while she was still alive.
The Buddha once said that holding on to anger is like drinking poison and expecting the other person to die.
I remember Jenna's words from the night we read the birthday cards, and I know then that I've been judging Jenna based on what my mother did. That I've been expecting her to run away from me, and in so doing, I pushed her away.
With my face in my hands, I picture Jenna the last time I saw her, pressed against the door, her face wet, her eyes red and swollen from weeping.
And my words...so cruel. So heartless. Just like a robot.
But what can I do?
Jenna is gone, and she might never come back.
Have I lost her for good? And if I find her again, would she even want me back?
The only thing I can do is try.
Chapter 37
Jenna
My stomach churned as the bus made its way along twisting mountain roads. Only two hours remained of the lengthy trip from Belgrade to Sarajevo.
Just five hours before, I'd said goodbye to Helena and Vuk at the bus station. It had been a quick and exhausting few days in Serbia, meeting their family members and touring the city. And now here I was--alone--once again, with only my thoughts and no possibility of escaping them.
The past few weeks were a blur--a sore, painful, and then numb blur. Helena had been worried about me, checking in like a concerned mother several times a day. She'd kept her distance until Alex spilled the beans when I didn't get out of bed one day. That's when Helena decided to make arrangements for us to fly out a week earlier than planned.
Yet despite the whirlwind surrounding a trip overseas, I missed William terribly. I'd wake in the morning after dreaming of him, feeling his ephemeral kiss on my lips. And as the Dream Wil faded and reality set in, I'd die a little when I realized that he hated me still. That I could never erase the image of his face when he left my apartment weeks ago. Pain and disappointment. Disgust.
I shook my head, fixing my eyes on the beautiful, green and hilly countryside of the land of my birth. Bosnia-Herzegovina was a country of rugged, verdant beauty. And until darkness fell, I lost myself in the gorgeous views while trying to forget the slowly dulling heartache.
I'd decided it was time to find some permanence, and there was a strong possibility that my real home would never be in Southern California. Maybe my destiny lay here after all. I'd decided to give it an honest chance, anyway. Maybe the reason I'd never set down roots in the US was because I truly was Bosnian. After all, I had family here who cared about me deeply.
Maybe Bosnia was my future.
Seven long hours after boarding the bus in Belgrade, I finally arrived outside of Sarajevo. The last time I'd been here was nine years ago, and I'd let my older sister handle everything. But now it was just me...all alone.
I'd exchanged some money before leaving Belgrade and thus was able to negotiate a cab ride. The driver flirted with me and called me "American Girl," despite the fact that I spoke to him in fluent Bosnian.
I supposed I had an accent now.
This only emphasized that feeling of never fully belonging in either place. Maybe because I hadn't allowed myself to belong? Maybe it was time to let myself do just that.
You deserve permanence, and I want to be the man who gives it to you.
Maybe I did...but apparently, I didn't deserve him.
Twenty minutes later, I handed the cab driver my money and popped out of the taxi. He unloaded my suitcase and set it beside me on the sidewalk. "Hvala," I said, thanking him.
"You speak Bosnian very well, American Girl."
With a sigh, I picked up my suitcase, entered the apartment building and then climbed the steps toward Mama's apartment.
Mama and Maja were both home, having taken the day off from work to wait for me. When I showed up at the door, Mama and Maja pounced on me immediately with screaming, crying and kisses. Mama, with tears in her eyes, smooshed my cheeks together and said I was beautiful but way too skinny.
Maja introduced me to her fiance, a tall, thin, dark-haired man with crooked teeth and a sweet, soft-spoken voice. They told me Sanjin was a beautiful singer in the church choir, which reminded me that I probably needed to attend church while I was here. It had been ages.
"Janjica, I can't believe it. I can't. You've come back to us at last," Mama said.
Maja smiled at me, tugging playfully on a lock of my hair. "Sanjin has four brothers. We should introduce them. Maybe we'll find you a Bosnian boyfriend, Janja, so you won't go back to America."
That sharp pang in the center of my chest made it a little harder to breathe. I sighed. "No boyfriends for me. But I do want to stay for a while." Sanjin grabbed my suitcase and carried it up a floor to Maja's room, where I'd sleep in the extra bed they'd borrowed for me.
That night, we stayed up way too late drinking wine, eating amazing food--cevapi and somun, kebabs and flat Bosnian bread--talking and laughing. It felt so good to be here.
I spent my days exploring Stari Grad--the oldest district of the city, dating back to the fifteenth century--along with the Bascarsija, one of Europe's most ancient bazaars. I also ran pre-wedding errands for my sister while she was at work. In doing so, I discovered that my Bosnian vocabulary was painfully lacking, so I attempted to relearn my own language and culture.
One night as Maja prepared to turn in, I lay on my bed flipping through one of her books I'd pulled off the shelf. It was a children's book written entirely in Bosnian-Serb-Croatian, and I struggled to read it. After ten minutes, I slapped the book shut.
"You have anything to read in English?"
"A few old books. I don't read in English anymore."
I smiled. Maja now had an accent when she spoke English. Probably the way I had one in Bosnian, I imagined. And yes, everyone in the neighborhood referred to me as either Maja's American sister or Silvija's American daughter.
I smiled as I watched Maja rubbing moisturizer into her face. "You're going to a beautiful bride."
She glowed. "And you, my beautiful bridesmaid! Wait 'til you see your dress." At the mention of the dress, I pictured the beautiful blue gown that William had given me. I blinked, frustrated that no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't get him out of my mind.
Maja watched me. "Are you homesick?" she asked suddenly.
I guessed I would be, if I actually had a home...
But I was starting to question what "home" meant for me. Was it people or a place? My people were scattered on opposite sides of the earth. In Bosnia, in California...
"Not really. I'm glad to be here," I hedged.
"There wasn't someone special you left behind in California?"
I rolled over on my back to look at her. "You are so madly in love that you look at everything through love glasses."
She gave me a strange look. "You're as silly as ever, Janja."
My eyes wandered up to the ceiling. "I sure am...silly."
"But you're also sad."
I frowned. "Yes."
"If you're not homesick, then what is it?"
I sighed. "There was someone. But it's over now. And...it still hurts."
She came over and sank down on the edge of my bed. "Oh, draga moja." She pushed my hair back from my face. "I'm sorry. It didn't end well?"
I shook my head, suddenly and inexplicably close to tears. My lip trembled and I bit it. That ache returned with a vengeance.
"Come here," she said, waving for me to sit up, which I did. Then she took me in her arms and held me tight. "Do you want to talk?"
>
Now I was sobbing--for the first time since the day William walked out the door, declaring us a "mistake." I expelled a long breath, letting the tears flow this time instead of holding them back. I was with my big sister and it felt good. It felt safe.
"Maja, I love him so much. I just want it to go away. I can't help but wonder if it will ever feel better."
"It will get better with time. It's still new and raw. I know it's hard to believe that now."
Like with Brock. I still loved him, but that crippling pain I felt after his death had eased with each passing year until he'd become a sweet, aching memory.
Would it be that way with William someday? More importantly, did I want it to be? Wishing for the pain to go away was a double-edged sword, because it would be wishing for these feelings to fade, too. And these feelings, though they hurt--they stabbed--they also made me feel alive.
Weeks passed and the wedding approached. Maja and Sanjin would be married in a cute little sixteenth century church not far from the neighborhood where my family resided. Their humble apartment was located in a middle-class section of Sarajevo amongst a mixed population of Serbs, Croats and Bosniaks. As such, there was a Roman Catholic church, an Eastern Orthodox church and a mosque all in close proximity.
The night before the wedding, I visited the church where Maja would be married. It was quiet, serene and aglow with flickering candles. It smelled of old incense, desperate prayers, crumbling stone and ancient dust that no doubt remained untouched in high places that no cleaner could reach.
As I sat on the pew staring up at the glittering altar, I wondered about my belief in soulmates. Was Maja about to marry hers? Had I lost mine seven years ago in a random car accident?
Was I destined to go through this life alone?
Maybe William was right. Maybe our coming together was a mistake. But if so, it was the sweetest mistake I'd ever made. And though I ached every time I thought of him, I'd never regret the time we spent together.
I just hoped that there'd be a way to start over again. Because right now, it was looking pretty bleak.
Our relationship had flared, burning bright and hot for a short period of time. It had blinded us. Blinded me from reality. And now here I was sitting in a cold church halfway around the world, pondering if I'd ever see him again.
My sister was a beautiful bride. The morning of the big day, our aunt fixed her hair and make-up, and afterward, we helped Maja into her exquisite dress. When Baba's tiara was placed on Maja's head beneath the veil, it gleamed in her dark hair.
But damned if I couldn't look at that tiara and not think of William and all he had done to get it back for me. The emotions clamped around my throat, choking me as I dressed in my own beautiful gown to stand up with my sister.
I wore seashell pink satin and was the only bridesmaid, with our little cousin wearing a darker shade of pink and acting as the flower girl. As we walked to the church--a short distance down the street--neighbors called out their well wishes, and I held up Maja's train to keep it clean.
Several hours, and one very thorough wedding mass later, Maja and Sanjin were husband and wife. And I was exhausted. After handing my sister her bouquet, they began to walk back down the aisle and everyone clapped and cheered.
I immediately fell into the nearest pew to take a load off my feet. The guests had all been able to sit down during the mass, whereas I'd had to stand and kneel repeatedly.
From the pew, I lifted my head to stare at the painted murals on the ceiling of the church while it emptied of people. I'd join them in a few minutes, after I'd had a chance to catch my breath.
"Janjica? Are you coming?" Mama asked.
I continued to stare at the ceiling. "Yes, I'll catch up. Go, enjoy! And make sure you get in some of the pictures, Mama!"
She grumbled something about not wanting photographs taken of her and then turned and followed the remaining stragglers. Just as I heard her nearing the exit, I sat up suddenly, remembering that I'd left my gift in a bag at home.
I turned. "Mama, can you--?"
I froze, certain my eyes were playing tricks on me. There was a tall, handsome man standing behind Mama who was a dead ringer for William. Though I knew it was some sort of illusion, my heart started palpitating anyway.
Mama turned to follow my gaze and then looked back at me with questions all over her face. "Do you know him?" she asked.
"I think so..." I squinted, hoping that would provide some clarity. "I'll be along...I promise."
The man--William, it had to be William--watched Mama walk out of the church before shifting his gaze back toward me. When his hands began rubbing down over the material of his thighs, my throat tightened.
I moved toward him at the same moment he approached me. The stone floor echoed our footsteps, and no other sound could be heard besides the cheers and congratulations for the couple just outside.
Soon we met in the middle of the aisle. I couldn't breathe, couldn't swallow--and I most certainly couldn't talk. William watched me with solemn features, perhaps trying to guess what I was feeling. I wished him all the luck with that, because I sure as hell had no idea what I was feeling.
He looked so remarkably handsome in that suit--which was obviously new--even if he didn't look comfortable wearing it. And by some miracle, he'd matched the shirt and tie.
William scanned every inch of my face without meeting my eyes, while I studied his chiseled, masculine features and the curve of his mouth, which reminded me of his passionate kisses.
And these feelings. Going from the dark places I'd explored in the past few weeks to this rush of euphoria at the sight of him was like stepping onto an already moving tilt-a-whirl.
Finally, he cleared his throat. "Zdravo," he greeted me in perfect Bosnian.
I blinked, barely able to reply. "What? How? When?" I shook my head, wishing I could make some sense of something.
"I found out you left. I decided to come get you."
I decided to come get you. I wavered where I stood, in danger of swooning like some corseted woman from the nineteenth century.
"How did you find me here?"
He looked at me like the answer was obvious. "You saw me read the wedding invitation in your bedroom."
I blinked. "You glanced at the invitation for a minute, two months ago..."
He shrugged. "I remembered the date, time and location of the wedding, so I knew exactly where you would be on this date at this time."
Of course he did. I shook my head. "But why come all this way? You said--"
He startled me by lifting a finger and pressing it to my mouth. "Volim te," he said.
I love you.
My heart leapt, but the rest of me could not forget still-fresh hurts. It was strange, this feeling of flying and being anchored to the earth at the same time. "Wil, you were so angry with me, I--"
"I'm not angry anymore. I forgot to remember that we all have our flaws. I have lots of them too."
I smiled--a tremulous, shaky thing, like a newborn puppy. "You forgot to remember?"
He smiled too. "Yes." His brow creased. "My flaw is that I don't forgive those in others. And that's just as bad or even worse."
I thought about that for a long moment. I wasn't angry at him, but I was incredibly hurt and still nursing those wounds.
His eyes skimmed me from head to toe, taking in my dress, my braided hair, my fancy make-up. "You are beautiful, Jenna. The most beautiful woman I've ever seen." His eyes scanned my face again, his posture straightening as if he was suddenly self-conscious. "But as gorgeous as I find your face and your body, they're nothing compared to your heart...your gentle, loving heart. I was wrong, and it was unchivalrous to hurt that pure heart of yours."
I bit my lip. "Wil--"
"I'm not done," he said. It sounded as if he'd practiced this speech many times before--which he probably had. "I'm a knight, and you are the woman whom I hope might become my lady. And a wise man once told you that you were a princess and someda
y you would be queen. He was right. You're my queen. The queen of my heart." He took my hand and bowed deeply, much like a medieval knight giving courtly obeisance to royalty. Then he gently kissed my hand. "I am your humble servant. Please, will you grant me your forgiveness?"
I exhaled a long breath as he held his position, bent over my arm. Then I reached out and stroked his soft, thick hair.
"Of course I forgive you. Arise, Sir William. You are my noble protector, and I thank you for all that you've done for me. Volim i ja tebe. I love you, too."
He straightened, a wide smile on his handsome face. "Jenna, I--"
"Hold on, William," I said. His face clouded, and I rushed to clarify so he'd understand. "I mean, I need you to wait for a minute while I say what's on my mind." I sighed. "And why I think this can't work between us."
He blinked as if I'd slapped him, but said nothing.
"I need to be here for a while...spend time with my family. Find out where my home is."
He shook his head. "I don't understand. Your home is where you've been living for the past twenty years--"
For once, it was me avoiding his eyes. "It's not that easy, William. You helped me understand that I needed to stop wandering. That I need to establish roots, find permanency. I need to know where my home really is." His eyes narrowed on a point just over my shoulder with laser precision. "Do you get it?"
He nodded. "I think that home is the place where you are at ease. The place where you feel safe and secure. Where you know that you are loved."
"Yes." I nodded. "And I need to find out what that looks like for me."
His eyes flew to mine. "I've had some lessons in visualization from a very good teacher, so I can help you with that."
My brows rose. "Oh you can, can you?"
He gave one quick, decisive nod. "Close your eyes, Your Highness." I laughed. "No, you can't laugh. You have to take this seriously."
I pressed my lips together. "Okay. Lay it on me." I cleared my throat, remembering that I needed to speak plainly. "I mean--proceed."
"Take my hands and close your eyes. Begin to breathe deeply and relax." I did as he asked. "Now listen carefully and envision what I describe. You've come home from a long day at your job--a job you love where you work with people who are kind to you and appreciate your contributions. You get out of your car, which you bought with money you've been saving up. And you live in your own place that you decorated yourself. A place where you are safe and calm and happy. You're at your front door right now. Do you see it?"