Half Truths: An Opposites Attract Romance

by Rachael Brownell

  That I will do. I’ve never despised walking so much in my life. Yes, I like to stay fit. To stay active. My parents have a home gym I don’t think they’ve ever stepped foot in, but I would use it every day when I lived there. In college, the recreation center was open all day every day. I could be found there in the middle of the night while all my friends were at the bar getting hammered.

  But walking… I’ve never been a fan. It feels pointless. I’m excited to get on the beach and go for my first run, though. That will be a challenge, I’m sure.

  Pushing against the sand, propelling myself along the shore. It’ll be different than running on a treadmill. The scenery alone will be worth the extra amount of sweat. I’m hoping there will be a breeze off the water to help cool me down.

  I contemplate leaving my apartment in disarray and heading down to the beach, but I know I need to be responsible and take care of everything so I can see Daphne in a few days. And I have a lot of shit to do.

  Once the groceries are put away, I strip the bed and give the mattress a once over. It looks and feels like it’s in decent condition, so I take the new sheets and blanket I bought down to the laundry room and put them in the washer along with the cheap underwear and socks I picked up. I brought enough clothes to last a few weeks but didn’t give much thought to other items.

  While I wait for those to finish, I begin setting up my new PlayStation. I haven’t owned one of these since high school. The system is slightly different, but the concept is the same. I’m downloading Netflix when the alarm on my phone goes off.

  Time to move my load from the washer to the dryer. When I open my door to head down to the laundry room, I find Phoenix sitting across the hall, his back against the door to his apartment.

  “Locked out again?” I ask, taking a seat on the floor next to him.

  It’s not until I’m already seated that I think about how dirty it is. There’s a layer of grime on the tiles. I guarantee no one has mopped it in a long time. The entire building needs a makeover. Fresh paint. A deep clean. For what he charges for rent, the landlord can afford it, but if appearances told me anything about him, he doesn’t care much.

  This is a desired neighborhood. He can get away with saving on the little things knowing people will rent no matter what.

  “Yeah. I can’t believe I forgot my key again. It’s sitting on my dresser.”

  “As long as your mom won’t mind, you can hang out with me again. I bought a PlayStation today. You can check out my games after your homework is done.”

  His head whips in my direction, and his eyes light up. “For real?”

  “As long as you do your homework first. I don’t want your mom mad at me.”

  Or do I? An angry woman is a passionate woman.

  No, Alex. You promised yourself you wouldn’t complicate her life, and pissing her off to get her in bed… that would complicate things far beyond you can imagine.

  “Okay,” he agrees, pushing off the floor and dusting his hands off on his shorts.

  “I’ll be back in a minute,” I holler into my apartment. “I’m working on laundry.”

  “Don’t use the dryer on the far left. It eats your money.”

  Thanks, kid. That was the one furthest from the door. I was planning on using it, assuming my items would be safer. Not that I’ve seen any of the other tenants. There are only six apartments. Four on our floor and two on the bottom floor. Either they’re empty or the other tenants are reclusive. I’m fine with either.

  Phoenix and I are about to start a game of Rocket League when I hear his mom call his name. I left the apartment door open again so he felt comfortable and so she’d know where to find him when she came home.

  “What are you doing bothering Mr. Neil? I thought we talked about this?” She doesn’t bother to say hello. Her focus is trained on her son as if I’m not even in the room.

  “I need to get my laundry out of the dryer,” I state, standing and then heading for the door. They obviously need a moment alone. I think he’s in trouble.

  My elbow brushes her arm as I pass. There’s a spark, an electric charge that begins coursing through my body. Pausing, I turn to look at her just as she sucks in a deep breath, holding it. Her eyes are like saucers, staring straight ahead of her.

  She felt it too.

  There’s no doubt in my mind.

  But I know I should ignore it. Acknowledging what I felt would be wrong. It would cause trouble, and the last thing I need right now is more trouble.

  They’re gone when I return, my door closed but not latched, thankfully, since I have to nudge it open with the toe of my shoes. I took extra time and folded my sheets before heading back upstairs. It made everything easier to carry considering I didn’t purchase a laundry basket.

  I’ll add it to the list of things I forgot for next time.

  A handwritten note sits on the counter waiting for me. I almost miss it until the breeze when I open the refrigerator causes it to float to the ground.

  We’re having dinner in thirty minutes if you would like to join us.

  Either Phoenix has incredibly nice handwriting or Ms. Anderson invited me over for dinner. Not that it matters. I’m starving and would love to join them. Plus, I’d never pass up a chance to get another glimpse at her.

  But I was raised to never show up to a dinner party empty-handed, so I search the cupboards for something I can bring. Not knowing what’s on the menu, I grab the two packages of cookies, one chocolate chip and the other my personal favorite, Oreos, and neatly arrange them on a plate. Looks like I’m providing dessert.

  Tapping on their door, Phoenix swings it open, a huge smile on his face.

  “Are those cookies?” he asks excitedly.

  “Yes.” I can’t help but smile at him. I forget what it’s like to be a kid, for the littlest things to bring you joy in life.

  I’m pretty sure I didn’t experience very many of those moments when I was growing up.

  “Are they for me?” he asks as I take a step past him into their apartment.

  It’s a reflection of my own, only larger. Kitchen to the left, a small breakfast bar the only separation from the main living area. Bathroom to the right. The big difference is it appears they don’t sleep in their living room like I do. There’s an open door next to the bathroom. Inside the room, I see a bed and dresser.

  “If your mom doesn’t care,” I say absentmindedly as I glance around their apartment, taking in the modestly decorated area.

  A few framed photos of Phoenix and his mom. A beautiful vase filled with fake flowers. Candles along the windowsill. Pillows and blankets on the couch.

  That’s it. If this apartment defined them, it would say they live simply. It has no flair. There’s nothing unique about it. It could be anyone’s apartment, which surprises me considering Ms. Anderson’s beauty causes her to stand out in a crowd. I would expect her apartment to reflect her style and personality.

  “Can I have one, Harley? Please? I promise to still eat dinner.”

  Harley. Her name is Harley.

  God, it’s fitting. Flawless curves. An engine that I imagine would purr if beneath me. What I wouldn’t give to rev that engine at least once.

  Wait!

  He calls his mom Harley? What am I missing?

  It’s none of your damn business, Alex.

  “One,” she replies sternly.

  She smiles at me warmly as I check her out. Openly. Without shame.

  Her feet are bare, toenails painted a vibrant red. She’s wearing skinny jeans, accentuating what I can see of her legs, a t-shirt that looks well past its prime with two bleach stains on the left shoulder, and an apron hanging down to her knees with cats on it. Lots and lots of cats.

  “Thanks for coming. I wanted to thank you properly for taking care of him until I got home.”

  Her voice is soft, almost apologetic. I’ve heard a variety of different emotions in her voice since meeting her, but this one, the uncertainty, the realness…
I like this sound the best.

  “Thank you for the invitation. Cooking is not my strong suit. I can do it. I’m not very creative. A home-cooked meal is a treat.”

  There are plenty of things I’m good at. Things I’d like to show her to prove how good I am. Cooking is not one of them, but I downplay it. I can burn water. Explode anything in the microwave. Hell, I almost set my dorm room on fire attempting to toast a bagel once.

  Another disadvantage to not having parents that cared. My mother never cooked for us. She hired someone to do that. Which also meant we were never taught how to cook for ourselves. My father’s solution to the two days our cook had off… go out to dinner or order takeout. I went off to college lacking some valuable life skills.

  Cooking, cleaning, laundry. I didn’t know how to do any of that because it had always been done for me. I’d never taken an interest in learning, and no one had bothered to offer to teach me. I learned quickly that privilege had its downfalls in the real world.

  “Well, I hope boxed macaroni and cheese and hot dogs are your favorites. I don’t do home-cooked during the week. I don’t have the time.” Her back is to me, but I can tell she’s embarrassed by the meal. She shouldn’t be. Taking the time to make a meal after a long day at work is more than my parents ever did for us.

  Even if it is from a box.

  “I have a feeling they’ll both go well with the store-bought cookies I brought for dessert,” I say, attempting to lighten the mood as I admire her glorious ass.

  At least until Phoenix jabs his fist into my shoulder.

  “Dude. That’s my mom,” he whispers loud enough for Harley to hear.

  Kneeling so we’re closer to eye level, I reply. “Dude, I know.”

  “Stop staring at her butt.”

  “I can’t help it. I like butts.”

  “Gross.”

  “You’ll understand one day,” I say, sneaking a glance in Harley’s direction. She’s staring at us, listening intently. “Trust me.”

  “Whatever.” Phoenix rolls his eyes at me, steals another cookie from the plate, shoving it in his mouth before Harley can object, and plops down on the couch, turning his attention to the cartoon currently on the television.

  “Sorry,” I say, standing, placing the plate on the counter and moving toward Harley before she can protest.

  “Oh, it’s no big deal. Really.” But it appears it is because she turns her back to me and focuses on the macaroni on the stove.

  “So you’re aware of the fact you have a very nice a-s-s?” I ask as I lean in close to her ear.

  Abort! You’re not supposed to be hitting on her. You’ve thought this through. This is a bad idea. For both of you.

  A shiver runs down Harley’s spine as she continues to stir the pot of boiling noodles, pretending to ignore my question. Flipping the burner off, she reaches for the pot then lifts it from the stove before turning toward me.

  “Excuse me,” she states, avoiding eye contact as she stares into the pot, steam billowing in her face.

  I step back, allowing Harley to dump the noodles into a strainer in the sink. Feeling the tension building between us, I decide to retreat for now, joining Phoenix on the couch while Harley finishes preparing dinner. I want to offer to help, to stay close to her, but I’m getting the impression that she’s not as interested as I am.

  Or, she is and doesn’t want to admit it to herself.

  I’m not the only one lying here. I’m not the only one hiding things.

  Her secrets may not be my business, but I’m intrigued.

  6

  Harley

  * * *

  In what universe did I ever think this would be a good idea?

  Us.

  Alone.

  Sitting only a few feet apart.

  Not that I was given much of a choice. Phoenix decided he wanted to take a shower for a change. Normally I have to bribe him to take one. Monitor him closely to make sure he not only wets his hair but actually washes it.

  The kid and I need to have another talk.

  This time it won’t be about what not to say to other people but more about what not to do. For instance, put on a movie, excuse himself to the bathroom, and take a shower, leaving me alone with our neighbor for half an hour.

  At the end of the day, it’s my fault. I’m the one who invited him over, at Phoenix’s urging of course.

  I swear to God that kid forgot his key on purpose. So he could hang out with Alex. I wouldn’t put it past him, especially after the disappearing act he just pulled.

  “I think he wanted us to be alone,” Alex says, reaching for the remote and turning the TV off.

  “Or he knew I’d beat him if he didn’t take a shower,” I remark, trying to make it sound like I’m joking, but my voice is filled with frustration.

  “Harley,” he starts, turning to face me on the couch. “I’m not sure what your situation is here, but I like hanging out with Phoenix, and I like hanging out with you.”

  “Once. We’ve hung out once,” I correct him. He makes it sound like we’re long-lost friends. Like we’ve known each other forever when that’s about as far from the truth as you can get. Unless the equivalent of forever is now eleven days.

  “Fine. I’d like to hang out with you more. Phoenix too. He’s a pretty cool kid, even if he did ditch us. Not that I’m opposed to watching a Disney classic, but I prefer thrillers.”

  “With me being your sister’s counselor, I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

  Maybe the honest to God truth will scare him away. Or at least a reminder of how we met in the first place. Because if I’d met him under any other circumstances, I’d probably have thrown myself at him. Begged him to take me. It would have been ugly.

  “Is there some kind of rule against us being friends?”

  “Um, no, but—”

  “Then I’d like to be your friend.”

  “But—”

  “And Phoenix’s friend.”

  There’s no fighting this. He’s not going to give up. As long as I make sure I draw the line in the sand between friendship and something more, things will be fine.

  “We’re neighbors. If you need a cup of sugar, I don’t see why I can’t help you out. If that makes us friends, I can handle that.” My words come out rushed, my voice shaky.

  “I may need more than a cup of sugar,” he replies quickly, closing the distance between us. His hand cups my cheek, and I’m entranced by the way his eyes seem to devour me.

  “Eggs,” I blurt out, hoping to break the spell he has on me. “I have eggs too.”

  “I don’t want your eggs, Harley.”

  His hand moves from my cheek to the back of my neck. Pulling me closer, I see the desire pooling in his eyes. His lips are slightly parted. The imaginary line in the sand has disappeared, and I can feel his breath—

  “Harley!” Phoenix screams from the bathroom, causing me to jump. Alex seems unphased by the interruption, sitting back casually against the couch.

  Phoenix needed a towel. Apparently in his haste to take a shower, he forgot to grab one from the closet. He must not have planned out all the details of his little disappearing act in advance. If he had, Alex would have kissed me.

  “Thank you again for dinner,” Alex says as he stands in my open doorway.

  When Phoenix feigned exhaustion and announced he was going to bed, I followed suit. Things around here can get hard to explain at night, and I’m not ready to start answering a barrage of questions.

  For instance, why do we share a room?

  I can’t tell him it was the only apartment I could afford when we moved here. Or that it was close to work and there was no way I could afford a new car. That ours had broken down the day we got here and I’d spent all of my savings bouncing around to avoid my mother.

  This little predicament also makes it hard to date. I can’t exactly bring a man home with me, so why even bother? I’d rather not get my hopes up only to be let down later on.

>   “My pleasure,” I reply.

  Alex mumbles something to himself as he makes his way across the hall and into his apartment, smirking at me over his shoulder before shutting his door behind him.

  This is already getting too complicated. And he’s going to start asking questions the longer he’s here, the more comfortable he becomes with us.

  Deep down, I want to be honest with him. To tell him everything, but I also know that’s a horrible idea. It could cost me everything I’ve worked so hard for.

  “Come in, Daphne,” I call when I spot her fidgeting outside my door.

  “I wasn’t sure if you were busy or not,” she states, stepping inside but not making a move to come any closer.

  Shutting my laptop, I motion for her to take a seat. Once she’s settled, I push out of my chair, close the door, and take the empty seat next to her.

  I’ve found that the first session is the hardest for patients. Having my desk between us makes it more formal. It separates us as patient and counselor. So I sit next to them to make it a more comfortable, casual environment. I don’t push them the first few sessions.

  I try to ease them into it.

  No one likes to talk about their feelings with a stranger. No one likes to talk about their shortcomings in life. And so many of their stories are heartbreaking. They don’t want to show their vulnerabilities. The first step is the hardest.

  I’ve shed a tear or two with my patients. I try to hold it together, but there are times I’ve been unable to keep my composure. Some say I shouldn’t let them see me in such a vulnerable state. I think it helps us connect. It helps them to see that I’m a real person and not just a robot trying to get them to open up.

  “I’m never too busy to chat.” Daphne scoffs at my remark, but I don’t let that stop me from continuing. “Listen, I know this feels strange. I’m sure you’d rather be anywhere but here.”

  “You have no idea,” she mumbles.

  “Trust me, I have an idea. Why don’t we ease into things today? You can tell me whatever you want. About you. About your family. It doesn’t have to be anything deep. Let’s just talk and see where the conversation leads us.”