by Coralee June
“It’s important to me that you’re comfortable here,” Lance replied in a calm tone. I tried not to get too excited by his thoughtful gesture. If there was anything life had taught me, it was not to let kindness blur your realities. Maybe it was ridiculous to let a jaded past haunt a potentially good future, but I couldn’t just let go of my incessant need to overthink things. My entire life was spent looking over my shoulder or waiting for the bomb to drop. I was conditioned to look for the worst case scenario, because it was easier than getting my hopes up and then being let down.
Decker moved over to my bed with stoic strides, keeping his eyes on me as I took in the room. I was about to ask him if he helped with the design when he intrusively unzipped my backpack and dumped everything I owned on the mattress. He didn’t even give me time to stop him.
“Oh, I can unpack!” I rushed over to him. “You don’t have to help me.” I brushed his arm as I tried to shove everything back into my bag. He grabbed my wrist for a split second, and we both paused to stare at one another. “If you wanted to check for contraband, Mr. Harris, you could have just asked,” I replied in a curt tone before snapping my hand back.
Lance clapped his hands and laughed like I was being funny, but I wasn’t trying to be.
“I was just trying to help,” he replied, though I saw his eyes take in all my belongings. We had a slight standoff before he finally opened the bag back up for me. Shoving my clothes back inside of it, I felt my cheeks fume as I silently thanked whatever god was up there that I hadn’t packed tampons or anything embarrassing.
A hush fell over the room as I took the backpack from Decker’s hands and zipped it shut. They saw the depressing truth: I didn’t really have much. I was pissed that he took my pathetic possessions and put them on display. Something told me Decker purposely emptied my bag, and once again I felt like a question he needed answered. Despite just meeting, he seemed determined to do whatever it took to figure me out, privacy be damned.
“Is that all you brought?” Lance asked as my fingers grazed over a photo of Mama that I purposely left out of my bag. I nodded in answer, then quickly flipped the worn picture over so I wouldn’t have to see her smiling face beaming up at me. I’d only looked at the photo a handful of times. It hurt too much to really sink into the image, so I kept it folded and hidden away.
“I travel light,” I replied with a wink, determined to change the subject once again with lightheartedness. Decker just stood there with his arms crossed over his chest in deep disapproval. I could practically see more of his questions forming at the tip of his tongue. “I brought this for you, actually,” I added before picking up the photo and walking it over to Lance. It was one of the last things Mama gave me. Seemed fitting her last gift would benefit someone else and not the daughter that took care of her. Mama was always chasing other opportunities, other endings. It was easier than facing the reality of her situation, I supposed. In another reality, she had a son she loved. In this photo, she was a selfless mother, doing right by her kid.
The picture was of her at sixteen, in a hospital gown with a proud smile on her face, like she was the fucking Virgin Mary. She was cradling a newborn baby wrapped up in a blue hospital blanket, with her sweaty hair pulled back. I remember feeling confused for a moment when she’d shown it to me. The picture was worn and creased like she spent a lot of time looking at it. There were even lipstick stains on the back as if she’d used it as a napkin at one point. It wasn’t until she whispered Lance’s name that it clicked. Of course it was him. We didn’t really have photos of the two of us. Hell, I honestly had never seen a baby photo of myself. And yet she held on to this little piece of Lance. Maybe it made her feel good.
I handed it to him before wrapping my arms around myself, not really knowing what to say or do. This was uncharted territory, and after being on my own for so long, it felt weird to share a piece of my mother that seemed foreign to me. She wasn’t the doting mother. Wasn’t the maternal sort. She just was.
My large bedroom started to feel small with Decker and Lance staring at me like they were waiting for me to say something. I stumbled through my words as I explained. “She kept a photo of the two of you. I figured you’d want to have it.” Tthe moment it left my fingers, it was like a weight had been lifted off my shoulders. I was free of the photo. Free of her.
When Lance flipped the glossy, stained picture over, his eyes turned misty with an emotion I wish I could experience. “This is of us?” he choked out while stroking the edge of it with his thumb, awe flooding his expression.
“Yes,” I whispered.
“I don’t even know what to say. Thank you, Blakely. This is the best... I’m just speechless.”
“It’s the least I could do. You really helped a lot with the funeral and fixing my car. And now you’re letting me stay here until I get on my feet,” I replied with a sigh. “I wanted to talk to you about that actually. I’m going to start job hunting soon, so I won’t be here for too long.” My bedroom was incredible, but I still didn’t feel right about staying. Decker’s cruel greeting was still ringing clearly in my mind. I didn’t want to be accused of abusing the privilege of Lance’s kindness. Maybe it was because I was so desperate to be everything Mama wasn’t. My jaded past clouded my judgement
“You’re leaving?” Lance stuttered before dropping this hands to his side, the photo was quickly forgotten. “I thought you’d at least stay for your senior year. Is there something wrong with the room? We can change anything to fit your liking. Hell, I can take you right now to pick out furniture and new bedding. Shit, I knew I should have waited to ask what you wanted.”
He was rambling now and using his free hand to run his fingers through his blond hair. Decker saw his opportunity and immediately spoke up. “She told me before you got here that she’s not planning on attending school. Was going to get her GED and go straight to work,” Decker scoffed. I could hear the disbelief in his tone, and I wanted to whirl around and punch his sexy self in the fucking jaw.
“Is that true?” Lance asked in a small voice. He looked unsure as his eyes peered at the ground, and surprisingly, I could feel his hurt. His fear of abandonment. “I’d hate for you to give up school. You’re so smart. I saw your transcripts from before she got sick. You can’t give that up now. You’re welcome here for as long as you’d like. If you’re uncomfortable with me, I can even start scouting out your own apartment in the building. I want to help you.”
“No, it’s not that,” I quickly amended. “I’m really thankful that you’ve been so receptive to me reaching out and letting me stay here. I just...I’m not sure where home is right now? I’m not sure what I’m doing. And I don’t want you to feel obligated to take care of me if this doesn’t work out.”
Lance took a moment to take in my words, chewing on his tongue as he did. Decker sat on the bed and trailed his finger over the edge of my backpack, watching our interaction with interest. I had a feeling he’d be doing that a lot—watching and observing.
I turned my attention back to Lance. “I don’t feel obligated in the slightest. I want to know you. I want to know my birth mom. I want a relationship with you. What can I do to make this feel less like a charitable exchange? I can work with pride. I can’t work with losing you before we even get the chance to know one another.”
I wanted to scream from the rooftops that my problem had nothing to do with pride. I wasn’t the type to think myself above getting help. I’d just been burned so many times I didn’t believe there was any good left in people. But I didn’t say that. “How about I pay rent?” I offered. “I could easily find a job. And if we get along, I’ll happily pay to live here.”
“You couldn’t afford the rent,” Decker coughed under his breath, but Lance ignored him.
“I don’t need the money, Blakely,” he replied instantly. “How about this, every day you stay, just tell me something new about our mother? Just one little fact. Doesn’t have to be crazy. I’m just…” he began, pausing
as he searched for the right words to say. “Struggling to cope with the idea that I’ll never get to know her. And I also want to know you.”
I mulled over his words for a moment before turning to look at Decker, who was staring right back at me. My earlier words held like an anvil over us. The truth would devastate Lance. I wasn’t even sure I could handle being the one to burst his bubble. It was a fair trade, I supposed. Painful honesty in exchange for survival. Turning back to Lance, I spoke.
“Okay. I can do that. For now. What do you want to know?”
“Anything. I want to know about Sharron—our mother.”
I ran through a list of things I knew about my mother, trying to sift around the toxic memories to find something that would be good enough for him. With a sigh, I finally decided on something surface level. “She loved pancakes. We once had them every night for dinner for an entire week. She’d drown hers in syrup until it was more like soup than anything else,” I offered with a shrug. And damn, Lance’s entire face lit up like I’d given him a gold mine. It kind of made me feel good, despite the half-truth rolling around in my chest, begging to break free.
“I love pancakes, too! My parents used to make fun of me for putting so much syrup on them.” His face took on a dream-like quality for a moment before he snapped his fingers. “We should all go out for an early dinner. I know this place down the street that sells the best pancakes. You’ll love it. I’ll go get my wallet.”
Spinning around, he left without another word, excited to memorialize Mama’s habits with the little bit of information I gave him. Squeezing my eyes shut, I forced myself to calm the raging storm in my mind and convince myself that I could spin little half-truths into a pretty portrait of Mama. I could give Lance the optimistic version of my childhood and hold the ugly inside. I’d have to think of more positives though.
I’d almost forgotten that Decker was still there. It wasn’t until he stood up and moved to the spot right behind me that I sucked in a breath of air at his close proximity. I could practically feel his heat at my back, his all-knowing presence. In my short time here, I got the impression that where Lance was lighthearted and hopeful, Decker saw right through the haze. Right through me. I wasn’t sure I could handle navigating Lance’s hopes with Decker’s reality.
“Now tell the truth,” he whispered, so low that I almost didn’t hear. I kept my eyes trained ahead, too nervous to turn around and reveal the tears threatening to spill over.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I replied hoarsely. I figured it was easier to lie. I didn’t know this man, didn’t owe him anything.
“You tell him the sugar-coated fluff, but give me your honesty. You’ll feel better if you do. His part of the deal will keep a roof over your head, but if you tell me the truth, then I won’t bug you for the rest of the night.”
“You don’t even know me,” I replied, though I contemplated his offer. I wanted to avoid the high school chat with Lance and Decker until I felt more settled. Our temporary truce might last for the day, but I didn’t know what would happen next. And despite all this, the truth was still bubbling within me like molten lava, threatening to spill over and destroy everything in its path. “Just for the night?” I asked, giving in with a grimace.
“For the next twenty-four hours,” he negotiated, and his hot air feathered down my neck as he spoke. I wasn’t sure why he cared so much or why I felt the need to give in to this complete stranger.
“Fine,” I began with a slow and steady exhale. “She liked pancakes because they were cheap and easy to make. That week, when we ate nothing but pancakes? It wasn’t because she loved breakfast food and syrup. It was because we had fourteen dollars in the bank and she needed a new dress for her date with a local hotshot lawyer. If I never eat another pancake in my life, it’ll be too soon,” I admitted.
Decker leaned closer; I could feel his stubble on my cheek. A shiver traveled up my spine, and I felt my bones grow weak. My reaction to him confused me. “Good girl,” he whispered before snapping back and walking out of the room. I watched Decker’s back as he walked, my mouth gaping open at the complete twist in our dynamic. One second he was pulling at my truth like it was a rotten tooth, the next he was strolling out of my new bedroom as if nothing had happened.
But my mind was still lingering on his whispered praise. “Good girl,” he’d said.
For some fucked up reason, I wanted to hear him say it again.
3
Blakely
The next few days all started the same. I woke up in a plush bed, wondering where the hell I was and why I felt…safe. It always took a few moments to remember that I moved to Memphis. Every morning, I was greeted with the smell of butter, sugar, and syrup. I hated it. I hated that I couldn’t tell him how much I loathed pancakes. I hated that we had such vastly different childhoods that he didn’t share the same experience as I did.
But despite these differences, there were some similarities too. Lance liked to hum while he cooked, just like Mama. He drowned his pancakes in syrup like her too. He also clutched his napkin in his fist as he ate just like her.
It was weird to have a routine of sorts. Ever since Mama died, my life had been a sequence of upheavals. It was nice to wake up and know what to expect.
Lance cooking for me was a thoughtful gesture. I half expected him to give up by day three, but he was persistent. I knew that he was clinging to what little information I shared, and somehow, pancakes had become our metaphorical olive branch as we learned about one another. Even though I hated the flapjacks and everything they represented, I found myself choking them down while giving him little pieces of Mama’s story. There was something about Lance that made me want to make him smile, and despite my better judgment, I was starting to trust that his actions and words were genuine.
He also stayed true to his word on asking for details about Mama. He’d hand me a breakfast plate and sit there expectantly, waiting like an eager child for candy. I liked that there was some trade-off for our living situation. I would have felt awful to stay in his apartment, eat his food, and enjoy his comforting easiness if I didn’t feel like I was giving him anything in return. It was one of those fears I had, worrying I’d end up as selfish and greedy as she was. These little snippets of her life were like a rare form of currency, and I was quickly running out of spending money. I didn’t have a lot of good memories to share, and what little I did have, I had to tweak to fit the narrative Lance craved. He knew my past, had spoken with my social worker, but he wanted to see the good in people—in Mama.
Monday, I told him that Mama liked to go to the local carnival every summer. If I closed my eyes real tight, I could still smell the funnel cakes she’d bring home. He admitted to never actually going to one. Both his adoptive parents were high-profile surgeons and took precautions with Lance’s safety, which surprised me. He seemed so…free-spirited. He proceeded to research all the carnivals around Memphis and made plans for us to go to a couple. His enthusiasm and excitement were infectious. Lance was like a golden retriever, eager to please.
Tuesday, I told him Mama smelled like roses. Naturally, Lance went to the store and bought dozens of them and placed the bouquets around the apartment. Now their stench filled my every inhale. It was like everywhere I went, I was breathing in her memory. It felt like their thorned stems were growing up my throat, making it difficult to breathe. But Lance seemed happy, and for some reason I didn’t question, that was enough for me.
Wednesday, I told him that Mama had a few jobs but wanted to be a makeup artist. Thankfully, he didn’t insist that I go to cosmetology school, though he asked about her other jobs. I didn’t go too much into detail. I didn’t think he’d want to know that a majority of her income came from whatever wealthy, married man she was fucking that month. Mama used to talk down about women that were prostitutes, but she wasn’t any better.
For the rest of the week, that’s how it went. I’d say something about Mama, and he’d do everyth
ing in his power to bring her back to life. I didn’t have the heart to tell him that I was struggling to keep her dead in the ground. Every half-truth I spoke made her harder to avoid. It was like she was breathing down my neck.
When she was alive, Mama made everything about her. Every conversation was about who she was dating, what she was wearing, or what yoga pose she’d just mastered. It was like I was her personal sounding board to boost her superiority complex. She didn’t care about what was going on in my life, only that I fulfilled my duty as the supporting actress in her starring role. It was exhausting, and even now, with her gone, I was still in her shadow. Part of me wanted to build a relationship with Lance, but he was so focused on her, he barely knew me. Not that I was going out of my way to correct him. I held my own truths tightly to my chest, too scared to trust anyone to part with them.
This morning, when I walked into the kitchen, I was surprised to find Decker at the stovetop instead of Lance. He’d been mostly absent all week, gearing up for the new school year with meetings and training seminars. I told myself that I was only learning his habits and routine to be a courteous roommate, but that was a bold-faced lie. If he was in the room, my eyes were on him. I just couldn’t figure out why. At least he hadn’t given me any more talks about how I wasn’t welcome.
“Where’s Lance?” I asked before sitting down at the kitchen island and grabbing a crunchy piece of bacon. I moaned once the taste hit my tongue, thankful that I wouldn’t have to choke down anymore pancakes swimming in syrup. Part of me wondered if Decker remembered how much pancakes reminded me of Mama, but I extinguished that thought quickly.
“The hotel’s construction crew hit a snag yesterday, and now the structural integrity is compromised. Lance was called in early this morning to reevaluate the design and asked me to keep you company this morning.” He cracked an egg and poured the yolk into a frying pan as I mulled over his words. Keep me company sounded more like babysitting. Lance took all week off from work, saying he wanted to help me transition here, but something told me he was scared I’d bolt. The fact that he asked Decker to spend the day with me supported that hypothesis. Though I had a feeling that Decker had no problem keeping an eye on me. He probably wanted to make sure I didn’t steal the flat screen in the living room and pawn it off.
