Finding Liberty

by B. E. Baker

  Trig’s lips twist in fury and I know I’ve finally gotten through to him.

  “Before you yell at me, you need to acknowledge I’m right, even if it’s silently to yourself. Rob has recovered, and being injured while serving his country isn’t a black strike against him.”

  Trig clicks his mouth shut. “You’re right, but he sells cars, Brekka. He’s a car salesman.”

  “Oh? And you’re what? How is a butcher any better?”

  “Huh?” Trig asks. “What does that even mean?”

  “We invest in some companies,” I say, “but we slice up others and slap them together. Are we butchers? Is that what we do? No, we aren’t. We manage companies, we improve and optimize and encourage. Rob’s company sells cars, but he doesn’t sell them himself. That’s not his job. But even if it was, there’s nothing wrong with selling a product, especially something people need, like a vehicle. When did you become such a superior brat?”

  He throws his hands up. “He’s beneath you, Brekka. Tell me you see that.”

  I shake my head.

  “Mom and Dad will never approve of him.”

  I lift one eyebrow. “Because Mom approves of Geo?”

  “She will, if Geo ever gets pregnant.” Trig laughs.

  “For a woman, Mom’s surprisingly sexist,” I say. “But what do I care whether Mom or Dad approve? We aren’t in Victorian England, and thank goodness for that, because I’d be marrying cousin Mike.”

  “Oh man, not Mike.” He shudders. “Hey, there is someone I like less than Rob.”

  “Is this because he totally dominated you in that waiting room?” I whisper. “Because I promise never to tell anyone that my boyfriend completely destroyed you with one punch.”

  I expect another tiresome scowl or angry words. His belly laugh surprises me. I may never understand men.

  “Fine. I don’t hate him. I’m mad right now, but I don’t hate Rob. But that doesn’t mean I think he’s good enough for you, and I won’t be the only one who doesn’t get the whole thing.”

  I may have finally reached a point where I don’t care about what anyone else gets about my life.

  I may not be able to feel my legs, but that, at least, feels pretty darn good.

  18

  Rob

  “How did you like New York?” Paisley asks just before taking a huge bite of her cheeseburger.

  She picked me up from the airport with almost no notice when I was too nervous to call Geo, so I figure I owe her dinner. “No one mentioned that the big apple is rotten and has worms.”

  She sets her burger down. “Wait, what? Are you talking metaphorically, or like you really saw worms and stuff?”

  I chuckle. “Maybe not the worms, but I really did smell pee in the streets.”

  She rolls her eyes. “Every big city smells like urine. What else you got?”

  “The pizza isn’t as great as they say. It’s kind of flat and underwhelming.”

  She shrugs. “I’m beginning to suspect you didn’t really go to New York. Did you see the Memorial where the Twin Towers were?”

  I shake my head.

  “How about the Empire State Building?”

  I shake my head again.

  “The Statue of Liberty?”

  “Nope.”

  “Okay.” She shoves her hamburger toward me. “I’m not eating this last-minute-ride-from-the-airport bounty until you tell me why you went and what’s really going on.”

  “I went for work.”

  She shakes her head this time. “Try again. You’d have gotten someone from work to pick you up.”

  I should have just called an Uber, but I don’t have the app. Downloading it seemed daunting. “Fine, I didn’t go for work.” Or maybe I wanted to talk to someone.

  “Are you going to tell me why you went?”

  I study her face carefully. “Geo didn’t tell you anything?”

  “Does it look like I know what’s going on?”

  Not really, no.

  “And why didn’t you just call Geo? I’ve never picked you up or dropped you off anywhere in my life.”

  “I punched Trig in the face, so I wasn’t sure whether she’d answer my call.”

  “Wait, Trig was there?” She leans forward with a half grin. “And whoa! Are you serious? You punched pretty boy in the nose?”

  “I’m completely serious.”

  Paisley leans toward me, her hamburger forgotten. In fact, the corner of her elbow is squishing it and I don’t think she’s even realized it. “Did you tell him you’re still in love with Geo?” Her eyebrows rise. “Oooh, did you challenge him to an MMA fight to win her back? Because you would totally destroy him! Or wait, could he hire someone to, like, fight in his place? Oh my gosh, did you get a video? I need to see this myself, like so badly!!”

  “Paisley, do you ever breathe? Calm down. There was no cage fight or proclamation of love of any kind.”

  She frowns. “Oh just tell me the story already. You’re such a tease.”

  I roll my eyes heavenward. Whoever ends up with Paisley will need to be very, very patient. Like, a circus trainer for a sloth kind of patient.

  “I went to New York because Trig let it slip that Brekka was having a surgery. I wanted to be supportive, but I wasn’t supposed to know about it. Although, I did kind of send her a gift at the hospital that will give away that I punched her brother and I was present. I have no idea how she’ll take that. But I told Trig I wouldn’t pressure her to let me come see her, and I kept that promise.”

  “And is Brekka okay?”

  I nod.

  “Wait, so you went to support Brekka, but didn’t see her, and she’s fine. That’s it? That’s so boring. So why did you punch Trig, if everything was so utterly and completely civil and fine?”

  “That’s complicated,” I say.

  “Oh yay. I’m so glad we’re getting to the good part. Finally.” Paisley rubs her hands together, and I realize the pickle has stuck to her elbow and it’s dangling, distracting me. “For the record, you suck at stories. Now, go ahead. I’m ready to hear it.”

  “It’s not a juicy tale of anything. Trig’s not keen on me dating his sister. I’m not keen on him encouraging her to have risky surgeries for pie in the sky treatments that won’t work.”

  “You’re a real Debbie Downer, aren’t you?”

  “At least I don’t have a pickle stuck to my elbow.”

  Paisley snatches the pickle off and then pops it in her mouth. Ugh, how did Geo ever think we might hit it off? “Look, none of this can be shared with anyone else, okay?”

  Paisley grabs her smushed burger, rearranges the innards so they line up, more or less, and takes another huge bite. Speaking around the food, she says, “Fine, yeah, whatever. Not that I need to, unless I was telling a bedtime story to put someone to sleep. Look, the big news here is… you like someone.” She wiggles her eyebrows up and down. “And she’s someone we know. And she could buy and sell you like 500 million times and have enough left over to buy a few small islands.”

  “Yes, that’s the point. Nicely put.”

  Paisley grins. “What are you going to do about it?”

  I shrug. “Slow and steady, right? I’m going to make sure she knows I like her and that I’m thinking about her, but I’m also going to give her space so she doesn’t panic, or whatever girls and wolves do when they’re caged.”

  “Did you just compare all women to wolves?”

  I shrug. “Maybe. You’re all a little unpredictable, you’re beautiful in a wild way, and you can be hugely feral.”

  “And your plan to win the queen of all wolves is what? To … tell her you think she’s pretty every day?”

  “Something like that.”

  Paisley’s mouth hangs open and I nearly have to look away. Finally she swallows. “Yeah, that’s what I usually hear. ‘Oh that guy is so swoony. He swept me off my feet and stole my heart by how consistently he sent me text messages letting me know he was there for me.’”r />
  I slam my hand down on the table. “You’re pissing me off, Paisley. Brekka’s been through a lot, and she doesn’t need me to badger or push her. She needs space to recover from the surgery physically, and to realize she’s enough for whatever she wants out of life, emotionally.”

  “Yep. Like I said. You were totally patient and kind with Geo too. And it got you friend zoned. You can slam the table and growl all you want. I’m trying to help you, dummy.”

  I glance down at my bag, thinking about the beautiful piece of Kintsugi pottery I found for Brekka at a shop while I wandered the streets thinking about what exactly I hoped to accomplish by punching her brother. I think I’m right. I think she needs time and space. But what if I’m wrong? What if I heal her up, only to send her off to the arms of some rich, suave, billionaire, just like I did with Geo?

  Paisley was the one who told me Geo was engaged.

  “Hey how did I look when you told me Geo was marrying Trig?”

  She purses her lips and looks sideways. “Like you’d eaten yogurt past the expiration date and your stomach was protesting.”

  “Sick,” I say. “That’s how I looked?”

  “Not quite sick? Like you were thinking about being sick. Then you looked angry.”

  I think about how I’d feel if I found out Brekka had a fiancé and was lost to me forever. The only word I can think that might describe my feelings is gutted. Completely and totally hollowed out.

  It would kill me.

  “So you think I should, what? Fly to Colorado again? Quit my job and move to Denver?”

  Paisley holds up one hand. “Whoa there, partner. Not quite so fast. Man, you’re hot or cold, huh? I mean, don’t just ‘be there’ for her. Be there for her, if you know what I’m saying.” She winks.

  “You’re saying, be sexy about it?”

  “Oh my gosh, you are such a dork. Yes, that’s what I’m saying. Don’t friend zone yourself. You can give the girl space, but make sure she knows what you want from her as an end game. You’re not a teddy bear. You’re Fabio meets David Beckham and you’re coming to play.”

  My brain can’t even process her mixed metaphors. “Uh huh. So give her space just like I said, but be flirty while doing it?”

  She sighs. “And if she doesn’t act like she’s opposed, then yeah, go see her.”

  “Got it.”

  Paisley dings me almost the whole way home with more stupid questions, but I decide her advice is mostly sound. She is, after all, a girl. And a fairly astute one at that.

  I think about the tone my text message to Brekka should take the whole way home, which probably explains my distraction and Paisley’s mounting annoyance.

  “Thanks for the ride,” I tell her.

  “Yeah, no problem. That’ll be fourteen dollars, plus tip.”

  “Wait, what?” I ask.

  Paisley holds out her hand.

  “Seriously?”

  “Dude, I’m a licensed über driver now. I have expenses to pay.”

  I pull out my wallet and she laughs heartily, shouts, “Got ya!” and speeds away, the force of her momentum slamming the door shut. There’s a screw loose in that girl’s head, I swear.

  I don’t even unpack. I whip out my phone the second I’m through the door.

  MISS YOU. THINKING ABOUT YOU. HOPE YOUR RECOVERY IS COMING ALONG, I type.

  Then I delete it. That’s a text from a teddy bear, or her older brother.

  WISH WE WERE WATCHING FIREWORKS AGAIN. HOPE YOUR RECOVERY IS A QUICK ONE.

  That’s better. She was on my lap during the fireworks, and we kissed. Or, I think it’s better. I read it four more times, by which point the words start to look funny. I can’t think of anything else, so in the end, I send it.

  Nothing.

  I watch my phone for almost an hour while I unpack, and then I glance at it off and on during an episode of Daredevil. I hold my phone on my lap so I can feel it buzz if she replies while I review some work email. I basically stare at it all night, like a dog watching a rabbit burrow. Hopeful and then desperate. I’m beginning to think I need to punch myself for being a sissy, because this is not how a man should behave.

  She still doesn’t reply.

  The next morning, I decide to up my game. I read reviews, and then call around and order breakfast for Brekka. At the last minute, I tack on some food for Trig too. After all, I may have some fences to mend there.

  Then I wait. When I still haven’t heard from her around ten o’clock, I text again.

  THEY SAY THE WAY TO A WOMAN’S HEART IS THROUGH HER STOMACH.

  No reply.

  Fifteen minutes later I text her again. CRAP! I JUST LOOKED IT UP. IT’S THE WAY TO A MAN’S HEART. I BET AFTER THE BREAKFAST I SENT, TRIG’S DESPERATELY IN LOVE WITH ME. SEE IF YOU CAN LET HIM DOWN EASY.

  Still nothing.

  At what point does persistence cross the line into stalker territory? I feel like an uninvited trip to wait during surgery, a huge bouquet of flowers, a gift and note asking her to a wedding, a flurry of texts, and breakfast for her and her brother might be dangerously close.

  Oh crap.

  Did I already cross it? I peek out the window. Are the police about to show up at my door with a court order?

  I put my phone on the counter and walk away from it. This is all Paisley’s fault. She turned me into Yosemite Sam, guns a blazing. Why did I listen to her to begin with? She’s as terminally single as I am. Blarg. I’m going to call her and give her what for.

  What does that phrase even mean, ‘what for?’ I run my hands through my hair and wish it was longer. It’s not a very satisfying gesture when you keep your hair barely longer than a military buzz cut.

  I’m losing my mind.

  I jog back to my phone, but before I can check it again, I decide to go lift weights. I haven’t maxed out in days. By the time I’ve done legs and chest and I can barely move my body, I feel much better. I head back inside and force myself into the shower before checking the rabbit burrow, I mean my phone, again.

  When I’m clean, dry and dressed, I finally let myself unlock the screen with a swipe. And there’s a text. I pick up my phone with shaking hands and focus, because it’s from Brekka.

  I LOVED THE BANANAS FOSTER PANCAKES, AND THE CRAB, AND THE NOTE. I WISH I’D SEEN YOUR FACE WHEN YOU WERE HERE, BUT I LOOKED SCARY. LIKE THE CRYPT KEEPER, SO MAYBE IT’S FOR THE BEST YOU LEFT.

  She sent the text twenty-eight minutes ago. Twenty-eight minutes! Will she still have her phone on her? Will she be awake? Did I miss my window to interact with her? My fingers tremble and fumble and mess everything up as I try to type a reply. It takes twice as long as it should.

  WHAT SHOULD I SEND FOR DINNER?

  Heart eyes emoji.

  I breathe a Texas sized sigh of relief. I’m not a stalker. She likes what she sees. Which gives me an idea. I hold the phone away from me and take a selfie to send her.

  I check out the photo before sending it, and realize I look like I’m constipated. Oh, come on. How do my sisters make this look so easy? I try again. And again. Tired, angry, depressed, cheesy. I hate every single photo. Finally, I just close my eyes and pick one at random. I click send and then type, CAN’T BE THERE TO SEE YOU, BUT NOW AT LEAST YOU’VE GOT A PHOTO.

  YOU DIDN’T ASK WHAT I’M WEARING, BUT I’LL TELL YOU. IT’S GOT SOME QUESTIONABLE STAINS ON IT, AND IT’S COMPLETELY OPEN UP THE BACK.

  A hospital gown. She’s hilarious and hot. I collapse in a chair and grin ear to ear, because that’s some high quality flirting. She wouldn’t send that text to someone in the friend zone, right?

  A knock at the door sends me to my feet. I slide my phone in my pocket and answer.

  Geo smiles at me sideways. “I’m here to yell at you.”

  “For punching your boyfriend?”

  She nods. “My fiancé, but yes.”

  “And are you going to? Yell, I mean?”

  She breezes past me and heads for the sofa in my small family room. She take
s up her usual position, far right corner, and crosses her legs. “Do I need to?”

  I shake my head. “I’m sorry I punched him, but he deserved it.”

  Geo grins. “I imagine he did. He’s not very rational about his sister, or his perceived guilt about her current disability.”

  “No, he’s not, but it’s hurting her.”

  Geo’s lips compress. She looks down at her hands and then slowly back up at me. “Has he told you we’ve fought about the same issue?”

  I clear my throat. “Nope, that didn’t come up.” I sit down a foot away from her.

  “I told him the surgery was stupid. I told him to accept her as she is, and let her make her own decisions. But he can’t seem to let go of his hope. He couldn’t seem to accept that she didn’t need to be fixed anymore. From what I can tell, it’s either a God complex, or a big brother thing. Maybe it doesn’t matter. I know he loves her deeply and would do anything for her. He’s not like their parents, but he’s not perfect either.” Geo puts her hand on my knee. “Everyone is flawed in some way. He’s well intentioned, and officially I’m mad at you, but unofficially, I’m hopeful your punch is the wake up call he needed.”

  I lean back against the couch and close my eyes. She’s right. We’re all flawed. “I guess my problem is that there are so many problems that can’t be fixed in this world, sometimes I try to fix the ones I think are within my control with my fists. And then I always regret it, because fists don’t fix anything.”

  She laughs and it sounds like a cascade of water. I’ve always loved Geo’s laugh. It would lift anyone’s spirits.

  I sit up and face her. “I’m sorry I hit him, and I’ll apologize when he’s back home. Just let me know when he’ll be here and I’ll drive over.”

  Geo shakes her head. “He’s embarrassed. I think he feels he should apologize to you.”

  “Well, far be it from me to—”

  “It would be nice if you both said sorry.”

  “Oh, fine. I can do that.”

  She beams. “Good, glad that’s settled. Now. I have something else to talk to you about. I went to see Mom, and she’s not coming to Hawaii.”

  My heart lifts at the thought that I’ll be able to focus on Brekka, but then it sinks under a half ton of guilt. “Wait, why? Not because I punched Trig or anything, right? I swear, I’ll be perfectly behaved on your wedding day. No punching of any kind. Unless one of Trig’s crazy relatives shows up or something. I’ll only punch on demand. How’s that?”