The Way We Break

by Cassia Leo

  When I saw Rory’s name on my phone, I completely forgot Tessa had been making her way toward me on the stage in the corner of the Barley Legal brewhouse. In a split second, I went from horrified at the sudden appearance of my ex-wife to elated at the prospect of hearing my Scar’s voice. I wasn’t fucking bullshitting when I told Rory that when we’re together it’s as if nothing and nobody else exists. Even with her being six hundred miles away, there’s nothing that can pull me out of time and reality like her name. Her voice. Her scent.

  But I never got to hear Rory’s voice because Tessa knocked the phone out of my hand and it was shattered under the crush of bodies celebrating the promise of a new year. I used Troy’s phone to try to call Rory back. I wasn’t certain she had heard Tessa’s insults. But the call went straight to voicemail, which told me she had heard Tessa. If there was any hope of Rory taking me back before, it vanished in a single sickening instant.

  I don’t know what Kenny wants to talk about or why he wants me to meet him at the store instead of at Rory’s apartment, where he’s now living. Maybe Rory asked him not to let me in her apartment. Fuck. The thought of her making that kind of request burns, but I can’t say I’d blame her.

  Once all the bags are stacked neatly in the grain room, I head out to meet Kenny at Zucker’s. With just ten minutes to get across town, I rush into the store in time to meet Kenny at the time we agreed on. I ignore the stunned looks from the employees who are used to seeing me in clean clothes. The dust from the chocolate malt is all over me, smeared over my cheeks and crusted under my fingernails.

  I spot Kenny sitting at a table in the wine bar, sipping a frothy white drink. “What’s up?” I say, pulling out a chair to take a seat across from him.

  He looks me over for a moment, taking in my grunginess. “What happened to you?”

  “I was working in the warehouse today. I didn’t have time to go home and clean up. What’s going on?”

  He bites his lip and I don’t want to imagine the dirty things he’s imagining right now. Finally, he shakes his head, throwing up his hands in defeat. “I can’t even…”

  He twists around and reaches into the backpack hanging on the back of his chair. When he turns back to me, my heart drops at the sight of the Sierra Nevada tin box. He slides it across the table toward me and my first instinct is to lean back, to distance myself from the grating sound it makes as it scrapes over the wooden surface.

  “What are you doing?” The words issue from my mouth, low and threatening.

  “She asked me to give it back to you.” He waits a moment for me to respond, then sighs. “She asked me not to talk about you anymore.”

  My nostrils flare as I suck in large breaths. A fiery storm rages inside me. Before I can stop it, the box goes flying across the small floor space reserved for the café. It lands with a clatter underneath the seat of the chair next to me. The ring clinks across the floor, coming to a stop next to the feet of a man who’s standing next to the bar waiting for the bartender to pour his beer. The letter lands softly at my feet. I scoop it up and storm out of the store, adrenaline surging through my veins. My resolve stiffens like steel tension cables corded through my muscles.

  I get in my car and drive south toward Tessa’s parents’ house in Healy Heights. My fingers grip the steering wheel as if it’s the only thing anchoring me to my sanity. I could probably rip it clean off the dash right now.

  I can’t let Tessa fuck with my life anymore. But what the fuck am I supposed to do to get her to stop? I can’t show up at her parents’ house and threaten her, get myself thrown in a jail cell. And I sure as hell can’t reason with her. But Troy was right, I need to take care of Tessa before I can even think about bringing Rory back to Portland.

  The firestorm inside me rages out of control when I think of Rory in California with another guy. I know I brought this on myself, but I need someone else to blame. I’ve been taking on the full burden of my mistakes and Hallie’s mistakes for a very fucking long time. It’s time I start holding other people responsible for their mistakes. And Tessa’s first on my list.

  She fucked this up for me by showing up at our New Year’s Eve party. I’m not going to let her continue to ruin my chances with Rory.

  I take a few deep breaths to douse the fire raging inside me. Then I slide my phone out of my pocket and dial Tessa’s parents’ house phone. After the fourth ring, I’m about to hang up, when Tessa’s voice comes on the line, desperate and breathless.

  “Houston?”

  I recoil at the yearning in her voice. “Tessa, we need to talk.”

  She lets out a sharp breath. “Yes. Of course. I’ll be at your place in twenty minutes.”

  “No. I’m coming to you. We’re going to discuss this with your family.”

  “But… I don’t mind going to your place.”

  “I’m coming to you.”

  I end the call before she can protest, and five minutes later I pull up outside their rambling ranch-style home overlooking downtown Portland and Mt. Saint Helens. This five-bedroom home with the million-dollar view in this stellar neighborhood with the best schools wasn’t enough to fix the things wrong with Tessa. Maybe I’m kidding myself by thinking a stern talking-to is all she needs to back off. But my only other option is to sit back and let her repeatedly knock my train off the tracks.

  I was so close with Rory. So fucking close. She called me. At midnight. On New Year’s Eve. When she could have been kissing that fucking lumberjack, she was calling me instead. And now I’m not even back at square one. It feels like I’m at zero fuck-all.

  I won’t let it happen again.

  Pressing the doorbell, I try and wipe some of the malt dust off my face using the inside of my T-shirt. When I pull my shirt back down, Tessa is standing in the doorway wide-eyed.

  A lascivious smile curls her lips. “What happened to you?”

  “Forklift broke down. Can I come in?” I ask, ignoring the gleam in her eyes.

  She steps back, opening the door wider as her gaze rakes over me. I nod at her as I step inside. The first thing that hits me is the smell of oatmeal. Tessa loves to eat oatmeal for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Times when I worked late, she wouldn’t bother cooking dinner for herself. She’d always make a bowl of oatmeal. I didn’t realize how the smell of oats and cinnamon has become so deeply associated with Tessa in my psyche.

  I get a weird sensation in my belly. I wouldn’t call it a longing. It’s more of a sadness, because neither of us wanted to face reality while we were together. And yet, there were still good times. Times we laughed so hard our bellies ached. Times we fucked so hard our minds numbed. But nothing we ever did could fully mask the fact that we were dangerous for each other.

  I used to think that Rory and I had a toxic relationship, but the three years I spent with Tessa were far worse. Lying to Rory was a disgusting thing to do, but at least it allowed me to love her honestly for a brief moment in time. Lying to myself while I was with Tessa almost made me forget who I was.

  We enter the living room and Tessa’s mom, Marie, is sitting on the brown leather sofa with Tessa’s one-year-old nephew, Jasen, bouncing on her lap. Jasen was named after Tessa’s eldest brother, who died in a car accident four and a half years ago. Pictures of the older Jasen are plastered all over the living room, atop the mantle, on the walls, and in the hallway. A pang of guilt overcomes me as I remember why I’m here and how I’d feel if Rory came to my office and told me the things I’m about to say to Tessa.

  No, I can’t equate the love Rory and I share to the obsession Tessa has with me.

  “Marie,” I say, nodding at her as Tessa sits down on the love seat, patting the cushion next to her. I ignore Tessa’s invitation and address Marie directly. “I came to talk about Tessa.”

  “Hello? I’m right here,” Tessa says, her mouth hanging open in an expression of incredulity. “You can talk to me, Houston.”

  I draw in a long breath to stop myself from saying anything stupid. �
��I came to talk to your mom.” I turn back to Marie. “Is that all right?”

  Marie purses her lips as she stands from the sofa, balancing Jasen on her hip. “Houston, I think it’s very inappropriate for you to be here. You two are divorced. Can’t you just let her be? You’ve done enough damage.”

  “Excuse me? I know I haven’t been a saint, but I think I’ve been more than fair with Tessa since the divorce was filed.”

  Tessa stands up. “Fair?” she says, with a laugh. “You think it’s fair to cheat on me and kick me out onto the streets?”

  “I didn’t kick you out on the streets. I divorced you and that means we no longer live together. It’s not my fault you didn’t have a job.”

  “It’s not your fault? It’s not your fault? It’s all your fault! You told me I never had to get a job if I didn’t want to.”

  Jasen starts crying and Marie tries to console him. “It’s okay, sweetheart. Don’t cry, honey.” Her eyes shoot daggers at me. “See what you did?”

  I clench my jaw to keep from blowing up at this woman who hardly tried to know me in the three years I was married to her daughter. Tessa once admitted to me that her mom didn’t care who she married, as long as he had money to take care of her. I imagine Tessa’s parents probably didn’t want to have to deal with her shit anymore. It’s true that I never asked about the scars on Tessa’s arms, and I didn’t ask a whole lot of questions about her family while we were together. I sensed she wanted to leave the painful memories behind her and I used that to my advantage. It meant I was able to keep Tessa at arm’s length. Close, but not too close.

  But I can’t fucking believe Marie, blaming me for upsetting the baby when clearly Tessa is the one yelling. It was a mistake coming here.

  “Marie, I’m here to ask you nicely that you keep Tessa away from me.”

  Tessa’s shrill laughter echoes off the stone fireplace and Jasen actually reaches up to cover his ears with his chubby hands.

  “I’m serious,” I continue. “I don’t want to have to get a restraining order, but if she comes near me again, I will. Do you both understand? It’s over. It ends today. No more showing up at my work or calling me on the phone, from anyone’s phone.” I point at Marie. “She’s your daughter. Take care of her for a fucking change.”

  As I walk away, Marie calls out, “Don’t you turn and walk away from me! I take care of my daughter!”

  I continue out the front door, ignoring Tessa as she screams at my back, “I hope you die! I hope you both die!”

  I’m shaking with fury as I pull the car away from the curb and drive off. I don’t know if they’ll listen to a single word I just said, but at least I said it. And they’d better know how fucking serious I am.

  Instead of going home, I head to the gym to burn off the tension. Despite the fact that I spent three hours doing intense manual labor today, I spend another hour on the treadmill and two hours lifting weights. I finish my workout and shower away all the grime of the day. When I pull my phone out of the locker, I find three voicemails from Marie. I’m instantly filled with dread. Marie has never once called my cell phone, which means this is probably another deranged call from Tessa.

  I let out a deep sigh and hit the play button to listen to the message.

  “It’s all your fault!” Marie’s voice is frantic. “She took the whole bottle! Are you happy now? I hope you rot in hell!”

  January 5, 2015

  Some Catholics believe you can exorcise demons with a determined priest and a little holy water. I’m going to exorcise mine with a little determination and a lot of hair dye.

  Toasted Marshmallow is the color. It’s a stupid name. Everyone toasts their marshmallows to varying degrees, which basically means I could end up with hair in the spectrum of a soft pillowy white all the way up to charcoal black. But the model on the front of the box has hair that’s more of a golden chestnut color. Yes, golden chestnut is more accurate. Maybe I should get a job naming hair dye colors.

  I walk out of the bathroom forty minutes later, my hair still slightly damp, clutching my phone and wearing nothing but a green Timbers T-shirt and pink panties. Liam cocks an eyebrow as he watches me approach my side of the bed. Slowly, he sets his tablet on the nightstand and sits up straighter as I plop down next to him.

  “What do you think?” I ask, rubbing a lock of my new dark, slightly damp hair between my fingers.

  His eyebrows can’t seem to decide if they want to shoot up or scrunch together in confusion. “It’s… not red anymore.”

  “No shit, Sherlock. But what do you think about the color? Do you hate it? Love it?” I trace the tip of my finger over his knee. “Want to pull it?”

  He smiles at this proposition, but he seems unable to respond.

  “You hate it.”

  “No, I don’t,” he insists, grabbing my hand before I get out of bed. “It’s just going to take some getting used to. That’s all.”

  “Which is code for I hate it.”

  He laughs as he pulls me toward him. “I don’t hate it.”

  “But you don’t love it.”

  “Would you shut up already?” he says, sliding his hand behind my neck as our eyes meet. “Just shut up and listen.”

  I swallow hard as his gaze is locked on my mouth for a moment, then it shifts to his hand as he slides it through my hair.

  “I like brunettes,” he murmurs, reaching up to cradle my face in his hands. “But I’ll like you whatever color your hair is.”

  A pinprick of guilt punctures my heart.

  “I like you, too,” I reply, to which he responds with that perfect smile and those perfect teeth. “How often do you floss?” I ask, my voice shaky as I try to distract myself from the intensity of his gaze.

  He laughs at my ridiculous question. “Twice a day. But I can make it three,” he says, his hand sliding down until it’s between my legs. He kisses my neck as he slips his hand inside my panties. “Everyone should floss more often,” he murmurs, his finger finding my clit. “It’s healthy.”

  He strokes me softly and suddenly I’m reminded of the first time Houston made me come with his magic fingers. “Oh, my fucking God.”

  For the first time since Liam and I moved to California, this feels wrong.

  I’m lying on my bed getting a hand job from Liam while somewhere, just a few blocks away, Hannah is possibly sitting in her comfy armchair reading about my many sexual adventures with Houston. The ink hasn’t even dried on my breakup with Houston and I’m already getting fondled by another guy.

  “Fuck,” I whisper, pulling his hand out of my panties. “Sorry. I just remembered I have to check my email. Hannah’s supposed to send me some feedback.”

  I slide off the bed, stumbling a little as I head for the bathroom, all the while trying to ignore the unfulfilled ache between my legs.

  “You’re gonna check your email in the bathroom?” Liam says, a note of bitterness in his voice.

  I glance at him and immediately look away when I see him adjusting his boxers over his erection. “Do I have to tell you every time I’m going to piss?”

  He narrows his eyes at me and I check my tone.

  “I didn’t mean it like that,” I clarify, though I absolutely did mean it just the way it sounded. “I’m just nervous about the email. Sorry.”

  Before he can reply, I disappear into the bathroom and lock the door behind me. I sit on the toilet and stare at my phone screen, breathing deeply as I try to calm the throbbing between my thighs. But I can’t help myself. I keep imagining Houston’s hands on me.

  Suddenly, the photo app on my phone is open and I’m scrolling, images flying by in a soft blur of silver asphalt and blue ocean, road trip pictures. Then I reach the images of Houston and me in my Goose Hollow apartment. His face buried in my neck, my face radiant with that post-sex glow, as I snap a selfie of us in my bed. His hand splayed over my ribs, slightly cupping the underside of my breast.

  Spreading my knees open, I slowly pull up my T-s
hirt and slide my hand inside my panties. I’m still tender and warm from Liam’s touch. Another pang of guilt at the thought that Liam just warmed me up to fantasize about Houston, but I quickly push the thought aside.

  I don’t want to feel guilty right now. I just want to feel good.

  I drag my finger through my wetness, bringing it up to my aching clit as I imagine Houston’s tongue licking me, up and down and in slow torturous circles. Drawing out the pleasure one luscious flick at a time. His mouth kissing my clit tenderly, as if it were my mouth, savoring my taste. His tongue firm and purposeful as he slides it inside me, fucks me with it.

  “Houston,” I cry out and my eyelids snap open, mechanical and doll-like.

  My hand is frozen inside my panties, my heart punching my ribs, as I listen for movement outside the bathroom.

  Did Liam hear me?

  What the fuck am I doing?

  I wash up quickly and take a few minutes to blow-dry my hair, to give Liam a couple of minutes to process what just happened, if he did hear me. Then I draw in a deep breath, straightening my spine and pulling my shoulders back as I walk out of the bathroom. He watches me silently as I leave the bedroom, but as soon as I cross the threshold, I hear the soft rustling of him sliding off the bed to come after me.

  The living room is as dark and cold as my blood. I quickly turn on the lamp by the sofa and jump when I turn around and Liam is standing right behind me.

  “Holy shit. You scared the fuck out of me.” I slither past him to scoop my laptop off the coffee table and plop down on the sofa with it.

  “Were you on the phone in the bathroom?”

  Without raising my face, I roll my eyes. “It was Kenny. He won’t stop calling me and updating me on everything that’s happening with Houston. I finally told him to never mention Houston to me again.” At least that last part is true.