by M. Billiter
“Aaron, I appreciate your optimism, but when I purposefully targeted Senator Bailey’s daughter, it was a thing in the state’s capital. The man’s charming, arrogant, and has enough handlers around him to remind him that I’m the one who almost torpedoed his daughter’s chance of carrying on the family tradition.”
“So he’s basically a career politician. Shit, Ma, there’s nothing new about that.”
Her laughter was good to hear. My mom hadn’t laughed much since her regular mammogram appointment turned into a three-year battle against breast cancer.
I swallowed, but the knot in my throat wouldn’t go away. Focus. She needs you to be strong.
“Ma, Senator Bailey’s only popular because he’s an anomaly. He’s a second-term Democratic senator in a red state,” I said.
“Aaron, where would I be without you?”
I would do anything for you.
When I didn’t say anything, my mom did what she always did and filled in the silence.
“Well, sweetie, I called because I was hoping you could explain how the legislature passes a bill and stuff like that, because that looks like what I’ll be helping with.”
I smiled. I know this. While I explained to my mom how the Wyoming House of Representatives and Senate worked, the pot of water reached the boiling point, and I dumped the box of macaroni into it. I liked helping her. I’d bet money she was taking notes while I gave her a broad overview of how the legislative process worked.
My knowledge of Wyoming legislative procedures was based off a summer at Wyoming Boys’ State, an annual event for high schoolers across the state. For one week in June, I got to serve as state auditor and learn firsthand how the government worked and how to enact laws. Boys’ State was known for its emphasis on civic engagement and turning out future leaders.
Of course, my idiot twin brother referred to my weeklong summer event as nothing more than a group of political history nerds in a circle jerk. Still, I learned a lot about politics.
“Sweetheart, all of this is so helpful,” she said when I stopped talking. “And really, you should have this job instead of me.”
I laughed.
“I’m serious. Have you ever thought of returning to Wyoming?”
“Hold on, Ma, I’ve got to lower the heat on the stove. I don’t want the water spilling over the side.” I turned the dial.
“Good for you,” she said. “There’s nothing worse than over- or under-cooking mac and cheese. Either way, you end up with soggy or crunchy noodles. And who likes a soggy noodle?”
I laughed as my mom chuckled at her own bad joke.
“Sweetie, I’m sorry to bug you on the start of your weekend,” she said. “This whole legislation stuff is Greek to me.” She exhaled, and her frustration grew louder. “And my new boss expects me to know how the legislature operates and what to expect, and I don’t have a clue.” Her voice dropped, and I could tell the newness of it all—the job, the legislature, her boss—bothered her.
“Ma, don’t stress. You always end up on your feet.”
She half laughed, and I knew it was for my sake.
“If you don’t like working at LSO, you should quit.”
That time her laughter sounded like her. My ma had this crazy laugh that was goofy as hell, but it always made me think of happier times, a time before schizophrenia and cancer imploded the life I knew and the people I loved most.
“Uh, that’s not quite how it works, son. When you have a mortgage payment, tuition times two, and two other children at home who like to eat, you go to work, even if it’s part-time.”
My mom tanked her career at the college because of Trevor, my twin brother’s crazy delusion, who took over his thinking during his senior year of high school. It took a full year after we discovered who and what Trevor was before Branson eventually got Trevor under control, but not until after he’d fucked up his senior year and my mom’s livelihood.
Fucking Trevor.
My cell phone beeped, alerting me that there was a call waiting. “Hey, Ma, hold on.” I glanced at the screen. “Branson’s on the other line.”
“Oh, tell him I said hi,” she told me before I switched over.
“Hey, bro, what’s up?” I drained the macaroni in the colander that was perched in the sink and tore the cheese packet open with my mouth.
“I’m just hanging out at the apartment,” he said. “Whatcha doing?”
“I’ve got Mom on the other line. You okay?” I poured the drained pasta back into the pot and added a spoonful of butter before I sprinkled the cheesy packet of goodness into the mix. People ruined mac and cheese by adding milk. All you needed for perfect mac and cheese was a spoonful of butter and the cheese packet. A cheap, fatty college meal made in an instant. Tasty vittles ahead. “You got any plans for this weekend?”
“Nothing much, just homework and working,” Branson said.
“Yeah, sometimes I wish I was still there,” I said of Wyoming State University, which I attended for two years.
“Well, you’re the idiot who decided to switch schools for a girl,” Branson said jokingly.
But it wasn’t funny. It pissed me off that everyone in my family, including my twin, was under the assumption that I transferred colleges for some girl. She wasn’t even part of the equation. The reality was that I moved away so I wouldn’t have to be my brother’s keeper anymore.
Yet here I am.
“Hey, Jeffrey, can I call you later?” I asked.
He chuckled, and I grinned.
“Yeah, sounds good. Talk to you then.”
When I switched back to my mom, I knew the first words out of her mouth would be about Branson.
“So, how’s Bran doing?” she asked when I knew what she really wanted to know was whether my identical half was sane or not.
“He’s doing great, Ma.” I paused, knowing she’d still worry. “And so am I,” I added, not that it would mean anything. Ever since Trevor entered our lives, my mom was consumed with Branson’s well-being. She had four kids but only one she focused all her attention on. I was a resource and reassurance, not someone she worried or seemed concerned about.
“That’s wonderful,” she said, clearly not hearing me.
That empty, left-out feeling sank to the pit of my stomach. My role in this fucked-up family was to be the caregiver to my twin. And when I wasn’t taking care of his sorry ass, I had my mom to consider. I loved Branson, but we were twenty-one years old and in our senior years of college. When was my mom going to realize that Branson was an adult in charge of his mental health and his life? When was she going to get it that if he stayed on his meds and saw his doctor, he’d be fine? When was she going to stop babying him?
Hell, for that matter, when is she going to see me?
I glanced at the pot of cheesy noodles. Suddenly the thought of mac and cheese turned my stomach.
“Hey, Ma, if you don’t have any more questions regarding the legislature, I’m going to go.” I dumped my dinner into the trash can.
“Oh.” The drop in her voice actually sounded like she cared.
“Ma, you’re going to do great. LSO is lucky to have you.”
“Aaron, seriously, where would I be without you?” she said, and I knew she meant it. My family relied on me, and normally I was okay with it. Lately it was just getting to me. But that wasn’t part of the script. My role was to act like everything was okay.
“Ma, anytime I can help….” I didn’t have to finish the sentence because it was assumed. I was the helper, the go-to guy, the fixer. “Hey, listen, sorry to cut this short, but I have a lot of homework.”
“Senior year, kid. You’re almost through. And just think, a double major.” My mom couldn’t mask her love of education, and in that respect, I always got her attention. Didn’t matter that having a double major about killed me; I was at the top of my class, and no one—not even Branson or the evil third twin, Trevor—could ruin that.
“I’m so proud of you,” she said, a
nd I couldn’t help but smile. It didn’t matter how old I got, getting her approval meant more to me than anyone else’s.
“Thanks, Ma. Love you.”
“Love you more, son. Thanks for all your help this evening.”
“Anytime.”
I hung up the phone, grabbed my backpack, and headed out. It was Friday night, and there was no reason to stay home. Besides, I needed to clear my head.
6
Branson
I hated living in Casper. There was nothing here for me. Ever since Aaron left our sophomore year, college just wasn’t the same. And it wasn’t like I was dating anyone. After Dakota and I broke up, it felt like I couldn’t find my groove again. And we broke up years ago. Lame.
“Hey, Bran, want to go to a Broncos game? We’re going to stay in Denver tonight and catch the game tomorrow. Gen admission is cheap.”
The guy across the hall from my apartment was always inviting me out even though I rarely, if ever, accepted.
“Nah, I’m good. I’ve got homework.” The disadvantage to our apartment complex was that in the winter, the air conditioning blew, and in the summer, the heater did. We all lived with our doors open to try and regulate the temperature to something normal. Tonight it was erring on the cold side, so of course the air conditioner seemed to be in full swing.
“Maybe next time,” my neighbor said.
I nodded toward the hallway between us. “Yeah.”
I didn’t want to go to Denver or the game, but I also didn’t want to hang around my apartment alone. Anywhere was better than here.
I grabbed my keys and backpack and decided to find something more stimulating to do on a Friday night.
And I knew just the cure.
7
David and Me
I’d always heard that even if identical twins were separated at birth, the odds of finding the other were good because of the similarities. I didn’t know if that was true. But it was Friday night, and I wasn’t sure what my twin was doing. I only knew that when David suggested coffee, I knew what I’d be doing.
The coffeehouse on campus was located in a really small red brick building, but what Java Joes lacked inside, it made up for outside. The patio space was large with circular tables that had umbrellas, except in the fall and winter when the umbrellas were replaced with heat lamps. You wouldn’t think a heat lamp could ward off the freezing temperatures, but damn if they didn’t shelter us from the cold. And tonight was no exception.
It was only October, but when the frost in the morning didn’t thaw until late afternoon, it was an all-day kind of cold. It was the kind of cold that stuck to you.
I took my mug of black coffee to a back corner table and sat with my backpack beside me. Pulling out my laptop, I opened it so my screen faced away from glaring eyes. No one could see what I was working on, but I could see everyone.
A girl with a high-pitched voice was discussing some bullshit gossip to someone on the phone. A blonde in tight yoga pants made me wish I was sitting beside her and not the douche she was with. Still, she glanced in my direction, and I casually returned my focus to my laptop. A fraternity jock, who was clearly the top in the social circles, looked like he didn’t give two shits about the cute brunette he was with, and it pissed me off.
I pulled up the journal entry and began taking notes. Or rather David did. His voice propelled my thoughts; I was simply his stenographer. He spoke and I typed.
* * *
Factor: Girl on the phone
Weaknesses: Alone, doesn’t look like she’d put up a fight, easy to take down. Plus, she doesn’t look smart enough to carry pepper spray.
Threats: Other people. She doesn’t look like she’d go into an alley by herself.
* * *
Anyone reading over my shoulder would think I wanted to rape the girl, but that couldn’t be further from the truth. I got pleasure from the idea of burying a knife in someone’s throat, nothing more.
* * *
Factor: Hot girl in yoga pants.
Weaknesses: She looks like a sorority girl, so she’s probably drunk all the time and would be easy to pick off.
Threats: Boyfriend. She’s probably always with him.
* * *
I took a sip of coffee.
“This is a great coffee shop. And cheap too. You wouldn’t think that. It’s probably one of the few places on campus that’s not overpriced.”
Agreed. I took another look around the place and resumed typing.
* * *
Factor: The fraternity jock
Weaknesses: He thinks so highly of himself that he wouldn’t think he’d leave himself vulnerable. Plus, he’s well built, so he probably thinks he’s untouchable.
Strengths: Well built.
* * *
Of the three choices, the girl on the phone was my best bet. Theoretically.
“It wouldn’t be that hard. One puncture to the throat with a knife or the tip of a pen and walk away casually like nothing happened.”
My adrenaline spiked, and the fall evening air no longer had a bite to it. Scoping, planning, and theorizing about actually taking down a person on my list made life bearable. David looked for things that upset me and needed fixing. That girl with the high-pitched voice on the phone fit the bill.
I watched her, waiting for her to finish her annoying phone call. I’d wait all night if I had to.
“You into that girl?”
I flinched and glanced over my laptop screen to the petite, brown-haired, wide-eyed woman I’d met last weekend at a bar.
“It’s about time you showed up. I thought you were ditching me,” I said with a devil-may-care smile that I knew worked well with women. Seeing her snapped me back to reality. And just like that, David’s voice disappeared and all I heard was her voice, which was softer than I remembered.
When I stood to give her a hug, I closed my laptop and any further surveillance for the night ended.
“Sorry I was so late. I was caught up in a work meeting,” she said when our brief hug ended.
“No worries. I was just working on a paper.”
She pulled out the chair beside mine, and the smell of vanilla, like warm cookies fresh out of the oven, filtered between us. She was cute, sweet, and she seemed interested in me.
“How are your classes going?” I took a sip of my coffee. “You’re in your last year, right?”
“That’s right,” she said, “and I’m ready to be done.”
“Me too. Just a semester and a half left, and then we’re free to grow up and pay off our student loans.”
Her laughter was unexpected. Instead of a high-pitched, annoying squeak, she had more of a giggle that was refreshingly pleasant.
“Hey, you want to get out of here and study at my place?” I asked.
“A first date and you’re already taking me home?” she said with a wink.
“Don’t worry, I intend to study, but if you think of anything else to do, just let me know,” I said in a flirtatious way.
I left ten bucks under my coffee cup for the unlucky soul charged with our cleanup. Plus, I always liked to tip well in front of a girl. There were a lot of things I was guilty of, but being a shitty tipper wasn’t one of them. As we left the patio, I held the door for my study date and the annoying girl on the phone, who decided to leave at the same time. She glanced at me, and when she thanked me, her voice no longer sounded irritating.
A full moon cast its light, making our walk to my apartment well lit.
“Oh, I didn’t know this was where you lived,” she said as we approached my apartment building. “Isn’t there a shortcut through the alley?”
I shrugged. “Yeah, but you never know who or what may be lurking in an alleyway.”
She elbowed me. “Like you have to worry about that.”
“But I do.” The fear in my voice betrayed me, and she glanced up at me with something I rarely saw—compassion.
“Don’t worry, big guy, I’m here.” She gave me a
wink that warmed me from the inside out.
“Hey, I wasn’t joking about the studying,” I said as we stood in front of my building. “I actually have a ten-page paper that’s due Monday.”
For a moment I wondered if she’d bail. Instead, her adorable giggle followed me up the stairs to my apartment.
8
Branson
The beauty of a one-night stand was waking up alone. Optimally, they worked best if two components were met: an older woman with her own place. There was the occasional crashing at my place like last night, but I always made sure they left afterward. An older woman didn’t mind, but hooking up with someone my age always resulted in the residue of hurt feelings and more damage to my reputation. But thirty-year-old women were different. No thirty-year-old wanted a commitment from a twenty-one-year-old. Nor did they want to stay the night. They knew what was up and didn’t ask for anything more than they knew they were getting—a night of no-strings-attached fucking.
I locked the door to my apartment, tucked my phone into my jacket pocket, and headed toward my car.
No worries about her calling. I learned early on that, besides finding a woman in her thirties, the more important rule was not exchanging any personal info like my number. That way they couldn’t stalk me later.
Not that I’d really mind if this one did. Her body was rockin’. No kids. No commitments. She was in the prime of knowing what she wanted. And it didn’t hurt that when I first met her at the bar, she’d picked up the tab. I wasn’t going to let her, but she insisted, and when she pulled out her platinum card, who was I to stop her?
I didn’t even mind that she was on campus to finish her degree. She wasn’t some clingy, needy woman. And the thought of future study sessions wasn’t bad.
