by M. Billiter
He slowly nodded. “And you haven’t had any side effects with your antidepressant?”
“No, not even weight gain on this dose.”
“Excellent. Remember, staying active and social helps offset depression. Depression likes isolation. Don’t feed it.”
I chuckled. “When I work trail crew in the summer, there are always signs about not feeding the bears and wildlife.”
Blaze grinned. “Branson, that’s a good analogy and factually solid. Don’t feed the bear.”
“I won’t.”
He cupped his knees and stood, and I mirrored him. “Give your mom my best,” he told me. “And have fun at dinner.” He led me to the door.
“Will do.”
Before I left his office, I did something I hadn’t done with him. I extended my hand, which he shook. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome, Branson. Look forward to seeing you next month.”
10
Aaron
The Cowboy Junkies played from the overhead speakers and echoed across the white cinder block walls. There was something sexy about the singer’s voice. Her swoon-worthy take on an old Lou Reed song sounded like she was whispering in my ear. And damn if I didn’t wish my name was Sweet Jane.
The more she sang, the more hushed the bar seemed to become. No one wanted to talk over the hauntingly romantic song. Respect.
I glanced around the dimly lit cave and spotted her behind the counter. Hannah. Her brown hair was tied in one of those messy buns that Carson once told me wasn’t easy to make look messy. I could practically smell her from where I stood. I expected last night to be a simple hookup, but there was something about this one. Her face was angelic. And when she spoke my name, it was like God himself was calling me home. She was simply gorgeous.
But Hannah was more than just some sorority hottie. She was smart, funny, and fuck if she couldn’t mix a drink.
I laughed. My heart had already overtaken my mind.
Would that be so bad?
The bar was open early in preparation for one of the last football games of the season. She was pouring a shot of whiskey into a hot cup of coffee for some frat guy, who leaned way too far over the bar for my taste. In a maroon sweatshirt with gold Greek letters across his chest, it was like he announced to the world that he bought his friends. It was the same thing I’d said to Branson when he joined a fraternity. Lame. I was a GDI—God Damn Independent—and proud of it. I didn’t need some guy swatting my ass with a paddle while I recited the Greek alphabet to feel good about myself. Or that I belonged to something.
When she saw me, my stomach fluttered like it did before the start of a track event. My palms instantly got clammy, and I was pretty sure my upper lip had a sweat mustache going on.
Jesus. Get a grip, Aaron.
I cocked my head toward her like I was chill. Really, it was the only move that didn’t require me to speak since I was pretty sure I’d sound like an idiot if I did.
“Hey, Aaron, what’s your poison?” she said with a wink that about dropped me. This girl was trouble—in all the right ways.
I shrugged, still not sure my voice would work.
“Irish coffee? Mexican coffee? Perhaps a Bavarian?”
Her eyes danced, and I felt myself fall for a woman I barely knew.
“Bavarian?” was all I said.
“Ah, yeah.” Hannah slowly nodded, and her lips curved into a delicious smile. Those lips did things to me last night that I didn’t think was humanly possible.
“So what’s in it?” I asked, finally finding my voice.
“Peppermint schnapps, Kahlua, a dash of sugar, whipped cream, and my personal favorite, chocolate curls.”
“So, this Bavarian drink.” I raised an eyebrow, and she replied with a grin. “Does it have any coffee in it?”
Her cheeks instantly flushed. “Duh, of course, and coffee!”
Our laughter mixed like a blended, rich coffee that I couldn’t wait to drink.
The moment was perfect. So of course it had to be ruined.
A group of her sorority sisters pulled a table across the granite floor, which was worse than nails on a chalkboard, the shock to my nerves continuing the longer they dragged it.
I pleasantly smiled in their direction as I darted to their rescue. The sooner I got there, the sooner I could return to the bar and to Hannah.
“And who are you?” A woman with white-blonde hair and dark roots tilted her ruby red lips into a smile.
“I’m Aaron. And you are?”
“Not interested,” she said with a laugh as if she had coined the turndown.
“Well, that’s good, because I’m here for Hannah.” I pushed past her and grabbed the table. “Where you want it?”
“Uh, clueless much? In the corner with all the pink balloons.” Her tone was as sharp as her pink stiletto-shaped nails that looked like they could tear into my skin as easily as her tone.
What’s her problem?
Four other women dressed in pink shirts and jeans made their way toward us with Hannah not far behind.
“I see you’ve met our vice president,” Hannah said when she reached me.
I nodded. “So breast cancer awareness? That’s cool.”
“Glad you approve of our philanthropic cause.” The VP added an eye roll, and I wanted to slap the stink off her face. What the fuck is her deal? The only vice president I’d hated simply on principle was Wyoming-proud Dick Cheney, but this chick was a very close second.
“So, is there anything else I can help with?” I directed my question toward Hannah, but it was the vice president who spoke. With that white-blonde hair, she kind of reminded me of Cheney’s oldest daughter, Liz, who was no picnic either. But hey, Liz prayed for us nonbelievers, so at least I had that going for me.
“Well….” The sorority girl heavily exhaled through her mouth. “There’re two boxes in the trunk of my car that we still need, if you think you can handle it. They’re pretty heavy.” She eyed my arms. I knew I hadn’t worked out in a while, but I didn’t think I had lost that much muscle mass. Or had I?
“I’ve got it,” I said with sinking confidence.
“You sure? Your arms look like buggy whips,” she said, which everyone laughed at, including me.
“Yes,” I said in a kinder voice than I felt like using. “Point me toward your car.”
“Well, Buggy Boy, it’s the only silver Range Rover with pink trim in the lot.”
Really? A nickname? I relaxed my hands lest they turn into fists. This woman. She acted with the arrogance and mean-spiritedness of Cheney, but with her black roots and bleached hair, she suddenly reminded me of Cruella de Vil. And I wasn’t a fan.
Still, when she tossed me her shimmery pink keys, I snatched them midair with a knowing grin. Yeah, who’s got buggy whips now?
She didn’t seem to care, too busy bossing her underlings around.
“Hannah, we’re going to need more balloons,” she said.
“No problem. After my shift ends, I’ll pick up another dozen.”
That’s my Hannah. I practically beamed beside her. She just made everything better.
“Oh.” The VP purposefully paused. “That’s right, you have to work.”
What the fuck? I knew Jefferson Heights had a class discrepancy between those who had and those who didn’t. I just didn’t realize the haves and have-nots extended to insulting my girl. You have to work? What the fuck is that? Yeah, most of us work.
The VP’s disinterest in anyone other than herself was really annoying. Her arrogance was disgusting. And the way Hannah seemed glued to her every word took my anger to an entirely new level. Why doesn’t she see through her?
“Buggy Arms, what are you waiting for, an invitation? We need those boxes.” The VP glanced at Hannah. “Are you sure about this one?”
And again, everyone laughed—including Hannah.
11
Aaron
Loneliness clung to me and weighed me down with thoughts o
f home. I didn’t want to be alone, but I couldn’t stay with Hannah, not while that sorority bitch was there. I left the bar and wandered toward my apartment.
Branson was right. Moving away from Wyoming was a mistake. I knew no one, and anyone I did meet was an asshole. Hannah had been the exception. And now that was ruined.
Fuck.
I need a dog.
I grabbed my phone and searched online for the nearest animal shelter. A few popped up: Cat’s Meow, Rescue Bark, and Pups n’ Pussies.
“Pups n’ Pussies?” I laughed, and a dark-haired girl who lived in the adjoining apartment complex stared at me strangely. “That’s the name of a dog shelter—Pups n’ Pussies.”
My explanation had zero effect. People back east had no sense of humor. Whatever. She’s probably friends with that sorority VP.
I hit the link for Pups n’ Pussies, and within seconds, walking directions to the shelter materialized on my phone. I pulled up the hood on my navy sweatshirt and buttoned my gray peacoat that served as an added outer layer, and my mood instantly improved.
I wore clothes well. My dad’s girlfriend called him a clotheshorse, and so was I. Actually, I was more of a clothes whore. Didn’t matter if I had the money; when I found a style that looked good on me, I bought it. My credit card was practically maxed, but I didn’t care. If a men’s clothing store were to suddenly pop up before me, I’d open a line of credit and go ham.
Instead, brick buildings blurred past me. I turned left at the residential apartments and walked north, following the red blip on my phone. I didn’t know how my mom or dad survived without cell phones. They both talked about some Thomas Guide map shit, highlighting routes in yellow and learning to navigate without Siri or Google Maps. Insane.
I caught my reflection in the sheet of windows that framed the red-bricked student cafeteria. Even with the hood pulled up, my jeans, boots, and jacket looked effortlessly hip. My dad definitely taught me how to dress, if nothing else.
“Own the clothes, don’t let them own you,” he told me. “And don’t pollute the air with some shitty cologne. One spray of the good stuff in the center of your chest is enough.”
I remember Branson laughing and elbowing my dad at that. “What chest? This is Aaron you’re talking about.”
Asshole.
The memory made me grin and feel less lonely. Maybe I should just hop on a plane and go home. I knew Branson would be there. There was rarely a weekend that he stayed at his apartment in Casper. Besides, I could miss Monday classes.
I paused on the outskirts of campus and considered my options. Walk to the animal shelter and hope to find a rescue that was right for me, or book a flight and have a boarding pass ready to scan my way back to Wyoming?
I scrolled through the flight options, which was infinitely easier than choosing my next best friend. Shit, for less than three hundred bucks, I could leave in an hour and be in Wyoming by dinnertime.
My finger lingered over the Purchase button when my phone vibrated in my hand.
Branson.
“Hey, bro, I was just thinking of you,” I said.
The only sound I heard was my brother’s sobs.
“Bran, what’s wrong?”
I heard him clear his throat, but he still didn’t speak.
“What’s going on? Talk to me.” Is Trevor back? My vision blurred, and I lost all sense of where I was. I glanced around, but nothing looked familiar. “Come on, Branson, talk to me.”
“It’s Mom.”
Like taking a punch to the gut, I folded into the pain that seared me. Please no. Please don’t tell me she died. I couldn’t catch my breath. Not Mom. Please, God, not Mom.
I staggered to the closest building and leaned against it. When my legs could no longer hold me, I slid down the side.
“What happened?” Tears streamed down my face.
“She’s….”
“Is she dead?” The words sounded foreign, like someone else had said them. My body shook. I’m all alone.
“No. God, no.”
I tucked my chin to my chest and cried. For a solid minute, I cried into the collar of my hoodie. Mom, please don’t ever leave me. I’ll be better, I promise. Just the thought of my mom dying ripped me in half. I couldn’t stop crying because I couldn’t imagine a worse loss.
“Aaron? Aaron, you still there?”
I couldn’t talk.
“God, I’m sorry. She’s alive. She’s just….”
My strength was gone. My ability to handle shit and know how to deal with it no longer functioned. I felt broken, truly and utterly shattered.
“What? What, Branson!” I snapped. “What’s wrong with Mom?”
“It’s the cancer. It spread to her ovaries.”
I shook my head. “No, you’re fuckin’ wrong. She just started a new job. And she passed her second mammogram. She told me. She wouldn’t lie to me.” Would she?
“She did. But….”
“But what? What the fuck, Branson!”
“She was having some pain, so they did this MRI where I guess they look at everything, not just her breast cancer, and that’s when they noticed some spots on her—”
“No! You’re wrong. Mom doesn’t even have ovaries. After Jack was born, she had all that taken care of.”
“Bro, she told me she had her tubes tied, but she still has ovaries. That’s why she’s going to have that surgery where they remove everything.”
“Will that fix it?” The air had turned, and the slab of concrete I sat on next to the building was freezing. I shivered and then couldn’t stop my teeth from chattering. “Branson, will the surgery fix her?”
“That’s the thought.”
“That’s the thought? What the fuck? Will it or won’t it fix her?” My tone was as harsh and as constant as the back-and-forth wind that slapped me in the face.
“Jesus, I don’t know. How the fuck would I know?” His outburst was followed by a long pause. And in that moment, I felt every emotion in his silence. “Aaron… I don’t know.”
Something clicked inside me that heard what my brother wasn’t saying.
He needs me, not my anger or fear. He needs me to be the strong one, the brave one, the twin who holds him up.
So I lied.
“Bran, it’s going to be okay.”
He cleared his throat, and I swallowed thickly.
“I’m coming home,” I said.
“What?” His confusion was palpable.
“I was seconds away from buying a ticket and surprising you guys when you called.”
“Really?”
“Hundred percent.” I wiped my nose on the shoulder of my jacket. “I thought it was one of those twin things when you called, like you knew.”
“Nah, bro, I didn’t. Are you really coming home?”
Home. I didn’t even know where that was anymore.
“Yeah. Hold up.” I glanced at the screen on my phone and blinked until the airline app came into focus. The next flight was in less than an hour. I’d never make it. But there was another one that left at four. I’d be home in time for dessert.
“I’m booking it now,” I told him while I clicked my way through the transaction. “Done.” I pressed the phone against my ear. “Pick me up at Cheyenne Airport at seven.”
“I’ll be there.”
I was about to hang up when Branson called my name.
“Yeah?”
“Thanks.”
I bit the inside of my cheek to stop from crying again. “Thank me by being on time.”
His laughter was unlike the girls’ in the bar. His raised me up rather than raising my hackles.
“I’ll be on time. Do you want me to tell Mom?”
I shook my head. “No. Let it be a surprise. A good surprise, I hope.”
“Bro, you’ve always been Mom’s favorite.”
Now I laughed. “Sell that shit to someone who’ll believe it. Listen, I’ve gotta go pack a bag. I’ll see you in Cheyenne at seven.”
/> 12
Aaron
There was only one airport in Cheyenne, which was tucked behind the Catholic cemetery. It was creepy as shit, but it was less than two miles away from my mom’s house. So even though the Cheyenne airport only flew into Dallas/Fort Worth, which meant routing my flight from Ohio to DFW and then hopping on a little puddle jumper to get to Cheyenne, I did. The upside was that as soon as I departed the plane and stepped foot on Wyoming soil, I’d be home in under five minutes.
Home.
Adrenaline spiked through me as I walked from the tarmac into the terminal. It felt like Christmas morning. And the best present stood off to the side with his hands in the front pockets of his jeans like he didn’t know what to do with them. I heard our dad’s voice: “Pockets are for change, not pool.” My dad was so concerned with how things looked, and playing pocket pool with our junk definitely topped the list of what we shouldn’t do.
I didn’t care what either of our parents said. Neither of their voices was as strong to me as my brother’s. I walked toward him, and my chest suddenly betrayed me by shaking. When I reached Branson, I dropped my overnight bag and wrapped my arms around him. I didn’t know who held the other tighter, only that we weren’t going to let go.
Home.
It didn’t matter the shape I was in, or the fact that my hands shook and I probably smelled rank from running back to my apartment to pack. Branson would always take me in. He would always be there for me. And I’d always be there for him.
“I’m so glad you’re here.” His voice reassured me that I’d done the right thing by flying in.
I nodded against him. “You really freaked me out.”
“Bro.” Branson patted my back before he released me. “I’m sorry about that.”
I shrugged.
“Did you think—” Branson looked around and then lowered his voice. “Did you think Trevor was back or something?”
“Yeah.” My tone was a bit edgier than I intended. “I mean, do you blame me?”
