The Road Home

by Erin Zak

  She bites on the thin black straw and glances at Gwendolyn, who is wide-eyed and smiling. She’s soaking up the environment, the crowd, and the opening band. It makes sense since she never had the opportunity to party at the infamous bar. Lila holds back her smile, continues to study Gwendolyn, continues to want to press her against the wall and make out with her. She wants to taste those lips, feel her teeth and tongue. Let Gwendolyn’s tongue wrap around her like it wraps around her name when Gwendolyn says it with her husky, sexy voice.

  “This place is wild,” Gwendolyn says loudly before she looks back. When their eyes lock, Lila knows she’s busted. In her inebriated state, her reflexes are off, so she doesn’t look away quickly enough. Or hell, at all. “What?”

  “Nothing,” Lila answers, still holding the straw between her teeth. She figures if she can hold on for as long as possible, she won’t do anything stupid with her lips.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Mm-hmm.”

  “You sure?”

  No, I’m not sure. I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing or why the fuck I’m here with you or what I’m supposed to do when it’s time to leave because I don’t even know if I’m sober enough to use my fucking phone. “Yep, I’m good.”

  “You need water?”

  Lila nods. “God, yes, please.” She watches her leave, then turns her attention away so she can take a breath. This attraction has to be intensified by alcohol, right? There is no way one night hanging out together could make her feel like this. She barely knows anything about Gwendolyn. And what she does know, she isn’t super pleased with. Gwendolyn left home and never looked back, never cared about the hearts she broke. Carol has never recovered. And David scrambled to fix things and make life tolerable. Lila saw the tail end of the destruction, as well as the beginning of the end of David’s attempts to right the sinking ship. Carol placed Lila on a pedestal, and even though she begged David to tell her Gwendolyn’s story, she never had a great idea as to why things were the way they were. She’s struggled with her lack of knowledge for as long as she can remember. And now? All she can think is how badly she wants to see Gwendolyn naked, underneath her, pulling at the sheets, and moaning her name.

  “Here you go, miss,” Gwendolyn says as she holds two cups of water. “I got you a couple.”

  It’s only water, but dammit if it doesn’t make Lila melt into a puddle of goo. She takes one and drinks it. She starts on the second before Gwendolyn even has the opportunity to slide into her previous spot. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  Lila nods. Nope. “Yep.”

  Gwendolyn laughs softly as she leans against the pull-tab dispenser. “I don’t plan on trying anything with you.”

  “You don’t?” Her question is meant to come out relieved, but for some reason, the words slip out doused with disappointment. “I mean—”

  “I know what you mean.” She takes a step, moving her hand across the glass top of the dispenser until she’s able to touch Lila’s arm. “We shouldn’t.”

  “No, we really shouldn’t.”

  “We won’t, then.”

  Lila can barely hear anything over the pounding of her heart in her ears. The feel of Gwendolyn’s fingertips on her bicep is so fucking exhilarating. She doesn’t know what to do or how to feel or what to say. “Promise me…”

  “Anything.”

  “Promise me if we ever do anything, you won’t let me be this drunk.”

  Gwendolyn moves to Lila’s hip. She squeezes lightly, right above the love handle, and smiles. “I promise.”

  “Because this would be really sloppy. And I am anything but sloppy.”

  “I am sure you’re not.”

  “I’m super smooth.”

  “Oh, I bet you are.”

  Lila feels herself hiccup and sees the glint in Gwendolyn’s eyes. “You have no idea.”

  “I know. Believe me.” She laughs again, low and sultry, and moves into the space she vacated earlier. Lila cannot take her eyes away. She’s perfect. In every single way.

  Except she’s not…and deep down, Lila knows this.

  Chapter Ten

  Gwendolyn’s research has told her a lot regarding chemotherapy. She made sure to read as much as she could about the poisonous drug cocktails in her downtime. Since she’s staying and helping out, she plans on not being a spectator, even if that is the only position she originally felt she held. A lot of her insecurities and feelings regarding her presence in the house have to do with her inability to heal from the past. She really did understand. But the understanding and the hours and hours of staring at WebMD and Cancer Centers of American websites does nothing to prepare her for reality. Nothing makes it easier to deal with. She is a mess most days. And as the third round of chemo creeps closer and closer, she sinks deeper and deeper into messy.

  “I am so fucking selfish.” Gwendolyn stares at her reflection in her old bedroom. She’s a mess trying to handle her mother’s declining health. And she hates feeling as if she isn’t handling it well. Her mother has been on the toilet for days and can barely choke down food. She’s not handling the second round well at all. And Gwendolyn is the one who’s freaking out.

  She doesn’t remember it being like this when she was a kid. Is that because it was a different kind of cancer? Or is it because she was seven, and nothing bothered her? Or is it because the cancer wasn’t as progressed? She tried to ask her dad the other night at dinner, and he waved her off every time. She’s getting more and more upset with his inability to help even a little bit. He teaches all day, then comes home for dinner, and before long, he disappears, leaving Gwendolyn to take care of her mother.

  This is one of those nights. And Gwendolyn freaked out. Her mother hasn’t been able to keep food down for the past two days. She’s called her dad three times so far, hoping he’ll pick up, tell her what to do, but of course, she gets his voice mail every time. And the mailbox is full. Needless to say, she’s at the end of her rope.

  She exits the bathroom after taking as many deep breaths as possible and turns the corner into the living room. Her mother is lying on the couch, a blanket pulled over her. She’s always cold, which the doctor confirmed was from neuropathy. Her form of chemo is intense, and the drug causing the neuropathy is the most intense of the cocktail. Her feet are always cold, her hands even more so, and the gloves and fuzzy socks are doing nothing to help. Gwendolyn grabbed the heating pad while she was in the bathroom and shows it to her mother.

  “I think this might help.”

  “Oh, thank you so much, Gwennie. I was going to say that or…”

  Gwendolyn plugs the pad into the outlet and cranks up the temp before wrapping it around her mother’s feet. “Or what?”

  “Maybe a hot bath. But…” Her eyes close, and Gwendolyn knows what she wants to say. A couple days have passed since she’s been able to hold anything down, so she’s nervous about being in the bathtub.

  “We’ll try this. If it helps, great. If not, then we’ll chance a bath, okay?” She sits on the floor in front of the couch, her back to her mother, her knees up, feet flat. She watches TV, Annalise Keating strutting through a courthouse, the Keating Five trailing behind her. Gwendolyn knows her mother loves How to Get Away with Murder, so she put it on, hoping it would help take her mind off the pain. Everything hurts these days: her back, her left shoulder blade, her neck…It all scares Gwendolyn in ways she doesn’t know how to handle. She deluded herself into thinking she’d be okay dealing with all this, but she doesn’t know what to do with her emotions. How is she supposed to continue to be patient, calm, and caring for a woman who was never those things for her? It’s becoming more and more difficult. And not being able to speak with her father regarding the matter is getting really irritating. She knows he’s busy, but for fuck’s sake, it’s his wife.

  “Thank you for putting this show on, Gwennie.” Her whisper is strained, and when Gwendolyn glances over, her eyes are closed. She looks wonderful, even with the dark circles u
nder her eyes, the knit cap securely over her bald head. Her eyebrows have survived the chemo, but they are thinning as the days pass.

  Gwendolyn feels an ache in her heart when her mother’s face winces in pain. The pain seems to be constant these days. Vicodin has been surpassed, and she’s on Dilaudid now and even then, it doesn’t seem to touch the pain. At first, she waved off the medicine. “I refuse to become a pill popper like my brothers and sisters.” Gwendolyn knew the second the pain became unbearable because she took the medicine without an ounce of fight.

  The worst part is, her mother is right. A family of ten—five girls, five boys—and every single one of them have some sort of addiction. Her mother is the only one to go to college. She worked two jobs to make ends meet, went to school full-time, and graduated with honors with a secondary education degree in English. Her master’s degree is in educational leadership, but she decided to stay teaching because she loves coaching so much. And it really does suit her. She has always been an amazing coach.

  Even more so now, which is so shocking. She can suffer through the evening, hardly eats, barely sleeps, then pulls herself out of bed at five in the morning for practice. She has skipped the weightlifting the last week. She keeps saying Lila can handle it, but Gwendolyn knows she wants to be there. She can’t do it all, though, and it’s becoming clearer. To everyone.

  There’s been a steady stream of girls visiting for the past couple of weeks. They stop in at all hours of the evening to bring all sorts of crazy things to their favorite coach. Rylee actually brought over a cardboard cut-out of Captain America because her mother loves the Marvel movies so much, which is news to Gwendolyn.

  She’s learning so much. Her mother reads like crazy. All sorts of books, from romance novels to historical fiction to biographies. She has reread Michelle Obama’s book three times and is on her fourth time through Hillary Clinton’s latest. It doesn’t really make sense because Gwendolyn always assumed her parents were staunch republicans. She remembers them hating Bill Clinton’s years and cannot believe her mother let go of her hatred for HRC.

  But she has…and it’s a really nice change.

  She’s also really into puzzles. Gwendolyn laughed when her dad spread the pieces on the dining room table. Her mother would never have let that clutter stay there in the past. Now she sits in there for as long as the pain pills allow and tries to put as much together as possible. The current puzzle is a Thomas Kinkade painting of a mountain range. Gwendolyn tries to help, but all she can do is watch her mother.

  Who spent years and years hating everything about her.

  Coming out was not easy. Not even a little bit. So trying to handle all of this, the emotions, the pain, the push and pull of love and hate, it’s wearing on her. She isn’t sure if she’s still mad or insanely hurt.

  She hears her mother’s soft snores and knows the pain pill finally kicked in. She checks to see if the heating pad has worked. The feet are toasty warm, and she feels a bit of pride knowing she handled something without freaking out.

  Well, freaking out much.

  She hears the front door open and close. Her immediate thought is that her dad has decided to come home. Finally. She is pleasantly surprised when Lila pokes her head through the entryway. She’s holding a Dairy Dip bag and two spoons, she’s smiling, and she looks stunning in her sweatpants and T-shirt.

  “Peanut butter cup hurricane?” Lila whispers after she slips her shoes off and pads to where Gwendolyn is sitting. She carefully pulls the ice cream out of the bag and hands it over.

  “How did you know this was my favorite?”

  “I took a chance.” She presents the spoon before she pulls another cup from the bag, an Oreo version. And Gwendolyn finds herself torn between being happy she has the peanut butter cup and sad because she also loves Oreos. Lila glances up, a spoonful of hurricane halfway to her mouth. “Do you want this one?”

  “Can I have a bite?”

  Lila chuckles softly. “Of course you can. We can share.” She moves the spoon toward Gwendolyn’s mouth.

  When the treat hits her tongue, she smiles as she chews the melty goodness. “This is hitting all the spots.”

  “Good.”

  “Mom’s been asleep for a little bit now.” Gwendolyn sighs. “I was getting worried.”

  “You handled it,” Lila whispers as she steals a bite of peanut butter cup. She moans softly. The sound is almost too much for Gwendolyn’s very deprived sex life, but she’s trying her hardest to stop focusing on those things. None of it is important when she considers how much pain her mother is in. She has no room to feel deprived, to feel anything but thankful that she’s healthy and can be here to help.

  “Barely.” Gwendolyn smiles around a bite. “My dad has been absent. I don’t know how to discuss it with him.” She glances at Lila, trying to gauge her reaction; after all, she has been a part of the family for the past however many years. She should know the ins and outs of her parents’ relationship, shouldn’t she? Gwendolyn only knows the bare minimum, which is whatever her dad discusses when he comes to visit LA once a year. Everything seemed fine the last time they spoke. She can’t wrap her brain around why he won’t give a little when it comes to her mother’s treatment plan now.

  “I mean…” Lila jams her spoon into the hurricane, stirs it a couple times, then places a huge spoonful in her mouth. She chews and chews before she finishes her thought with, “I’m sure it’s hard on him.”

  “Doesn’t he realize how hard this is on me?” Gwendolyn motions to her mother, still sound asleep, softly snoring. “Hell, how hard it is on her? This isn’t a cold she’s dealing with.”

  “I know.”

  “Lila, seriously.” Gwendolyn stretches her legs, leans forward, and looks back. Lila’s auburn hair is piled on top of her head, a yellow scrunchie holding the massive bun in place. Her T-shirt has a V ripped along the neck and has the Vale Park Lemurs logo across the front. There shouldn’t be anything sexy about her old Purdue sweatpants or the smear of ice cream at the corner of her mouth or the chipped magenta polish on her toenails. Lila has no idea how cute she is, how flawless her skin is, how unflattering her sweatpants are, but goddammit, everything about her is so gorgeous and wonderful. Lila is sexy in this completely out of the blue way, and Gwendolyn has to hold herself back from leaning forward to kiss her.

  “Seriously? What?”

  Gwendolyn gingerly wipes the ice cream from the corner of Lila’s mouth. The warmth of her skin causes Gwendolyn’s cheeks to fill with heat. She glances up quickly. “Sorry, you just had…yeah.” She wipes the ice cream from her finger as Lila wipes at her mouth with the back of her hand. Gwendolyn clears her throat, smiles, and shakes her head. “I don’t know what I was going to say.”

  “Yeah, well, your ice cream is melting.”

  * * *

  When Lila opens the freezer to put the remains of the hurricanes inside, she sticks her head in as well, letting the cold help with the heat radiating from her face. She cannot believe how stupid she must have looked with ice cream on her mouth. What is she? Five?

  She hears a throat clear behind her, and is once again caught looking like a fool. She slams the door and spins. Gwendolyn is standing in the kitchen, arms folded, a giant smile displayed.

  “Checking to make sure the freezer was working.”

  “And is it?”

  “Sure is.” Lila quietly claps her hands. “Never can be too sure. Y’know?”

  “Oh, for sure, in this heat?”

  “I mean, right?” Lila goes to lean against the counter, misjudges the distance, and loses her footing. She stumbles the couple of steps to the counter and catches herself with her left hand on the edge of the granite. “Jesus,” she mumbles. She can hear the very low snicker from Gwendolyn. She shakes her head. “That spot in the floor is raised. Didn’t you know that? I figured you knew that.”

  “I did not know that. Must have happened after I left.”

  “Oh, yeah, must have.�
� Lila leans against the counter and crosses her left leg over her right. She thought the ice cream was bad. Well, now she’s been caught with her head in the freezer, tripped over nothing, and almost fell down. And she’s completely sober.

  She glances at Gwendolyn, who takes a couple steps toward her, arms still crossed. Her smile is fading, but her eyes are sparkling, and in the dim light, they look even bluer than normal. The color reminds Lila of Lake Michigan on a clear day. Blue with a turquoise tint, and up until she actually laid eyes on Gwendolyn, she never thought that color could exist outside of nature. She has started to find comfort in Gwendolyn’s eyes. An escape from the reality, even though actually escaping isn’t an option. She wants to jump headfirst into everything happening. The past couple of weeks have been incredible. From impromptu coffee dates at the hospital during Carol’s treatments to beers while helping them put together the latest puzzle.

  Their relationship has gone from horrible to strained to nerve-wracking to comfortable in less than a month. The speed at which she felt drawn to Gwendolyn was frightening at first. She’s been in love before; a couple times, actually. She understands what the feeling does to her insides, to her heart, to her soul. She knows also the pain and heartache caused by the loss of love. And everything in between. But everything happening with Gwendolyn is so far from past experiences, she’s not sure how to gauge what the hell is going on. She wants to ask so many questions, dissect all the parts of every conversation, every look, every touch because deconstructing things and putting them back together makes sense. She teaches English, grammar, and literature and instinctively wants to break apart sentences and find the deeper meaning behind the words.

  The push and pull inside her heart and mind is causing her to question everything she’s afraid of. Not the actual act of falling, but the idea of fighting it shakes her to the very core.

  She wants to love. She wants to be loved.

  But she doesn’t want to do any of that with Gwendolyn Carter. Nothing about it would be good for either of them. Bella reminds her daily how Gwendolyn is a ship passing through. She will leave, she will not stay, and she will always be driven by the idea of escaping her roots for a life filled with anonymous fame. It makes sense to a certain extent because Vale Park holds nothing but memories and high school friends, and the idea of leaving it all behind to pursue a dream is exciting. How does Lila fit into any of that?