by T. J. Klune
“It’s fine. Besides, isn’t breaking dishes supposed to be cathartic? It always is in the movies.”
“Yeah, but then you’d have to clean it up. They don’t show you that part in the movies.”
I grip the edges of the counter. “He said—he said it’s too much sometimes. Having her here. With the twins on the way.”
“That—doesn’t sound like him.”
“No. It doesn’t.”
“He’s usually the calm one.”
“Yeah.”
“But that doesn’t mean he always has to be.”
“Great. So both of us will be messes. Fantastic.”
“There was this girl.”
“Apropos of what now?”
He clears his throat, and I turn to face him. He’s sitting down at the table. He’s so big, it looks almost comical, like he’s at a child’s tea party. “A few months back, I got called out to a house. Neighbors had called. Said there’d been screaming at the house next door. They heard it every now and then, but it sounded like it’d been escalating and they were worried. There was a little girl that lived in the house, and they wanted to make sure she was safe.”
“I don’t know how you do it,” I admit.
“What?”
“Be a cop. Seeing some of the things that you do.”
“Ty doesn’t either. He worries. He understands why, but he doesn’t always get the how. But as long as we have the former, I can deal with the latter.”
“He told you this?”
Dom laughs quietly. “All the time.”
“Do you fight about it?”
“Not really. Not anymore.”
“Because of the why?”
“Because of the why.”
The why being Dom having witnessed his father murder his mother. It didn’t need to be said out loud, and in the end, I don’t know that it’s my business anyway. Dom’s childhood was filled with more horror than I could ever understand, and the fact that he’s standing at all, much less that he’s as strong as he is, is a testament to who he is. I remember the bitterness in the Kid’s voice, the anguish when Dom had told him what he wanted to do with his life. Ty had been so scared for him, the idea of Dom putting himself in harm’s way on purpose almost unfathomable. And I don’t think that fear ever truly went away, especially with today’s climate toward cops in general. Dom, though. Dom was one of the good ones.
“What happened when you got to the house?”
“By then,” Dom says, hands folded on top of the table, “another call had come in to 911. A little girl, saying that her mom and dad were fighting, and that her dad had hit her mom. Her mom was bleeding, and she was scared and needed help.”
“Jesus Christ.”
“She was very brave,” Dom says. “And she did the right thing. By the time I pulled up, another officer was already there at the front door. He was knocking, and I could hear a woman crying inside through an open window. It only took a moment before the door opened, and there was the little girl, staying on the phone like she was told to until the police arrived. She was only seven years old, and she was scared, but she was doing everything she was told to do. She was very brave. Her mom already had a nasty bruise on her cheek, and her dad was sitting on the couch, his face in his hands. He didn’t try and resist. He came willingly, and you know what I thought then?”
I shake my head.
“I thought about you and Ty. That, while there was no physical abuse, there was abuse just the same. That the both of you had been through as much as you had, and you came out all right in the end. And I told myself that this girl, this brave little girl could eventually do the same. Because she reminded me of the both of you. She asked a lot of questions. What was going to happen to her. To her mom. To her dad. If I ever turned on the sirens just for fun in my patrol car. If I had to eat a lot to stay as big as I was.”
“Your grocery bill is terrifying.”
He rolls his eyes. “Most of that is Ty’s food. Being a vegetarian is expensive.”
“Why did you tell me this?”
“Because, Bear, she reminded me of you. And of Ty. But also of Izzie, okay? Because you and Ty had to deal with your mother for as long as you did, but eventually, she left. And while it didn’t seem like it at the time, it was the best thing that could have happened to the both of you. You were free from her.”
And it hits me then. “Izzie wasn’t.”
He shakes his head. “She wasn’t. For years, Julie McKenna was all she knew. I guarantee you that you’ll probably never know the extent of what that woman did to Izzie. Because abuse doesn’t have to be physical. You of all people should know that. So her being here might be scary for you and Otter, and it might be overwhelming, especially with all that’s going on, but it’s got to be worse for her. She’s only ever known your mother. She didn’t know any of us before she came.”
“Otter loves her,” I tell him. “As much as Ty and I do.”
“I know he does,” Dom says. “And people say stuff they don’t mean all the time. All you need to do is look at me and Ty to prove that. We should have—it could have been different, I think. But things happen for a reason. The road we took to each other—the road all of us took—wasn’t an easy one. But we’re here, you know? And we’ve been here. For a while. Izzie hasn’t. She’s still new to all of this. She just needs to be reassured of her place sometimes. You guys have a lot going on. Don’t forget about her too.”
“I haven’t always been nice to you.”
He looks amused at that. “You had your reasons.”
“Maybe. And I can’t say I wouldn’t be the same if I had to do it all over again.”
“I wouldn’t expect any different.”
“But I don’t think I was right. Not always.”
He arches an eyebrow at me. “That so?”
“I should have seen it from where you were coming from. I didn’t do that. I only thought about Tyson.”
“I don’t blame you for that.”
“Maybe not. But you are a part of this family just as much as he is. And I think I forgot that for a little while.”
He nods slowly. “Just don’t let Izzie forget that, okay? Because she will, if she’s not reminded.”
“I’m really glad you followed Tyson home that day.”
He grins at me, wide and bright. “Me too.”
I’M HALFWAY up the stairs when my phone goes off in my pocket. There’s a text from Creed when I pull it out.
He’s here. And he feels like shit. Want me to make his life miserable?
No, I type back. Then, Well, maybe a little.
Consider it done. I bought JJ a guitar. He’s terrible. I’ll make him play for his uncle.
That’s harsh. Keep him there for a little bit. I’ll text you.
The jazz blasting from Izzie’s room has been turned down a bit, and I hope that’s a good sign. I knock on the door and wait.
I hear voices inside whispering back and forth, and it’s only a moment before the door opens, a furious-looking Tyson standing in front of me, arms crossed over his chest.
“Is that your intimidating pose?” I ask him. “Because it needs a little work. Ask your boyfriend how it should really look.”
“Otter’s a jerk,” he says hotly.
“And you know as well as I do that he didn’t mean it.”
He deflates a little at that. “Yeah, yeah. But he’s still a jerk.”
“I probably wasn’t helping things.”
“Are you guys getting divorced?”
I laugh. “No. What the hell.”
“It needed to be asked.”
“Did it?”
“I told Izzie that if you did, we’d get two Christmases.”
“You really need to stop listening to JJ.”
“I’m mad at you. Izzie is too.”
“You are not my spokesperson,” I hear our sister say from somewhere in the room. “Like I would ever allow someone who doesn’t eat meat to speak
for me. You are an embarrassment to humanity.”
I’m a little relieved to hear that she doesn’t sound too upset.
Ty glares over his shoulder. “Right, because advocating murder is better than—”
“Did you know that PETA is responsible for killing almost fifteen hundred animals in 2015? And almost thirty-five thousand since they started being tracked in 1998. I would think if anyone wants to discuss murder, we should start there.”
The Kid lets out a strangled noise. “You know I’ve distanced myself from them! And why are you googling those statistics? You are a little girl. You should be collecting stickers or talking about boys.”
“Not all of us are you.”
“Hey! I don’t do any of that!”
“You’re a vegetarian. How am I supposed to know that?”
“Children,” I say with a sigh.
“I am not a child,” both of them growl at me at the same time. It’s really rather disconcerting just how much they sound alike. How much they sound like me.
“Can I speak with Izzie, please?” I ask Ty, who still hasn’t moved out of the way.
“Are you going to make her sad?” he retorts.
I smack him upside the head.
“Hey!”
“Don’t be stupid,” I scold him. “Go downstairs and keep your boyfriend company. You know how he gets when you’re away from him for too long.”
“That’s ridiculously codependent and unhealthy,” Izzie mutters.
“Welcome to the family,” Ty says before stepping forward. “Stay right there for a minute.” He shuts the door behind him and looks back at me. “What the hell.”
I sigh. “He didn’t mean it. And according to Creed, he’s kicking his own ass right now. No one plays the martyr like Otter Thompson.”
“No one except for you. Or me.” He frowns. “Wow. That is unhealthy.”
“Yeah. Maybe we should change that.”
“Meh,” he says. “I’m set in my ways.”
“Creed is making JJ play the guitar for him as punishment.”
The Kid makes a face. “No one deserves that. Not even Otter.”
“I got this, okay? Go downstairs, keep Dom company. Or better yet. Go home.”
“Kicking me out already, Papa Bear? I might get the idea that you don’t want me here anymore.”
I reach up and put my hand on the back of his neck, leaning forward until our foreheads touch. “I always want you here,” I tell him quietly. “You know that.”
He hums a little under his breath. “Yeah. I know.”
“I’m glad she had you to call. Thank you for coming for her.”
He shrugs, looking a little embarrassed. “I just—I wanted to make sure everything was okay.”
“I know.”
“And you are too, right?”
“Yeah. Or I will be. He’s…. It’s getting close.”
“The babies.”
“Yeah. And one of us was bound to crack first. I just thought it’d be me.”
“You’re stronger than you think, Papa Bear,” he tells me. “I wish you’d remember that.”
“He loves her. As much as you or I do. And we’ll make sure she knows that.”
He hugs me then, and I remember when he was just a little guy, sitting in my lap in the kitchen of the shitty fucking apartment, tugging on my fingers, telling me that everything would be okay. Dom was right. We’ve come so goddamn far.
“Just call if you need anything, okay?” he says near my ear. “Even if you just need us to take her off your hands for a little bit.”
“We will.”
He grins at me as he pulls back. He turns and opens the door to Izzie’s room, leaning his head in. “Hey.”
“Hey, yourself,” she says, and I close my eyes because she fits.
“I’m going to head out, okay? Bear’s got some stuff to talk to you about. It’s going to be okay. You hear me, kid?”
“I’m not a kid.”
“They grow up so fast,” he says, voice a little fluttery.
“Get out.”
“You call me if you need me, okay? Always.”
“I know. Now leave so Bear can come in and reassure me like I know he wants to, even though I’m fine.”
“You hear that?” Tyson asks, glancing back at me. “She’s fine.”
“You are so annoying!” she shouts. “God, why do I even put up with you?”
“I love you,” he says.
“I know you do. It’s disgusting. Shut up and go away.”
He laughs. “Will do.”
But before he can exit the doorway, she says, “Thank you. You know. For coming here. For me.”
And I can see how much that affects him by the way he swallows thickly. “Yeah, kid. Sure.” He looks like he wants to say something else, but he shakes his head instead and turns toward the stairs. He doesn’t look back.
She’s sitting on the four-poster bed that she insisted she didn’t need but kept looking at longingly when we took her furniture shopping. Otter had been the one to notice that, and even though the price tag had made me a little cross-eyed, he’s a big pushover, and that was that.
She’s wearing jeans and a shirt with an image of Nikola Tesla on the front, her version of a celebrity crush. It’s weird, but I survived Tyson and his Anderson Cooper phase, so I don’t think too much about it. Her hair is braided back, something Otter had done for her this morning. He’d gotten so good at it, and I found it ridiculously endearing, feeling the need to record it every time on my phone. At last count, I had twenty-three videos of just him braiding her hair, both of them with their tongues sticking out between their teeth.
She glances up at me before looking down at her hands.
“Hi.”
“Hi,” she says, voice soft.
“He didn’t mean it.”
“I know.”
“I know you do,” I say. “But I think you deserve to hear it out loud. So. He didn’t mean it. And I can promise you that when he’s done feeling sorry for himself, he’ll come back and tell you exactly that.”
She picks at the frayed edges of her jeans. “Okay.”
“Can I sit on your bed?”
She rolls her eyes. “You don’t have to ask.”
“It’s your room.”
“In your house.”
“In our house,” I correct her. “And this is your room. So whatever you say goes.”
She narrows her eyes.
“Within reason,” I add hastily.
“Dammit,” she mutters.
“Um. Don’t curse. And other parentisms.”
She sighs, long and loud.
“Wow, you’ve got that teenage-angst thing down pat. Good job.”
“Sit down if you’re going to.”
I do, making sure to sit as close to her as I can without touching. She’s a little weird about touching. She gets uncomfortable if people hang on to her and doesn’t like to be hugged unless she’s the one initiating it. Her therapist gave us some medical blah, blah, blah about it, but Izzie said that’s just who she is, so we took her at her word. She’s getting better at it, but we still respect the boundaries she sets. It’s only fair to her.
“This is your house too,” I say. “And even if you don’t believe that right now, it won’t change anything. You’ll get there.”
“It’s called the Green Monstrosity. It’s the color of nightmares. Maybe I don’t want it to be my house.”
I shrug. “So we’ll move.”
She looks up at me, startled. “What?”
“If you don’t want this to be your house, we’ll move.”
“You would do that,” she says, sounding shocked. “For me.”
“Otter and I both would. Because you’re with us, Izzie. For good. And if this doesn’t feel like home, we’ll find a place for you that does. It may need to wait a little while, until after the twins come, but we’d do it. And if you didn’t want to stay here during that time, that’s okay too.
Dom and Ty would—”
Her eyes are wide when she says, “No, I don’t want to go with them. I want to stay here. I was just kidding. I don’t want to leave. Please don’t. Please just let me stay here. I don’t want to leave you and Otter. You need my help, right? With the babies? I’ll do a good job. I promise. You don’t need to worry about me. I’ll stay quiet and won’t complain about anything and I—”
“Izzie.”
She looks stricken.
“I need you to listen to me, okay? Can you do that?”
She nods, but she won’t look up at me.
“No one, and I mean no one, will ever make you leave. I want you here. Otter wants you here. I promise, okay? If you want to stay here in the Green Monstrosity, then you can do just that. This is our home, and that means you. And we’re going to need so much help. In case you haven’t noticed, Otter and I really don’t know what we’re doing.”
“You guys are kind of pathetic,” she says, sniffling as she wipes her eyes. “I think you’d be lost without me.”
“Probably,” I agree. “And I need you to hear me on one more thing, okay?”
“I know what you’re going to say. I know he didn’t mean it.”
“Do you?”
She shrugs.
“He didn’t mean it. And he’ll be home to tell you exactly that in a little bit, just as soon as he’s done listening to JJ’s guitar concert.”
She snaps her head up and looks at me in horror. “No one deserves that kind of punishment.”
I shrug. “Eh. I bet he’s gritting his teeth right now and telling himself this is his fault. He’s—can I tell you something about him?”
“Is it going to be gross and have to do with all your feelings that you have with each other?”
“Wow. When you put it like that—yes. Yes it will.”
She sighs. “If you must.”
“Back when we were much younger and much stupider—”
“You were stupider than you are now? That’s a feat that boggles the mind. How are you alive?”
“I have no idea,” I admit. “But just shut up and listen to me for a moment.”
“Yikes. I am fragile right now and you tell me to shut up? What if that sets me back?”
“When we were younger and stupider, Otter fell in love with me.”
She sighs dreamily. Then, “If you tell anyone I just did that, I will kick your shins.”
