The Roots of Us

by Candace Knoebel

  She smacked my hand away from the edge of my dress. “Yes, you are. And if you keep tugging on those beads, that dress of yours is going to fall apart.”

  It was the only dress I owned. I bought it on clearance from Macy’s for the award ceremony Silas and I attended a month ago for the documentary. I liked the way it felt when the beads grazed along my knees. Plus, it was cheap and form-fitting. That couldn’t be beat.

  “I’m sorry.” I took another, long sip from my glass. “I don’t know why I’m nervous.”

  That was a lie. I wanted to tell her that Hudson had sold the diner. That Lucas had to have known what Hudson’s plans were, and that I didn’t know if I had the strength to keep from asking about him.

  “I have an idea,” Mom said a moment later, her eyes digging into mine. “It’s those feelings of yours that you keep dodging. You’re worried they’re going to bite you in the ass when you see this man.”

  My breathing stilled. Heart slamming sad beats against my chest. Memories bounced along the edges of my skull.

  “You’re scared you’re going to ask about Hudson, aren’t you?”

  I hated how she could do that. My mind was supposed to be my own. It was supposed to be unreadable, but apparently it betrayed me.

  The window separating us from the driver slid down. “We’re here,” he said as he pulled up against the curb.

  My nerves were splitting at the seams, dripping anxiety into my stomach. I took in a deep breath, trying to rein it in. Why was I reacting this way? It was just Lucas. But there was a presage in the air, standing behind a corner, waiting for the right moment to sneak up on me.

  “You ready?” Mom asked as we scooted to the door.

  I nodded despite my lungs protesting.

  The Hollywood sun, somewhat grandeur and pompous, was finally beginning to set so the moon could take her turn on stage. I read the sign above the gallery wedged in between a line of lavish shops. Celestial Trade Co. Through the gallery windows, I noted the hoard of people gathering around the exhibits.

  The driver opened the door. Extended a hand to help my mother out, and then me.

  “Thank you, sir,” Mom said, batting her lashes at him. Any chance she could, she flirted. It was like she was possessed by Aphrodite. Reveling in her newfound obsession with love.

  “Hartley, you made it,” Lucas said as he appeared through the glass doors, dressed in a gray suit. Golden hair slicked back. He cleaned up nicely. His smile easy on the eyes.

  “I did,” I said as I walked into his hug. I hadn’t realized how much I missed him until that moment. All the jokes we’d shared about Hudson. “Thank you for the ride.”

  “It was nothing. Come in. I have a special surprise for you,” he said, rushing us inside. A cacophony of voices filled the large room, blending together, carrying the same note of excitement.

  Lucas led us through the room, stopping only briefly to pluck two flutes of champagne from the tray of a tuxedo-wearing server. He held them out for Mom and me, and then continued forward, practically bouncing on his toes the closer we got to the center of the room.

  And then I finally saw what the big fuss was about.

  Underneath a perfectly placed light was the sculpture I’d memorized by heart. Every scrap of metal. Every delicately welded curve. It was Hudson’s piece he’d been working on. The girl with the camera. I found the title to the piece on a metal plaque near the base of the piece.

  Fortuna’s Gift.

  Memories crashed like shattered glass in my mind. Broken bits of happiness like shrapnel in my heart. The way he used to trace the outline of my collarbone as we laid in bed on Sunday mornings. How he’d look over at me while we watched television, as if he wanted to make sure I was still there. Still his. He always smelled of metal and fire. Always tasted like mint.

  I turned. “This is Hudson’s,” I said to Lucas, my heart turning itself inside out. Pulse thrumming in my ears. “He’s here?”

  Lucas pointed with his chin to the hulking man hiding in the back corner of the gallery. Stoic and brooding as always. “He doesn’t know I invited you. When he sold the diner, he told me he was going to pursue his dream. He’d spent enough time waiting. I had to back him. I had the money, and nowhere to spend it. Not until him.”

  Hudson stuck out like a sore thumb amongst the elite. He wore a flannel shirt, half untucked over his dark denim jeans. A toothpick twirling between his teeth. His hair was down, large curling wisps hanging over his eyes, separating him from the room. How many times had I tucked those same locks behind his ears? Told him to stop hiding? And to complete my shock, his beard was gone, like ivy cleared from an abandoned structure. There you are, I thought. A long, narrow jawline. Lips fuller than I remembered.

  “I might be overstepping, but he’s miserable, Hartley,” Lucas said. “He tries to pretend he isn’t, especially when he’s around his brother, but I knew the Hudson before you, and the Hudson after you. This…” he said, indicating the gallery. “All of this happened because of you.” Lucas touched my arm, a soft, gentle, coaxing touch. “It’s his shrine.”

  No, it’s his garden, I thought, thinking of his mother as my lungs fought to breathe.

  “I just thought… maybe if I could get you two together…” Lucas continued, worry circling around his words.

  “Go to him,” my mother leaned in and whispered.

  I couldn’t. I wanted to. Oh, how badly did I want to. But it was because I loved him that I couldn’t. I wouldn’t come between brothers. I refused. He asked for space, and I’d become the master of creating it.

  “I should go.” I handed my mom the glass of champagne I held, and then headed for the door, trying not to notice the other pieces in the gallery. They were all of me. Some small. Others were large. Some happy, others pieced together with an obvious pain.

  Every moment I shared with him chased me on the way out the door.

  Once outside, I stopped, inhaling as my heart rattled against the bars of its cage. The night felt warm and alive, and I needed to get out of there. I tried hailing a taxi, but they blew by me. I had to move. Had to get away. He was there, in my city. Within arm’s reach, only I wasn’t allowed to touch him anymore.

  I started walking when I felt a hand on my arm. I was spun so fast I collided with a steel wall of chest.

  “Hartley.”

  It was Hudson.

  My heart conceded. Knees weak.

  He moved a piece of hair that had fallen from my updo, back behind my ear. Stared at my mouth with a longing that burned me to my marrow.

  “I didn’t know, Hudson. I’m sorry. Lucas called and—”

  “I’m glad you’re here.”

  I felt my eyebrows furrow. “You are?”

  He nodded, the toothpick on the side of his mouth. Whatever he was about to say was going to burn me in all the best ways. His eyes were bright and inviting, like they were before he ripped open his heart for me and confessed.

  “After everything that happened, I found the only way I kept myself from going completely insane was to tap into the one thing you left behind. Every feeling. Every moment. I fused them together like I could keep them there, frozen for all eternity.”

  An ache was knotting in my throat. The fists of my heart banging against the ragged walls of my chest. His eyes were swallowing me, dragging me back to the past, and I didn’t have it in me to resist.

  “You became my muse, Hartley. And then, when I didn’t have any more room, the pieces had to be moved in order for me to work on something new. Silas came home for a while, and we wallowed in our misery together. He was the one who started arranging the pieces in the backyard. And he was the one who yanked me from my shop and handed me a shovel.

  “We planted a white oak in the center of the pieces. It’s little right now, but one day it’s going to be a great shade tree and have the deepest roots. That’s what Silas told me when he brought it home and made me plant it.

  “Lucas dropped by not long after that.
I swear I actually saw the light bulb pop up over his head.” He chuckled softly, and then gave a half shrug before continuing. “It was symbolic, what Silas did, by getting us that tree and putting it in the center of the pieces I’d created. We have roots now, Silas and me. We have roots now, because of you.”

  My eyes and my nose were burning. I wanted so badly to fall into his words. To close the gap between us and take his lips against mine. Taste the pain on his tongue. But there was an invisible line between us I couldn’t cross. I wouldn’t. Not until he gave the green light.

  “How are you two?” I asked, wrapping an arm across my aching chest. I didn’t tell him that his brother and I didn’t get along. Didn’t confess Silas had reverted to his assholish, childish ways. How could I?

  His face lit like stadium lights. “Really good. I moved out here a while back. He let me crash with him until I got on my feet. I’m hoping the turnaround from this exhibition will make me enough to put money down on a house, since I didn’t sell the one in Florida. I couldn’t… I’m not ready to let that piece of my mom go.”

  “I didn’t know you moved out here.” My voice was so light the words were barely heard. This was a new position for me… longing for a person I couldn’t have. I had always been on the other side of that. Always the rabbit being chased… but he made me want to stand still.

  His gaze dodged to the side, and I wondered if he could sense those gigantic feelings I still felt for him pulsing through my veins. If any of his still remained.

  Bravery wove its fingers through mine, trying to help me through this. “I’m happy for you, Hudson. You deserve this happiness.”

  “What about you?” he asked, shoving his hands into his pockets. He was under my skin again. Crawling through my veins. Making his way toward my heart.

  “I’m good.” I avoided his eyes. They were like stepping in quicksand. “I see you shaved.”

  He rubbed at his face, a sideways grin pulling at the corners of his mouth. “It was time.”

  “Any particular reason?” I felt myself falling back into our old rhythm.

  “Lucas’ fiancée Bella said it’d be the best thing if I wanted to connect with potential clients. She said they could only handle so much gruff.”

  “I like your gruff, Bear Man.” I stopped short when that bottomless gaze of his found mine. I cleared my throat. “And Bilbo?”

  “He’s adjusting to the new city. It’s been tough not having as much green to play in, but for the most part, he’s happy.” He paused, a thought dancing within his eyes. “I think he misses you, though. We both do.”

  He ran his thumb over my cheek. It was there, in his gaze. He wasn’t over me either. If it wasn’t found in his eyes, it could be found back in that art gallery.

  I leaned into his hand, eyes squeezed shut, heart crawling through my skin, crying out for him. The night air swelled, wrapping warm arms around us, coaxing us to give in to that electric energy living within our fingertips.

  He obliged. Pulled me closer, his scent winding around me like a long overdue hug. “Hartley, I—”

  “Yo, Hudson!”

  We both stepped away from each other the moment Silas strolled up to us. I felt a subtle shift in the air, as if the night had let out a heavy, disappointed sigh.

  I couldn’t agree more.

  “Hartley?” he said as he shook his brother’s hand in hello. “I didn’t know you were coming.” He was eying us down. Sniffing us out. But he was much too calculated to be aloof.

  He was a vacuum, sucking away any chance I had at reconciling with Hudson.

  “Hey,” I said, straightening my shoulders on an inhale. “Lucas invited me.”

  I felt shitty. Slimy. Gross for having to explain myself to him. I was sick of it. Sick of trying to respect a man who thought only about himself. Who used the leverage of his brother’s love as a means to dictate who he could and could not be with. He acted like I was doing something wrong. Breaking some sort of Silas law. I could almost hear it, Thou shall not date my brother when you can date me.

  His eyes zeroed in on me as if he’d picked up on what I was thinking. His darkened expression answered my own unspoken thoughts. You are. If I can’t have you, neither can Hudson.

  How I ever thought he was my friend was beyond me.

  “Cool,” Silas said dismissively. He turned to Hudson. “Hey, man. Remember that chick I was telling you about? She’s here. I got her primed for you.”

  Jealousy flexed her claws. Bitterness cracked her knuckles. Silas said that on purpose. To hurt me. It was confirmed in Hudson’s eyes, pity and remorse standing out like weeds in a garden. And again in Silas’ shadow of a grin at the corners of his lips.

  “Si, I told you. I don’t want to be set up with anyone. I have too much on my plate as it is.”

  “She isn’t looking for love, brother. At least not in the emotional sense.” Silas tossed a repulsive wink in my direction.

  I hated how easily the words fell from his lips. As if they wouldn’t drive a knife clean through my heart. “I should go,” I said, my stomach sloshing like rocky waters. Images of his hands on someone else. His words caressing their skin. His fingertips digging into their flesh rose like bile in my throat.

  “Hartley,” Hudson said, his hand a whisper underneath my elbow. “Please—”

  I pulled my arm back. “Again, it was nice seeing you. Congratulations.” I glared at Silas, all respect drained from my gaze. “I’ll see you on Monday.”

  He nodded, his eyes closing up shop, and then he pulled Hudson away.

  AUGUST 30, 2017

  THE GOOD THING ABOUT LIVING in LA was there was always something happening. Always a premier or a party or a celebrity at some club. LA at night was like gold in my veins. She breathed me in, taking me under her wing for the night, making me feel like I was more than average. Making my hurts feel small compared to her grandeur. With her, I stayed busy. I formed a new routine.

  Edit, party, wake up hungover, and then repeat.

  I made sure I took the back streets that led me around Lucas’ gallery. I formed an unhealthy obsession with checking Facebook. Hudson’s page was no longer a one-post sob story. It was full of colorful people and art and a lifestyle I didn’t fit into.

  I’d become a stalker, checking often. Trying to make sure I wasn’t heading to where he was going to be. He went to this club, so I went to that one. Silas took him to this restaurant, so I went to that one. He took a picture with his new girlfriend, so I kissed that random guy. I felt like I was in Hudson’s life, only he was on the other side of the glass. I couldn’t touch him. He couldn’t see me.

  But I found comfort in the fact that he was there, and he was doing well.

  When my contract was up with Silas, I decided it was time to part ways. Nothing was the same between us after that night at Hudson’s debut. We barely met each other’s eyes. Although I understood why Silas felt and acted the way he did, I still couldn’t bring myself to accept it.

  Too many times we made our feelings the responsibility of others. We thought—you made me happy or you made me sad. But the truth was, only ourselves made us feel those things.

  Silas was mad at me because I didn’t choose him. But I didn’t make him feel that way. He chose to take the truth of my feelings for Hudson, and, instead of accepting them and moving on, he set boundaries like he was on some sort of adolescent power trip. One that Hudson and I played into, tying our hands back from what we both wanted, both for different reasons. I couldn’t be the one who caused another rift between them. Hudson would never do something that would cause him to lose his brother all over again. Invisible knots kept all three of us apart.

  It was the right choice when I declined his next project and he didn’t fight me on it. We’d hit a dead-end, and it was time I moved on.

  And I did.

  I moved on with Jack and Johnnie, and sometimes Jim.

  I’d come to realize I liked whiskey. A lot.

  I liked to dri
nk until I didn’t think about him anymore.

  Oreos went to the wayside, replaced by an amber liquid that warmed up my cold, dead insides.

  I also liked running. A lot.

  I liked to run until the pain in my lungs dimmed the pain in my heart.

  I told myself I was going through a change. Evolving. Like taste buds. An every seven-year itch. I wasn’t tied to any man. I wasn’t tied to any project. I was in the city of Angels, where dreams became reality. I was still in control, and I was happier than I’d ever been.

  Until I’d catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror.

  There were purple half moons under my eyes that had never been there before, and my gaze had a faraway, detached look to them I couldn’t decipher. I was watching hope die inside my eyes, and didn’t know how to stop it.

  My heart became a battle ground, warring over the hate I held for myself and my fucked up decisions, and my defiant need to stand behind those decisions.

  My mom would pop in every other night to put some kind of casserole in my fridge. She said I was getting too thin. I was whittling away. Maybe I was, because I felt like old bones buried in a grave. Hollow and broken. Hiding behind withering skin.

  If this was what love felt like, I didn’t want it anymore. I needed an exorcism. A new interest.

  I found it unexpectedly in yoga. I couldn’t walk two blocks in LA without passing some kind of yoga studio, and Mom wouldn’t take no for an answer when she dragged me out of bed one morning, still hungover, and forced me to go with her.

  At first, I thought it was ridiculous. What good would putting my body into those awkward angles do? But it was after my third session, when I started to get the hang of it, that it clicked into place.

  I found a quiet happiness inside my mind. One where no man could enter. It was just me, trying to learn to love myself. To forgive myself. To let everything go.

  I realized self-sabotage had tricked me into becoming my invisible best friend. I created him when I couldn’t cope with my father’s departure. He held my hand, telling me lies about love and about men, because those lies were easier to digest at twelve years old. My mind wasn’t mature enough, hadn’t been through enough, to understand that people were people, flaws and all… even parents.