Patch Up

by Stephanie Witter

  “It’s not about laundry, Duke. You can’t be there every time. You’ve got your life and friends and family. You can’t be my security blanket.”

  “When you’re ready to be on your own again, I’ll give you some space, but I can’t let you go alone if I know he’s got some leverage over you.”

  “Because you see me like a pathetic, fragile girl,” I reply bitterly, putting my things back in my bag before shouldering it.

  “No. It’s because I like your smile and your laugh. I don’t want to see them disappear again.”

  My breath catches in my throat, something so common when I’m around him. How a guy can say things like that to a girl? It’s insane. “So see me back to my room?”

  He opens the door and waves at me to go before him. I smile and walk past him, moved by his behavior, and yet feeling lost in this strange friendship between two broken people.

  Chapter Eight

  “It’s small. I didn’t know it was this small,” my mother says with some kind of weird fascination I can’t explain. With both my parents in the room, it feels even smaller than it really is.

  The tall, athletic frame of my father at the window takes in every single thing. He’s frowning; making his bluish-grey eyes—the ones I inherited—appear darker than they are. His gaze brushes my bare side of the room and compares it with Kate’s. His thin lips are not smiling anymore.

  My mother is more focused on my desk, which is neatly organized with my textbooks and papers next to my laptop. Her light brown, frizzy hair—but tamer than mine—is shorter than the last time I saw her during winter break. She’s also wearing more make-up and she looks younger with the sparkle of delight in her eyes.

  “I told you,” I answer with a smile, remembering the first time I saw the room last semester and called her to tell her how tiny the place was. She didn’t really believe me then.

  “You didn’t put anything personal out.” My father’s voice is stern and it makes me uneasy. I don’t like it when he’s so in control like he is when he’s on the base. When he talks to me, he’s always smiling and soft, but not right now.

  “I’m here to study and I really don’t want to have tons of knick-knacks to move at the end of the year,” I reply with an assurance I’m far from feeling. “And you know I’m not that into posters and stuff.”

  He nods, but his movements are stiff. My mother pats him on the shoulder and forces a smile for me that doesn’t reach her chocolate eyes, which have lost the sparkle that was there just seconds ago.

  The sound of noises of a key in a lock break the silence and the door opens before I have time to move out of the way. The wood bumps into my shoulder.

  “Oh my God! Did I hurt you, Skye?” Kate asks me in a panic, her eyes narrowing on me like she is trying to see through my clothes to look for any injuries. She lets her designer red bag fall to the ground and I cringe at the sound of her books hitting the floor with a low thud. I’m glad her overpriced laptop isn’t in there.

  “I’m fine, Kate.” I wave in the direction of my parents. She follows my movement and her green eyes widen comically. Her heart-shaped face blushes and she brings a hand to her shiny lips.

  “I almost killed you in front of your parents. Talk about a first impression,” she says with a laugh bubbling at the surface, making me chuckle with her.

  “Mom, Dad, meet Kate.” I feel so awkward doing the introductions in such a formal way. Moreover, it seems weird to have a friend they know nothing about. All my life they knew my friends, my boyfriend, and their parents. But now my life is different.

  My mother steps toward my roommate and hugs her. Kate freezes for a second and then returns the hug with a huge smile on her face. She must be surprised to see that I’m the only one with issues about being touched. When my mother releases her, my father extends his hand and shakes the fragile one of my friend who looks at me with a smile.

  “I’m so glad to meet Skye’s parents!” Kate says with her bubbly attitude in full force, almost bouncing in her high-heeled boots.

  “So you two are close?” Mom asks, hope audible in her voice. I make a face at my father who shrugs with a rueful smile that turns up more one side of his mouth.

  Kate gives me an amused look. “Of course! We live together.” She grabs her bag from the floor and throws it on her perfectly made bed. “In fact, we’re hanging out together more and more. Skye is different and I like that.”

  “And Kate forces me to go to more parties,” I add for my mother’s benefit who seems concerned that I’m more focused on my classes than on the college experience as she puts it.

  Dad frowns at the word party and crosses his arms over his chest. Even when he’s not in uniform he looks like a military man through and through. “Not too many parties, I hope. School is important.”

  “Oh no, sir!” Kate exclaims quickly, beating me to it. “Since the beginning of the year, Skye has only been to like three parties with me. She’s a very serious and driven student.”

  He nods and the stiffness in his body slowly relaxes, leaving him smiling. I relax a little, but then there is a knock on the door making me tense all over again. Kate and I exchange a look. Her eyebrows shoot high on her forehead, letting me know she’s not expecting someone, which means we both know who is behind the door.

  A knock comes again and her mischievous smile broadens. “It’s not for me,” she says and pushes me to the door.

  My parents exchange a look, too, but I can’t decipher it. I mumble something like “fucking timing” and open the door so violently that it crashes against the wall, making my mother jump and grip my father’s arm.

  Duke looks at me with a frown, and then at Kate and finally at my parents behind her. His mouth falls open and he runs a hand through his hair to try to smooth it down probably, but in vain. I look back at my parents and my mother’s face relaxes, her eyes going to and from Duke and me and understanding brightens her eyes. She gazes at him from top to bottom twice and an almost imperceptible blush appears on her face. No doubt she finds him good looking.

  My father is not interested in how he looks. He immediately knows who Duke is—and probably thinks he’s my boyfriend—and he doesn’t look happy to see him. Back perfectly straight, strong shoulders tense, and a hard look on his face; he uses his military stance to intimidate Duke.

  Duke finally waves at my parents and smiles his easy smile that gets to everybody; even my mother seems affected by it. He doesn’t seem the least bit frightened by the behavior of my father.

  “You must be Skye’s parents. I’m Duke,” he says, extending his hand. His arm brushes against mine when I don’t move to let him come into the already overcrowded room.

  “I’m Michael Walker and this is my wife, Tessa,” Dad answers and shakes his hand with more force than necessary. Luckily, Duke doesn’t flinch. Instead, he returns the handshake with the same amount of pressure by the look of the tensed muscles in his arm.

  My mother also shakes his hand, but more gently. She’s all smile and sweetness, nudging my shoulder not very discreetly. Kate’s laughter behind me confirms it. Duke flashes me a smile and he crosses his arms over his broad chest, mirroring the posture of my father.

  Duke is taller and more muscled than my dad, but somehow the hard look on my father’s face makes him more frightening than Duke is. My palms are all sweaty and it’s hard to swallow past the lump in my throat.

  “Who wants a coffee?” I almost yell, my breathy voice all raspy from the nerves.

  “I can’t,” Kate declines with a wave toward her bed where the contents of her bag have escaped. “I have tons of work to do for my classes.”

  “Can’t it wait a little?” I ask between gritted teeth, barely holding onto my sanity because of the tension emanating from my father.

  “It can’t, but I’m sure Duke is free to go with you and your parents,” she replies with a singing voice.

  I give her a menacing glare but she just laughs at me. Grabbing my leather
jacket and scarf, I put them on. It’s useless to put it off any longer and I need to get out of this little space. My father wanted to meet Duke, so I guess we can’t escape it.

  “Our place?” Duke asks me with amusement in his eyes. He’s enjoying seeing me in this predicament and loves to make ridiculous innuendos to fuel my father’s belief that we’re an item or something.

  “Lead the way,” I mumble after I wave at Kate, who is now sprawled on her bed, her smile hidden behind a heavy textbook from her law class.

  The four of us walk down the hallway toward the elevator which is already there, letting a flow of people out. Two guys nod at Duke and he nods back. We all cram inside and Duke pushes the ground floor button.

  “So where are we going?” my mother asks, fidgeting with her little black bag. She doesn’t like the tense atmosphere either.

  “It’s a place where we often grab a coffee,” I reply with a dismissive voice, feeling a little out of my comfort zone.

  Duke puts a hand on my shoulder and squeezes softly. I don’t recoil away from him, a first since the event at the laundry. “It’s close to the Psychology building. Since I’m in Skye’s class as a TA, we try to grab a coffee there before or after class,” he explains, diffusing the innuendo of earlier.

  In the coffee house it’s not as noisy as usual, which is good. I already feel a headache coming and noise is not the best medicine for a headache. We all walk to a table with four chairs.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Walker, what can I get you?”

  “Black coffee, for me,” Dad answers without even looking at him while he takes off his black jacket.

  “And a mocha for me, please,” my mother answers with a smile while she puts her dark green jacket on her chair.

  Duke leaves us without asking me what I want. He knows I always drink a tall black coffee without any sugar or cream in it. I blush under the scrutiny of both my parents while Duke is waiting for his turn to place our order.

  “So he knows what you’re drinking,” Dad states like it’s a criminal offense.

  I’m getting fed up of all this. I’m even angrier when I think about all the times Dad has laughed with Sean when just an hour before he was punching me. I sit up straighter and my mother’s pleading eyes don’t soften me. “And? We often grab a coffee here together. I thought you wanted to meet my friends.”

  Dad puts his elbows on the little steel table. “Friends of your own age, yes. Don’t think I didn’t notice he’s older than you are.”

  I sigh and glance back at Duke who is still at the same place in the line. He gives me a small apologetic smile like he’s sorry to leave me alone to deal with my dad’s grilling. “He’s twenty-one, not thirty.” The venom in my voice catches us all by surprise. My father recoils on his seat, losing the hard look on his face. My mother’s eyes bulge out. I just tug on my long sleeves of the red sweater I have on.

  “You met him in your Psychology class?” Mom asks me, a hand on my father’s forearm to calm him down.

  “Yes, we sort of collided.” I smile a little at the memory. It seems so long ago when it’s been only a few weeks. So much has happened since then.

  “Collided?” Dad asks more calmly.

  “Literally, I didn’t see him and bumped into him when I was trying to find an available seat.”

  “And you two are ...”

  “Friends,” Duke answers for me, putting our coffees on the table and sitting down next to me, just in front of my father. “I don’t want you to think there’s anything else going on between Skye and me.”

  His deep voice makes my mother turn to putty in front of me and I cough to hide my growing need to laugh at the spectacle that my father doesn’t miss of course. He takes a sip of his black coffee after he put some sugar in it, without hiding his glare directed at my mother and Duke.

  “Why’s that? Is my daughter not your type?”

  Duke’s hand tightens around his paper mug. I put a hand over my eyes and feel myself blush. For this day to be complete, I just need Sean to appear from nowhere and him and Duke to fight in front of my father to make things worse.

  “Nothing like that, sir,” he replies in a clipped voice that forces me to look at him. The shadows in his eyes are back. Under the table I squeeze his strong knee.

  “What then?” he insists stubbornly and for the first time in my life I want to yell at my father.

  “You don’t have to say anything,” I say under my breath to Duke, but my parents hear me perfectly well with the coffee house only half crowded.

  He brings a shaky hand under the table and puts it over mine without squeezing. My mother follows the move and her eyebrows shoot up. My father is too focused on Duke’s face to see anything.

  “Your father wants to protect you and it’s only normal that he wants to know my intentions,” Duke replies with a forced smile before his eyes leave mine to look unseeingly at the steely surface of the table. He clears his throat. “I respect Skye.” He looks back up and locks eyes with my father. “I can’t be in any kind of relationship and she doesn’t deserve any less than a guy committed to her heart and soul.” With his free hand he brings the coffee to his mouth and drinks a little, maybe to find the strength in himself to tell the rest. “Three years ago I was in love. I was in a serious relationship and thought it was forever, but ...” His voice breaks and I entwine my fingers with his long strong ones. “She died in a car accident.”

  My mother covers her mouth with both hands, her eyes shining with unshed tears. She’s always been very emotional. My father loses his color and runs a hand through his buzzed hair.

  “I’m sorry for your loss,” he says with a gentleness he usually uses only with me. “If I knew, I wouldn’t have—”

  “It’s okay. You didn’t know,” Duke interrupts him, with a smile half as broad and bright than I’m used to seeing on his face.

  “Can you cut the crap now, Dad?” I ask with a reprimand audible for everybody around our little table, making Duke chuckle and squeeze my fingers between his. My heart misses a beat but I don’t show it.

  “I think I like him,” Dad says with a nod. He sips his coffee. “Do you know Sean?”

  I tense beside Duke, bumping slightly against his shoulder. I feel him tensing, too. He tightens his grip on my hand under the table. “I met him once,” Duke answers, the smoothness in his voice gone. “And I’m not eager to see him again.”

  I claw him with my fingernails. He can’t say things like that to them or he’s going to attract their attention. I grit my teeth.

  “You’re very protective of our daughter,” my mother says with an appreciative voice.

  “That and let’s just say that Sean is not someone I can have any respect for.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s nothing, Dad. Duke doesn’t like how Sean dumped me and how he ignores me whenever we cross paths,” I reply nervously.

  Duke groans but doesn’t say another word about Sean. Instead, he tells them about how good I am in Psychology class and how I’m sure to be a successful student if I happen to choose this major. I begin to relax when Sean doesn’t come back into our conversation.

  * * *

  “What’s gotten into you?” I yell at Duke once we’re in his room. My parents went back to their hotel before we meet again for dinner at an Italian restaurant in a couple of hours. I loudly close the door behind me. “You have no right to force me to talk to them about Sean!”

  He throws his leather jacket on his bed and faces me with his dark eyes pinning me close to the door. “I’m not the one bringing him in to the conversation. Your father did!” he snaps back, his index finger pointing at my face.

  “You should have said something else, anything!”

  “And lie to your parents?”

  I lean against the closed door. All the fight inside me vanishes. I’m just so tired after such an afternoon. It’s draining. I forgot how draining it is to face my father’s piercing gaze from whom I have to hide tons of thing
s. And for the first time ever, I’ve brought someone into this mess.

  “I’m sorry,” I mumble, not looking at him.

  He walks over to me and cages me between his arms on each side of my head. I should be afraid or uneasy to be imprisoned by his arms, but I’m not. I think I trust him much more than I thought. I lock my eyes with his black ones and suck in my breath. He’s so intense sometimes.

  “Never say sorry when the reason is Sean.” He brushes several strands of my frizzy hair away from my face. “He’s the one who put you in this position and you’re the one trying to piece yourself back together. I shouldn’t step in and tell you what to do.”

  “Are you trying to apologize?” I whisper, conscious that my breath brushes his face just like his brushes mine. Goose bumps appear down my neck and under my oversized sweater.