Still Us

by Lindsay Detwiler

  And then she came along. Within a few weeks, I realized life wasn’t about drinking and smoking and just existing.

  Life was about her. It was all about her.

  Everything changed. I know that sounds cheesy and overdramatic, but it isn’t. Lila helped me become the man I couldn’t. She saw something in me I didn’t even see in myself.

  But now she’s gone, and here I am in old habits. Sitting on the edge of my bed, a hangover from hell, I realize I’m getting too old for this shit. I’m not as young as I’d like to think. I’m not as used to this as I’d like to believe. Last night was fun when it was happening, but the aftereffects aren’t so much.

  And once you get a glimpse of what a normal life with meaning and love can look like, I suppose the wayward straggler’s life of my past isn’t as attractive.

  I stumble over Floyd, who lets out a shrill cry as I step on his tail. “Sorry, buddy,” I mutter, cursing myself for keeping him. I should’ve let Lila take him. I love that cat, I do. But even he’s a painful reminder now.

  In the bathroom, I glance at myself in the mirror, the stubble and bloodshot eyes making me look like a disaster. I don’t recognize the man in the mirror, the man who only a few years ago was me.

  I grab for the Advil to dull the pain, shaking off the thoughts. I can’t change things now. I’ve got to stop psychoanalyzing everything.

  In my boxers, I trudge to the kitchen for some coffee and some food. I’m starving. I’m exhausted. I feel like shit in every way.

  In the living room, I find Evan, passed out on the couch with a girl from the bar. I think her name is Sheila. I reach for a bottle of soda from the fridge and head back to my room to rustle up some clothes. This is a scene I don’t want to be a part of.

  I feed Floyd his gloppy cat food before heading out, needing to get some air, needing to walk this off and feel a little bit alive again.

  I head for the park, my favorite place to think ever since I was a middle schooler. I walk past the tiny excuse for a lake, hands in my pockets, thinking about things way too much.

  What am I doing?

  It’s the question that never plagued me before, but now seems to be the number-one thing on my mind.

  What the hell am I doing?

  Staring at the lake, a bird cawing annoyingly in the tree beside me, I realize what I need to do. I need to call the only other person in the world who always tried to warn me to get my shit together, the only person in the world who 100 percent understands. I call the woman who’s been there for me even when Lila wasn’t. I call the woman who knows what a fuckup I am but loves me anyway.

  Standing by the lake, hungover and lost, I call her, asking her to meet me.

  I know without a doubt she’ll come. She always does.

  ***

  “What is your sorry ass doing here?” Scarlet asks me, not pulling any punches as usual.

  I turn to look at her as she meets me at the bench.

  “Thanks for coming,” I say.

  “Well, I figured it must be bad if you were here.”

  She pats the bench, the one that has come to symbolize so much over the years.

  “Yeah, things are messed up.”

  “I gather that. So what do you want me to do?” she asks, smiling. That’s Scarlet for you, though. Always jumping right in.

  “Tell me I’m not an absolute disaster, I guess.”

  “Too late for that.”

  “Okay, then,” I say, smiling in spite of the situation.

  “Luke, listen. I know you’re beating yourself up over this and you’re trying to psychoanalyze the shit out of it. Lila knew what she was getting into with you. And I don’t always agree with your way of thinking, but I also can’t judge. I wasn’t hit by what Dad did like you were. I wasn’t you. I didn’t have the same experience. So I can’t understand completely how you feel. I get it, to an extent. I understand how he left a mark on you, and I get how that carried over into your relationship with Lila. But you’ve got to stop trying to mold yourself into what you think you should be. You did your best with Lila, and it wasn’t enough. Do I think you could’ve been good together? You bet. But it isn’t about me or anyone else. It’s about you and what you want. I know you love her. If you think that love is enough to change, then do it. If you think that maybe you aren’t willing to bend on certain issues, then move on. You’ve got to man up, though, and own it. It’s your life. You’ve got to start living it.”

  I sigh, staring at my feet kicking up the dirt. “Why do you always make so much sense?”

  “Because I’m brilliant. Now come on. You owe me ice cream for dragging my ass the whole way out here.”

  I roll my eyes but haul myself off the bench. Scarlet puts a hand on my arm as we stroll down to the sad excuse for an ice cream cart at the edge of the park. We spend the next half hour eating huge sundaes and talking about Scarlet’s work, about Mom’s boyfriend, and about everything except Lila.

  When Scarlet decides she needs to get going, I give her a hug. “Thanks for always being there for me,” I say.

  “Chin up, big brother. You’ve got this.”

  Not believing her, I give her the fake Luke smile as she walks to her car. I head back to the bench, deciding to sit for a while and think about where it all went so wrong so many years ago.

  ***

  “He’s gone. He’s fucking gone,” Mom shrieked as I rubbed the sleep from my eyes.

  It was Thanksgiving morning, and I had expected to get my twelve-year-old body out of bed and smell Mom’s turkey and stuffing in the oven. Dad would be sitting quietly in front of the television, probably nursing a beer since he was off from the factory. Scarlet and I would go and play in the crisp autumn leaves out front until Mom would make us come in for dinner. It would be a perfectly ordinary day.

  But it wasn’t. Because when I woke to Mom’s stupefied look, I was just confused.

  “Where did he go?” I asked stupidly, expecting Mom to say he went out to the grocery store or got called into work.

  “Don’t you understand, Luke? He’s gone forever. Gone for good. We weren’t enough anymore.”

  I stared, my prepubescent brain not quite understanding it.

  Dad had certainly been a little different these past few months. He was always the silent, serious type. I couldn’t remember receiving a hug or a kiss or an I love you from the man. Still, he was here. He was always here. The last few months, though, he’d been quieter than usual, more distant. He’d been working a lot of overtime lately, gone from our family dinners. My sister, only eight, didn’t understand why Daddy wasn’t there to say good night to her anymore.

  But now he was gone? Gone where? How could he be gone? Where did he go? Why would he want to leave?

  Mom sat on my bed, sobbing, as I stared, having no idea what to do.

  “Maybe he’ll be back,” I offered weakly.

  “He’s not coming back, you idiot,” Mom shrieked wildly. “He left a goddamn note. I knew he was running around with that slut Monica.”

  I squinted at Mom now. How could she talk about Monica that way? She was Mom’s best friend. What the hell was happening? I was certain I was just dreaming. I actually scratched my arm, hoping to wake myself up. I didn’t.

  “What’s wrong, Luke?” a sleepy voice asked as Scarlet wandered into my room in her pink pajamas. Staring at Mom in confusion and horror, she turned to me. “Is Mommy hurt?”

  “No, she’s fine. Come on. Let’s go get breakfast,” I said, ushering Scarlet out to the kitchen, already knowing my role as protector was necessary.

  I got Scarlet some cereal, still confused.

  That’s when I saw it. The note, crinkled and crumpled in the corner of the counter.

  Cindy,

  I’m done with this shit. I can’t take it anymore. I thought I could hang in there for the kids, could keep up the façade, but I can’t. I love her too much. We’re taking off for Florida. I’ll call sometime to check on the kids.

 
; Dan

  It was like reading a note in hieroglyphics.

  What the hell happened? What possibly could’ve made Dad do this to her?

  Sure, my parents weren’t like some of my friends’ parents. They weren’t going away for gag-worthy romantic weekends or making out on the sofa like teenagers. But they were married. They loved each other… didn’t they?

  But as the weeks went on, I didn’t know anymore. At twelve, I realized something apparently my parents hadn’t figured: love screws you over. Big-time.

  ***

  Thanksgiving ruined love for me.

  But a few months later, my dad ruined everything.

  He’d called, told me all sorts of things about Mom, blaming her for the relationship falling apart. Then he’d asked me to move in with him in Florida.

  I was twelve, I was stupid, and I was tired of feeling like the adult in the house—Mom was still going on regular crying stints.

  At twelve, I wasn’t thinking about the right thing to do. I was thinking I needed my dad, asshole or not. So I moved out, abandoned Mom and Scarlet, and moved in with Dad and Monica.

  It would be only one month until I figured out what a joke my dad was. I would end up right here on this bench, waiting for Mom to come pick me up after the bus dropped me off. I wouldn’t look back at Florida or at Dad and, when I did, it was with guilt.

  I vowed a few things that day while sitting on this same bench.

  One, I would never abandon Scarlet and Mom like that again. I would man up. I would be the man Dad couldn’t.

  Two, I would never let marriage screw me over like it did Mom. I would never be blindsided.

  And three, most importantly, I would never put myself in the position to do what Dad did. I would never vow to love someone for a lifetime only to pull the rug out from under them. Marriage, in my opinion, was a joke. It was just a tool to hurt each other. It couldn’t possibly be forever.

  So, sitting here, I realize that even though I miss the hell out of Lila, I can’t possibly change enough to make her happy—my dad ruined any prospect of that. In truth, though, maybe my dad being an asshole did me a favor, because he taught me early on that you truly can’t rely on romance, love, marriage, or anything of the sort.

  Because even though he gave it all up for Monica, she would leave him a year later for a newer model… and he would die from a heart attack, alone, all alone, never even bothering to look back at the family he left behind wondering why.

  Chapter Nine

  Lila

  “Lila, it’s so good to see you,” Pastor Rick says, putting a hand on my shoulder as I sit beside my mom and dad in the church basement, enjoying the weekly breakfast after mass.

  “Great to see you too,” I say, guilt rising. It’s been years since I’ve been here. Usually Luke and I spent Sunday mornings saying God in a very, very different way. I try to tell myself not to blush at the thought. “It’s been getting—er, I mean—I’ve been busy.”

  Having sex instead of coming to church, and lounging in pajamas drinking extra coffee.

  Oh, Lord. That isn’t helping the blushing scenario.

  “We understand,” the elderly pastor says, no judgment passing. It does make me wish I’d come here more frequently, his kind eyes reminding me why church was never a chore for me.

  “Well, I hope God does,” Mom chimes in, offering a weak smile at the end so Pastor Rick thinks she’s being funny. I know better.

  I shove in another bite of my glazed doughnut ring, eyeing Grandma Claire. She’s wearing her hot pink dress that plunges a bit too low to be tasteful for church. Who is going to question her, though, at her age?

  Still, I shake my head and smile as I see her leaning in way too close to the twentysomething missionary from Colombia who is here for the month. He looks terrified, and I can’t blame him. I think about saving him—and myself from my mother’s comments—by walking over and distracting Grandma.

  I don’t get the chance.

  “Oh, well look at this. Hi, Sophie. It’s so good to see you. What a surprise. I know you usually go to the Saturday evening mass, but look at this. Lila, you remember Joseph, don’t you?”

  I look up to see Sophie and Joseph “Sniffs” Goodman standing beside me. I’m taken back, way back, to high school, when Joseph had a crush on me and announced it over the PA system at school, making me the laughingstock of the district my senior year. I try not to visibly shudder, reminding myself we’re grown now. We’re out of those immature high school days. I’m sure Joseph is a nice guy, and I’m sure this is just a coincidence.

  But then I see the conspiratorial wink between my mother and Mrs. Goodman, and I know. I just know.

  It all makes sense. Mom’s extra attention to my outfit and hair this morning. Her insistence I do a better job on my makeup.

  My mother is setting me up with a church boy. And not just any church boy—Joseph Sniffs.

  I paint on the smile I’ve mastered when a veterinary customer is being an absolute pain or when I’m convincing myself that life isn’t so bad.

  I’m sure Joseph isn’t in on this, and I’m sure he’s a great guy. He looks cute in his button-up plaid shirt, pleated pants, and glasses with three-inch-thick lenses. He’s cute. Be nice. Just be nice and friendly.

  And then Joseph sniffs.

  I’m not talking a tiny sniffle or a tiny breath in. I’m talking a dog hacking on grass kind of sniff, a snort-like, everyone in the room turns around, noise.

  Hence Joseph “Sniffs” Goodman, the nickname mercilessly following him through high school.

  You’re a grown woman now, I remind myself. Be kind.

  “Love that hair. Looks super sexy,” Joseph says, winking. And I’m reminded that the sniffing habit isn’t the only bad thing about Joseph.

  I guess some people really don’t change.

  “Why thank you, Joseph. That’s sweet. So what are you up to?” I ask, trying to turn the conversation anywhere from the word “sexy.”

  “Well, right now I’m working on a start-up in Mom’s basement. You see, it’s an app that is going to revolutionize internet chatrooms. I’ve been working tirelessly, right, Ma?”

  “Yes, sweetie,” Mrs. Goodman says, putting an arm around her son. “That boy just basically hibernates in the basement all day, working on his computers and things. I could only lure him out today at the promise you’d be here, Lila.”

  I glance over at Mom. So this was a conspiracy. Mom just gives a smile that seems to suggest “You can thank me later.”

  This can’t be happening.

  “Chat rooms, huh?” I ask. “Is that still a thing?”

  “Obviously, Lila, or Joseph wouldn’t be working on it,” Mom interrupts.

  I look to Dad for help. He just keeps eating his pancakes, averting his eyes from the disaster happening. I’ll have to remember to thank him later. He finally catches my eye and then smirks, thinking this is hilarious. I’m sure Maren will too.

  “Well, it’s great to see you, Joseph. Good luck.”

  “Actually, I was hoping we could get a bite to eat tonight. I could tell you all about my app. I’m looking for a pretty woman to be the face of my business, and it seems like you’d be perfect.”

  I stare at him, blinking, reminding myself to stay calm and kind.

  Calm and kind.

  “Sorry, Joseph. I can’t. Really busy tonight.”

  “No, you’re not,” Mom interjects.

  “Yes, super busy,” I respond through gritted teeth. My mind starts to race. What am I going to use as an excuse? I don’t want to be rude and say, “Sorry, Joseph, your creepy startup in your mom’s basement makes me want to call the police, not go on a date. Also, I can’t stand your sniffles or anything about you. I’d rather stab myself in the eye than go on a date with you where you will make sexual advances.”

  Yeah, not exactly church-like.

  Apparently, though, I’m not speaking a language my mother, Sophie, or Joseph understand.

/>   “Would eight work?” Joseph asks, turning to my mother now like I’m some pawn.

  “That would be perfect,” she answers for me. Oh my God, where the hell are we? Are they bartering with me like this is an arranged marriage?

  No. Just no.

  I stand up. Some of the other church members look over at me. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Goodman, Joseph, but this isn’t going to work. You see, I have to get my treatment for the syphilis I contracted sleeping around town. All around. And now my mother is trying to hook me up with your son to get my reputation back in line, but I can’t do it. I need some time to repent for my sins before I’m worthy.”

  Mrs. Goodman’s jaw drops, and Joseph actually jumps back like he’s been bitten. My mother gasps in horror, and my dad stares at me, wide-eyed, like I’ve gone way too far—which I clearly have. Pastor Rick also stares and then blesses himself. Some elderly women look at me like I’ve just cried witch.

  Oh shit. This was too far. Way too far. Syphilis? What the hell was I thinking?

  I wasn’t. Mom’s annoying, over-the-top behavior just got to me and mouth diarrhea happened.

  Unrecoverable mouth diarrhea.

  The room is quiet for an awkward amount of time. I don’t know what to do. I’m frozen, too afraid to move a muscle, hoping this will all just go away.

  “Well, I think we are just going home now,” Sophie says, leading Joseph away from me. I offer a weak smile and wave and sit down.

  “Don’t worry,” Grandma Claire shouts from across the room, cupping her mouth with her hands to make a mock megaphone. “Lila, I’ve had the syph before. It’s not a big deal. A few treatments, and you’re good.” She gives me a smile, a wink, and a thumbs-up. As if things aren’t bad enough.

  I try to retreat into myself, head down on the table, my hair getting stuck in a swatch of maple syrup.

  “What in the hell were you thinking?” Mom shrieks. “Are you serious? We can never set foot back in this church again.”

  I put my head up. “Sorry, Mom, but maybe next time, you’ll ask before you try to arrange a marriage for me.”