What Once Was Mine

by Krystyna Allyn

  Though the hardware store isn’t doing as well as it should—Lenny’s about as good with numbers as snow is with the sun— my father made sure the house was paid for. He was responsible to a fault and never wanted my mother to worry about essential things in case something should ever happen to him.

  The front door screen door opens slowly as I put my car in park. I catch my mother standing in the doorway wearing her khaki pants and cream-colored shirt, the pink cashmere sweater I bought for her last Christmas hanging off her shoulders. She has a look of displeasure on her face. I’m used to it.

  Ruth Alexander has been giving me this expression for as long as I can remember. More so since I moved in with her. It’s given me the sense she’s disappointed in my life choices and wishes I took another path.

  “How was New York?” she says, greeting me at the front door.

  Despite the size of our house, the design is modest, my parents never spent more than their means. The last time my mom bought a new couch, I graduated from middle school. Though most of the furniture is over ten years old, she keeps it polished and tidy, so to a visitor, everything appears brand new.

  “It was good.” I set my carry-on next to the coat closet.

  “I had a few drinks and caught up with Brad.”

  I hate lying to my mother, but I don’t feel it necessary for me to explain how I had a one-night stand with a woman I’ll never see again. I don’t need to give her more reasons to be irritated with me.

  “I’m glad you had a good time, dear. Now,” my mom clasps her hands together, “what do you want for dinner? I have a few things I can make.”

  “I told you, mom, you don’t have to cook for me. I’m a grown man.”

  “One who still lives with his mother.” She rolls her eyes. “Chicken okay?"

  “Fine, mother.” I wait for her to leave before releasing an exhausted sigh.

  My mother used to be the parent who would let me get away with things, but with my father’s death, she’s become a different person. Even though she does my laundry, cooks, and sometimes cleans for me, the woman still takes me to task on everything. She had no qualms about expressing her pure disappointment with my failed marriage and isn’t afraid to address my womanizing ways. The only praise I receive is my handling of the business.

  A retired librarian, she’s never had a head for numbers. My mom was more into literature. She tried to instill her love of reading in me, and it worked to a certain extent, my choice of texts, economics and accounting. I excelled in the subjects and turned my expertise to a job in marketing. Things were looking up for me career-wise, but one stupid mistake forced me out of a job, with a severance package barely worth anything. When a rich person loses large sums of money, heads tend to roll. My small department ended up on the chopping block.

  Marketing is a beast like that. No matter how many successes you have, your failures are what define you.

  As I stare into my childhood bedroom, I groan, reminding myself I need to move sooner rather than later.

  Falls Village real estate is limited because its occupants never leave. I could live in Anchor Ridge, but I’m not that hard up. The building is on Mason’s lists of projects, but the owner is taking his time, renovating each apartment individually. The place is not a complete shithole, but I have my standards.

  Relatively new and reasonably priced, Oceanview Condominiums is a short enough distance from my mother’s place that if she needs me, while still a close commute to the hardware shop. I suspect the cost will eventually grow as the influx of people increases each season. I set a reminder on my phone to call Beckett in the morning. He better get me a sweet deal on a new place or I’ll have Devon kick his ass.

  After changing into my red and black basketball shorts and a black t-shirt, I grab my rumpled suit off my bed, hooking it on a hanger. A clanking sound brings my attention to the spot on my hardwood floor in front of my side table. It’s Sparkle’s locket. I consider taking another trip to New York and visiting the bar to question the staff about my mystery woman but cancel the idea immediately. I have too much to handle here in Falls Village. And, honestly, what would come of it? It’s not like I can ask her to visit an entirely different state on a whim.

  Sometimes I hate Falls Village. Sure, there are plenty of good people here, but it’s the same people. Just once, I’d like to experience a different flavor, something new to stimulate my senses as Sparkle did. Alas, it’s wishful thinking. Nothing interesting ever happens here.

  New to Me

  Six Months Later

  Affirmation #17

  A positive outlook will fix anything that’s broken. Even a sink.

  Marley

  “Take a deep breath,” I tell myself as I stare at the water spouting from my kitchen faucet, the spray like the timed water feature at the Bellagio. I’ve never been, but I’ve seen it plenty of times on YouTube.

  I make a mental note to add Vegas to my long bucket list along with visiting China. Recently, I saw the newish version Karate Kid and fell in love with the scenery and the adorable Jayden Smith.

  Yep, I base my life decisions on movies I’ve watched. My last psychiatrist said it’s my way of coping with my brother’s death, which I don’t want to think about at the moment. Instead, I stare again at the spurting water, contemplating what to do next.

  Of course, if I were in New York, all I’d have to do is dial Viktor’s cell phone. My former super was very responsible. If there was ever an issue in the building, he’d be on it lickety-split. Unfortunately, I no longer live in Prospect Heights; in fact, I don’t even reside in New York. For some reason, I had the harebrained idea to move out of state.

  Crazy, right?

  I regret leaving my closest friend, Carrie, behind. She and I have been together since the day Jamal brought her home to meet my mom and dad. We formed strong bond and it held us together. Even after what happened with my brother, we remained close.

  She tried in vain to convince me to stay, but just as she moved on with her life with her man Oliver, I have to make my own way, find my identity. I couldn’t do it in New York. Too many bad memories.

  I wanted to stay on the East Coast because San Diego is expensive as hell. Plus, I like my winters cold and my summers warm. Florida was an option, but folks down there are a bit too touched in the head for me. The South is not my cup of tea. I’d probably lose my mind after the first “yes, ma’am” was thrown my way.

  Falls Village, Maine seemed like the way to go. It’s slightly upscale and, with a population of less than five thousand, not the typical city atmosphere I’m used to. The people are friendlier and it’s quiet.

  Honestly, I don’t recall where I heard the town name before. One day, I was flipping through a travel magazine in search of possible locations to move. At that point, I’d already decided I was done with New York and was frantic for an alternative. I came across an article about the beautiful lighthouses of Maine. Then, Falls Village popped into my head. I considered it a sign and decided to search the internet for it. After finding a story about the renovation success and the plans for town expansion, my interest was piqued. What sold me, besides the gorgeous yet imposing castles atop the opposing sides of the town, was the sense of community the pictures conveyed. It gave me a warm feeling at the center of my chest, and I knew I found my new home.

  “Sugar, honey, iced tea,” I mutter, as the water arcs in my direction, landing square in the center of my chest. I could’ve said shit, but I’m working on curing my excessive cursing disorder. I pull my ratty t-shirt off and wrap it around the base of the faucet, the water soaking through the material and leaking into the sink. It staves the water off, time enough for me to search for a new shirt and a plumber. I need someone here.

  Pronto.

  The search provides three listings, the closest, Alexander Hardware and Building Supply. That is weird. Why would a hardware store do plumbing? I’m sure they sell the supplies, but the fixing part doesn’t seem right. With n
o time to ponder this, I quickly dial the number reaching a pleasant male voice.

  “Alexander Hardware, you got Lenny.”

  “Uh, hello?”

  “Hiya,” he jovially says.

  “Is this the plumber?”

  “You called the number, ma’am,” he chuckles, his laugh infectious. “And a plumber, I am.”

  “But, this is a hardware store.”

  “Yup.”

  “So, am I speaking to the plumber?”

  “You must be new.”

  “Yes,” I frown. “How did you know?”

  “Well, besides the who’s-on-first routine, I don’t recognize your voice and I know everyone.”

  “You can’t know all five thousand people.”

  “You want to put ten bucks on that? Actually, no. It’s my lunch money. I left my wallet home today.”

  This guy is hilarious.

  “Maybe a dollar instead?”

  “No.” I laugh. “Keep your money. Do you make house calls because my sink won’t shut off? Luckily the drain works, or else you’d need a fishing pole to rescue me.”

  “Arbor Ridge?”

  “Yes,” I reply slowly. “Are you following me or something?”

  “Not even. I used to live there and had a similar problem. I’ll be there in a jiffy.”

  “Don’t you have to watch your store?”

  “Nope. Boss will take care of it.”

  “Thanks, Lenny.” I relax a little, knowing help is on the way.

  “You’re welcome, miss.”

  “Marley. Marley Bishop.”

  “Cool. Like the dog from the movie.”

  “Thanks for the reminder,” I groan. “But, no. My mom was a huge Bob Marley fan. You know, the singer.”

  “Right. He’s awesome, but I prefer Alternative Rock. My favorite artist is —”

  “Lenny. I have a leak.”

  “Oh, right. See ya soon, Miss Bishop.”

  The funny guy hangs up on me, and I smile. If the rest of the town is as lovely as he is, then I’m going to fit in well.

  Roughly fifteen minutes later, a slender, yet slightly muscular man arrives, he has dark brown hair and the most soulful brown eyes. He appears to be in his late twenties, but the stubble on his face gives him an older vibe. With tools in tow, Lenny introduces himself to me and, honest to God, he blushes the moment our eyes meet. Perhaps he has a little crush. Whatever the case, I see us becoming friends. He’s hilarious and I like a man who can make me laugh.

  After explaining the complexities of a ball faucet— as if I’ll absorb any of this information— he proceeds to make repairs. In no time, it’s fixed.

  “Thank goodness,” I pull Lenny into a hug because I’m that happy. He stiffens, probably because a stranger is touching him. “Sorry. I got excited.”

  “No problem.” He backs away. “Usually, the only girl who hugs me is my mom, though she’s required to.”

  “Well, I’m sure there’s some woman out there who is waiting to dole out all her hugs to you.” I wink at him. “And some kisses too.”

  Placing his palm at the back of his head, he glances at the floor. “Um, thanks.”

  “What do people do around here for fun?” I change the subject to make him feel less awkward.”

  “Depends on what you like to do.” He folds his arms across his chest, his expression filled with concentration.

  “No preference. I’m all for exploring.”

  “Not much to look at in this part of town,” he motions to the window. “But if you walk fifteen or so minutes to the south, you’ll reach Port View Center. Plenty of shops in the area. If you head further north, there’s a club. I’ve been once or twice during the day to fix the air conditioning system and other miscellaneous issues. I suppose at night it’s exciting if you like that type of thing.”

  “Hmm.” I tap my index finger on my top lip. “Maybe I’ll check it out after I visit Lollipop Preschool. I start work on Monday.”

  “Cool. My boss’s friend’s kid goes there. Boy, that was a mouthful.”

  “Sure was, Lenny.” I grin.

  “You’re cool. We should hang tomorrow. I’m off.” He holds his hand up. “But not in a dating way. Just friends.”

  He’s cute.

  “Sounds fun. Raincheck, though.”

  “Oh.” He looks disappointed.

  “I have an appointment I can’t change.” I place a hand on his shoulder. “We’ll have a coffee at the tea place. I forget the name, but it’s next to the hair salon. Afterward, you can take me exploring.” A smile plasters across his face.

  “Spill the Tea. You’ll love it there! Colleen is hilarious, knows all the town gossip. She also makes the best saltwater taffy.”

  “I can’t wait to try it. So, how much do I owe you?” I grab my purse sitting on the corner of my tiny kitchen table. “I can pay cash or write a check.”

  “Free of charge.” He winks at me.

  “I can’t do that, Lenny. You only have ten dollars for lunch.” He waves me off and then grabs his box of tools

  “Call it a welcome to Falls Village gift.”

  “But—”

  “See you around, Marley.”

  With that, Lenny leaves me with a fixed faucet and a new friend.

  I spend the rest of the afternoon unpacking and shifting furniture. After however long, I finally have the style of the apartment to my liking. Compared to my Brooklyn dwelling, this place is enormous. The two-bedroom has an industrial style, the metal beams affixed to the high ceiling giving the appearance the place is even larger. With my savings, the price was manageable, but I suppose when you move to the other side of town, things cost less.

  Besides the dive bar and random motel nearby, the neighborhood isn’t all bad. I’m from New York and have definitely seen worse. I feel safe walking in the area and even had some of the residents wave at me. It was weird at first, but I remind myself I have to leave the standoffish attitude back in New York. Maine is a totally different beast.

  By the time I finish, I’m exhausted, my stomach reminding me it would rather I eat than choose sleep. There’s a place called Mabel’s, which, according to the menu found in the lobby of my building, has takeout. Thank goodness.

  My plan was to go grocery shopping earlier, but the sink debacle set me back.

  Ugh, I miss the convenience of Brooklyn bodegas. I would’ve at least been able to purchase general necessities such as milk, bread, peanut butter, and jelly.

  I’ll run to the Fresh Garden Market tomorrow when I’m done with both my appointments— Hannah in the morning, and my new psychiatrist, Dr. Hughes, in the afternoon.

  The last several months have taught me many things, importantly, not to dwell on situations I have no power over and to just go with the flow.

  I used to live in the past because I thought it was the only way to celebrate the life of my brother, be true to his memory. While practicing that inner belief, I managed to drag a good person down, and my girl, Carrie, didn’t deserve it. In the end, everything worked out for the best. She is happy and deeply in love with Oliver. When you find the right one, you do everything you can to hold onto him or her.

  As I lie in bed, my thoughts go back to the night I’ve been actively avoiding for months.

  Cole.

  Sighing, I recall my stealthy actions the morning after our romp. To be fair, Carrie needed me after her blow up with Oliver and I wanted to be there for her. So, I had to escape quickly.

  Sure, I could’ve left my number, or at least given him my name, but what was the point? Still, part of me is kicking myself for not even taking the chance. Maybe it could’ve been the start of something not necessarily epic, but at least new and exciting.

  When we chatted in between our sex sessions, I made it my mission to make Cole laugh. He seemed like the type of guy who didn’t do that much. It was one of the best nights I had in a long time. I began to ponder about taking the next steps on my life journey and where I wanted t
o take them. In the long run, I suppose I have him to thank for my move.

  I consider searching for Cole Cody Alexander on Google, but what would I say if I ever found him again? Thanks for the memories. Sex with you was so fantastic it gave me the strength to I uproot myself from everything and everyone I’ve known for freaking ever, moving to a town where I know not a soul. Hell, my mom still hasn’t phoned me, most likely out of protest. Like Carrie, Geraldine Bishop wasn’t a fan of my departure either. The difference—Carrie eventually supported my decision; my mom is banking on my failure.

  I know my mother loves me, but she refuses to support my decision. My dad finally became tired of being her second choice, pining for a man who doesn't want her.

  Oh, did I mention I’m the result of an affair my mother had while still married to the man I call my father?

  I found out by accident, overhearing an argument between my mom and dad. I learned they were separated for a year when I was conceived. Deke Bishop somehow found it in his heart to forgive her and accept another man’s child as his own. I love him unconditionally for that reason. He’s never treated me any different than Jamal, his biological son, but when my brother died, something inside him broke. He saw through my mother’s machinations. Intentionally or not, she used my dad as a placeholder, and he’s better than that.

  Two years after Jamal died, my parents divorced with my mother gaining custody of me. My dad never remarried, but he’s been dating a woman named Yvette for years and they live happily in North Carolina.

  Despite my mother’s denying my requests to meet my biological father, at eighteen, I found out who he was and where he lived. I went as far as confronting him on the street. I told him my name, and he frowned, offering me money to never contact him again. He said he had a family and didn’t want someone like me to screw up his life because he made a mistake with my mom. He even claimed I could be anyone’s child and that my mother slept with many at his firm.

  A real winner, my bio dad.

  Forget the fact that I look exactly like him, down to the hazel eyes, the only difference, his fair skin compared to my golden hue with light brown undertones. I presented him with copies of a DNA test, proving my parentage. The asshole laughed, but I caught a flash of fear in his eyes. Lucky