by Cassia Leo
“Congratulations,” I say, shifting uncomfortably on my barstool as I try not to think of the Sierra Nevada box containing an engagement ring, which I ordered Kenny to give back to Houston a few weeks ago.
“Houston’s gonna be the best man,” Troy adds with pride.
I glance at Houston and he shrugs, though I can’t discern why. Does he think it bothers me that he’s going to be the best man in Troy’s wedding?
Georgia reaches out and places her hand on my forearm. “I know we don’t know each other well yet, but I’ve heard so much about you.” She smiles, leaning forward as if she’s going to tell me a juicy secret. “We think it’d be great if you were a bridesmaid. That way you and Houston could walk down the aisle together.”
Time seems to slow down and I find myself unable to formulate a response. I blink a few times and turn to Houston, but the horror in his eyes tells me he knew nothing about this. I turn back to Georgia and her penciled eyebrows are raised in anticipation of my answer.
“I… I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
Her smile fades instantly. “Oh, I’m sorry, that was probably too much too soon. I’m… I thought you two were together.”
Her last sentence comes out more like an accusation. Troy gently places his hand on her forearm. “No, baby, they’re not together… right now.”
“Why not?” she says, her lip curled in mild disgust.
Troy sighs as he places his hand on her arm and leans in closer. “Baby, we’ll talk about it later.”
“Why?” she shrieks. “If she doesn’t walk down the aisle with him, I’ll have to ask my stupid cousin to do it. And you know I can’t have her in my wedding. She’ll ruin it!”
I couldn’t be more uncomfortable if we were sitting here watching my parents have sex. I glance across the table at Houston and he’s trying not to laugh. I shoot him a burning glare and he shakes his head.
“We should probably get going,” Houston says, taking my hint as he steps off his barstool. “Don’t you have the early shift tomorrow, Kenny?”
Kenny slides off his stool. “I do, but I’m taking the MAX home. I have to make a stop at a friend’s place.”
My jaw drops. “Kenny, do you have a friend I don’t know about? Is he a special friend?”
“Not as special as you,” he replies.
We say our good-byes to Troy and Georgia, though Georgia no longer seems in the mood for niceties. Then, I give Kenny an awkwardly long hug outside Killer Burger. As Houston and I walk to his car through a light drizzle of rain, I feel my awkwardness reaching new heights. I’m suddenly acutely aware of the way I walk and the sound of my heart beating in my ears and what my breath smells like. It feels as if we’re on a first date, but we most certainly are not.
Houston throws caution to the wind and opens the passenger door for me. I thank him as I climb inside, my pulse racing as he shuts the door and our eyes lock through the window. I turn away quickly and take slow, deep breaths as he rounds the back of the car to the driver’s side.
He climbs in and slides the key into the ignition, but he doesn’t turn it. “Rory?”
“Yes.”
He’s silent for a long moment, then he shakes his head and turns the key. “Nothing.”
He turns on the radio to fill the silence on the drive back to my mom’s apartment. We’re both lost in our thoughts until “I’m on Fire” by AWOLNATION comes on and I begin to imagine Houston’s hands on me, his body sliding over mine, his thickness moving inside me.
“Oh, God. Can we turn this off?” I plead.
“Gladly,” he says, but we both reach for the stereo at the same time.
The moment our hands touch, pinpricks of electricity detonate in my fingertips. A current of heat sizzles through me straight to my core. I draw my hand back, holding it protectively against my belly as if I’ve been physically burned.
Houston turns the music off just as he pulls onto my mom’s street. I breathe a sigh of relief as I unlatch my seat belt and reach for the door handle, ready to exit as soon as the car stops moving.
“Rory?” he says, and my hand freezes over the cool chrome handle.
I swallow hard as I turn to him slowly and meet his gaze. “Yes.”
His eyes travel down my face, lingering on my mouth, making no effort to disguise his wonderment as he stares at my chest, then he drags his gaze back up to my eyes. “You look beautiful tonight.”
I let out the breath I’ve been holding and mutter my thanks as I hop out of the car and power walk into the apartment lobby. God help me. What have I gotten myself into?
Hi, Rory,
Sorry for contacting you via email. I know you asked Detective Locke to give me your phone number, but I just couldn’t bring myself to call you. It’s not because I blame you, I just haven’t figured out how I feel about all this yet. It’s very surreal and overwhelming.
Anyway, the reason I’m getting in touch is to tell you that Liam’s funeral will be held the day after tomorrow, Monday, at Pioneer Cemetery in our hometown, Salem. I don’t think you should come for the ceremony, but it will conclude around 4 p.m., if you feel the need to come later.
My brother wasn’t perfect. I know that. And maybe none of this would have happened if I’d gone to the police when he told me what he did to Savannah’s car. I also know Liam was lost.
Ever since we were little, he used to make up these stories. These elaborate lies that I easily fell for. It was kind of cute, even funny, when we were in grade school. And it came in handy when he needed to dig his way out of trouble in high school. But as the years went on, it got to the point that I began to wonder if any of us ever knew the real Liam. I guess we’ll never know.
Despite this darker side of him, there was no one who could make me laugh harder than him. Liam was my only brother, and I loved him more than words can say. So, while I don’t blame you for what happened, I also don’t know if I can face you knowing that I kept quiet when he told me you two were moving to California. I’ll admit I was hoping he’d changed. My parents will never say it, but you were the last good thing in his life, and for that I thank you.
I know you cared for Liam and I also know you lost someone very close to you a few years ago. The grief counselor I spoke to at the hospital told me something that I wanted to pass on to you. She said it’s important to remember that grief is necessary and that the grieving process never ends. That sometimes, even after you’ve gone through all the stages of grief, and you’ve finally reached acceptance, something as heavy as another loss or as simple as a single memory can set you back to Stage One. Grief never ends, but with time we learn who and what we can turn to for strength, and it becomes easier to rise after each fall. Take care of yourself.
-Leah
My hands tremble as I close my laptop. My mom takes a seat across from me at the round dining table and slides a steaming mug of coffee toward me. I stare at the white mug with the words World’s Greatest Teacher painted on the side.
“What’s wrong?” she asks, her voice gentle and soothing.
I wipe tears from my face as I look up. “Liam’s funeral is tomorrow. His sister sent me an email.”
“Are you going?”
“I wasn’t invited. She wanted to let me know where it was being held and what time it would end in case I wanted to drop by afterward.”
Her face tightens with suppressed anger. “I see. Well, that was kind of her to let you know.”
“It was. It was very kind,” I reply forcefully. “She didn’t have to do that.”
“You’re right. I just hate the idea of anyone blaming this on you. You’re not responsible for what he did.”
“She doesn’t blame me… She blames herself.”
The tautness in her features melts into regret. “Oh. Well, that’s not good.”
I let out a long sigh as I wipe the last remnants of moisture from my face. “No, it’s not good. It’s just natural.”
I stand from the table, sliding m
y phone out of my pocket as I head for the bathroom. I dial the number, closing the bathroom door behind me as it rings in my ear. My heart races as I try to think of what I’m going to say when Houston picks up.
“Hey, why are you awake this early?” he says, and the sound of his voice instantly calms me.
“It’s 9:30. It’s not that early,” I reply, my voice echoing off the walls of my mother’s bathroom.
“It’s early for someone who’s been waking up at noon for the past week.”
I consider sharing with him how, after our venture to Killer Burger, last night was the first night I fell asleep before two a.m. Then I question whether I want to reveal this vulnerability to him so early in our friendship experiment. Then I realize I have no choice. If this were Kenny, I would tell him why I woke up early, without hesitation. And I could have called Kenny right now, but I chose to call Houston instead. And there’s good reason for that.
“You know I haven’t been sleeping well,” I reply, referring to the three nearly sleepless nights we spent in Palo Alto. “Well, last night was the first night I fell asleep early.”
He’s silent for a moment as he allows this to sink in. “That’s good. I’m glad you’re feeling a little better. Maybe I should take you out for burgers every night.”
I chuckle. “Actually, I have a favor to ask you. A huge favor.”
“Nothing’s too huge for my Scar.”
“Okay, that was half innuendo and half insult.”
He laughs. “And half-true. What do you need?”
I draw in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I need you to take me to Pioneer Cemetery on Monday at four p.m.” The silence on the other end of the phone is amplified by the frantic pounding of my heart. “Houston, please say something.”
“Why do you need to go there?”
“That’s where they’re burying him.”
I almost ask him when the last time he went to Pioneer Cemetery was, but thankfully I stop myself before I make such a crass mistake. Still, the silence between us is making my mind scramble for something to fill the void.
“Houston?”
“I’m here. I’ll take you.”
“You will?” I reply, unable to disguise my astonishment.
“Yeah, I’ll take you. Be ready at 3:15. Monday traffic on the 5 freeway is a bitch. We’ll need at least forty-five minutes to get there.”
I let out a sigh of relief. “Thank you so much.”
“What are you up to today?” he asks, obviously eager to change the subject.
I hesitate as I consider lying about what I have planned for today. It’s frightening how easy it is to lie to someone we love for the sake of sparing their feelings.
“I’m going to brunch with my dad.”
“Do you still need me to take you to Kenny’s to get your car back?” he replies, without missing a beat.
“No, I haven’t gotten the parking permit from the building manager yet. She was supposed to give it to me yesterday, but I guess she didn’t get around to it. I’ll let you know as soon as I have it.”
“Sure,” he replies. “Enjoy your brunch. I’ll see you Monday.”
“Houston?”
“Yeah?”
I want to say I love you so fucking much it hurts, but I’m pretty sure that’s against the rules, so I settle for “Thank you… for being a friend.”
He sighs softly and the sound sends a chill through me. “There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you… as a friend, of course. Please don’t ask me to have sex with you. I don’t want this to get awkward.”
I roll my eyes, though I’m silently thanking him for diffusing the heaviness. “All right, friend, I’ll see you Monday.”
“See you then, sexy.”
As soon as I see Rory exit the front of her mom’s apartment building and set off on foot toward the streetcar, I get out of my car and walk toward the building. She climbs into the streetcar without a single glance in my direction. When I enter the lobby, the brunette standing behind the concierge desk flashes me a seductive smile.
“May I help you?” she asks, her voice low and sultry.
“No, thanks. Just going up to visit a friend in 405.”
Her eyes follow me as I head for the elevator. “Let me know if you need anything.”
I shake my head at her obvious attempt at flirting. Either she doesn’t remember that I came here last night to pick up Rory or she doesn’t care. Either way, I have to make sure to steer clear of that one.
My heart pounds with anxiety as the elevator climbs quickly to the fourth floor. By the time I knock on Patricia’s door, my mouth has gone dry.
She pulls the door open and her eyes widen with genuine surprise. “Houston. You just missed Rory. She went to—”
“I know where she went. I’m not here for Rory.”
She shakes her head. “I’m not doing any more editing.”
“That’s not what this is about. Can I come in?”
She lets out a heavy sigh as she opens the door. “She’ll be back in about an hour.”
“I’ll make this quick.”
I take the streetcar to Pioneer Square to meet my dad at the Urban Farmer restaurant, where apparently my father has a standing reservation every Friday at seven p.m. for dinner and every Saturday at eleven a.m. for brunch. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. It’s one of the trendiest fine-dining restaurants near the courthouse. It makes sense that he would utilize it to impress clients.
I make my way up to the eighth-floor atrium of The Nines hotel. As I enter the Urban Farmer, my first impression is that the restaurant is stunning. It’s just a large open room with urban country furnishings, but the entire space is bathed in diffused natural light from the skylights in the ceiling seven floors above us.
“Hey, sweetheart.”
I tear my gaze away from the ceiling and my dad is standing right in front of me. “Hey.”
He smiles at my obvious wonderment. “Impressive architecture. I can introduce you to the owner if you’re looking for a career change.”
My jaw drops. “Really, Dad? We haven’t even sat down yet and you’re already hinting that I need to get a job?”
He nods toward the hostess station. “Come on.”
The hostess seats us at a table near the bloody Mary station, where guests are lined up to create their own custom cocktails. Just the thought of drinking alcohol at eleven a.m. makes me queasy. I don’t know how I used to do it when Houston and I lived together six years ago.
“So what did you want to talk about?” I ask, as soon as the hostess is gone.
He chuckles. “Not wasting any time today, are you?”
“I’d rather not.”
“Okay,” he says, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the table. “Rory, I want you to work for me.”
“What?” I reply with a chuckle, thinking I must have misheard him.
“Not the response I wanted, but just hear me out.” His face is serious as he steeples his fingers and looks me in the eye. “I’ve been speaking with Ava this week and we’re starting a foundation: Hallie’s Hope. It will directly benefit organizations that are dedicated to helping victims of abuse get counseling as well as educating the families. You’d probably start out by helping us write funding requests and grant applications. But eventually… Ava and I think you should be the voice of Hallie’s Hope.”
Our waitress arrives with a basket of bread and a beaming smile. I try not to look too uncomfortable as I order a glass of ice water and my dad orders his usual Arnold Palmer. Some things never change.
Once the waitress is gone, I gather my jaw off the table and respond. “This is not what I expected.”
“Well, I guess that’s better than an immediate no,” he replies. “I know this is sudden. And I don’t expect you to say yes right now. Think about it. Mull it over for a week or two. We’re meeting with my tax attorney February 17th, so we really need to get an answer by then, so we can loop you into the meeting or get som
eone else.”
“Wow,” I breathe. “So… this is moving forward with or without me?”
He nods and I nod in return. A solemn acknowledgment that this is our new reality. My father and Houston’s mother are now working together.
After a somewhat awkward brunch, I return to the apartment in a bit of a daze, but this doesn’t stop me from noticing that my mother is in her bedroom with the door closed at one in the afternoon.
“Mom, I’m home!” I shout so she can hear me through the door.
I listen to the sudden flurry of movement coming from inside the bedroom. Then I hear her turning the lock on the door before she comes out. She had the bedroom door locked? I don’t even want to know what she was doing in there.
I head for the kitchen to pour myself a glass of water. “Hey, Mom.”
“How was your brunch?” she asks, sounding a bit out of breath.
I glance at her, noting the slightly pink flush to her cheeks. “It was… shocking.”
“Shocking?” she replies curiously. “How so?”
“It doesn’t matter,” I say, placing the pitcher of water back in the refrigerator. “Do you mind if I take my laptop into your bedroom? I’m going to try to Skype that therapist today.”
“Of course!” she replies.
I watch her face for any sign of panic that I may discover what she’s been up to while I was gone, but she looks genuinely enthusiastic about my Skyping this new therapist. I guess she feels her secrets are safe.
I take my laptop and my glass of water to the bedroom, shutting the door behind me. Plopping myself down onto the bed, I set the laptop in front of me and open up the Skype application. I’m not surprised to find a contact request from Dr. Katherine Little. I accept the request and cross my fingers as I call her.
To my surprise, she answers the call almost immediately. Her video feed pops up and she looks like… me. Or what I’ll probably look like in twenty years if I decide to dye my gray hair auburn. She’s about my mother’s age, with striking green eyes only slightly hidden behind her square-rimmed glasses.
