LoveLines

by S. Walden

  The phone companies were quick to put us all back in touch, and I called my parents to see how they fared. House still standing. Minimal flooding. Everyone fine.

  “Please come over,” Dad pleaded. “I want us all together.”

  “Dad, we can’t even drive,” I said into the phone.

  “I’ll come get you,” he offered. He had a small paddle boat.

  “No, we’ll be fine. I promise we’ll be over as soon as the water recedes,” I replied.

  “Do you need anything?” he asked.

  I shook my head. “We’re okay.”

  “All right, Puddin’ Pop,” Dad replied. “Be safe.”

  I smiled and told him I loved him before hanging up.

  My dad was always like this right after a major storm. He wanted his family right by his side. I already knew to pack a bag for myself and Reece once we were able to visit my parents’ place. We wouldn’t be returning home the same day. Or the day after. Dad would make us stay. Dad would make us all hang out and play board games and watch TV together and anything else he could think of that required us to be in the same room at the same time. Nicki wouldn’t argue. Neither would Mom. And that’s because secretly we wanted to be together. Secretly, we were all fine with it.

  ***

  Bailey navigated the roads carefully as she drove herself and Reece to her parents’ house. She explained that they were no Norman Rockwell picture-perfect unit, but they were family nonetheless, and she was offering to share. He grew hopeful that this phase in their relationship would lead to something bigger. Something like the two of them living together. They practically did now, but he still had his own place. And he didn’t like it. He liked Bailey’s, with her galvanized tin milk jugs and perennial gardens. Hers was the home he never had.

  “Just ignore my sister,” Bailey said as she pulled into the driveway.

  “Now why would I do that?” Reece asked.

  “Because she’s annoying,” Bailey replied. “Oh, and speaking of my sister, you wanna be my date to her wedding next June?”

  “Sure, but who am I gonna hang out with? Won’t you be busy all day doing wedding stuff?”

  Bailey pushed through the front door, and Reece followed.

  “No,” she lied.

  “No?”

  She watched her sister round the corner.

  “Yes,” she whispered reluctantly. “And it’ll be awful. Just never mind.”

  Reece opened his mouth to speak, but Nicki cut him off.

  “Soooo, this is the famous Reece Powell,” she said, extending her hand.

  Reece shook it. “I’m famous, huh?”

  “I don’t know what that means,” Bailey muttered.

  “It means my sister talks about you whenever she possibly can,” Nicki replied brightly.

  It was a flat-out lie. Bailey never offered any details about her relationship with Reece.

  Reece blushed from the compliment. “She does?”

  Bailey shrugged. What the hell was going on? And in an instant, her guard flew up.

  Nicki led them into the kitchen where Bailey introduced Reece to her mother first, followed by her father.

  “We’re so happy to finally meet you,” Mrs. Mitchell said pleasantly. “It’s about time we know this gentleman Bailey talks about.”

  There it was again! Another straight-up lie. Bailey glanced at her father who gave her a wink. Oh, okay. Just play along. Evidently they were the Norman Rockwell picture-perfect family. And this was all for Reece’s benefit why?

  She found out later that night.

  “Reece, come here,” Bailey’s mom ordered. She sported a huge smile and outstretched arms.

  Reece walked over to Mrs. Mitchell and let her wrap him in a hug.

  “We’re so happy to meet you!” she said. “And no ‘Mrs. Mitchell,’ mister. It’s ‘Georgie,’ okay?”

  Reece grinned. “Okay.” He had no idea why Bailey said all that stuff about her “messed up” family. These people were amazing—the kind of family you see highlighted in Hallmark Channel movies around Christmastime.

  “I’m really happy to meet you, Georgie,” Reece said.

  Her dad extended his hand, and Reece shook it.

  “Nice to meet you, sir,” Reece said.

  “Not sir. Call me Sam,” Dad replied pleasantly.

  Reece nodded, and with that, introductions were over. They sat down to dinner where most of the conversation revolved around storm damage. Nicki kept glancing at Reece, then grinning at Bailey, until finally Bailey asked her to help bring in dessert.

  “What the hell is going on?” Bailey hissed as she collected the dessert plates from the kitchen.

  “What are you talking about?” Nicki replied.

  “You and Mom. Why are you fawning all over Reece and acting like you like me?”

  Nicki snorted. “Bailey. Please.”

  “No, not ‘please.’ Tell me what the hell is going on,” Bailey demanded.

  Nicki leaned in until her face was inches from her sister’s. “We’re trying to help you.”

  “Help me how?”

  “Help you keep this one,” Nicki replied.

  Oh, the bitch. Bailey took a deep breath.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Mom and I really want this one to work out for you, Bailey. God knows you’ve been through enough boyfriends already. So we’re trying to show him how awesome you are. How you’re a keeper.”

  “By lying to him about how much I talk to you about him?” Bailey asked. “You know how stupid that is?”

  “It’s not stupid. It’s strategic. And anyway, we already planned out dessert time. Cute stories about Bailey when she was younger.”

  “Oh my God. No,” Bailey replied.

  “Yes,” Nicki insisted.

  “I don’t need your help!”

  “I beg to differ.”

  Do not strangle your sister right now, Bailey thought.

  “Leave it to us,” Nicki said. She grabbed the cake and slicer and walked off.

  “Nicki!” But it was too late. She disappeared into the dining room before Bailey could stop her.

  “That was quite the show in there,” I said to Dad.

  He positioned his light on a small stack of thin wood pieces. They were the sides of his model boat.

  “Your mother doesn’t want you to be alone,” he replied.

  “I gathered as much. But why the big to-do? I mean, why pretend we’re this really awesome, close family?”

  Dad looked up. “We’re not?”

  I chuckled and rubbed my forehead. “And what was up with those Bailey stories? The whole thing made me wanna puke. I don’t even wanna know what Mom is telling Reece right now.”

  “She’s probably listing all the awards you received in school,” Dad replied.

  I plopped down in a chair across from his work table.

  “I didn’t receive awards in school,” I said.

  “She’s probably listing out all the ‘awards’ you received in school,” Dad repeated, putting air quotes around the word this time. He looked up at me and grinned. “And Honor Roll counts, by the way.”

  I shrugged. “Why go to all the trouble? I mean, she doesn’t even like me.”

  Dad paused mid-glue. “Bailey, never say that about your mother.”

  I winced. I wasn’t expecting that. I was expecting Dad to crack some joke. That’s what he normally did.

  “Dad . . .”

  “She loves you very much. She worries about you constantly. She just wants you to be happy, honey.”

  I hung my head. “I would have never guessed. She fawns all over Nicki all the time.”

  “Because Nicki is hers. You’re mine. She knows that. She’s jealous. Why do you think she needed another baby? She wanted a child of her own.”

  I couldn’t believe he said it out loud. Yes, we’d talked about it—joked about it—but he never just said it. Just like that. With all the seriousness of a man making confession befo
re he went to the grave.

  “I’m just being truthful,” Dad went on. “Now, I know she has her faults. I know you both have had a rough go of it, but she’s still your mother. And she loves you and wants what’s best for you.”

  “And I guess she thinks that’s Reece?” I asked. “After knowing him five minutes?”

  “She sees that he makes you happy. And that’s what matters to her.”

  I grunted.

  “Don’t do that,” Dad said, picking up his tweezers.

  “Stop being so solemn tonight, Dad!”

  “Stop being so negative,” he replied.

  I huffed. “Fine. But it hurts my feelings that they’re so worried I’ll screw up this relationship. Like I’m some loser who can’t keep a man. Like I need my mom and sister to lie about my personality so I look more appealing. You know, I told Reece about my OCD.”

  “You did?”

  “Yes.”

  “And how’d that go?”

  “He’s cool with it.”

  Dad was silent for a moment. “Has he seen the bad?” he asked softly.

  “No,” I admitted. “Should I stage a trial run?”

  Dad cocked his head. “Wouldn’t be a bad idea, actually. Should have done that with your mother.”

  I snorted.

  “I’m glad you were honest with him,” Dad said. “I think that’ll help immensely. And you shouldn’t be ashamed of your condition anyway. It’s a part of you that you’ll have to manage for the rest of your life. Lying about it will get you nowhere in a relationship. Should have considered that when I dated your mom.”

  “Are things bad?” I asked suddenly.

  “Things are what they are,” Dad replied.

  I don’t know why I asked. I hated hearing about the current state of my parents’ marriage. It pissed me off. I know I’m biased when it comes to Dad, but I can’t help feeling like Mom constantly punishes him for a condition he can’t cure. Manage? Yes. Cure? No. And I know Dad works his ass off to be better.

  “How are your urges?”

  I realized I hadn’t asked Dad this in a while. I was so consumed with my new relationship that I forgot all about my buddy—my battle buddy.

  “Eh.”

  “Dad . . .”

  “I drove around the neighborhood twice yesterday,” he confessed.

  “After coming back from the grocery store?” I asked.

  He shrugged then nodded.

  “Dad, what did Dr. Gordon tell you about that?”

  Dad sighed. “Focus on the groceries and what needs to go in the freezer.”

  “Exactly.”

  “But I didn’t buy anything that needed to go in the freezer.”

  “That’s not the point,” I said. “You’re stronger than your compulsions, Dad.”

  “It’s just driving around the neighborhood a few times.”

  “It’s doing something because you think you have to. You don’t have to, Dad.”

  He grunted.

  “All right, all right. I’ll get off your case. And anyway, I turned the knobs on my stove the other day just because I hadn’t done it in a while, and it felt so fucking good.”

  “Bailey? Language.”

  I picked up Dad’s glue bottle and twisted the cap.

  “Sorry,” I mumbled.

  ***

  “May I help you with the dishes?” Reece asked.

  Georgie shook her head. “Absolutely not. You’re a guest.”

  Reece smiled and sat down at the kitchen island.

  “Bailey and her father disappear?” Georgie asked, plunging her hands in the soapy dishwater.

  “She said she’d be back in a second,” Reece replied.

  Georgie snorted. “If she went in that back bedroom where the model boat is, she won’t.”

  “Model boat?”

  “My husband’s been working on this model boat for, let’s see, a century? Bailey likes to go back there and help him.”

  “That’s cool,” Reece replied.

  Georgie said nothing. Reece thought it was the perfect opportunity to ask for much-needed advice. Sure, Bailey already filled him in on several details about OCD, but he needed the advice of someone who didn’t suffer from it. He needed the advice of someone who lived with an OCD patient. Wait. Patient? Do you call them patients?

  “Georgie,” Reece began, studying the back of her head. Her hair was dark like Bailey’s. Long and dark and pulled into a messy chignon at the nape of her neck.

  “Hmm?” she replied.

  “I’d like to talk to you about something. Get your advice, perhaps?”

  “Shoot.”

  “Bailey’s already told me a lot about her condition—”

  “What condition?”

  “Her OCD,” Reece explained. He watched Georgie tense at the sink. She held up a plate with the dishcloth frozen to its outer edge.

  “Oh?”

  “Yeah.” Reece was slightly confused. “And she’s given me some great advice on how to deal with her when she’s anxious and feeling like she has to give in to an urge, but I’d really like to hear about it from you. I think your advice could be really useful, too.”

  “Well, what advice can I give you?” Georgie asked. “Bailey doesn’t live with me anymore. I could only tell you about how she was as a child, and I’m sure that’s changed.”

  “No no, not Bailey. I mean Sam. Bailey told me your husband suffers from it, too. I thought maybe you could give me tips on how to deal. You know, as a person on the other side.”

  Georgie placed the plate carefully in the sink and turned around slowly.

  “She sure is making a big deal about this, isn’t she?” Georgie asked. She tried for a smile. It spread like sickly sweet icing across her face, and Reece thought he’d said something very wrong.

  “Well . . . she just wants me to understand, I guess.”

  Georgie wiped her hands with a tea towel, then tossed it over her shoulder.

  “It’s not a big deal,” she said.

  Reece knew it was a lie. Why was she lying to him?

  “Really? Because Bailey told me it can get rough at times. When her anxiety explodes and she just becomes consumed with her compulsions. I mean, how do I deal with that? How do you deal with it?”

  Georgie tapped her fingers on the countertop.

  “I . . . just tell Sam that he’s bigger than his urges, and sometimes he listens and stops,” she said pleasantly.

  “But how do you deal with it when it makes you angry? Like if he’s neglecting you in favor of an urge? Or if the compulsion causes a lot of tension? I just want to better prepare.”

  “Neglect me?” Georgie asked.

  “Well, you mentioned the model boat,” Reece pointed out.

  “Samuel’s boat has nothing to do with his OCD. And we really haven’t come up against too many major problems in our marriage. I just have to understand that he is who he is.” She smiled again. This time it wasn’t sickly sweet. This time it was pissy.

  “That’s it?” Reece asked.

  Silence. Georgie looked like she was battling the urge to explode—to admit the truth that would ease her conscience and destroy her daughter’s relationship.

  “Reece, what do you want me to tell you?” she said suddenly. “You want me to tell you to run for the hills? Hmm? Because I’ve thought about doing that a dozen times in my marriage! It’s a nightmare sometimes. A nightmare!”

  Reece reared back.

  “It’s not their fault, but can you imagine what it’s like to be neglected for a schedule? Or waiting in a store parking lot for your husband who must touch all the light poles before going home? Or being late for an event because he has to circle the neighborhood two times at fifteen miles per hour?!”

  Reece’s eyes bugged.

  “They think they’re trapped in their compulsions?! They don’t even consider us and what we have to deal with. We’re just as trapped, and our cage is far worse because we don’t have to be there. We c
ould walk away. Sometimes I wish I would have walked away thirty years ago. And then at twenty. And then yesterday!”

  “Mom?” Nicki said, rounding the corner.

  “What?” she cried, throwing up her hands. “Reece wanted to know!”

  “Mom, Reece doesn’t want to hear all about Dad’s OCD. And anyway, it’s not that bad,” Nicki replied.

  Georgie burst out laughing.

  Nicki and Reece stared at one another.

  “Why did you bring it up?” Nicki hissed, staring at Reece through accusatory eyes.

  “I . . . I’m sorry,” he said. “I just wanted some advice.”

  She raised her eyebrows.

  “From someone on the other side,” he added. It was lame, and he really hated himself for saying anything.

  Georgie took a deep breath and shook her head.

  “I’m glad you asked, Reece. I’m glad. We shouldn’t keep this shit in the dark.”

  “Mother!”

  “Oh Nicki, hush up.” And then she turned to Reece. “So you caught on to the big dessert time show, huh?”

  Reece shrugged.

  Georgie snorted. “Thought so. Here’s the deal: My daughter can’t keep a man to save her life. What mother wants to tell the truth about her to her current boyfriend? We’re all over here on our hands and knees praying to God that you’ll hold on. That you’ll be the one who’s strong enough to deal with all her bullshit.”

  “It’s not bullshit,” Reece whispered.

  “It’s bullshit, honey. And you’ll find out soon enough. We’re not gonna bet on seeing you the next time, but we sure as hell hope we will. Because I like you, Reece. I like your openness. Yes, you pissed me off for a second with all your prying, but I understand now that it’s coming from a good place. You just wanna be the best boyfriend you can be. Is that right?”

  He nodded. He didn’t much care for this woman at the moment.

  “I thought so. So here’s my advice: Don’t expect too much.”