Perfect

by Dani Wyatt

  Which is not in Ann Arbor anymore, apparently.

  “Oh yeah?” I chuckle as I settle behind my desk and flip open my laptop. It’s seven o’clock and I’m nothing if not a man of routine. Especially this, obsessive routine. This has been what I’ve done every day since I got here. “Are you planning on surprising me with said hug or are you expecting me to initiate?” He’s early, supposed to arrive after eight, but the private jet his parents chartered made good time apparently. I planned to have my writing done before he got here, but oh well, it’s a priority so he will have to wait.

  “Not sure yet. Maybe get a few good German beers in me and then it will be all bro hugs and ’I love you, man.’ Just have to see how the evening unfolds, you know? I’m more worried about you hugging me back, knowing your strength. Seriously, you know we had to get the back door replaced?” He drags his hand over his head, his blond hair shorter than when I left. He’s inspecting, looking around my small apartment decorated with a few pieces of furniture and not much more because I don’t think of this as home. Not without her. “Cozy in here.”

  “Yep.” I’m only half listening as my fingers click on the keys. Another day, and another email that will go nowhere.

  Derrick rolls his eyes. “Are you doing what I think you’re doing? Still writing her every day? Dude, come on. I told you, I go by the house all the fucking time, just like you asked. It’s still padlocked and the grass is never cut. The snow is never shoveled. No one is there. She’s gone, man. And anyway, you only spoke to her once. What is your hang-up with this girl?”

  “Once was enough.” My fingers pause over the keys. The image of her face drifts through my mind, as it does a thousand times a day. Maybe I am completely insane but it doesn’t stop me.

  After she disappeared into the pickup with her father, I stomped back inside the house to set the record straight with Derrick’s step sister and her mean-girl posse. I was so close to coming undone on all of them. Sitting there with their entitled eyerolls. I won’t call them women or ladies. After a couple hours, I calmed down, hung out with Derrick then headed back for a goodbye breakfast with my parents.

  Derrick did tell me some of Amanda’s history. Her mom’s on husband number six, while his dad is on wife number four. A match made in heaven. Amanda’s been kicked out of enough boarding schools that her mom decided to give her a taste of public school. Anyway, it’s no excuse for her shitty behavior, but I get that she’s privileged and neglected at the same time.

  Thoughts of Talia tore at me that entire night at Derrick’s after she disappeared. Yes, I’d only just met her. Yes, it was for a few minutes at best, but fuck, it pulled at me.

  She’d pulled at me.

  At one point during that night of the party, somewhere between Derrick switching from beer to scotch, I’d decided not to go to Berlin. I couldn’t stop thinking about Talia and nothing like that has ever happened to me before. That feeling when I touched her. The kiss wasn’t just a kiss for me, it was a promise. A promise that I would always be there for her.

  During my going away breakfast back at my house the next morning, I had to make an excuse to Mom and Dad that I needed something from the store half-way between the orange juice and over-easy eggs. I couldn’t help myself.

  I just left them both sitting there staring at me. But in that moment, nothing mattered except getting to her. Not the signing bonus I’d already spent to pay off Mom’s medical bills. Not my five-year contract obligation that would pay off all my student loans and give me a salary to make our lives more than comfortable. I would have to pay it all back, I knew that. The contract I’d signed held me for a yearlong project in Berlin. Three months I could apply for transfer, but they’d said not to get my hopes up.

  I didn’t care. The only thought in my head was that I wouldn’t even get to take any time off until I’d worked here for six months, and the thought of waiting six months to see her again was impossible to fathom.

  From our little deal that night, I knew her name and the general area where she lived. I’d not spent much time on that side of town myself, but I knew of the house. This is a fairly big town; I lived down on the south side and she’s on the north out in the middle of nowhere.

  I drove there that morning, though what I was planning I’m not sure. There were only two houses on that long stretch of rural road, bunched up tight together like they were huddling for warmth. And I was pretty sure I knew which one was hers from the thick chain and industrial padlock on the front gate. I stood staring at the dark house, considering hopping the six-foot, chain link fence when from my left a voice nearly knocked me off my feet.

  “They’re gone.” A young woman had been leaning against a tree, inspecting her fingernails and standing outside the other house. Her hair cut in a short bob and her bangs were every color of the rainbow.

  “Gone?” I hated that word.

  “Yep. Packed up and left last night.” Her t-shirt read ‘Maybe Clowns Hate You Too.’ “I know you. You’re Griffin. You were on the football team.” Her eyes read caution but I needed information so I ignored her reservation.

  “Do you know her? Talia?” I turn a finger toward her house.

  “Yep. How do you know her?” Her cautious skepticism made me like her immediately.

  It took a few minutes, but I managed to find out Talia’s father had been threatening to take them away somewhere, and when Talia came home the night before—in the state she was in—apparently that was enough to push him over the edge. The friend didn’t know where they went exactly, but she knew Talia’s father’s family lived off the grid somewhere. The whole upset with the state and the homeschooling thing had put him in a foul mood, the threats came daily, so it didn’t take much to give him the nudge he needed. Seemed her father was no fan of the government, and his paranoia ran pretty deep.

  My heart clutched in my chest when she finished telling me everything. I realized that I didn’t really know anything about her except she was gone.

  After I drove back home, I came back inside, not sure what to do. The thought of staying stateside derailed when my parents had looked at me with such pride.

  “Real men honor their commitments, son. You make me proud, Griffin. Your mother and I can’t thank you enough for what you’ve done for us. You’re going to change the future for us and for yourself.” He’d cried with his hand on my shoulder. My mom cried too when she hugged me.

  I cried when I got on the plane. Not sure if I was crying for something that would never be or something I was leaving that never had a chance to start, but I hadn’t cried since I was probably six years old. Sometimes I think we mourn even more for the idea of what could have been instead of what really was.

  Derrick and I kept in touch since I left, of course. I set him to the task of driving by Talia’s house every day for the first month I was gone. I sat down every night after work, no matter what time I got home. Before I ate anything, before I changed my clothes, I would write to her. I would jot down notes throughout the day—while I drank my coffee in the morning, while I sat in Mauerpark on the rare lunch breaks when I didn’t work straight through.

  Today, almost three months later as I sit here writing to her with Derrick sitting on my sofa, my drafts folder has 179 emails written to Talia.

  And zero from her.

  Maybe I am crazy.

  C H A P T E R F I V E

  TALIA

  The spiders have moved in.

  And from the little gifts left behind in the corners of the kitchen, so have the mice. All the cabinet doors hang open, as though a poltergeist has joined in with the spiders and the mice. The way my father made us leave here so quickly, we grabbed what we could. Dust-covered cans of lima beans and stacks of mismatched dishes look like a snapshot of someone’s life interrupted. Which is fairly accurate.

  Three months away and the house felt like it had been abandoned for years. I got back here last night and it still doesn’t feel real.

  Yesterday, whe
n I came back from watching my cousins at the compound in Gaylord where Dad had moved us, Mom was sitting at the table in our cabin waiting for me. It’s still hard to believe everything she told me and that I’m actually back here at our house. Her house, as it turns out, not my father’s as I’d always thought.

  I still shake my head and pinch myself trying to be sure this is not just a dream. What she told me as I stared at her still rattles around in my head like some dubious tale from an old pulp fiction novel.

  The whole situation with the IRS, my father never filing a tax return, and his conviction on tax evasion was strange enough. But what she told me then about their marriage threw me for a double loop. See, they were married in the eyes of the church. But not in the eyes of the state. Not legally.

  I begged her to come back here with me when I left, but she said her place was there. She signed over the deed and the truck to me and then I was gone, just that fast. She pushed me out the door, telling me I needed to go, and she was sorry. It was long past time and I had to hurry before my father came back. He wasn’t fighting the IRS’s charges, and mom said he was scheduled to report to the correctional facility the next day. Shock hit me and I guess I didn’t think, I just did as she said.

  I pulled up to our house and wondered what life was going to throw at me next.

  What was it I was feeling as I stepped inside? I think it was hope. I knew not to dare try to hold that little pixie in my hands. She’s never been fond of me.

  The house feels sad. It’s so quiet it’s loud inside and I want to cover my ears. Something needs to change.

  “It’s spooky in here.” Katie screws up her face and tosses a disgusted look toward the ceiling where a tangle of gray cobwebs has turned into an abandoned dreadlock swaying in some breeze I don’t feel. “It always was a little spooky in your house. No offense, of course. She sets down the two brown grocery bags she carried inside with her.

  “Let’s open the windows, see if some fresh air helps.” It’s January and the temperature is hovering just at freezing, so for us Michiganders, you might just see us outside in shorts. Last week before I left Gaylord, it was hitting thirty below wind chill.

  “Hey.” Katie’s face lights up. “I bought you a housewarming gift. Or a welcome back to the neighborhood gift. Whatever, I bought you a gift.”

  She reaches down into the grocery bag at her feet. In both hands she pulls out two lilac-colored pillar candles encased in glass. They’re gorgeous, and I can feel the tears coming to my eyes.

  “Hey, don’t cry, Talia. It’s just candles, dude. If you don’t like them——”

  “I love them! It’s just, I should be getting you a gift. As soon as I can afford it, you know...” I pull at the corner of a threadbare curtain, trying to decide whether they’re even salvageable. “With your dad giving me that waitress job. I’ve never had a job in my life; I may end up chasing away business. Not to mention when he came over last night to help me light the furnace, turn the water back on. Even get the solar back online. I should be getting you guys the gifts. It felt so strange sleeping here last night alone.”

  Her lips curve up – she’s got the kind that always seem to curve up, but right now she’s smiling in her eyes too. The multicolor streaks through her hair have moved from her bangs to all over.

  “Ah, it’s no big deal.” She flaps a hand my way. “He needs the help at the restaurant. He couldn’t believe when I told him you were back. That the house was yours now. And all that stuff with your mom and dad and the IRS.” She lets out a little happy yelp, lowering the candles to her hips. “My dad has a soft spot for you. And he’s glad someone’s back in the house. He haaaated your dad. Talk about good fences make for good neighbors. Remember when my dad built that fence?” She hoots. “Six feet tall wasn’t enough for him; he special ordered the eight foot pickets so he could have a solid wall between our houses. I mean, it looks strange on this road since it’s next to nowhere and miles from anywhere. Between the corn fields and the pastures, they stick two houses right next to each other. But I’m glad at least we got to be friends. Not that your dad ever let you come to my house.”

  “No, the devil’s work was done in your house.”

  Both of us laugh and I brush some dust off the front of my jeans. My first pair of jeans, I might add. Katie took me shopping this morning. It was the first thing on her agenda. My father didn’t believe women should wear anything but skirts. And they had to be ankle length and made from any fabric in the burlap family. I may as well have been wearing a refrigerator box.

  Katie smiles. “Well, at least he eventually let me come over here. I wore him down with my wit and charm.”

  She holds the candles up to her boobs like headlights and I roll my eyes. “Yeah, that was it.”

  “Remember that time I tried to give you a cotton candy scented candle when we were like sixteen? I was so excited to give you that. And he threw it away right in front of me.” She shakes her head and holds her locked arms out toward me, candles in each hand. “I thought it would be nice and sort of get rid of the closed up smell.” She crinkles her nose and her eyes twinkle.

  I’ve had one friend in my life and she’s it. I think I did pretty well because to everyone else in this town I was just that weird girl with the weird family that lived in that weird house. “Hey, I guess at least they taught you how to drive. I mean, your dad’s old pick up still sounds like a herd of sick elephants coming down the road, but at least you’ve got wheels.”

  After my mom talked to me, she gave me the car keys, the house keys and told me my suitcase was already in the back of the truck. I feel bad about leaving without saying goodbye to my father, but he told her he didn’t want to see me. She says to give him time, and I hope she’s right. He’s still my father, and he’s not a bad person. He just had his ways, that’s all, didn’t like to be beholden to anyone. I guess that’s why he made the choices he did—not just about me, but about the taxes and the marriage and everything.

  I’m still not sure the details of mom and dad’s conversation. How it came to be that she convinced him to let me fly away. My mom loves him, I know that, but she’s also never stood up to him and I know it had to be a hard day for her as well. She’s a good mom, we were just never close. She always seemed to existed in his shadow, never really coming into her own. It’s sad and I often wonder how two people such as they are ended up with a ukulele playing, singing goofball like me.

  I stare out the kitchen window into the backyard. The old tire swing hangs crooked from the elm at the back corner, now almost completely enveloped by vines. This place is going to need work, but anything worth having does. If there’s one thing my weird upbringing taught me it was never to be afraid of hard work. “Thanks, Katie, go ahead and light them. Let’s get this place feeling alive.”

  As much as I try, three months later I still can’t stop thinking of Griffin. That kiss. His kindness. The way my skin rippled and turned hot from the moment he walked into that library.

  That scar on his lip. How I wanted to reach up and touch it. Ask where it came from.

  I take a deep breath and shake off the memory of that last night here as Katie steps to the counter and digs in her purse for a lighter, flicking it and holding the flame to the candle wicks as they sizzle and catch.

  The sink is full of dusty dishes still piled there from the night Dad pulled us away. I push up on the window over the sink, trying to get it open, but it’s stuck tight. My father never really did believe in opening them, but I hadn’t expected to find so many of them warped and painted shut.

  “Oh!” Katie jumps up and down, a sudden thought exciting her.

  Her enthusiastic chirp startles me and I bang the heel of my hand upward on the window frame. “Owww. What?” The window gives way, opening with a crack of old paint, and I snap back a fingernail. “Ouch, dag-nab-it.”

  Katie laughs. “You know, you can swear as much as you want now. Your dad can’t hear you.” She blows some dust off t
he counter, flapping her hand dramatically in front of her face when the ensuing cloud kicks up, and pretends to choke. “Anyway, so I want to hear you swear tonight. I want all the curse words by seven o’clock. If you need help, I’ll help. But what I was going to say was, I brought my old laptop with me. You can have it. Keep it. And we’re going to get you your first email account, maybe set up Facebook even—and tomorrow, a cell phone. My dad moved our wireless router toward your side of our house and you can pick up the signal.” She makes the sign of the cross then prayer hands. “Maybe I’ll even introduce you to Tumblr.” She yips in excitement with a playful thrust of her hips.

  I spin and lean against the counter, my hands gripping the edge at my hips with an irritated scowl. “Even in my month at high school, my father refused to let them have me work on a computer. That was fun. The teachers trying to figure out how to re-work their assignments just for me. Probably a good thing it only lasted a month. So, ease me into the twentieth century, please. I may die of shock if we go too fast.”

  “Ha! Fine. But if you want to learn anything about sex, I have one word. Tumblr.” She licks her teeth with a wicked smile then raises her hands with a shake. “Okay, first is email. Everyone has to have email. It’s the gateway to all other electronic communication. You can’t be on social media without an email so that’s where we will start!” She starts to yell as she gets excited. “I still couldn’t believe it when you showed up on my doorstep. I swear, just for a second, I thought you were a ghost. Scared the living shit out of me.”

  As the words fly around in my head, Katie bounds over to the front door to grab her computer bag. My heart speeds up its beats. I’m nervous, sure, but not just because I’m being introduced to the modern world at the kind of pace that gives racecar drivers the jitters. The word ‘email’ is also giving my skin that same vibrating, living-being feeling it had that night.

  By the time I look up she’s standing in front of me, grinning as wide as if she’d just won the stuffed bear at the carnival. “So, where do you want to sit? Dining room?” She looks over her left shoulder where the dining table sits waiting for something to happen. “Why not here?”