Gibson Boys Box Set

by Locke, Adriana

  My mouth is dry as I look over my shoulder at Mariah. She’s looking at the spot where my phone lays.

  What cards do I play now?

  “Okay,” I tell the boys. “Get those dishes washed up and let’s make the icing.”

  Twenty-Six

  Mariah

  After drying off my hands from the dishwater, I check on the stir-fry finishing off on the stove. It smells spicy and delicious. I don’t make it often because I hate cutting all the vegetables and chicken, but it seemed simple enough to make before Lance shows up for dinner yet complicated enough to be semi-impressive.

  I’m not sure when he’s coming. He said he had a few things to do before he could make his way over here, but I had some time and figured we could re-heat it. He seemed as surprised as I was that I invited him. I think I was so shaken from seeing the app still on his phone and listening to Ollie’s story this afternoon that I just needed some comfort.

  I haven’t been able to shake Ollie from my mind all evening. There are kids worse off than him—I know that. I’m not oblivious to it. But to think a kid right under your nose, in the same school that you work in, has no parents. No one to love him. No one to make sure he doesn’t starve to death or have a dry pair of socks once he hits eighteen is just heartbreaking.

  There have been a lot of accomplishments I’ve achieved on my own. Applied and got accepted to college. Paid off my car loan. Found a house to rent and got a job at a high school that was my first choice. Those all felt like huge burdens to bear at the time, but not compared to what Ollie faces.

  As I flip off the burner, I think back to the discussion Lance and I had as we straightened the Family and Consumer Sciences Room after Ollie and Brandon left. He insisted his brothers would be able to help him find Ollie housing and a job. Apparently, they’re connected around town. I promised to help with the deposit if needed.

  Lance’s face as we talked about this caused my heart to swell and sink at the same time. I love that he cares so genuinely about this kid. The way he was so gentle with Betsy this past weekend, yet so firm with Brandon makes him feel so … sturdy. Like a man.

  “What do I know about that?” I scoff, setting the spoon down. My phone blares from the living room and I jog that way to answer it. It’s a number I don’t recognize and having just told Ollie to call me if he needed anything, I worry it’s him.

  “Hello?” I say.

  “Hey, Mariah. It’s Chrissy.”

  I wanted to be more prepared in case this call ever happened. My stomach twists so hard it burns. Even though things went decently between us over brunch, I hadn’t yet processed it all the way through.

  “I know you weren’t expecting to hear from me. I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

  “Just making dinner,” I say. “What’s going on?”

  I switch the phone between my hands, my palms sweaty. My sister clears her throat.

  “Nothing, actually. I just, um …” She clears her throat again. “I wanted to have a chance to talk to you without people around, you know?”

  “I … Chrissy, I really don’t know what to say.”

  “You don’t have to say anything. Just agree to meet me for coffee and I’ll do all the talking.”

  Pacing a circle around my sofa, I wish Lance were here. He couldn’t make this decision for me, but he’d make me feel better about whatever decision I’d make. Just feeling his arm around me or seeing his crooked grin makes everything feel better.

  “My schedule is pretty full,” I tell her. “Why don’t you just say what you need to say over the phone?”

  “I deserve that.”

  “This isn’t about who deserves what,” I sigh.

  “Mariah … I’m sorry.”

  The words I’ve wanted to hear my entire life are there, out in the open. I still, waiting for the relief that I expect to follow but nothing happens. “What are you sorry for?” I ask.

  She groans. “I’ve been pretty horrible to you our entire lives. Don’t you agree?”

  “Yes, I agree. I’ve agreed for the last twenty-seven years.” Bowing my head, the muscles in the back of my neck stretch. It seems to pull up a sickness in my stomach, though, as floods of memories cascade around me. “Why now, Chris? Why all of a sudden are you so sorry? Do I have nothing left you want?”

  I don’t mean to spill such nastiness over the line, but it feels like a dam is broken. It’s like I’m stepping out of a shell I’ve worn for so very long and now I’m me, the little girl who has been tempered inside who can now come into the sunshine.

  My laughter isn’t from joy or even amusement. It’s more from a disbelief that this conversation is actually happening.

  “I mean it,” she insists. “This conversation should’ve happened a long time ago and I was too self-absorbed to see it.”

  “So, you woke up this morning and realized what an asshole you’ve been to me? And you grew a conscience? Why is that hard to believe?”

  “Because that’s not the way it happened,” she counters. “I’ll be honest, as terrible as this is going to sound, but the day I realized it—got an inkling of it—was the day I got married and you weren’t there.”

  “Can you blame me? You were marrying the man I thought I would be marrying.”

  “No, I don’t blame you,” she scoffs. “And I’m not sorry I married Eric because I believe he’s my soul mate. But I am sorry it hurt you and I want you to know, as unbelievable as this sounds, we didn’t get together until you were broken up.”

  I had an entire little speech planned for this moment, one I didn’t think would ever come to fruition. It consisted of a bunch of name calling and fact pointing and trying to humiliate her to a level from which she would never recover.

  Now that the moment is here, none of it will come to mind. All I can think is thank God. Thank God that prayer went unanswered. Praise Jesus that Eric didn’t ask to marry me. Where would that have landed me?

  Glancing down at my shirt still wearing the signs of the flour from earlier, I feel a peace settle over me.

  “You know what?” I ask, swallowing hard. “It doesn’t matter.”

  “It does matter, Mariah.”

  “It doesn’t.” I wait for regret to hit me. “It doesn’t. Eric and I not being together was the best thing that ever happened to me in retrospect.”

  “You really like Lance, huh?” she asks softly.

  “Yeah,” I grin. “I do.”

  The line rustles as she moves on the other end. “He seems like a great catch.”

  “I haven’t quite caught him yet,” I laugh, the words coming easier now that I’m on my turf. “But I wasn’t really trying either.”

  “That’s funny. I want you to catch him if you want to catch him. I want you to be happy.”

  “I want to be happy too.”

  I look at the tray of empty cupcakes from today. Lance makes me happy and I think I make him happy. But if I do, why does he still have the app updating on his phone?

  I didn’t mean to see it and I almost wish I hadn’t. It’s just enough to make my anxiety need a shot of whiskey to settle. It’s probably nothing and he has every right to use the app. I just wish I knew for my own good.

  My next statement is on the tip of my tongue and I try to taste it, work it around, before I say it. “I want you to be happy too, Chrissy.”

  “I am,” she whispers. “I carry this burden around every day and I don’t expect you to forgive me for being so awful to you. I just hope maybe one day we can start all over or start as the grown-ups we are now.”

  “Can I ask you something?” I ask, heading back into the kitchen. “Why were you so awful to me? Why did you always try to trump everything that meant anything to me?”

  The line quiets as I get out plates and dip out some stir fry. I think she might’ve hung up when she finally speaks again.

  “My room was by Mom and Dad’s,” she says, so softly I almost don’t hear her. “I used to listen to them fight.
Dad used to tell her he was leaving and they’d fight about us and he’d always say he was taking you. That you were the only one of us who had any sense.”

  My jaw drags the ground at her confession. Is that true?

  “I was jealous,” she says crisply. “He wrote off everything I liked as frivolous. He praised your grades. He loved your paintings and thought you were the next Monet and I couldn’t do anything to get his attention.”

  “So you were a jerk to me?”

  “I’m sorry, Mariah.” She hesitates. “When I had Betsy, one of the first things I noticed about her was her birthmark. It felt like the universe was mocking me, that I was so horrible my sister wouldn’t even be there with me. And then I imagined having another daughter and having one of them treat the other the way I treated you and I think I cried for two days.”

  “Probably post-partum,” I say, taking a bite of chicken.

  I hear Betsy cry in the background. Chrissy coos to her as the phone gets jolted all around. “Eric! Are you in here? Can you help me for a minute?”

  “Hey, Chrissy,” I say, setting down my fork. “Go take care of your baby girl.”

  The thought of that precious baby’s face makes me soften.

  “Are you sure?” she asks. “I, um …”

  “I’m sure. Thank you for calling me and for all the things you said.”

  “I meant them, Mariah.”

  I look at my reflection in the window over the sink. My little birthmark looks a little darker, a little more noticeable for some reason.

  “I know you did. Just give me some time to think about things.”

  “Absolutely. Thank you for taking my call.”

  “Sure.”

  “Goodbye, Mariah.”

  Ending the call, food forgotten, I head into the living room and lay on the couch. The entire conversation, line-for-line rolls back through my mind as I dissect everything we both said.

  I’m scared to believe her. I’m scared not to too.

  * * *

  Lance

  “Hand me another box of nails,” Peck shouts from overhead.

  Machlan grabs the last box on the tailgate of his truck and climbs the two bottom rungs and hands them to Peck. There’s a little patch of roofing on Nana’s shed that she uses to store her Christmas decorations and yard ornaments that she needed fixed. My skill set usually has me coming by to check her taxes or deal with insurance, but when Machlan and Peck said they were coming over, I figured it was better than sitting around the house ruminating.

  Cross flies down the driveway in his Jeep, kicking gravel all over the yard. We laugh, knowing Nana will have his ass when she sees him again.

  “Typical,” Machlan shouts. “Show up when the work is about done.”

  “I’ve been on the phone.”

  Machlan holds the ladder steady as Peck’s boot hits the top rung. “I bet.”

  “Hadley called.” Cross gives Machlan a ‘you asked for it’ kind of look.

  “How is she?” I ask.

  Machlan glares my way, disappearing to the other side of the shed so he doesn’t have to hear. A part of me feels bad for asking knowing how hard it is for my brother to hear anything about her at all. Even though none of us are one-hundred-percent sure what actually transpired between them, it was enough to keep Machlan from settling down again.

  “She’s good,” Cross says. “Had a question about the guy she’s been seeing for a while. Can’t say I like him much, but it seems like he’s around for the long haul.”

  Peck’s hammer taps against the roof before he whips around and sits on his behind. “Here I am, doin’ all the work, and you guys will go inside and tell Nana what a great job you did. Such bullshit.”

  “Keep it up and that ladder just might give out on ya on the way down,” Machlan says, coming back into view.

  Peck grins, resting his arms on his knees. “So, Lance. With all this talk about Hadley, what’s going on with Mariah?”

  “I wish I knew,” I say, feeling my stomach bottom out.

  “She dump you already?” Machlan asks with a smirk.

  “No, asshole, she didn’t.” Leaning back against Cross’ Jeep, I sigh. “It’s hard to explain.”

  “Women always are,” Cross notes.

  “She’s not hard to explain. The situation is.”

  Cross looks at me funny. “If she’s not hard to explain, marry her. Now. You’ve found a one in a million.”

  “No shit,” Machlan adds.

  I shove off the hood and start picking up stray nails. There’s no way to tell them Mariah doesn’t have a damn thing about her that makes her undesirable or off-limits or makes me not want to see her again. They won’t understand.

  “You’re scared shitless, aren’t you?” Cross cracks.

  Peck just watches me from his perch, a hammer dangling from his hand. He raises a brow but chooses to remain silent.

  “You’re not getting any younger, you know,” Machlan notes.

  “Yeah, I know. Thanks for pointing that out.”

  He shrugs.

  “Believe it or not,” I say, dumping the nails in a discarded box, “this really has nothing to do with her.”

  “Oh, so this is one of those ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ kind of things?” Cross jokes. “You better get something better than that before you go fucking up all kinds of shit.”

  “Kind of.”

  “You’re admitting you have flaws?” Machlan asks. “I didn’t think we’d see the day.”

  “I’ve never said I didn’t have flaws. I just said I didn’t have as many as you fuckers.”

  They all laugh, Machlan holding the ladder as Peck climbs to the ground. “Tell you what,” my youngest brother says. “I have a feeling there’s a lot more to this conversation than you’re letting on. But I’m not a pushy guy. When you’re ready to get slammed and pour your heart out, I’ll have an Old Fashioned ready for you at Crave.”

  “Gee, thanks.”

  We work together to clean up the mess. Nana calls from the house, ordering us inside for sandwiches before we leave.

  “Hey,” I say, pulling my thoughts away from Mariah. “Do any of you need someone to do some odd jobs or have an apartment for rent?”

  Machlan looks up from the toolbox. “Maybe. Why?”

  “There’s a kid at school. He’s a foster kid. Good boy. He’s turning eighteen soon and apparently he’ll be on his own as soon.”

  “No shit?” Cross flinches.

  “I wanted to see if I could help him find something.”

  “If not, I could take a roommate,” Peck offers. “And I bet if you call Sienna, she’d make Walker give him a job.”

  We all laugh, knowing that’s true.

  Machlan and Cross get in their cars and drive a few yards to Nana’s back door. Peck and I load the rest of the tools and then stand next to the bed.

  “If I can do anything to help that kid, let me know,” Peck says, shaking his head. “That’s gonna bother me all night now.”

  Laughing, I take off his hat and throw it at him as I walk by. “He’ll be fine. We’ll work it out.”

  “What about Mariah? You gonna work that out?”

  My steps falter as I make it to my car. Head hanging, spirit deflating, I sigh. “I don’t know, man.”

  “Did you even talk to her?”

  “I talk to her every day.”

  “You’re a dumbass,” he says.

  The sun begins to set, the evening air cooling. A heaviness settles around me, a sadness, almost, that I haven’t felt since my parents died. It’s not the same, not as tragic, but not entirely different either.

  I’m on a precipice of losing something important to me and I don’t really have a choice.

  “You ever think of adopting?” Peck asks quietly. “I mean, there are ways to build a family without using sperm.”

  “I’m not against that. I think it’s a damn good idea. But that’s a choice for my life and I’m not at liberty to make th
at choice for her.”

  He grins. “I don’t think that girl would let you make any decision she didn’t want.”

  “Probably right,” I laugh, thinking of how hard-headed she can be. The toe of my boot scrapes against the ground, sending a load of pebbles scattering off the driveway.

  “I love her, Peck.”

  “I know you do.”

  “Why am I not terrified about that? How can you be so fucking sure and so fucking scared at the same time about the same thing?”

  “Because you love her,” he laughs. “I think it’s only terrifying when you aren’t sure. And if you aren’t sure, you probably don’t.”

  “How’d you get so wise?”

  He takes his hat off and wipes his brow with the sleeve of his shirt. “Baby, I was born this way.”

  Shaking my head, I open the door to my car.

  “She doesn’t love your sperm count,” Peck notes. “Remember that.”

  “So eloquent.”

  “You don’t pay me enough to be eloquent.”

  “I don’t pay you at all.”

  “Good point,” he says, pulling a drink out of the cooler in the back of his truck. “Look, I feel invested in this relationship. I need you to tell her you love her.”

  “Not happening,” I say. I climb into the driver’s seat.

  Peck just shakes his head. “You’re a bastard, you know that?”

  “I’m also a liar,” I tell him, starting the car and revving up the engine. “This isn’t only about her. It’s also about me.”

  “What about you?”

  “I’m a pussy who can’t admit my weaknesses.” A resolution slides over me. “Do me a favor and tell Nana I got sick or had to do something, okay?”

  He gasps. “You want me to lie to Nana?”

  “Just pretend it’s you telling her you didn’t sneak in here and eat all the leftover fried chicken last weekend.”

  “How’d you know about that?”

  I tap the side of my head. “I know everything.” Closing the door, I throw the transmission in reverse and head down the driveway.