Juggernaut

by K. S. Adkins

  “Would you have asked?”

  “After shots, I’ll do pretty much anything, duh.”

  “I wasted two years because I sat on the fence so I don’t think I’m the one to –”

  “I don’t like her being mad at me, Evander,” she whispers, and I feel it in my gut. “She doesn’t even know why she’s mad, and when she figures it out she’s going to feel like shit, even though she had a right to be mad. You sure you know what you’re doing?”

  “I need you to trust me, Hillary.”

  “This optimism fuckery is for the birds. And yes, I’m writing that down.”

  Then, thankfully, I get dead air and keep driving. Pulling into my parents’ driveway, ten minutes later I receive a text from Hillary.

  I asked. All systems go. No shots needed. Go me! (she even added a smiling emoji)

  For the first time in her life, Hillary has asked a man out on a date. She also asked him for a favor while she was at it.

  And he said yes to both. This pleases me.

  I’m walking in the front door and barely get out a hello to my parents before Sugar calls.

  “Problem,” she says in lieu of a greeting.

  “With?”

  “Seriously?” she squawks. “Look, Evander, I like you. You give solid advice and you love Taylor. But, The Shit is out of sorts and –”

  “Did you complete the tasks?”

  “I am not your secretary,” she huffs. “But yes, I did. However –”

  “I need to visit my parents sometime this year, Sugar, so please, get to the point.”

  “The point is,” she growls. “She thinks you’re cheating on her.”

  “Come again?” There is no way I heard her right.

  “Would it be easier for you if I spelled it out?”

  “Christ.”

  “Call Scott,” she suggests urgently. “Like yesterday.”

  Still standing in my parents’ foyer, with them standing next to me, I do exactly that. On the second ring, he mumbles, “This is not good, Evander.”

  “Where is she? What is she doing?”

  “She’s in the basement,” he whispers. “Drunk.”

  “Has she said anything?”

  “She’s not saying shit,” he grunts. “She’s just sitting there staring at her goddamn finger. She won’t talk to India either. She made it clear she’s only here for Netflix and our wine bar.”

  “Fuck.”

  “Plan B,” he mumbles. “You have to implement plan B, now.”

  “Make the calls,” I demand. “I’ll figure out how to get here there.”

  “Thank God,” he groans, hanging up the phone.

  As soon as I disconnect, my mom takes one look at me and flinches.

  “Oh shit.”

  “Yeah, oh shit,” I repeat. “We’re moving to plan B.”

  “When?”

  “Now.”

  “Now?” She screeches in alarm.

  “Where’s dad?”

  “Trimming his plants.”

  Rounding the corner, I call out for him and when he meets me in the hall he isn’t too stoned he doesn’t pick up on my anxiety. “Plan B?” he asks.

  “Plan fucking B.”

  “Carol!” he yells out. “Grab my bag, woman!”

  “Which bag?”

  “The one that doesn’t have drugs!”

  “Okay!”

  “How much time do we have?” he asks concerned.

  “Two hours.”

  “You look nervous, maybe you should –”

  “I can’t be high for this, Dad.”

  Kissing my mom on the cheek, I run back to my car. Then off to the office to grab my own bag Janice has waiting and haul ass. While driving like I’ve stolen the car, I field calls from The Shit, my parents, Janice, and finally Scott.

  “What do you mean she refuses to see me?”

  “I told her you wanted to meet and talk,” he explains. “She kind of lost her shit on me.”

  “That wasn’t the fucking plan, Scott!”

  No wonder she refuses to leave. Fuck. I guarantee her mind came up with worst case scenario and she’s in kill mode.

  “The girls are on their way here, Evander. We’ll –”

  “The girls can’t be there when they’re needed elsewhere!”

  “Well, we’ll improvise!”

  “You’re fired.”

  “You can’t fire me,” he argues back. “I’m saving your ass. I told you this wouldn’t work!”

  Driving even faster, I tell myself it would work.

  It fucking has to.

  So, I do what any guy would do. I call my mom for help.

  “—no issues knocking her out, but one of you has to distract her so she doesn’t hit me,” Sugar makes clear.

  “Take the fucking booze away,” Hillary is arguing.

  “Let’s all calm down and –” India is trying.

  “Have you ever had a backhand from her?” Sugar asks the group. “I have and it hurts!”

  “We are not knocking her out!” Hillary wheezes.

  “Then we’ll bribe her,” India explains. “With more booze, if necessary.”

  “She’s balls deep in wine now,” Sugar panics.

  “Fine,” Hillary interrupts. “Then we sock her in the stomach until she pukes. That’ll sober her up.”

  “Who’s going to sock her?” Sugar challenges. “You?”

  “Fuck no,” Hillary backs away. “You offered, you can take one for the team.”

  “Where’s Evander?” India asks the ceiling.

  “En route,” Scott says, hugging his wife in comfort he wasn’t feeling.

  “This is fucked,” Sugar whispers. “We are so fucking fucked.”

  “Evander may be a whiz in the courtroom, but he sucks in real life!” Hillary says with tears in her eyes. “I’m never calling him for advice again! Well, unless I need to…”

  “My son knows what he’s doing,” Mrs. Church says joining the fray, sure to portray a calm she wasn’t feeling. “And so do I. Now, all of you go, and I’ll get Taylor where she needs to be.”

  “Good plan,” Hillary nods. “She won’t hit his mom.”

  “Debatable,” Sugar said, biting her lip. “But I’m willing to risk it.”

  As for Carol Church, she has shit to do.

  All I want is to sit in India’s basement, bawl over Netflix, and chill.

  Normally, I wasn’t a Netflix female, but today I’m making an exception.

  Why?

  Because not only is Van pulling away from me, he’s turned me down for dinner tonight, too.

  Turned. Me. Down.

  Which of course means he’s cheating.

  Women. We know. We fucking know.

  So what I don’t have… actual proof.

  The signs are there.

  Like not having our usual cute morning argument on why making the bed is pointless since we are just going to mess it up again later. A few hours ago, when I begin the ritual, he shrugs and walked away, claiming he couldn’t be late for work.

  Then, there is changing the subject from us to nonsense, so much I’m getting whiplash.

  Oh, and hiding his goddamn cell phone.

  That seriously chaps my ass.

  Like I don’t see him tucking it in the vegetable drawer?

  He’s hesitant with me now too.

  Like he’s on the verge of something, but afraid to tell me.

  Canceling dinner on me tonight is the last fucking straw.

  I’m officially distraught and day drinking.

  So here I am squatting since India has the service and I do not.

  Then there’s Scott, who actually stuttered while informing me the son of a bitch wants to ‘talk’.

  As if I don’t know what that fucking means! Hell, I perfected it!

  He’s going to give me the it’s totally you and not me speech. He’s going to drop that he’s in love with a yoga instructor or some shit. In fucking public! Van isn’t stupid
. He’s saving his own life by forcing me to have an audience. Like I would care? I don’t need a weapon. I’ll kill the fucker with estrogen and bare hands!

  And I’m mid-meltdown, plotting murder, when none other than Mrs. Church snatched the drink from my hand.

  “Hey! Give that back!”

  “I would ask how you’re doing, but I could smell you before I saw you.”

  Right now, I’m regretting making her wish come true. The woman is mean. And here I thought potheads were perpetually nice…

  “It’s been a long day,” I mumble.

  “I can see that,” she points at my feet. “Not that the bunny slippers gave it away or anything.”

  “Mrs. Church –”

  “Carol.”

  “Carol,” I sigh in defeat. “Why are you here?”

  “The Shit has plans –”

  “Of course they do,” I huff.

  “Which leaves me to do the heavy lifting.”

  “Is that a fat joke?”

  “Sweetheart, I’m too high to have a battle of wits with you right now, so I’m going to get straight to it.” Bracing for impact, I close my eyes and wish myself to the fire swamp. I’d rather be burned by a flame spurt, sucked down into lightning sand, or eaten by a rodent of unusual size than take another emotional sock to the lady cock. Did Carol care? Nope.

  “My son needs to speak to you.”

  “I know, I heard.”

  “You heard, but you didn’t listen, Taylor.”

  “Whatever.”

  The flash of irritation in her eyes almost makes me feel bad. Almost. Sympathy isn’t in my wheelhouse at the moment. “Evander is not the type of man who would ask you to meet him in public if he wished to end things with you. I raised him better than that, so let’s take that off the table.” At this, I perk up a bit. “My son,” she says softly. “Tends do things in his own way, in his own time. Falling in love with you though… well, he did that quickly and efficiently. And for two years I watched him pine for you, searching for a way into your heart. As his mom, I decided he needed a push. A very firm push. I explained to my son I had one wish.”

  “A wish,” I whisper, sick of that fucking four letter word.

  “My wish was for you to host our anniversary party.”

  “I know that, Carol.”

  “Maybe you do,” she concedes. “But what you don’t know is that I could give a shit about having a party. I made my wish knowing Evander would grant it. And to do that, he’d have to get off his ass and find the nerve to speak with you. So, I contacted India, recruiting her help. She loves you very much, Taylor. And because she loves you, she told me all about what makes you you. Then, she did the same with him.”

  “Oh.”

  “My wish, every mother’s wish, is for her child to be happy.”

  “I want that for Van, too.”

  “Then get up, put this on, and make my son happy again.”

  Walking over to the stairs, she grabs a garment bag, unzips it, and lays out a deep red gown. Before I can say a word, she faces me with tears in her eyes. “You make my son happy.”

  “I –”

  “He makes you happy, too.”

  “Yes.”

  “He isn’t cheating nor is he ending things, darling.”

  “Then why –”

  “Dress, follow me, and find out.”

  With my heart in my throat, I do as I’m told.

  After this, I vow to never keep anything from Taylor again.

  Not only because it hurt her, but because it hurt me, too. I haven’t enjoyed a moment of it. But I have never been the one people shared secrets with and having one of my own, I have literally zero ability to keep it that way. The only option left to me has been avoiding any such topic that might cause me to spill. This meant avoiding her which was the worst way to handle the situation. I know this, but I knew of no other way, because even a simple hello had me itching to spill.

  And believe me, I’ve wanted to. I’ve fucking ached to. Declining dinner, when she was trying so hard to keep our connection strong nearly killed me. Yes, the idea was brilliant but the fallout proves I could have done better.

  Thank God I asked for help.

  Because, The Shit being the shit, went all in.

  Which brings me to Hillary beaming in happiness.

  “Thank you again for everything you’ve done, Hillary.”

  Looking up at me, she smiles even wider. “This benefits me, too, Evander.”

  “Taylor will be –”

  “Yeah, yeah, Taylor will be over the moon. I know,” she says pointing. “He’s hot, right? I mean look at him.”

  Giving her date a cursory glance, I explain, “I owe him a word of thanks as well.”

  “He’s thrilled to do it,” she says, openly staring at his ass. “Besides, he was the perfect choice. Who even cares about a speech impediment when you’ve got a fat cock and great teeth? Not me, that’s who. I’ve got so much book material I’m considering switching over to erotica. Which is crazy, since we haven’t even boned yet.”

  “On that note,” I mumble. “Any word from my mother—mom?”

  “Mother-mom?”

  “I meant Mom.”

  “Oh,” she chirps. “ETA is twenty-five minutes.”

  “Christ! Why are you just telling me this now?”

  “Because you look ready to shit the bed?” she says with an eye roll. “Or maybe because it’s nice to see you rattled. But mostly it’s because you made me lie to Taylor, and I like this brand of punishment.”

  “Yes, well, you smile too much these days. Knock it off.”

  “As you wish,” she chuckles. “Pussy.”

  “Pussy?” Sugar says wrapping her arms around my waist. “Where?”

  “She arrives in twenty-five minutes,” I inform her.

  “More like five,” she says on a squeeze. “Once you get Miss Misery, lying she never stops.”

  “Fuck!”

  “Relax,” Sugar giggles. “Everyone is where they need to be.”

  “Where is –”

  “India and Scott are playing lookout, Hillary’s man is headed up front, Janice and fam are here, and your dad is blazing up in the men’s bathroom. He does know that’s illegal, right?”

  “She’s here!” Hillary screams, making me jump. “Your mother-mom must have broken the sound barrier!”

  “You ready for this?” Sugar asks me.

  Kissing her on the cheek, I promise her, “Words followed her. Whispered from far, weak and warm and familiar.”

  “You’re cute,” she says, patting my arm. “But don’t waste quotes on me, Evander. I’ve suffered through that flick like twice, and I still don’t get it.”

  “I was practicing,” I cough out.

  “Well,” she says over her shoulder. “You’re a natural. Come on!”

  And so I follow Sugar.

  Ten minutes into the ride, I stop asking questions because well, Carol’s told me to shut up.

  Add to that her driving like a crackhead and I feared the tiniest distraction might kill us.

  She also demanded I fix my hair and tossed my makeup bag at me while ordering me to put my face on.

  I won’t even dwell on the roadie in her cup holder and Capri cigarette in her hand…

  Instead, I focus on getting my shit together.

  So, when we pull up to the Anna Scripps Whitcomb Conservatory on Belle Isle, I’m wearing a deep red renaissance era type gown, satin slippers, my hair pinned, and my face on to the best of my ability.

  Exiting in the car, Carol tries hiding the tears in her eyes by arranging baby’s breath in my hair.

  Though I have no idea what is happening, I trust Carol wouldn’t dick me over.

  I also find myself wanting to hug her, I feel this is important thing to do, and so I do.

  “One last thing,” she sniffles as she reaches in her bag.

  “What?”

  “Put this on.”

  “Uh, Carol, I
don’t think I can take any more surprises today.”

  “My son gives an order, I heed it. Now, bend down so I don’t muss up your hair.”

  When the velvet slides over my eyes, Carol is there taking my hands in her own.

  “Breathe, sweetheart,” she advises and I swear I’m trying.

  “Taylor,” India says and my breath hitches.

  “India,” I rush out. “Don’t be Switzerland right now, just take my side okay?”

  “You are…this is…a wish come true.”

  “I’m going to lose it,” I warn. “Tell me what’s happening. Please.”

  “Trust Evander,” she whispers, tracing my cheek. “Trust us.”

  “I’m trying.”

  “Okay, then,” she says taking my hands. “Trust yourself.”

  “Are you kidding me?” The last person I’m trusting is myself!

  “Your arm, milady,” Scott says, hooking my arm through his and I hated not being able to see.

  “Scott? Why are you talking with an accent?” Shit, I really am starting to lose it. “Where’s Carol? Where’s Van? Who’s got pills?”

  In my ear, Scott whispers, “I’ve got you.”

  After what feels like forever, but is probably only a minute or two, I tug on his arm. “Level with me. What am I walking into?”

  “Your wish, Taylor.”

  Wish? What wish? Oh God, I chant to myself. And I continue doing it until I hear music playing.

  At that, I nearly buckle. I swear I’m hearing “Once Upon A Time”

  And no sooner does Scott right me that I’m shifted into someone else’s arms.

  Van’s.

  There is but a breath between us when he whispers, “Kiss me,” against my lips. And without thought, I do.

  Wrapping my arms around his neck and giving him everything I have, I kiss him back. This kiss is unlike any other we’ve shared. This kiss is…eternal.

  Slowly pulling away, Van removes the cloth and I see him.

  And since you can’t see what I see, the only way to explain this is to tell you that I see nothing but Van.

  Which means I see everything because that’s what he is.

  And then I start to cry.