by Julia Kent
“It’s yarn. And I’m the annoying little brother, remember?”
Taryn smirks and gives me a thumbs-up.
“Peacock hair this time?” I ask her. She’s a high school sophomore and what we would have called Emo ten years ago.
A mouth full of metal greets me as she grins. “Close. I was aiming for puke green and got this instead.” Sections of shiny green and blue peek out from her auburn hair.
“Looks good.”
Taryn eyes my forearms. I still can’t get over seeing my sisters’ faces on their kids. It’s disorienting.
“I want a tat like yours.”
“Over my dead body,” Ellen calls out from the kitchen, where she’s chattering with Mom about knitting sweaters for dogs for some charity project.
“If I wait until you’re dead, Mom, tats won’t be cool. And I turn 18 in two and a half years! You can’t tell me no then!”
Taryn reaches for my right arm and follows the design with her fingertip. “Fractals, right?”
I give her an admiring look. “Yes. Most people don’t realize that.”
She shrugs. “You got me coding when I was in third grade. I’m, you know, pretty good at science and math.”
“Nice.”
“Those tats are dank,” she says.
“‘Dank’ is good?”
Taryn gives me an eye roll. “Sometimes you’re like Mom, and sometimes you’re like, you know, cool. Could you pick one, Uncle Ryan? I’d like to know who I’m talking to.”
Cupcake jumps in my lap and starts licking my arm.
“I’ll do better next time,” I say. Then I extend one arm and pretend to touch my nose to my other arm’s inner elbow, a gesture I’ve been told is called “dabbing.”
A long, aggrieved sigh is my answer.
I guess I’m not cool anymore.
“How’s Dad today?” Ellen asks, eyebrows together, as Taryn raids the fridge. When she makes that expression, she looks ten years older. More like Mom.
“The doctors say he’s on the upswing. The stroke took so much out of him, but his memory is really improving,” I tell Ellen.
She and Mom just look at me. Uncomfortable silence fills the air, interrupted by Taryn pouring herself a Coke.
“What?” I finally ask, scowling as I stand and make another cup of coffee.
“I’m just not used to you being here. Being part of Dad’s issues.” Ellen touches my shoulder. “Sorry. It’s nice. It’s… different, but good.”
“I love it,” Mom declares unequivocally. “And if you move back home, you can have your old room.”
Taryn shoots me a sympathetic look. Hey, I’ll take it.
“If I move back, Mom, I’ll have my own place.”
“No one can afford apartments around here, Ryan!” Mom scoffs.
“I have some money. I’ve been saving. And if I get the grant-funded position at Stanford in the electrical engineering lab — ”
Mom’s eyes light up. “When will you know?”
“Any day now.”
“And you’ll start in January? That’s just two months away,” Mom says, excited.
Ellen’s eyes narrow. She looks like Mom, but with brown hair, although a few strands of grey are peeking through, just over her ears. Worry lines cross the corners of her mouth, etched there. That’s new since I last visited.
We’re getting older.
“Dad’s birthday is in January. It would be so nice if you could be here,” Mom adds.
“It would,” Ellen concurs. “So you’re serious? You plan to move back here if you get the grad school spot?”
Taryn snorts. “No pressure, Uncle Ry. You know.”
“Tessa will miss you, of course.” Mom’s words make me frown. “She and Carlos love having you nearby in Boston. Did you know that nice friend of yours helped her yesterday?” Mom’s eyes sparkle. It’s a relief to see her cheer up a bit. But what’s she talking about?
“What friend?”
“Carrie.”
I sit up straight, like someone ran a finger down my spine. “Carrie?” My damn voice cracks in the middle of her name. “Why would she help Tessa?”
“Oh! I didn’t tell you. You were out and then I was at the hospital and when I came home, you were asleep. Carlos got hurt at work. Tessa needed you to babysit, but you’re here. So she called Carrie.” Mom watches me carefully, evaluating my reaction.
Which is considerable beneath my skin. Inside my chest, there’s a big bass drum banging away. Might as well fire off a few cannons and a fireworks display, too. Carrie. I haven’t heard her name in over a week.
That’s not technically true, if you include my own inner voice, which says her name a thousand times an hour. Let’s not count that.
“Is Carlos okay?”
“He will be. Tessa said he fell at work and broke a wrist. Who knew accounting could be so hazardous?” Mom’s eyebrows go up. “Tessa said Carrie was a lifesaver. She really likes her.” Propping her elbow on the kitchen counter, Mom scrutinizes me further. “So?”
“So… what?” The thought of Carrie being nice, helping my sister, makes my gut ache. That’s what friends do, right? They help each other out. I helped Carrie with her wedding date problem, and she helped my sister in a moment of crisis.
We’re even. But it feels weird that I didn’t know about it.
“Maybe Carlos could get transferred here. I’d love to have all my kids nearby,” Mom continues.
“You have five kids, Mom. Good luck with that.”
Mom rubs my head. I feel like I’m eight again. “Ryan will get that lab spot. I know he will. And Paul will make a full recovery and I’ll have you all — ” Her voice chokes with emotion and she turns away. Mom’s really good at expressing positive emotions.
But the negative ones? No. This is freaking me out. Ellen, Taryn, and I all look at each other, frozen in place as Mom grips the kitchen counter’s edge, her shoulders tight but shaking in small movements.
Oh, shit.
She’s crying.
Ellen looks at me like, You’re the man — go do something, and it occurs to me that I am the man. The only son.
The one who becomes the patriarch when Dad is gone.
Responsibility fills me like lead weights in my blood as I stand and go to Mom, putting my hands on her shoulders, pulling her in for a hug. She’s solid but still somehow frail. I tower over her. Nothing’s changed in nearly ten years, after I shot past her my first year of college.
And yet everything has changed.
“I know you have a life in Boston,” Mom says to my chest, sniffling. She pulls away and looks at me, eyes red, the skin underneath loose and wrinkled. For the first time, I see her as a woman, as my dad’s wife, as a person.
Not just Mom.
She’s scared and worried, and I’m reminded, bizarrely, of the moment Carrie kissed me for the first time, forever changing how I viewed her.
“I’m not tied down there, Mom. I’m glad to move back home.”
“What about Carrie? I know you started dating. You went to that wedding together right before your father’s stroke.”
“No, we’re not — that was just me doing her a favor.”
Taryn raises one eyebrow. Pierced.
Busted by the zirconium-wearing teenager.
“If that’s the case, then there’s no reason for you to stay in Boston, is there? And if you get an offer for grad school…” Mom’s voice drops and she smiles up at me as she wipes her eyes.
I’m breathing. Deep and full, the breaths making me bigger, older, wiser. My life is about more than me. Ellen catches my eye and doesn’t react, watching me. Evaluating.
She’s looking at me the way I just watched Mom. Like she’s realizing I’m more than a little brother. Like I’m a man. A man with a wonderful, interwoven family, and with aging parents who need me.
A few years ago, leaving home felt like a kind of freedom. Pushing aside my electrical engineering work, finding meaning in usi
ng my hands and body as a tool, working at the O Spa filled something in me that had been hollow.
But now?
Coming home makes the most sense.
With my eyes locked on Ellen’s, I answer my mother’s question.
“Then there’s no reason for me to stay in Boston, Mom. Not a single one.”
* * *
The letter feels heavy as I slide it into my breast pocket of my coat, pressing over my heart like a stone.
I’m resigning.
The day before I got on the plane to come home, I got two calls. One from Stanford, one from my alma mater, Cal Tech.
No matter what, in January I have a job. Turns out all that sex toy circuitry has medical research value, and my skills are, shall we say, valuable in more ways than one. Ellen doesn’t like the idea of Cal Tech because it’s too far away, but a short plane ride from LAX or Burbank to SFO is way better than the long haul BOS to SFO. And no time change.
Besides, she has no say in my choice.
I’ll give O two months’ notice. My apartment is already sublet from someone else, so I can leave easily. Cleanly.
Quickly.
And with no attachments. Free to be.
Unraveling a life shouldn’t be so simple, but there you go. Maybe it’s my own fault. Maybe I came here and never put down roots for a reason.
Maybe I was right all along not to tell Carrie how I really feel, because some part of me knew that putting down roots means intertwining yourself with people and places. Once those vines weave their way in between the cracks, seeking light, you have to cause pain when you rip them out to uproot.
This is all for the best.
As I walk into Chloe’s office, my heart pounds against the resignation letter like a hammer tapping on a nail. She looks up and smiles, then dips her head back down, ticking things off a list with a pen in her hand.
“Ryan! You’re back.” Tick. Tick. Tick.
“Sort of.”
Now I have her full attention. Chloe drops the pen, pushes her paperwork aside, and gestures to the chair in front of her desk. “Have a seat.”
I do, then reach in my breast pocket, pulling out the slim envelope.
Her face falls. “Is that what I think it is?”
The envelope seems so final as it passes from my hand to hers across the wide expanse of clear glass desktop. “Yes.”
The fewer words, the better.
I shift in my seat, uncomfortable, unaccustomed to wearing a jacket so often. The wedding last month, the visits to professors and deans, and now here. Being this formal feels right, though. It’s what grownups do when they’re being serious.
Dress the part.
“I’m resigning, Chloe.”
“No!” she gasps, her lips compressed, her face twisted with a kind of pain that surprises me. “Is this about money?” She’s hopeful, immediately trying to find a way to fix this. To make me stay. “Because we can renegotiate your rates.”
“It’s not about money.”
“Your father? Oh, how rude of me. I should have asked first. Is he – how is he?”
“Making a good, solid recovery.”
She leans back in her chair, body relaxing with relief. “Thank goodness. It sounds like you’re close with your parents.”
I shrug. “I guess. About the same as everyone else I know.”
A really funny look crosses her face. “My mother is still alive and well, living in Florida with Howard, my guardian angel.”
My turn to give her a funny look.
“It’s complicated,” she says with a sigh. “Charlotte can be… imperial.”
“Charlotte’s your mother?”
“Yes.”
“Why do you call her by her first name?”
“It’s a very long story.” It’s clear she doesn’t want to tell it to me. “Ryan, really? You’re really leaving us? You’re so good with clients. They absolutely adore you. And frankly, you’re one of the best employees on the spa side.”
“I am?”
“You don’t have an ego, you’re fundamentally kind, and you don’t create drama.”
“I’ve never seen any of that on my performance review, Chloe.”
We share a smile. “It’s a softer skill set, Ryan. The kind employers love to find in workers. The kind that makes your life better, too.”
I drop the smile. I don’t know what to say.
“What are your plans?” she asks, biting her lip, looking at the envelope with such sadness.
“I’m moving back to California. To be closer to my family.”
Her slow nod makes it clear she gets it as she opens the letter, scanning it. “January?”
“Yeah. I know how crazy it gets here with the holidays. I’ll stay through New Year’s.”
“Oh, bless you!” She lets out a whoosh of held breath. “Finding a replacement for you is going to be damn near impossible.”
I don’t know what to say so I just grin.
“And… Carrie? Does she know?”
Grin disappears. “What?”
“Carrie. I know you two are really close.”
“No.”
“Excuse me?”
“No. We’re not close.”
“Ryan.” She sounds so much like Ellen when she says my name like that. “You two… what happened? You’ve been friends since you came here. Then there was Jenny’s wedding. And now you’re avoiding each other like the plague.”
“I’m not avoiding her. She just – we just – it was all, you know.”
“None of that was a complete sentence. Or even a complete thought.”
“She put out my burning penis with a cream donut the last time I saw her, Chloe.”
“Is that a positive or a negative observation, Ryan?”
I can’t help but laugh. It’s a sad sound. “Why are you digging into my personal life?” My fingers grip the edge of the chair to the point of pain.
“I shouldn’t.” She sets the letter down on her desk and leans forward, threading her fingers together in a clasp. “But I am. You and Carrie both look like someone shot your dog.”
“Maybe we both have sad things going on in our lives.”
“Or maybe you are the sad thing in each other’s lives.”
“I didn’t come in here expecting to have you interrogate me about my personal life, Chloe. You’re my boss.”
“You’re right. But I’m also not going to watch people I care about make stupid mistakes and not say a word. Tell me, Ryan – were you pretending at the wedding?”
“Sure.” Shrug.
“Were you really? Because Carrie wasn’t.”
Anger surges through me. “Bullshit, Chloe. What’s your game here? Are you and Carrie fucking with me? I heard you two at the reception. Heard you both laughing about how it was all pretend.” I stand up, flexing my fingers. My shoulders feel like marble. Hot marble with lead poured on top.
“You heard what?”
“You were coming out of the bathroom and Carrie told you we weren’t compatible. Loud and clear. That it was all pretend.”
“That’s what made you leave? Carrie said you disappeared during the reception.” Her eyes narrow, calculating. “Instead of asking Carrie what she meant, you just ghosted on her?”
“What? No! I didn’t – that’s not how it went. She asked for a fake boyfriend. She told you it was all pretend. Told you we weren’t compatible, that I’m too young for her. So once she was done needing me to be the hot, young piece of meat she could parade around to save her ego, I left. Mission accomplished. Job done.”
“You don’t believe a word of that, Ryan.” She’s on her feet, walking smoothly around the giant glass desk. Her eyes are so earnest, I almost fall for it. “That’s not the conversation I actually had with Carrie.”
“Don’t gaslight me. Jesus. I heard it.” Rage makes my vision swim. I turn around to leave. I need to get the hell out of here. Working for the next two months was going to be hard enough.
> Now it’ll be a living hell. Maybe I should just quit on the spot.
“You heard part of it. Part. After she said you weren’t compatible, she also added that it just looked that way. That you really did have something deeper beneath the surface. That she assumed you were just pretending. I told her not to assume.”
I’m in the hallway, about to pivot right, when what Chloe says sinks in. “Carrie said that?”
“Yes.”
My palm goes flat against the wall. I need it for support. “Say all of that again, Chloe.”
“Carrie wasn’t pretending. She assumed you were. But she said everything had gotten deeper than she expected, and needed to talk about it with you. Needed to see if you felt the same way. I told her no man looks at a woman the way you look at her without being very, very real.”
All I can do is blink. Blink and let this wall hold me up.
“I don’t normally meddle in employee affairs, Ryan, but Carrie is more than an employee to me. She’s a friend. And she’s hurting. She’d be very upset if she knew I was telling you all of this, but too late. Cat’s out of the bag. You two need to talk.”
“She wasn’t pretending.” I’m muttering to myself more than anything now.
“No. She wasn’t.”
“Oh, God. I just… oh, shit.”
“You need to fix this, Ryan. Are you quitting because of Carrie?”
“What? No. I would quit no matter what. But it was easier when I thought she didn’t – when I thought she was pretending.”
“And now that you know she’s not?”
“I need to go see her. Now. Is she in her office?” I look at my phone. It’s just after six p.m. Maybe she’s still here.
“No. She’s gone for the day.”
I start jogging for the elevator banks.
“Wait! Ryan! You need to know about Carrie’s promotion! She’s getting — ”
I see the door for the stairs and shove it open, pounding my way downstairs, Chloe’s words fading as I run.
This time, toward her.
Not away.
Chapter 15
CARRIE
"You're my beautiful best friend, the person I want to wake up with, get stuck in airports with, make love on the beach with, laugh and cry and sing karaoke and have kids and get old until we forget everything and only remember each other."
