Unrequited

by Jen Frederick

  She pressed her lips together and gave me a short nod. I went back to cutting the onion. After a few long moments of uncomfortable silence, she spoke again. "I talked to Henry yesterday. He said you were having some problems with the subs."

  "Mom, really? I'm trying to establish some leadership down there." I rubbed a hand around the back of my neck to ease away the irritation. “I can handle it. I am handling it. When you call, you give Henry a reason not to trust me.”

  "Are you going to hate me forever?" she whispered quietly.

  "I don’t hate you now," I replied to her quicksilver change in direction. My stomach churned as I dreaded what she was going to say next.

  "I feel like I killed him." She started sobbing. Was there any way I could escape without hurting her feelings?

  "Given that he had clogged arteries, I don't think anything you or I did could be responsible for the heart attack." If anything contributed to his demise, it was the stupid Riverside project. That thing was going to give me a heart attack.

  "If I had to do it all over again, I never would have done that thing." She couldn't bring herself to even voice that she'd slept with her brother-in-law. "I wanted to hurt your father, but not in this way!"

  "I know, Mom," I said. "I know."

  But I didn’t think she heard me over the sobs. She left, and I finished up breakfast, hoping like hell the day would turn around. It had to, right?

  13

  WINTER

  Finn woke me, but I wasn't sure it was morning. There was no sun, and the room looked dark. I curled deeper into the covers where it was warm and smelled like us.

  "Want to go for a ride?"

  Reluctantly I pulled my head from under the covers. "Can the horses see in the dark?"

  He chuckled. "Yes, they can, but it's not dark. It's six in the morning."

  "Are you a morning person, or is this a special occasion?" His dark hair looked damp on the ends, which I supposed meant he showered, probably shaved, maybe even ran five laps. He was one of those.

  "Morning person," he grinned unrepentantly. "But I brought you fresh coffee and breakfast to soften the blow."

  I rolled over to see a tray with a plate full of eggs, toast, and bacon. There was also a glass of orange juice and a mug that had steam rising from the top. "If you tell me that OJ is fresh squeezed, I'll scream."

  "Whew." He swiped a hand across his forehead in mock relief. "It's from a bottle."

  "Fine." I sat up grumpily and ran my fingers through my hair. One advantage of being Chinese was that bedhead didn't really exist for me. My stick straight hair looked about the same in the morning as it did when I went to bed, even with all the hair-to-pillow rubbing that went on last night.

  "You look good in my bed, wearing my T-shirt," he said huskily. We stared at each other, and I licked my suddenly dry lips. He responded by taking a deep breath and then another.

  Standing, he tapped the tray. "Hope you like mushrooms. I don’t carry a supply of girl’s panties, but I washed yours and put them in the dryer, so I hope that’s okay. I set out another T-shirt. Your jeans will be fine, and at the back door is a barn jacket and a pair of boots. I'll meet you at the barn."

  "Where are you going?"

  "To take another shower because I actually do want to take you out for a ride with the horses, and if I don't get out of here, you'll be too sore." He glanced ruefully down at his jeans, which had an interesting bulge in the crotch. "Eat before your eggs get cold."

  I did, enjoying every bite and swallow. It was no wonder he always had a girlfriend. Who would want to give this kind of thoughtfulness up? I don't know that I'd ever made a guy breakfast. Certainly not Hugh. Washing my underwear? Who did that? How could Ivy have ever thought that Finn was only out for himself?

  After I ate and dressed and did the finger toothbrush thing again, I carried the tray down to the kitchen. The dirty pans were stacked in the sink, and after I'd placed my plate, silverware, and glass in the dishwasher, I quickly scrubbed the pans clean and then laid them on a dishtowel I'd found in a drawer next to the sink. It was the least I could do.

  The barn coat and big rubber rain boots were resting at the back door, in a mudroom off the kitchen. I blushed a little when I remembered how Finn and I had carried on.

  The boots must belong to Mrs. O’Malley. I wondered where she was. The house had an empty quality to it. Maybe she was staying with family. After Mom and Dad died, Ivy hadn't wanted to be in our family home. She said it was too painful. I was the opposite. I wanted to live in that house forever, where I could remember every little interaction. Like the time Ivy and I had a flour fight making sugar cookies. There was the light blue stain on the carpet where Mom and Ivy had spilled paint when they were redoing her room. In the den, the leather chair that my dad always sat in had rubbed a black mark on the wall. And in the kitchen the front burner had scorch marks from all the times my mom would forget she had left it on. When I walked by the stove after they were gone, I swore I could still hear my dad sigh when he switched the stove off.

  I was resentful that I'd had to sell it, whereas Ivy was almost relieved. So it could be his mom was like Ivy—wanting to stay away from the home that held so many memories.

  The stables were about one hundred feet from the back door. There was a flagstone path leading from the mudroom to the barn, as Finn called it. To me barns were dirty, smelly things, although I'd not been in many, so my assumptions were likely inaccurate. But Finn's stables were nicer than my apartment. The floor was concrete, and the stalls made of cedar. The primary smell was hay.

  From my one previous visit, I remembered each horse’s stall had a special mat and several inches of straw to make them comfortable.

  "There you are," Finn said, appearing at the end of the stables. His boots clanked against the concrete. "You ready?"

  "Sure, but I better warn you I’ve only ridden once, and that was the time I came out here when you and Ivy were dating."

  He shrugged and placed an arm around my shoulders to steer me toward the middle of the barn and a big open area with three large posts.

  "I'm putting you on Dollar," Finn said as he brought a big chestnut horse out of a stall. "Grab that hook on the wall and attach it to this silver ring here." He patted the side of the horse's cheek. I did as he asked, a little apprehensive, but while the horse eyed me, he stood still and waited patiently for me to release the clasp and fix it to the ring. Finn did the same thing on the other side and watched with a smile as I completed my task. "Good girl," he said. I wasn't sure if he was talking to me or the horse.

  With the horse fastened by long rope to either side of the barn walls, Finn made quick work of throwing on a blanket, a pad, and then a saddle. He took off the harness and placed a different one on the horse's head. This one had a metal rod that he stuck between the horse's teeth. A bit, he called it.

  He prepared the second horse, an even bigger one than Dollar, and all black.

  Then he handed me a lead rope and took my hand. We walked out of the barn, across a small worn patch of dirt, and into a small round pen. "We'll just go in circles until you feel comfortable, and then after we can go for a short ride down to the pond. How's that sound?"

  "I'm game." He pulled a green step stool over and helped me mount the horse. I felt the muscles between my legs stretch and immediately understood Finn's earlier meaning. If we'd had sex this morning and then I'd gotten on a horse, I could see how painful my inner thigh muscles would feel. The horse was as obedient and gentle as Finn promised. Finn held my reins and led Dollar around in circles while I got used to the roll and pitch of the horse's gait.

  "You want to use your thighs," he instructed. "Squeeze tighter if you want to go faster. Pull up on the reins and say 'ho' if you want him to stop."

  We practiced a few times until I felt comfortable. When Finn felt that I'd done enough circles, he opened a gate into a large expanse of green grass—it wasn't well-manicured like a golf course but more like a field w
ith brown patches amongst small new growth. We walked the horses slowly away from the house and barns.

  "What do you think?" he asked. Obvious pride showed in the wide smile and his beautiful eyes.

  I think I love you. Out loud, I said, "It's great and not as hard as I remembered."

  He took me across the pasture with its slight dips and valleys, pointing out the property line and ending at a large pond. It was a Grant Wood painting without the rows of corn or hay but beautiful nonetheless. I see why he loved it. The zip lines above the water were gone, but there was a rope swing tied to a large tree and an unnaturally high mountain of rocks.

  I itched to draw it, him, everything.

  Finn helped me off the horse, tucked the reins around the saddle horn, and let the two horses free to graze. As soon as there wasn't a horse or Finn to lean against, my knees buckled. "Holy shit." I laughed. "I must be really out of shape if one ride is making me too weak to stand on my own two feet."

  "It's probably me, but it's okay if you want to blame the horse for your weakness over my good looks." He grinned and lifted me into his arms like I weighed nothing and carried me down to the small strip of sand at the water's edge. I could get very used to this.

  "I had no idea that horseback riding was so physical," I commented, rubbing my inner thighs as discreetly as possible. "Do you ride a lot?" It would explain his thighs of steel. He picked up a piece of grass, licked the side, and then held it between his thumbs. Blowing against it, a sharp whistle sounded. The ears of the horses perked up.

  "Not as much now. Too busy, but before my dad died, I rode on the weekends. Sometimes I'd come out during the week. It's relaxing."

  "I like it out here," I told him. "It's quiet and beautiful. I'd like to bring my sketchbook."

  "I can pose nude for you too," he offered helpfully.

  Laughing, I said, "Somehow I don't think I'd get anything accomplished."

  "You would, but it probably wouldn't be art." He winked. I couldn't stop my blush, but I smiled back because, hell, who wouldn't when looking at his happy face. He pulled a blanket and a thermos out of a saddlebag. I helped him spread the blanket, and we sat close together facing the pond.

  He was sprawled on his side, resting his upper body on a bent elbow and I sat with my knees up so I could rest my chin against them. His free arm rested around my waist, and as we sat in the silent morning watching the sun rise, I couldn't think of a happier time in my life.

  "Besides the work at Atra, what else are you doing?"

  "Freelance work, like I told you before. Even though the firm laid me off, they still have me do small stuff like designing a newsletter or small graphics. I was doing some catalog work for another company, but they moved that to some big agency in Chicago."

  "Is that stressful? Always hustling to get more jobs?"

  I nodded. "It can be. Tucker wants me to give it all up and work at Atra full time."

  "What's that entail?"

  "I'd have to apprentice for several months, and I wouldn't get paid anything more than I do now for my art until I start inking on my own."

  "How much more would you make?"

  "A lot." I picked a few pieces of grass and started weaving them together. "Tucker pays fifty percent to his artists for any tattoo work that they do."

  "But you're reluctant," he concluded.

  Anyone else who'd asked, I would've given some flippant answer. With the early morning sun making everything look golden and perfect and his long, muscled body bracketing mine, I found I couldn't taint the moment with a lie.

  "I'm scared," I admitted quietly.

  "Yeah?" he said, and it was just the right level of interest without judgment.

  I thought for a moment and haltingly tried to articulate my reluctance. "Atra is the best place to work. It's not even a job for me. I love going there. Tucker, Rachel, Omar, and even Gig are part of my family now. Tucker's reputation is growing. He's winning awards. People are coming from all over to get ink done there. I'm a really good artist, but I have this weird fear of the tattoo gun. A tattoo is a permanent scar, and I'm afraid of making mistakes that I won't be able to erase or paint over."

  He pushed to a sitting position and gestured for me to give him my tiny square of woven grass.

  "A couple of years ago my dad became obsessed with the downtown revitalization project. He kept telling me it was a way to put our name on something lasting. I wasn't interested in stamping my name on anything. I flipped houses for a living. I was in and out in thirty days and onto the next project. I loved it. When Dad died, he'd just won the bid. Uncle Pat wanted to forget about the project and have the next-lowest bid take care of it, but I couldn't let it die too. Unfortunately, the crew hates me."

  "You should bring donuts. That's what I did with Tucker and his crew. I brought them donuts like once a week for about a month."

  "And that worked?"

  "Didn't I say I was family?" I turned both my thumbs up, and he laughed as I'd intended.

  "I'll have to try that because now I dread going to work. Every day I get a new piece of bad news, and I can't fix it myself like I could with a house flip. So I understand not wanting to change from something you love to something you might hate."

  "Are you saying that I should stretch anyway and take a risk?"

  "No." He dropped back on his hands and stretched his long legs in front of him. "I'm saying that you're probably the smart one between the two of us. If you love what you do, keep doing it."

  "You don't really think that do you?" I arched an eyebrow.

  He gave me a wry smile. "Am I that transparent? I do think you should do what makes you happy, but you know, people will still love you if you make a mistake."

  He said all the right things—things I knew in my head, so I nodded even though I couldn't fully embrace them with my heart.

  14

  WINTER

  When Finn brought me home, Ivy was gone, and I didn’t hear or see her until I woke the next morning to the sound of retching.

  "That's it. We're going in," I commanded.

  "Fine." Ivy's voice was weak with defeat.

  After dressing, I found Ivy in the living room sitting on the sofa, hunched over, her head between her legs.

  "You going to make it to the clinic?"

  "Probably. I threw up those damn crackers. Only thing left in me is water."

  "Can I get you anything?"

  "A new stomach?"

  "Crackers? Sprite?"

  She shook her head and then groaned as if even that much movement made her ill.

  "Why don't you lie down in the back?" I pressed my hand on her forehead. "You feel super clammy."

  "It's probably toilet water."

  "Gross." I laughed helplessly.

  "You laugh now¸ but you're in the circle of infection, which means I'll be holding your hair in a few days."

  "I hope not. Let's get you to a doctor and see what's wrong with you. Don't you want to feel better?" I wheedled.

  "No, I want to puke every five minutes." But she allowed me to help her to her feet. "Can you tranq me first? I don't think I could survive a car ride."

  It took ten or so minutes to get to the family care clinic. We had to go to the one that offered public assistance because Ivy didn’t have insurance. After we arrived, we waited. And waited. And waited some more. Thankfully, Ivy's stomach settled, and we didn't have to clean any unpleasant fluids out of the car seats.

  "Tucker asked me about apprenticing again. What do you think?"

  "Only if you want to do it." She leaned back, stretched her legs out, and rubbed her stomach. "You could work at Riskie's. Jimmy is always looking for new talent. You and Rosie could do some kind of Asian fan dance for the boys with yellow fever. Soon you too can be humping the dance floor in a G-string while college boys and old men stuff rolled-up one dollar bills in your crack."

  "That's…a disturbing and very detailed picture."

  Ivy grunted. "Happened to one girl
I knew. Rachel Neuron. I think her stage name was Neon Neuron, and she wore this bra that had LED lights in it."

  "Would I be the Ice Queen? Maybe I could make up this persona where I was chilly and disdainful, and I wouldn't take off my clothes, but I'd let them pay to touch my high heeled white boots."

  Ivy nodded approvingly. "I like that. I like that a lot. Too bad Jimmy would require you to take off the clothes and let them touch your bare booty."

  I shook my head and laughed. "I think my chest is too small. They might think I'm a boy."

  Ivy and I both looked down at my chest and cracked up. "Jimmy is probably looking to expand to the gay market anyway!"

  "Ivy Donovan!" the nurse called out.

  "Finally. I felt like I was fossilizing,” Ivy muttered.

  "I promise if that happens, I'll keep you forever."

  "In your bedroom, bitch. I better be right by the bed at all times." She waggled her eyebrows.

  "You are so creepy."

  "I'm your older sister." She slung her arm around me, leaning onto my shoulder. "I get to keep watch over you all the time."

  "What are your symptoms?" the nurse asked us impatiently.

  "She's been vomiting on and off for the last couple of weeks," I jumped in.

  The nurse swiveled in her chair, looking up from the computer where she'd been entering information. "Vomiting, huh? How about fatigue, mood changes, and breast soreness?”

  Ivy and I exchanged wide-eyed looks. This nurse knew exactly what the problem was.

  Walking over to the cupboard, she pulled out a cup. "Why don't you go pee. Down the hall and to the right. First door." With that, she left.

  Ivy shrugged, picked up the plastic cup, and left. She was back in another five minutes. Shut up in the small room, Ivy began pacing. Twelve paces to the left. Pivot. Twelve paces to the right. "I hate hospitals."

  I refrained from correcting her since we weren’t in a hospital. More importantly I agreed with her. Our experience with hospitals had to do with death or rehab, neither welcome subjects.