by Ashley John
When his dad closed the door, the reality of the situation dropped on Caden like a Mack truck. Every inch of his old teenage bedroom was filled with boxes and bags, stuffed with years of accumulated junk. They had redecorated his old room into a tasteful guest bedroom soon after he had moved out. The furniture may have changed and the wallpaper may be different but he felt like he was slipping backwards into being a teenager. As a twenty-year-old heading to the big city to start an exciting new life, he thought he would have everything he had ever wanted by the time he was thirty. At twenty-nine, he was back in his parents’ house, wondering where everything had gone wrong.
If he had known back then that he would spend eight years struggling as a journalist, writing tidbit stories and advertorials for tiny publications, only to one day come home and find his boyfriend of five years in bed with his so called best friend, he might have stayed in Havenmoore. I can’t believe I proposed to that jerk.
Having no idea how he was going to condense his entire apartment down into one bedroom, he decided to leave that war for another time. He headed to the kitchen where his mom was making grits.
It was the smell of home. His mom, Claire, had been born and raised in Austin, Texas so the scent of the South had filled their home growing up. It was a comforting smell but it also made Caden’s palms sweat. This is just temporary. He had been repeating that mantra ever since his parents had suggested that he move back in with them so he could get back on his feet to save a deposit for a new place, not that he knew where that new place would be. New York had always been his dream but it felt tainted and soiled. Havenmoore had always been his nightmare growing up. Caden had always felt trapped and confined in such a small, tight-knit town where everybody knew everybody’s business. He had grown to love the anonymity of living in New York. There, you are just another person with a coffee in your hand, rushing around the over-populated streets trying to make your dreams come alive.
“I’ve made your favorite,” his mom had the same sympathetic smile that his father had kept plastered across his face all day, “to help you settle in.”
She spooned the white, lumpy grits into three bowls followed by a thin slice of yellow butter. He only ever had grits when he was at his parents’ place but he had a feeling it was going to lose its quirky novelty.
Wiping the sweat from his brows, Caden tugged at the blue sweater clinging to his lightly haired chest as he sat down at the huge oak table in the kitchen. His mom pushed the bowl in front of him with a smile as she handed him a spoon. It was the taste of his childhood. Finn had always hated the smell of grits when he had tried to make it in New York, so it had been added to the list of things they couldn’t do. Caden wondered why he had put up with that ass for so long. It doesn’t make it any easier to fall out of love with him though.
“Smile,” his mother beamed, her flame red hair shining in the afternoon light as it forced its way through her bright yellow kitchen drapes, “things’ll get easier, I promise.”
She rested her slightly wrinkled hand on his. His dad nodded in agreement. Bless them. He knew they were trying their hardest to make the transition as easy as possible but he knew nothing would make it run smoothly. Not even grits could fix that.
“I’ll be fine,” he forced a smile, “I always am.”
“That’s the spirit,” she squeezed his hand, oblivious to how empty his bold statement had sounded.
Caden wanted so badly to hate Finn. He had found him bent over their bed with his best friend, Adam, right behind him. Just thinking about that sight made his blood boil but it wasn’t enough to ignore the five years they’d had together. They weren’t five perfect years but he knew nobody’s relationship was perfect. He thought they were doing okay. He wouldn’t have proposed to Finn if he didn’t think they had a future together. And then he had to cheat on me.
One week ago, he had been living a good life. Work was a struggle but he was finally trying to write the novel he had been struggling through for most of his twenties.
“Have you thought about work?” his dad asked.
His mom shot him a look that read ‘not now, Buster’. Caden didn’t expect to live under his parents’ roof for free but he knew the couple of thousand dollars in the bank wouldn’t last forever. The problem was, Havenmoore was a tiny town, so there wasn’t much room for new people to squeeze into its economy.
“I haven’t thought about it,” Caden shrugged, scratching the back of his slightly tinged red hair.
The hair on his head ran down to the trimmed beard framing his mouth and it was the perfect combination of both of his parents. Even though his dad was greying, he had light brown hair in his youth but Caden had inherited a cast of red from his mother. She had always said Caden had ‘strawberry brown’ hair, which he knew made no sense but he loved it all the same.
“You don’t have to worry about that yet, honey,” she squeezed his hand again, “you just focus on settling in.”
His dad looked like he was going to say something again but Caden was sure that his mom had just sharply kicked him in the shin under the table.
“I’m not here for a free ride,” he said, “I’ll pay my way.”
A sweet and thankful smile fluttered across his mother’s lips. She would never ask him for money but he knew they didn’t have enough to support an adult son again. They were both heading towards retirement and they’d wound down on the amount of hours they worked a week so they could start to enjoy life more. None of them had expected what had happened.
“I wonder if Bruce has anything at the bar?” Caden asked.
Working behind a bar was Caden’s idea of hell but he supposed he could put up with it if it meant working beside his big brother. Bruce was thirty-four and he had the perfect life in Caden’s eyes. He had a wife, a daughter and his own business. Caden wasn’t so sure about the kids but he wanted everything his brother had.
“Things are tight at the bar,” his dad said, “give him a call though. Something might come up soon.”
“It’s okay,” Caden shook his head, “I don’t want to make him feel awkward. He won’t be able to say no to me if I put him on the spot.”
They sat in silence, finishing up their late afternoon snack. He could tell they were both trying to think of topics to talk about that didn’t involve the move, work or Finn, but it was difficult. That’s what their relationship had boiled down to in the weekly phone calls and his trips home, three times a year.
“I think I'm going to use this time to finish writing my book,” Caden offered.
“You are?” his mom’s face lit up, “That’s something. Isn’t that great Buster?”
“Oh, yeah,” Buster coughed and nodded, looking up from the morning paper he had started to flick through, “what you sent us was great. Be good to finally read how things turn out.”
Caden had foolishly sent them half of his unfinished manuscript and his mom hadn’t let it go since. Life got in the way of the ending but now he had all of the time in the world to get things done.
“Hey, I’ve just had an idea!” his mom snapped her fingers, “We’re recruiting at the charity. Jerry’s retired and we’re looking for someone to fill his spot. You’ve still got your certificates, haven’t you?”
“Somewhere,” Caden nodded.
His mom was the director of a local charity, Helping Hands Outreach Program. It worked with people suffering with addiction problems, helping them get back on their feet. Before he had headed to New York, he had worked a couple of months at the charity. His mom had offered him a job, hoping he would stick around and not move seven hours away. It hadn’t been enough to keep him in Maine. He had enjoyed it until Frank died. When he lost Frank, he knew he wasn't built for that life like his mother.
Sitting in his parents’ kitchen, with all of his worldly possessions in boxes upstairs, wasn’t the life he had wanted for himself either.
“I'm not sure,” he mused, “after Frank -,”
“That wasn't your fa
ult,” she jumped in, “Frank had been an addict for forty years. I shouldn't have given him to you as your first. Sometimes they don't want saving and there's nothing you can do.”
Just hearing his name made Caden squirm uncomfortably in his chair. He still thought about Frank and whenever he did, he was consumed with guilt. He thought he could help the heroin addict in his late sixties, he thought he could save him from himself. His body gave out before Caden could do anything. Logically, he knew it wasn't his fault but it didn't stop him from blaming himself.
He almost turned down the offer immediately but he stopped to think about it. He didn’t totally hate the idea, even though he had been hoping to get a job that involved writing of some kind. He had thought about inquiring at the local paper but he knew that would be a long shot. The Havenmoore Herald was a tiny publication and he wasn't sure that his pathetic journalist experience in New York would get him through the door.
“It’s only part-time,” she offered, “which will give you loads of free time to work on your novel. It’ll be a good stepping stone to getting your own apartment and if you’re sticking around you can get something four times bigger for the same price you’d pay in New York.”
He hadn’t even told them that he had already thought about abandoning his plans to return to New York. It was a huge place but he knew he would somehow bump into Finn or Adam everywhere he went. They’d all been part of the same friend group, leaving most of his favorite places off limits.
“I guess. It would keep me busy.”
“Exactly!” she grinned.
Caden looked to his dad but he didn’t look so sure. He had never really shared his mom’s enthusiasm for helping the people at the bottom of society’s ladder. Buster was a fisher and a hard grafter. He had worked on a fishing boat since he was a teenager. Sometimes Caden wondered how him and his mom had stayed together for so long. They were coming up to their fortieth year of marriage so they clearly had the secret to success that Caden had yet to discover.
“You can start this week,” she dropped in.
Choking on the water he had just sipped, he looked to her with burning cheeks, “So soon?”
“There’s no time like the present,” she collected the plates and started to wash them in the sink.
He had been hoping for at least a couple of weeks to sink himself into his novel but he guessed that working could provide a more rewarding distraction, plus, he would need the money soon.
“Okay,” Caden nodded, “I’m in.”
“I’ll get things moving. You'll have to take part in a refresher class but your old training should still stand,” she bit her lip with excitement as she glanced over her shoulder, “and if you fix things with Finn, it’s not like there’ll be a problem leaving.”
Choking on the water again, his cheeks burned even darker.
“That won’t happen,” Caden said sternly.
He stared at the back of his mom’s red hair and he knew exactly what she was thinking. She thought they were going to work things out and he was going to move back to New York. He wanted to believe his stern reply but a little part of him hoped that too.
There must be more to life than this.
Elias jumped out of the shower after the water turned cold again. It had been doing it since he had moved into the new apartment but it wasn’t like he could complain to the landlord because he had no idea who that was. He had considered that it could be the baker downstairs but they’d bumped into each other when they were both tossing trash into the dumpster and he had seemed surprised to see Elias.
He turned off the water and left the warmth of the stall, tucking a towel around his thin waist as the cold tiles greeted him under foot. Wiping the steamy mirror, he stared at his cloudy reflection. His lip and ear rings shimmered brightly under the strip lighting. Dark smudges under his eyes signaled how little sleep he had been getting in the week since he had been in the apartment.
Toweling off his body, he quickly ran the damp towel over his short black hair before tucking it back around his waist. He had worked his way through the few clothes he had but he hadn’t even attempted to figure out how to use the washing machine.
Heading out of the bathroom, he kicked a beer can out of his path. It rattled along the wooden floor, hitting a stack of pizza boxes. His first welfare check hadn’t been enough to score so he had spent the cash on as much beer and fast food as he could.
The rehab center would look at his drinking as an official relapse but for Elias, alcohol had never been his vice. He had only ever used it as a tool to suppress the hunger for stronger substances. If drinking six cans of beer a night meant that the itching for cocaine wasn’t as strong, then that’s what he needed to do.
Elias didn’t even know why he was trying so hard. He had finally called Rigsy and arranged to see him on his first night but cancelled ten minutes before he was due to arrive. It wasn’t because he didn’t have the money; he had always been able to offer other things to Rigsy in exchange for a couple of lines. It was because Ellie’s words were circling loudly in his mind. For the first time in his life, he was starting to feel guilty for his lifestyle and he hated that feeling.
Opening the fridge, he cracked open his first can of the day and landed on the couch, the towel still loosely around his waist. Flicking on the TV, he scanned the guide, settling on a trashy reality TV show. He had never had the luxury of watching much TV because he had never really had a stable roof over his head. It wasn’t like he craved it. He had never seen the appeal of spending hours in front of the box watching trash but since he had nothing better to do, it was all he seemed to do. Elias was the first to admit that he had always had an addictive personality. When he was a kid, he took a liking to Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups and that’s all he would eat. With his mom always at work, the nannies and cooks were always happy to supply them because it kept him quiet. Now, he had replaced the cravings for drugs with watching trashy shows on MTV. It didn’t feel like a fair tradeoff.
His cell vibrated, signaling an incoming call. When he saw ‘Rigsy’ on the caller ID, he almost swiped the red reject button. Staring back at the TV with a huff, he slid the green call icon and pressed the phone up to his ear.
“What’s up?”
“Hey, dude. I got some premium shit in last night. Wanted you to be the first to try it.”
Elias gulped, the direct offer throwing him.
“Erm,” he stumbled, “not a good time.”
“Have you found another guy? Another dealer?” anger rose in Rigsy’s voice, “If you’re worried about the cash, don’t sweat it. You know we’ve always had our little arrangement.”
Blowjobs in exchange for a line always seemed like an easy deal for Elias. He was already gay, even if he wasn’t out, so it didn’t make much of a difference for him. Rigsy claimed to be straight but he enjoyed having a guy suck his cock far too much to convince Elias otherwise.
“It’s not that,” Elias swallowed the fear, “I just – I -,”
“You’re trying to go clean?” Rigsy laughed, “You? You’ve been doing this stuff longer than I have.”
Why did Rigsy find it so hard that he was trying to go clean? Cocaine was the first thought on his mind when he woke up and the last thought on his mind when he went to bed. It would be so easy to give into the desire, the hunger for it, but he didn’t. He wanted so badly to tell Rigsy to come straight over with a bag of the stuff. His tongue was even running across his lips as he imagined the high it would give him.
“I don’t know what I’m trying to do,” Elias mumbled defensively, “I’m fresh out of rehab.”
He heard a long sigh of exhaustion leave Rigsy. For a dealer, court appointed rehab was his worst enemy because every so often it would actually work.
“I get it, you’re trying to be a good boy for a couple of days. When you’re ready for me, I’ll be waiting.”
With that, Rigsy hung up and Elias tossed his phone back onto the table. He muted the TV and star
ted drumming his fingers on the sofa. He thought back to the accidental overdose before rehab. That should have been enough to scare anybody off going back to drugs but it had never been that simple for Elias. If it was simple, he would have been able to tell Rigsy to leave him alone for good. Somehow, keeping the option there felt like a good thing.
He heard a key twist in the lock downstairs, quickly followed by heels clicking on the wooden steps. He didn’t need to turn around to know who it was.
“I didn’t know you had a key,” he laughed, “but of course you do. Why wouldn’t you?”
Standing up and making sure that the towel was still tightly around his waist, he turned to see his mother standing in the door. The great mayor of Havenmoore, Judy James, was finally gracing him with her presence. I’ve only been out of rehab for five days.
“Look at you,” she rolled her heavily lined and mascaraed eyes, “have you stopped wearing clothes now as well?”
Her sharp black bob was slightly wavy for a change but it didn’t soften her severe look. Her wide, dark eyes were framed with perfectly shaped, angular brows. A subtle berry stain covered her plump lips, which Elias didn’t doubt had had a little help from a surgeon’s needle.
“It’s nice to see you too, Mom,” Elias folded his arms protectively across his chest.
Whenever he was in her presence, the hairs on the backs of his arms would stand rigidly in the air. It was like being in a room with a rattlesnake, not knowing when it was going to attack to deliver the lethal blow.
“It didn’t take you long to trash the place,” she peered around the apartment as if it was the first time she had seen it.
Her stilettos sharply tapped on the floor as she walked in slowly, her knee-length pencil skirt constricting her movement. She was wearing a white blouse with a long black jacket over the top. Dumping her designer leather bag on the couch, she shrugged off her coat.
Elias dug through the laundry basket and pulled the least smelling t-shirt over his slim body, followed by a pair of green and blue striped underwear. He wasn’t going to bother trying to find his jeans. She wasn’t that important.
