Sweetest Obsessions - Anthology

by Anthony, Jane

  “I’m fine.” Stepping back for a split second, I see the side of him that I remember. The side that only I got to know, as we were growing up. The real him. Not the guy out on the stage, prancing around and shaking his ass on command. The glance of our past is fleeting, before it flitters away in an instant.

  “Your mom wanted me to tell you that dinner is ready,” he declares calmly. I push past him, but his hand grasps my wrist, stopping me. “I know you don’t want me here. I’ll leave, but I want to hear you say it.”

  “We both know that my mom would skin me alive, if I asked you to leave, Alex. It’s not negotiable.” I break from his touch a second time, making my way back down the hallway. I pause with a look back to him. “But this doesn’t change what I said in the field today. After you eat, you leave.”

  Alex takes a few steps, stopping short right behind me, speaking in a whisper. “I understand, but I hope you’ll change your mind.” Fat chance of that happening. He brushes past and finds his old spot at the table. I sigh, before following in behind him into the kitchen. Nearly every square inch of the kitchen table is covered with plates and dishes of hot, steaming food.

  “Is there fifty other people out back, Mom?” I casually ask, while taking my spot at the end of the table.

  “It’s not every day that I have a celebrity in my house,” she coos back at Alex. “It’s been a while, since I had the pleasure of making this big of a meal.”

  “I appreciate it, Mrs. Moulton. I miss home-cooking. No one can cook like this in Nashville. Believe me. Those farm to table restaurants have nothing on you.” Mom blushes at the compliment. Traitor. Quit letting him butter you up, and weasel his way back into the family. I bet he tells his chef back home the same damn thing.

  “Wouldn’t have to miss it, if you came home more often,” I mutter under my breath, and only Alex hears me. His head adjusts slightly to look over at me, staring. Mom brings over a pitcher of sweet tea, setting it near Dad’s spot opposite of me, before taking her place to my right.

  “Lizzy, would you like to say grace?” She asks, knowing damn well I hate being put on the spot like that. Thanks, Mom.

  “Good food. Good meat. Good God, let’s eat,” I rattle off, while reaching for the spoon in the mashed potatoes, as Mom glares disapproval back at me. Why should I say grace, when he’s sitting at our table? You can’t tell me that the devil didn’t send him here to torture me. Why else would he be home?

  Our ordinarily quiet meal is filled with casual conversation. Mom and Dad both ask about his life, touring, and the like. Alex happily tells them stories about his time on the road and recording his new album. I say nothing. There is nothing in this conversation that is interesting to me. In fact, listening to my parents gush over his success is almost enough to make me want to hurl. Yes, he’s a country music star. Yes, he’s probably loaded now. But why should I care? It’s not like he’s cared about anything other than his own career. Myself included in that statement. They chipperly chatter about Alex and his life, until I’ve nearly hit my limit of smiles on his face, and the look he keeps shooting me out of the corner of his eye, when I don’t react to his stories. Alex is looking for an opening to talk to me or to get me to talk, and I’m not about to give him that opportunity.

  “Isn’t that right, Izzy?” My father’s voices cuts into my own mental spiral of disdain.

  “Right about what?” Dammit. What we were they talking about?

  “How proud this town is of Alex’s success.”

  “Yeah, sure. Exciting.” The town maybe, but me, I could care less.

  Dad takes notice of my flat, uninterested tone. If I were a betting person, I would have to say that after dinner, Dad will be calling me into his office for a chat about how we treat our guests. Not that it’ll do much good, because where Alex is concerned, I would never consider him to be a guest of this house ever again.

  “Now, Alex,” my mom practically coos at him. “I hear there’s a special lady in your life.” His eyes grow wide, flicking to me. I choke on the bite of chicken and noodles that I just shoved in my mouth, spewing bits all over my plate. I cough and cough, while every single pair of eyes, sitting around our kitchen table, watch me. My fingers grasp my glass, and I take a gulp of water, all the while, my chest heaves. Alex’s gaze is sorrowful, while my parents look on in horror, like I’ve made some dining faux pas in front of our distinguished and unwanted guest.

  “Chew your food, dear,” my mom orders, handing me the napkin from her lap. “If you weren’t gobbling and shoving everything in your mouth at once, like you were running a race, that wouldn’t have happened.” Wrong. Her question is to blame for that. I grit my teeth and apologize to everyone, as Dad looks between my mom and me.

  “Sorry about that, Alex,” Mom apologizes again for me. “Tell me all about you and Taylor Aldean. You two make such a cute couple.”

  At that point, I just lose it. My hands hit the table hard enough to rattle every single plate, utensil, and glass.

  “Elizabeth Ann Moulton, what in the God’s name is wrong with you?”

  Alex snatches the napkin from his own lap and wipes his mouth with it, before setting it down onto the table. “You’ll have to excuse me,” he mentions, pushing away from the table. “It’s been a long day, and I’m beat. I think it’s best that I head home, before your good home-cooking puts me into a food coma.”

  “But you haven’t had dessert yet. I made your favorite. Sugar cream pie.”

  “You could tempt the devil with that pie, Mrs. Moulton, but I really should get going.” Alex lays his napkin down on his plate, taking them both to the sink, and placing them on the counter next to it.

  “Nonsense. You can take it home with you.” Mom slides from the table and covers the pie pan with a layer of aluminum foil, thrusting it into Alex’s hand. He kindly thanks her, before leaving out the backdoor, taking with him my sigh of relief. I listen for his boots to hit the gravel, before looking back at my dad, and his face is stern.

  “Office, little girl. We need to have a chat.” Guess I should have made that bet after all.

  5

  After Dad’s verbal tongue lashing about how we treat guests, I can barely sleep. Leave it to Alex coming home, for me to be back on my dad’s shit list. Just like fucking high school, I can’t remember a time where Dad wasn’t on me for missing a curfew, because one of Alex’s concerts ran late or catching us on the porch together in the middle of the night. Not that anything was going on, because let’s be honest, I wasn’t exactly on his standard social level back then.

  Tossing and turning until nearly midnight, I finally give up and head outside to the front porch with Pete in tow. The cold air is chilly, but not enough to warrant anything else other than a hoodie. I sit and rock in Granddad’s old, wooden rocking chair, listening to the sounds of nature around. My dog at my feet, and trying like hell to forget all about the fact that Alex is next door. I listen to the crickets and tree frogs chirping. Their melodious noise is soothing me. You can’t get a better nighttime symphony than this, unless you add in the aroma of fresh cut hay or straw, but we are months away from hay season. A coyote howls in the distance, snapping my attention to the pastures. Coyotes and mountain lions aren’t uncommon sights, especially near livestock. Farms like ours are buffets to predators, if you aren’t careful. My watchful eyes are drawn to the pastures, but nothing moves as far as I can. Another howl comes from the west, indicating they are moving farther away, leaving me to continue to wallow in the misery that was the disaster of epic proportions I called today.

  Between the cow’s flight of fancy and Alex’s arrival, my had enough meter is at overflow levels. I wish I could say that I haven’t dreamed about what it would be like, if he came home. Well, back to me, but this definitely isn’t what I had imagined. I had envisioned Alex showing up with roses and an apology for all those years he missed. A grand romantic gesture, like you see in movies. Instead, I got a face full of mud and him laughing at me. No h
eartfelt declarations, but on the flip side, I didn’t exactly give him a chance either. I cut him down at the knees to prevent anything from leaving his lips that we would both regret.

  Although, a part of me knows that Dad is a little right with me being so stern and unwelcoming to him. That I can admit fault for doing. I was raised better than that. The echoes of Dad’s discussion, making me see reason now. Letting him get to me, just like he did, before he left. Breaking my heart over and over again, until all that is left is the scattered pieces still floating wistfully inside of my chest. Next time, if there is one, I’ll be better prepared. Walls up and well-guarded.

  But his arrival still doesn’t make any sense to me. Why come back here at all? There’s nothing for him now that his parents have moved on just like the rest of our class, even his old bandmates moved away after college. I think the part that confuses me the most is the way he pretends, as if nothing has changed between us. His smile. His jokes. All of that I have gravely missed, but with the circumstances in which they came back, my pride took over and fought off his advances to the best of my ability.

  Would I give him another chance? Probably not, but I promised Dad I would try. It’s not like he said he’s going to come back over anyway. This may have very well been a one-time appearance with no encores. I am hoping, at least, but knowing Alex, he is over there at his house, planning the next offensive move to get back in my good graces. As kids, it only took a coke or some trivial thing that I was lusting over to make me forgive him. Now, I don’t think there’s a single thing he can say or do to get me to forgive his transgressions over the last four years. Not without some divine intervention and a time machine on his side.

  I continue analyzing every single detail of our interaction today. The way he looked, the way his smile still lit up my world, even for the briefest of seconds, and the way my heart still skipped a few beats, before I realized just who was laughing at me, and the pride took over. His effect is clear, despite how hard I’m trying to fight it.

  I catch myself looking over in the direction of his parent’s old house, checking for lights. Stop it, Izzy. Why are you torturing yourself? He’s probably long gone. While looking for the fourth time to the McCloud property, something moves in the distance in the field. I still, peering out into the pitch black of night to see what it is, but I’m unable to make out anything. Pete growls at my feet. There’s definitely something out there.

  “What is it, boy?” Pete abruptly stands, taking off towards the sound, leaving me to fend for myself. “Pete, get back here!” His white fur disappears into the pasture without even looking back at me. Some guard dog he is.

  The rustling sounds of the field grass gradually get louder, as my heart begins to flutter faster in my chest. There is no telling what kind of predator could be lurking at this time of night. When I hear a crunch of the gravel, I bolt out of my seat, towards the loaded shotgun that Dad keeps just inside the door for predators and solicitors. You can never be too careful, living this far out of town of who or what could come stalking up to your front porch, since it even takes the county sheriff a solid twenty minutes to get here. Pete starts to bark, but then quits. Shotgun in hand, I rack a shell into the chamber, aiming it towards the noise. The glow of one of the warming lights, inside the barn, illuminates the faintest outline of a silhouette.

  “Come any closer, and I’ll shoot you where you stand,” I demand sternly.

  “Woah,” a voice calls out in a low whisper, as Alex steps from the shadows with his hands in the air. “No need to shoot me.” I don’t lower the gun. Not until he gets close enough that I’m sure it’s him.

  “I wouldn’t have to, if you didn’t come sneaking up in the middle of the night, Alex.”

  He strolls, hands still in the air, towards the porch. Once he reaches the edge of the bottom step, Pete comes bounding up to the porch past him, and his tail is wagging wildly.

  “Could you maybe put the shotgun down, Iz? I come in peace.”

  I mull it over. If I keep the gun, he’ll just go away, and that will be better for the both of us. Mostly me, but still. Dad’s stern words start tugging on my conscience. Treat others with kindness, until they give you a reason not to do so. Apparently, breaking my heart isn’t a good enough of a reason for my dad. Not that I told him that, of course. Friends or not, I promised Dad that I would try. With a heavy sigh, I lower the shotgun and tuck it against the wall of the porch. There goes my exit strategy. Alex quietly creeps up the other steps, before he finally settles on the top one. We sit in silence with only the chorus of the crickets surrounding us, before he finally breaks it.

  “About earlier…” he trails off. “I shouldn’t have stayed for dinner without checking with you. I’m sorry.”

  An apology? Lord, help me. He’s making this being mad at him thing harder than it should be. Thanks for taking it easy on me, Alex. Hating you is easier than trying not to.

  “Why did you stay then? I thought I was pretty clear about the whole not wanting to see you again.”

  “I think you already know the answer to that,” he reveals with a husky, deep tone in his voice. Four years later, and here we are. The same place. The painful, lingering sadness between us, and the kiss that never came to pass. A trip down memory lane, when I would really like to forget about it altogether. Not to be reminded about it in the least. “And it wasn’t your mom’s good cookin’. Though that was a perk. I demolished that pie, as soon as I got home, by the way.”

  “Then why, after all this time, are you back here?”

  “Answer isn’t going to change, Iz. You damn well know why I’m back. We have unfinished business.”

  Me. He’s back for me. I huff out an exasperated sigh. He isn’t making this easy at all. Not one damn bit, but even I can’t help but admit, I want him to say it. Even though, I know hearing it will never be the same, as it would have been that night he left. It won’t change the fact that the Alex I knew and the Alex sitting here with me are two very different people.

  “You wasted a trip up here then,” I coolly respond back, trying like the devil to keep my voice from wavering with questionable self-doubt. “We aren’t those people anymore, Alex.”

  “We weren’t those people back then either. I was stupid for leaving the way I did. I thought it would be easier. Turns out, it wasn’t.”

  “Seemed pretty easy from my side of things, Alex. One second you were here, and the next you weren’t. Maybe, it should stay that way. Easiness and all, considering. No sense in repeating the past again.”

  “We’ll see about that. You don’t sound so sure there, Iz. Admit it, you were happy to see me today.”

  “If there’s one thing that I’m sure about, Alex, it’s that you being here is a bad idea.”

  “The only bad idea that I ever had on this porch was the night I left. I shouldn’t have left you like that. Not without saying goodbye.” His words are bringing back memories of the last night he was here with me.

  “I’m going to miss this, Iz,” he laments. His voice, trailing off as if he has something else to say. “Sitting here with you. The town. Just everything.” He pauses. “Maybe, I shouldn’t go.”

  “This is your dream, Alex. You can’t just turn your back now. This is your chance to change your life. Why wouldn’t you go?”

  “You,” he answers quietly, but without a single bit of hesitation. All the while, not looking at me. My breath hitches, as my chest seizes. Why now? After all this time. Is it because he’s leaving, and he’s trying to check another girl off his list, or is this one last desperate act of a boy finally admitting what I have been feeling all this time? Neither seems likely, but yet, here we are. Alex adjusts to face me, and I notice his knees, bouncing with his nervous tick.

  “Me? Alex, are you crazy?” I fire back. “There is absolutely no reason why leaving me behind should be any reason for you not to chase this. I’m not that special. There’s bound to be hundreds of girls already lining up in Nashville, waiting
to take my place.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong, Iz. No one can replace you,” Alex leans in. His face is so dangerously close to mine. “None of this makes sense without you.”

  “What are you saying?” My voice is soft and cautious.

  “Come with me.” He leans in closer. His lips so close to mind that I feel the heat rolling off of them. I move closer, but the front porch light flickers on. I turn to see Dad standing behind the screen door, scowling. I stammer out an excuse, but when I turn back trying to explain Alex’s presence on our porch yet again in the middle out the night, he’s gone.

  “I think it’s best for both of us, if you left, Alex. I can’t do this again.”

  He shifts from his spot on the porch. Defeat clear as day in his body language. “I will regret leaving you here for the rest of my life.” He takes a few steps away from the porch, before turning back and peering back at me. “I’m not going to make that mistake again this time.”

  Without another word, Alex disappears into the night in the direction that he came from, leaving me in a swirling mess of confusion. Why is he saying this now? After all this time, when I finally had reconciled with it all. A part of me wants to go after him, but the other side is cautioning to stay rooted here to protect myself.

  A floorboard creaks from inside the house, under heavy footsteps approaching the door. “Everything okay? Who are you out here talking to, Izzy?” Dad’s sleepy voice asks from on the other side of the screen porch door. “Alex with you?”

  “No one, Dad. Just talking to a ghost.”

  6

  I dive myself into my chores on the farm in a fleeting excuse not to think about last night. My body and mind are absolutely exhausted, but farm life doesn’t stop, when you feel like you’re dead on your feet. I grit through it all, but Alex’s surprise middle of the night visit, won’t leave my mind, which has every meticulous detail of the conversation between us on a continuous loop in my head. The way he looked at me. The softness in voice. The ache in my chest, remembering the night he left. The only reason why I survived his goodbye was dedicating myself to working through the pain. To put all of that raw emotional turmoil into something productive.