“No kidding you’ve been doing this since you were a kid,” he jokes. “I’m embarrassed that I was so worried.”
“Well, it will be busy very soon and when you get to clicking and trying to talk and listen to what the customer is saying about, ‘don’t forget to mark the stain on the collar’ for the fourth time since they walked up, things get a little hectic. You’ll still be fine, and with two of us working, we’ll speed through. Grandpa’s bringing me an additional register this afternoon.”
“What you’re saying is if there was a contest for how awesomely people could get checked in at the cleaners, we’d win it?”
“That would be the most boring contest ever, but yeah.”
“Okay, so what’s next?”
“The last thing you do is take this blue tape and put a bit of it next to every stain. And then, if they have big or fragile, like mother of pearl, buttons, you slip these button covers on them. If they’ve got a bunch of tiny buttons, we take those off and they get sewn back on by Junnuen’s sister when she comes in Thursday.”
“Wow. Someone’s whole job is sewing buttons back onto things?”
I laugh. “She also does all the hemming and other alterations. She’s a prime seamstress. And a stay-at-home mom who only wanted to work one day a week.”
The bell on the door jingles and I have to keep myself from making a yuck face at Gabe. Randy Buterbaugh.
“Good morning,” Gabe says, eyeing the dirty gray laundry bag Randy hoists up onto the counter.
“Buterbaugh,” Randy says.
“Come again?”
“Name’s Buterbaugh.” He looks me up and down and then clicks his tongue at me. “What’s happenin’ Brynn?”
“Hi Randy,” I say, watching Gabe for any indication he’s about to burst out laughing. Randy Buterbaugh is a forty-year-old divorced guy who thinks he’s God’s gift and is pretty sure that I want to do him. Nothing could be farther from the truth.
“All right, Mr. Buterbaugh,” Gabe starts.
“Call me Randy. My dad’s Mr. Buterbaugh.”
“All right then, Randy. Forgive me, today is my first day, so I may be a bit slow. It looks like you bring in a bag once a week with five undergarments, light starch, folded, seven shirts, heavy starch, on a hanger, and four pair slacks, on a hanger. Correct?”
“That’s what’s in there.”
Gabe starts to unload the bag, but I stop him. “Like you said, Randy brings in the same thing every week and so to expedite his order, we just print off his ticket. He drops off on Mondays and picks up on Wednesdays.”
I finish printing off the ticket and hand it to Randy. He clicks his tongue at me again, says “Have a good ’un,” and leaves.
“Somebody’s got a cru-ush,” Gabe sings.
I dump the bag on the counter. “We don’t mark the stains on undergarments.” I use my covered forearm to sweep them into the washing bin. “Regular laundry goes in here.” Then I throw the rest of his shirts and slacks into the dry cleaning bin.
“Don’t you want to mark those?”
“Nope. There’s nothing on them. I’m not even sure he wears them. Also, you may have noticed he only brings in five pair of silk boxers when there are seven days in the week.”
“Hey, Randy likes to free ball on the weekends, what’s the big deal?” Gabe grins. “Randy is the third awesome thing about working in a dry cleaners. He is ripe for some speculation. We could essentially become Buterbaugh conspiracy theorists.”
“Yeah, you can help him from here on out ’cause I’m pretty sure he gets off on my handling his drawers.”
Chapter Thirteen
“I’m just going to run upstairs and get my swimming bag while the daily report is printing and then we can head to the pool.”
Gabe nods and backs out of the office so I can get past him. I lean down for a quick kiss, but somehow it turns into a lingering one, complete with his hands on my ass.
It’s been a good week. We’ve spent a lot of time together. Nearly all of our time together, in fact. The only moments I’ve been by myself are when I’m asleep. He can’t get to my place, and his parents are always around at his. Sure, they left us alone for an hour on Thanksgiving, but I have the feeling that was a special holiday treat or something, because Gabe hasn’t invited me back to his place any more than I’ve invited him up to mine.
We kiss and absently fondle in the office and behind the front counter during the day, and let things go a little further in the van at night. And as nice as that is, I can tell we are both wishing to be lying next to each other on a bed like a regular couple. I’ve thought about getting a motel room, but talking about that means talking about having sex and if I’m not ready to go there and if he isn’t mentioning anything … I can wait. I am used to waiting. Or at least not caring about waiting for sex. Of course, I’d never wanted Andy the way I want Gabe. I want all of him, every experience, every and any way I can have him.
Not that I’m going to tell him that either. The guy really does have more confidence than is necessary.
“The seniors are going to think something’s the matter if we’re late to class,” I say, muffled, my mouth still half engaged with his.
“Uh huh. That’s totally what’s got you squirming to get out of here.” Gabe squeezes my ass again. “I think you’re having ideas about climbing onto this chair, straddling me and showing me why you’re really the boss, but it’s scaring you.”
Okay, so maybe I read him wrong.
“Oh, is that what you’d like me to do? Right here to the thrum of the printer spitting out the dailies? Just ride you like a—”
“Brynn. I need to speak with you.”
I stand up so fast I see stars. Gabe’s hands fly off me.
“Hi Mom,” I say, brushing my mussed up hair off of my face. “I didn’t know you were coming in today. The reports are just about done printing.”
Mom looks down at Gabe with a steely stare. “If you don’t mind, I need to speak with my daughter in private. Perhaps you could go tidy up the front. It’s looking subpar.”
Gabe gives me a wide-eyed look and then angles his chair so that he can roll forward through the door. “Excuse me, Mrs. Garrett. I’ll get right on that.”
“The cleaning supplies are under the vanity in the restroom. I’m fairly certain Brynn has not alerted you to this fact.”
“Got it. Thanks, Ma’am.”
I go into the office and take the only chair in the room, leaning back like my mom isn’t intimidating me in the least. I prepare for her to rip me a new one about what a shit hole the store’s turned into since I’ve been managing it all on my own. Which isn’t true. The numbers have been steady. Maybe the front is messier than usual because I haven’t had any downtime in which to clean it, but it’s not the tornado aftermath she’s making it out to be.
Mom sits on the corner of the table I use as a desk and folds her hands in her lap. She stares at me for a moment, gearing up, choosing just the right words to make me feel small, I’m sure.
“I have some bad news,” she says, but doesn’t elaborate. She studies my face. I don’t give her the satisfaction of a worried expression. All I can hope is that Grandpa is fine and alive and that’s all I care about. If something had gone wrong with Liam or Dad, she would’ve called first, I’m sure of it.
“Would you like to know what the bad news is or would you rather be kept in the dark, believing the world is full of puppy dogs and rainbows?”
“The. Suspense. Is. Killing. Me.”
“Clearly. That flippant attitude will serve you well when you’re partners with Dad.”
“You’re selling me your shares? Why?” I can’t imagine why my mother would— “This can’t be because of Gabe? Are you really that … cold? You will quit a business you’ve built just to spite me. Really?” I stand, unable to control the fury that is pulsing through my body. Only my mother would go to such lengths to punish me for doing what I wanted.
“I’m
not selling you my shares!” she snaps.
“Okay,” I drawl. I sit back down.
She waits for me to be still. “I’m going to die. My oncologist has given me two months to live.”
“Wait. What? Oncologist? You have cancer?”
She nods like I’ve asked her if she enjoyed her salad at lunch. “I have. A really bad kind and I’m at a very late stage.”
My eyes immediately go to her breasts. “You can’t … get them cut off? Have chemo? Radiation?”
Mom licks her lips. “No. I have pancreatic cancer that has travelled to many of my other organs and there’s nothing that can be done. If there was, you know I’d be fighting for my life, doing anything I could.”
I don’t know what to say. How did I not notice she was in pain? I wrack my brain for any clues she might have given me. Nothing.
And then I think about all of the times I’d wished my mom were dead. I know that’s a horrible thing for a daughter to wish, but it’s true. She is not a nice person. She’s been nothing but mean and manipulative and she’s driven anyone who would’ve loved her away. But she’s my mother. That’s the thing of it. She’s my mother and she is going to be gone, for real. I can’t process this.
Suddenly, the image of Gabe’s gray face, his head cocked to the side laying against my chest in the water, floods my mind. He’d looked dead. He’d maybe been dead. My mother was going to be dead. Soon. Her face would be gray and her eyes wouldn’t stare me down and make me feel insignificant. She wasn’t going to judge me anymore.
She wasn’t going to see me.
I bolt out of the chair. “I’m going to be late for swimming.”
“Go then.” She waves me away. “The report’s done. I’ll lock up. I’ve said all I had to say to you.”
Gabe is putting away the cleaning supplies when I rush past the bathroom. “Brynn! Wait up!”
I keep going. I don’t know if he’d heard any of our conversation, but I don’t want to have to tell him what she said or explain my reaction. I don’t want to deal. I want to push it down. Keep it away from the surface until I can be ready for it.
Until then, I want to be numb. I need to get in the water and float and blank out.
Upstairs, I grab my bag and then I’m at the back door, popping my head in. “I’m going to wait by the van.”
“What?” I hear Gabe say as I walk away. “Oh, okay. Be right there.”
He comes out the front door, my dying mother locking the door behind him, and meets me at the van. “You wanna tell me what happened in there? Are you okay? You don’t seem okay.”
Gabe rolls over to me and reaches for my hand.
“I’m going to be late for class. I’m fine. Just regular Mom stuff. Nothing I can’t handle.”
“So, your Mom dying of cancer is a regular occurrence?” Gabe says, his brows furrowed and his eyes full of concern.
I can’t be vulnerable. I can’t fall apart. “Were you eavesdropping on our conversation?”
He shrugs. “Not intentionally. The bathroom is next to the office and I could hear most of what you were saying – especially the yelling parts.” He takes my other hand in his and attempts to pull me onto his lap, but I don’t budge. I also don’t let go of his hands. “I want to help you get through this. I want and need you to be able to lean on me, Brynn. Nothing about our connection rings true if we can’t help each other through the difficult times in life.”
My stubbornness and meanness get the best of me. “I’m the one with the problem, okay? Not you, so don’t put your expectations about our connection on me. I may overshare or blurt out whatever I’m thinking most of the time, but sometimes I need to keep things in and this is one of those instances.”
He shakes his head. “I wasn’t trying to … I just need you to know that I am here for you whenever. I care about you and I want to make sure that you’re dealing. Y’know, fine, keep it in for a little while, but not too long. Don’t set yourself back when you could be on your way to coping.”
“What do you know about how I cope? What makes you think I’m not on my way, this way?” I say. Now I do drop his hands and step back.
“I know because I’m the same way. I blocked my feelings about my accident and coasted along, pretending that I was doing okay. Believing that I was going to get better, that I was going to walk again. Sometimes, Brynn, hope is bullshit. Hope is dangerous and the last thing you need. It wasn’t until I started facing my situation head on that I was able to know without a doubt that I could live with it.” Gabe rolls forward, forcing me to back up against the van. “You’ve got a lot of confusing feelings about your mom, I know you do. You two hate each other, which isn’t something I understand, but I guess it’s been working for the both of you. Now she’s going to be gone and … I’m trying to look at the situation from your point of view. How do you feel about someone you hate dying? Someone you have nothing but resentment for? The way I see it, that hate and resentment has been a constant in your life. A life that’s about to have a big hole in it. You’re going to miss her, despite how awfully she treated you and Liam, despite how she could’ve been if she’d just tried to find some kindness in her heart. And running away from me, running away from this big, big thing that is happening to you is not going to work. There is no hope here. She will not get better and life will not carry on as it has.”
I gulp in air, feeling like I’m drowning under the rush of his words. He’s right. He’s so completely right and I want to give in to him. But, goddamn, despair is such a hard thing to accept. And if I accept it about this, what else will come flooding out?
I climb onto Gabe’s lap and bury my face in the crook of his neck, my tears coming in a torrent, my cries gasping and animalistic.
Stepping off the high dive. Gabe’s arms engulf me and hold me tight, so strong and solid. I sob even harder, if that’s possible, realizing I’m never going to become my mother. This, right here, this giving in, this letting go and trusting another person with your sadness and grief and troubles, my mother has never done this.
“You’re saving my life,” I blurt out, wiping my nose on the back of my coat sleeve.
“Like you saved mine?”
My heart feels like it stops as panic shoots through me.
“You see all of me, Brynn. I know you do and you don’t care that I’m broken,” Gabe says, brushing the tears away under my eyes. “I believe I can make it in this world, just as I am. That’s a gift.”
“It sounds an awful lot like hope to me, FFCH.”
“Maybe.” He chuckles. “Maybe hope is one of those things you have to let go of to get it back when you’ve got yourself right.”
I pull my phone from my pocket. “Class was just supposed to start. There’s gonna be an elderly uprising for sure.”
“Like, throwing the bleachers into the pool?”
“Well, they’ll at least discuss the possibility, but then someone, probably Mrs. Benedetto, will point out they can’t lift things like they used to and maybe they should all just go have a nice piece of gooey butter cake.”
“Shit. Can we get in on that?”
“There’s no cake.” I get up from his lap. “Only pissed off old people who want to float and now that I’ve had a breakdown, I feel I deserve to as well.”
“We’re still gonna talk after class, though, right?”
“Yes,” I say. “I’ll even buy you some cake and coffee while we talk.”
“’Cause I’m the best boyfriend ever?”
“Sure. And I also really want cake and coffee now.”
Chapter Fourteen
I know Mom hasn’t told Liam about her cancer and I wonder if she’s even told Dad or Grandpa. The way things are between us … I somehow understand that she’s been preparing me to take over her role in the business and deal with the men in our lives.
After my float and more talking with Gabe, I come to the conclusion that my mom is not afraid to die and probably somewhat relieved not to have to be in
charge of it all anymore. Not that anyone has asked her to do everything, she is just so particular she won’t accept anyone else’s help or ideas.
But, it’s up to me to tell my brother, because no one else can. And also because he won’t pick up the phone for anyone in our family except me.
I sit down cross-legged in the middle of my unmade bed and decide to text first, to get my nerve up.
Hey. I’ve got something to tell you. Can you talk right now?
Instead of texting back and giving me my lead time, he calls right away. I pick up.
“What’s going on?” Liam asks, his voice low. “I’ve got a show starting in a few minutes, but your text was sort of emo, so I thought I should talk to you before you tighten the rope or swallow the fistful of pills.”
“You and your suicide snark are the best, bro,” I say, my nerves calming some. This is Liam and he can handle what you have to say.
“Uh oh, you called me bro. Now I’m really worried.”
I can hear men in the background warming up their voices, going falsetto, then clearing their throats and running scales again.
“So, I’m just going to say it,” I blurt. “Mom’s got pancreatic cancer and only a couple months to live. You really need to come home for Christmas now, please.”
There is a distinct pause and then, “You’re not fucking with me?” he says, his voice hard, holding back the anger and sadness that I unleashed on Gabe earlier.
“I wouldn’t. Not about something like this.” Inhaling a deep breath, I steady myself for what I really want to get across to my brother. “And if you’re feeling conflicted, if your first thought was, ‘good’ and then you felt like the biggest piece of crap on the planet, well, I was there about four hours ago.”
Diving In (Open Door Love Story) Page 9
