by Laura Brown
I shoveled another spoonful of ice cream. This one had a gummy bear in it and something minty. “Wait until morning.” On that thought I pulled out my phone. One text awaited me.
Carli: You left one of your students’ papers here.
I grinned.
Me: Guess I’ll have to come back tomorrow and get it.
Carli: Guess so.
Willow, nosy as ever, read over my shoulder. “Looks like tomorrow will be a good day as well.”
I took another bite of their ice cream before tossing my spoon in the sink. “Good night.” In my room I tugged on my shirt, ready to pull it over my head. Instead I sniffed. It had that light floral scent of Carli. I pulled it back on. I’d shower in the morning.
I pulled out my wallet and my keys, dropping them on the bureau. I palmed my phone and turned it around and around in my hand. But I couldn’t do the one thing I wanted.
I wanted to call Dad.
I sat on the edge of the bed, thumb tapping the phone. I wanted to tell him all about Carli. I wanted to watch his cheeks turn pink as he warned me about safe sex and all that bullshit.
I wanted to see him.
With a deep breath, I scrolled through my text messages. I passed conversations I’d had for the past two years to the one still bolded. Untouched. For two years my phone had been yelling at me about an unread text message. With one tap, the reminder would vanish.
I clicked open my father’s last text and scrolled up until I found the last one I sent.
Me: OK
Very profound, this last text I sent to my father. I looked at the ceiling. At the picture on my wall of the three of us at my high school graduation. To the window covered by a flimsy curtain.
It was time. I was done being haunted by my past. Carli had helped, even if she didn’t realize it. Even if I couldn’t bring myself to tell her a damn thing about him.
Dad: In life, different things hold different importance. Wealth, health, shiny new cars. Love is most important. Hold it close. Treat it well. Wealth, health, shiny new cars can be replaced. Love can’t.
I stopped there, ignoring the other messages for now. A tear rolled down my cheek. I turned my head toward the ceiling.
“Sure, love is important. That’s why we don’t hurt the ones we love by driving into a tree at midnight.” I stared straight ahead, forcing air through my constricting lungs. Tears fell down my cheeks. I looked back up. “And yes, I’m crying. Because I love you, and I miss you, and you aren’t here to celebrate the good or the bad. What were you thinking? What the fuck were you thinking?”
I kicked off my shoes and my pants and climbed into bed. I missed the good feelings I had when I was wrapped around Carli. Much better than the aching hole in my chest.
Me: Maybe I should get my paper now?
Carli: LOL. Miss me?
Me: Yes. You would not believe how big my bed is compared to yours.
Carli: You’ll have to show me sometime.
I wiped the last of the moisture from my eyes. The ache in my chest morphed into an ache in my groin.
Me: Tmr?
Carli: Can’t. 8:00 a.m. class on Monday. I’ll never make it back to campus.
I was in my classroom by eight, but I let her stay in her little undergrad bubble.
Me: What are you doing next Saturday?
Carli: Sleeping in your bed? ;-)
I laughed.
Me: Bed. Yes. Sleeping optional.
Carli: Good night, Reed. Until tmr.
Me: Good night.
I plugged my phone into its charger and fell onto my bed, not bothering to get under the covers. I fell asleep with a smile on my face.
Chapter Nineteen
Carli
THE MURKY GRAY sky refused to shed any warm sunlight down below as I waited outside my dorm building. I zipped my jacket up past my chin in an attempt to ward off the chill. A skinny tree stood nearby, an iron fence surrounding the narrow trunk. Trapped. Much like I felt, waiting to head home for Thanksgiving break.
Matti’s beat-up Honda pulled up to the building.
“Hey, sis. Ready for another week in hell?” Matti, my emo-goth psycho sister. We were close, due to the technicality of being Irish twins. Though we weren’t much alike, especially as Matti had purple hair, a couple of tats, and a couple more piercings.
“Bring it.” I dumped my bag into her backseat.
“How’s the boy toy?”
Leave it to my sister to completely halt my entry to her car, to the point where I still had one foot on the curb. “Boy toy?”
Matti gave me her wolf smile. “Don’t tell me you haven’t?”
I ignored her as I climbed in. Matti flipped her blinker on to merge back into traffic. Then she turned her blinker off to stare at me and my utter silence. “You have?”
I rolled my eyes. It had been a month since we started having sex. If Mom wasn’t expecting me, I would’ve stayed at my dorm or gone to spend time with Reed. The latter was the most tempting.
Matti put the car into Park. “You have; you’ve had sex.”
“I lost my virginity years ago.”
“Yes, but you’ve had sex with the deaf guy.” Matti’s voice suggested inquiry into a winning scratch ticket.
“His name is Reed.”
“Fine, you’ve had sex with Reed.”
I couldn’t help it. I grinned like a Cheshire Cat.
“Scale?”
My grin grew wider. “He’s broken the scale. I can’t come up with a number high enough.”
“Damn. Does he have a brother?”
I shrugged. “He’s adopted, so possibly. But he grew up an only.”
Matti leaned back and sighed. “You ever think about that? Not having three annoying sisters?”
“I’ll take you annoying sisters over Dad any day.”
Matti wagged a finger. “Smart baby sister. Ready for hell?”
“Bring it.”
A half hour later, Matti dropped me off at Mom and Dad’s house. “I’ll be back tomorrow. Mom roped me into being here at the ass crack of dawn to help with the pies.” Matti shuddered.
“Good, you can wake me when you get here.”
She stuck out her tongue as I grabbed my bag and headed up the cracked path to the front door. I took out my key and let myself in, waving Matti off.
Inside the house was dim, only the outside light shining through the white wood blinds. “Mom? I’m home,” I called out.
“Kitchen,” came my mother’s voice.
I dropped my bag by the stairs and passed through the living room into the kitchen. I found Mom elbow deep in Thanksgiving prep, the small box television airing some soap opera.
“Hi, baby girl,” Mom said, not stopping what she was doing. “How’s college?”
“Good.”
“Studies going okay?”
“Don’t they always?” There was no room for stupidity in my household. Dad was smart. Mom was smart, so all four of us had to be smart. If we weren’t, Dad lectured us, and Mom retreated further into her fantasy world.
“Good girl. Hand me the eggs, would you, dear?” She still hadn’t looked my way and already gave me orders. In her mind I was probably the pretty, perfect daughter of one of her soap characters.
I opened the fridge, always bursting at the seams with food, and pulled out the carton of eggs. It was like a game of Tetris as the bread on top shifted and settled into the open space. “Good, now go on upstairs. I’m sure you have tons of homework to do.” Mom grabbed the eggs, eyes glued to her recipe.
Reason number 550 why I don’t cook: Mom never taught me. In order to obtain perfection, my studies took longer. My sisters could achieve the same level in half the time, which put more pressure on me to rise up to the Reynolds standard. I’d sit at the dining room table with my book while she taught my sisters. Or I’d be upstairs with multiple books while the family enjoyed their time below. Matti insisted it wasn’t happy times, but tell that to the girl forced to study eve
n when her brain needed to quit.
I grabbed my bag and brought it up to my bedroom. A burst of cold air greeted me when I opened the door, courtesy of the one window cracked open. I rubbed my hands together and closed the window, pulling my sweater closer around my body for warmth. Thanksgiving was still too early for the heat to be on at home. I had little chance of the room warming out of frostbite zone.
I blew warm air on my fingers before pulling out my phone.
Me: My bedroom is freezing. I need your warmth.
I glanced around the room, still half ghost town from Matti moving out and sparse even on my side from all the stuff I took to college. It didn’t feel like home. My dorm felt like home. This felt like a boardinghouse.
Reed: What’s the address? I’ll come warm you up.
Already feeling warmer.
Me: Won’t work. Only Andi brings men home. The rest of us keep the penis carriers far away.
Reed: Am I only a penis to you?
For the first time ever, my room began to feel warm.
Me: Much more than that. Though I do enjoy the penis-related activities.
Reed: Seriously, tell me the address.
Me: LOL, down boy. I’ll be back in Boston before you know it.
I unpacked my bag and took out my books. In my dresser I found my fingerless gloves, a must-have for surviving a night in the Reynolds abode. With nothing else to do, I wrapped myself in a blanket and got started on my homework.
THANKSGIVING WAS . . . THANKSGIVING. Dad planted his butt in his chair and watched the game. Mom and my sisters cooked a feast. My nephews ran around while Andi’s latest tried to keep them in line.
And me? I sat at the dining room table huddled into myself for warmth against the frosty interior that may have been colder than the outside. In fact, I would have preferred to be outside. At least then I could put on a coat rather than claiming my scarf a fashion statement. In front of me, I had a single book set up. I wasn’t allowed to study in my chaotic way around my parents. My methods were too abnormal, too messed up. It didn’t make sense to my father and therefore was forbidden. So I took the one with the most reading and gave myself breaks by trying to follow the conversation or text Reed at his mom’s.
“Carli!” My dad’s barking shook me out of staring blankly at the page. “You’re almost graduated. Enough milking this studying crap. Get your ass in the kitchen and help out.”
I slammed my book closed. “Yes, Dad.”
My sisters froze in the kitchen. Mom, being Mom, continued on without even acknowledging Dad had spoken. Andi gave me a backrub as I wedged in at the cramped kitchen counter. Matti shot me a sympathetic look from the opposite counter. They set me up with tasks they knew I could handle with my limited cooking skills.
At least I was finally warm.
When dinner was ready, we all settled down at the table. With the exception of Dad, who had a plate prepared for him and set up on the snack tray in front of the television. The conversation stayed soft, so as not to disturb Dad and the game, and thus hard for me to hear. I picked at the turkey on my plate.
Not for the first time, I wondered what Thanksgiving would be like if I could hear. If my ears weren’t impaired, I wouldn’t be bored out of my mind and desperate to not overeat. I could talk softly to my sisters. I could feel connected.
Or, on the other hand, if they signed we wouldn’t need to talk soft. We could be loud with our hands, and I wouldn’t have any trouble understanding.
While I couldn’t pick up the conversation, I could pick up on other details no one realized I knew. Like how Matti, with her purple hair covered in a crocheted cap much like newborns wore, kept her head down and herself quiet, in contrast to her usual loud personality. Lesli, my second-oldest sister, sat stiffly on the hard wooden bench, one hand dug into the small of her back. She wouldn’t say anything about the pain, just as I wouldn’t with my head. Whatever she used for coping, she’d do it when she returned home.
I spent the rest of the meal daydreaming about a very different Thanksgiving celebration with a certain male whose texts kept me entertained.
Chapter Twenty
Reed
MY AUNT’S BLUE Prius sat in Dad’s spot. Two damn years and his missing car still hit me like a brick to the head. I shoved thoughts of Thanksgiving past down into a deep box, then shut it tight. Outside I took in a breath of the cool fall air before grabbing the paper bag filled with squash and potatoes.
The smell of turkey and stuffing greeted me at the door. I took a moment to let the scent fill my system. I shifted the bag to my other hand and made my way into the kitchen. Mom’s and Aunt Toni’s backs were to me. From the bopping of their heads, music must have drowned out my sounds. I reached for the light switch and flicked.
Mom spun around, a wide smile on her face. Her curls were held back by two clips, and she wore a flowered apron over dark pants and a teal shirt. She came over, wrapped her arms around me, and kissed my cheek.
Aunt Toni washed her hands and then greeted me as well. Her blond hair fell to her jawline. She had my father’s hair, my father’s eyes. Like each time I saw her, the empty part of my heart tugged. She patted my cheek as I finally set the bag down on the table. “Your mom says new girlfriend?” Her hands moved slowly and awkwardly, hesitating as they switched from one sign to another.
I turned to Mom and raised my eyebrows. Mom smiled and went back to cooking, angling herself to see any signs. She was a worse gossip than my friends.
Aunt Toni waited with the patience of a saint. She started signing the same time my parents did, but since she wasn’t around me all the time and had a demanding schedule, she still signed like a lower-level ASL student. Her heart was in the right place though.
I cleared my throat, but before I found out if I remembered how to work my vocal cords she placed a hand on my shoulder and shook her head.
“What? Is my speaking that bad?” I teased. And realized I signed slower around her than I did around Carli.
Aunt Toni smiled. “Terrible.”
I shrugged and picked up the oversized squash. After I grabbed the cutting board and thick knife, I found my aunt staring at me. “What?”
“Girlfriend?”
I laughed and put down the knife. In as simple language as possible I explained about Carli. When I finished, both women exchanged a glance. A spoken conversation passed between them, but due to the angle of their faces, I couldn’t pinpoint a word.
I stomped on the floor.
Mom turned to me, grinning widely. “We agree. You’re falling in love.”
I rolled my eyes and picked up my knife, only to turn back to them. “We recently started dating. It’s way too soon for that.”
Mom shook her head once she stopped voicing for me. “Not with that look in your eyes.”
I got enough of this shit from Val and Willow. “Your point?”
Mom kissed my cheek. “It’s been a long two years. Nice to see you happy again.”
I sunk the knife into the center of the squash, working the ends to get it through the thick flesh. I couldn’t deny Carli made me happy. A part of me desperate for healing had begun the process. That thought launched an idea in my head. It rolled, a pinball batted back and forth and lighting up the board. By the time the squash shared space with the turkey in the oven, I let the ball drop.
I washed my hands and eyed the two women in front of me. The closest family I had left. “I had a few texts from Dad the night he died.”
Aunt Toni’s hand flew to her mouth.
“Same as the video message?” Mom asked. The hidden implication: I hadn’t looked at them.
I nodded. “I read the first one a month ago.”
Mom’s eyes filled with tears. “Carli really is good for you.”
I held back a laugh; if she only knew.
“When do I get to meet her?” Mom signed.
“Never.” I grinned, fully into teasing mode. “Your grandchildren will be a mystery to you.”
I paused as I reached for the peeler. What. The. Hell? Where did that come from? They joke I’m falling for Carli, and I supply the whole children concept?
I looked at my mother, at an absolute loss for words or anything. I needed to toss out a joke or peel the potatoes. But my own words now tumbled in my head, playing the pinball game, hitting the bumpers to remain in action without a single flipper moving.
Mom smiled, her brown eyes warm and full of emotions. She walked over, caressed one cheek, and kissed the other. I had dug my hole deep with this one.
“After that, ‘soon’ is the right answer.”
“After that, ‘never’ is the right answer.” I turned, but Aunt Toni stomped her foot.
“The right answer,” she mouthed with her signs, which was good, because she didn’t sign “answer.” She stumbled with her hands and turned to Mom before speaking the rest.
Mom interpreted. “The right answer is when you become comfortable with those words.”
I shook my head and picked up a potato. Nosy bitches. Yet I loved them anyways. As I peeled and chopped, I wondered how that conversation would’ve gone if Dad were still with us. He’d be peeling with me, probably questioning the ETA of said grandchildren. Mom would’ve slapped his arm, pointing out the shocked look or whatever was on my face proof of no immediate plans to procreate. Then Dad would have gotten sappy, he would’ve . . .
No clue. I’d never been serious about someone before. I’d never been an adult and dating someone with him around, and Beth certainly didn’t count.
Aunt Toni bopped her head as she chopped vegetables. She wasn’t married, but she was the younger sibling. Maybe she’d know.
“What would Dad say?” I asked.
“Related to what?” Mom asked.
I rolled my head. And dug my hole even deeper. “What I said earlier.”
Mom smiled, a sad laugh in her eyes. “It’s possible he would’ve cut himself, thinking that was your way of telling us you already got Carli pregnant.” Her shoulders laughed. “After the blood was cleaned up, and your constant reassurance you weren’t becoming a father, he’d think about it. By the time the turkey was cut”—her eyes traveled to the ceiling—“he’d want to meet her. Once you promised, on the life of that fictional first child, he’d explain how wonderful love can be. To take your time, but be sure to follow your heart and not let go.”
