Tiebreaker

by P. Dangelico

  I will never forget the look on my mother’s face. Ears turning red the way they did when she was really mad, she looked around the cereal aisle to make sure no one was within earshot and then proceeded to grill me about it.

  When I asked her why she was so mad, going on about how she was going to file a complaint with the principal and so forth, she wouldn’t explain.

  A year later I found out what it really meant. But up until then, I thought I was beautiful because my best friend told me so.

  * * *

  Noah

  My phone rings, vibrating against the granite countertop in my kitchen. It irritates me. So does the name flashing onscreen. Dane. Someone save me from well-meaning friends.

  I reach into the refrigerator for the beer I’ve earned today at the same time I answer the phone. “I’m warning you. I’ve had a shit day.”

  “Who crapped in your cereal, sweetheart?”

  “What do you want?”

  “Just making sure you’re not sitting in a pile of your own feces with a razor blade in one hand and a bottle of Jack in the other.”

  Nothing my best friend loves more than to bust my balls.

  A tired sigh escapes me. What a disaster that was today. After we drove back to the bar in complete silence, she went one way and I the other. If I hadn’t, there was a damn good chance I would’ve said something that would’ve had her avoiding me for the next ten years.

  I had every intention to talk to her, really talk to her, charm her even if she’d let me. But no––hearing her refer to me as Rowdy’s business partner was a serious gut check.

  “Macallan…instead of Jack.”

  “Stop ignoring me, boo. Do I strike you as the type you can pump and dump?”

  Laughter sneaks up on me. And it fades just as quickly, only to be replaced by a bout of hopelessness the likes of which I haven’t felt in a good long time.

  I am suddenly and inexplicably at a loss, looking at everything with new dazed and confused eyes. I’ve been living the past decade in limbo, biding my time, respecting her boundaries. I kept waiting for her to dump that asshole to make my move. And now it looks like that day may never come.

  The thought of her married to someone else is like taking a bullet to the chest. It’s instant and painful and game ending. And before today it never even occurred to me. Fuck knows why, she’s been dating that guy forever.

  “Shit, I’m flattered you even answered my call,” Dane continues.

  “Figured it was the only way to get you off my back.”

  Popping the top off my beer bottle, I take a long pull. I seldom drink anymore. Not after it cost me everything. Only on rare occasions that warrant a drink. Like when the woman I planned to spend the rest of my life with tells me she’s gonna be doing that with someone else.

  “Speaking of sexual positions. You assume one lately?”

  Falling into the armchair in my living room, I put my feet up on the coffee table and run an exasperated hand through my hair. “Is there a point to this phone call?”

  “What’s up with Maren.”

  “She’s still with that British dude.” I take a deep breath before forcing the words out, each one as sharp as a razor blade and just as painful. “He asked her to marry him.”

  Dane whistles loud enough that I’m forced to pull the phone away from my ear. “Does he have papers?”

  “What?”

  “Papers. Does he have ’em? Cuz if he don’t have papers, it ain’t his.”

  “Does your wife hear the shit that comes out of your mouth?”

  “Telling it like it is, bro.” In the background, I hear him shutting a door. “And she’s in the other room. Remember those words of wisdom you cheerfully imparted not so long ago when I was fucking things up with Stella?” Dane doesn’t wait for an answer. He loves the sound of his own voice too damn much. “This is what’s called a rhetorical question, dickhead, so keep your mouth shut and your ears open. Time to heed some of your own advice. The roosters have come home to roost––”

  “Chickens.”

  The front door swings open and Jana walks in. She waves as she heads for the kitchen with her grocery bags.

  “What do chickens have to do with this conversation?”

  “The phrase. It’s chicken have come––”

  “Dane!” I hear in the background.

  “Comin’, Shorty,” he shouts. “Gotta run, bro. My turn to change the dirty diaper.” I catch Stella’s muted voice in the background, saying something I can’t make out. “I said I’m coming…no, it’s my turn…mine. No, you took the last one, woman.”

  “Look at you––fightin’ over a dirty diaper.”

  “He’s at the stage his shit don’t stink. It won’t be fun for much longer.”

  Pride hangs on every letter when he speaks about his family and for a moment I envy him. Not the shitty diaper part. The part where he’s content with his life.

  There was a time when Dane would’ve chosen swallowing broken glass over marriage, but after meeting Stella all that changed for him. He’s found his sweet spot. Nothing’s missing in his life.

  He doesn’t wake up every morning with only a fraction of time where everything seems all right. Only for it all to come crashing down around him when reality sets in. When he remembers the nightmare he’s living has been going on for years and he isn’t likely to wake up from it any time soon.

  “Noah––you there?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Stop sittin’ around with your dick in your hand. You gotta tell her.”

  “I can’t.”

  “And cheat yourself out of the life you deserve? Don’t be stupid.”

  I give what he said some thought. Despite appearance, Dane is one smart motherfucker.

  “You think…I can make amends for what I did?”

  “I don’t know, man. It’s gonna be hard, that’s for sure. But I guarantee you it’ll be easier than watching her become someone else’s wife.”

  * * *

  Maren

  As soon as I get home I shuffle into the shower, too tired to even think about making dinner. Listless, I stand under the hot water and let the jet spray beat down on me. No matter how emotionally drained I am, I can’t seem to shut off my brain. It’s working overtime to make sense of the fight with Noah. For whatever reason he seems determined to dredge up the past and it’s exhausting. My emotions feel tied to the end of a yo-yo with his name on it.

  As I step out of the shower, the doorbell rings. It’s 8 p.m. and I’m instantly wary. No one in my family would come by this late.

  I run downstairs in my robe and look out the window to find the porch empty. It takes me five minutes to muster up the courage to open the front door. There’s not a soul in sight, only a thermo bag sitting on the doormat. I take the bag and lock the front door.

  The smell of freshly roasted chicken wafts out of the cracked open bag and my stomach growls. Thank you, food fairy. Sinking into the couch, I start pulling out containers and placing them on the coffee table. The chicken. A baked potato. Steamed broccoli.

  I make a mental note to call my mother tomorrow to thank her.

  I’m ready to dive into the food when the roar of familiar tail pipes gets my attention. Which sparks suspicion. The next second I’m barreling through the front door.

  “Noah! Stop!” I shout, bounding off the front porch barefoot. He pulls to a stop in the middle of the street.

  “Did you…can you take the helmet off please?”

  He turns off the bike and takes his helmet off, running a hand through his hair. His expression guarded.

  “Yeah, so––”

  “Your robe.” He tips his chin, mouth drawn tight from resisting an actual smile.

  I look down and realize it’s a bit loose in front––and I’m naked underneath. I scramble to shut it tightly, double knot the belt. “Yeah, so, did you leave a bag of food…per chance?”

  He nods once. He looks sheepish for a moment. �
�I figured you can’t cook with one hand…” His voice drifts off, carried away on a gust of wind. It whips my hair into my face, across my mouth. I tuck it behind my ear.

  “Thank you, for––”

  My pocket vibrates. It’s the ring tone I assigned Oliver. I fetch the phone out of the robe pocket and glance at it. Noah’s amusement is gone by the time I look up from the screen. “I have to get this.” He nods and slams his helmet back on.

  “Thanks again,” I add, but my words are drowned out by the sound of the engine starting. A moment later the bike is pulling away, leaving me standing in the middle of the street watching him go. More of the past playing out in the present.

  “Hi,” Oliver says as soon as I press the accept button. My heart melts a little. He really can be sweet when he tries.

  I’m excited to talk to him. It’s time to lay my cards out on the table, to tell him about Noah and delve beneath the surface of our relationship––something we’ve never done before.

  “I’m sorry for everything,” I say, jumping right in. I make my way back into the house, the wind flapping my robe around. “I know I haven’t been myself lately and I’ll explain in a minute––”

  “I meant to ask you earlier if you’ve been keeping up with your training schedule?”

  Training schedule? That grates, but I brush it off and continue. The days of letting him manage me are over. This is the reboot our relationship needs. “I’m going to spend some time getting to know my grandfather’s business.”

  Silence. It starts to drag. “Did you hear me?”

  “Why would you want to do that?” I don’t like the tone he’s using but I am committed to my plan. I expected some resistance.

  “It’s part of the stipulation to the will. Learn the business, spread the ashes. Remember I told you about it last night?”

  “I must have fallen asleep.”

  “You know how I said Rowdy has a business partner?”

  “In a minute, have you started with your core and lower body strengthening exercises yet?”

  “Oliver––” I’m already frustrated times ten and we’ve barely begun.

  “What?”

  “That’s not what I want to discuss.”

  “Darling, I couldn’t give a single shit about your grandfather’s business partner. I do, however, care about your training.”

  “No, I haven’t started it and you’re missing the point entirely,” I grind out, losing hope with each word we exchange. I’m getting nowhere with him.

  “I don’t know what the hell is going on with you, but enough is enough. I want you home.”

  “And I need you to stop managing me. We need to talk. And I mean really talk––about our relationship. Not about my career.”

  “Do I need to sort this out? I can catch a flight tomorrow.”

  “No. Like you said, you’ll be in the way.”

  “Where is this coming from?” His voice is low, brittle with resentment.

  He doesn’t want to hear the truth. He doesn’t want to hear that I’m burnt out on tennis. Or that there’s something missing between us, something that needs to be addressed. He’s not interested in fixing this relationship because he doesn’t think there’s anything wrong with it.

  “I’m staying. Don’t expect me any time soon.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Maren

  “This place is worse than quicksand. Half my graduating class is here. Does anybody ever get out?” I say as I walk up to my sister. By the time Bebe and I made it to the fair, around late afternoon, the parking lot was already at full capacity. I had to drop her off in front and park the truck three blocks away.

  Her blonde ponytailed head, which was bent over her phone, snaps up. Wide blue eyes meet mine and she quickly closes her screen. I jot down a mental note to investigate later.

  “You did,” Bebe points out. Not entirely true, and yet I don’t correct her. I was forced out. Had Noah not made it impossible for me to stay, I would have.

  As apprehensive as I am about seeing him––especially after our strange exchange yesterday––I know I need to make an appearance at the Rowdy’s stand. I don’t want him to think that I’m not taking this seriously because I am. This is his livelihood, his business, and I would never disrespect it.

  Bebe slips her phone into her messenger bag. “Come on, I’m starving. Let’s get some Rowdy burgers.” Rubbing her hands together, she smiles wickedly and I shake my head.

  Little troublemaker.

  As we walk through the fair, my senses are rushed by the sights, the sounds, and the scent of home. Country western music and kids squealing in laughter makes me smile. The scent of hay and livestock, barbecue and cotton candy reminds me of when Annabelle and I were kids, when we would come as a family.

  All around us people move past us, clumped together. Families, high school athletes and sorority sisters, cowboys and bikers. A surge of nostalgia hits me. I’d forgotten how much I love this. We push in between the clumps. Some stop and stare. Their expressions curious, not placing how they know me. I recognize a number of faces from school. With their extended families. With a significant other. Watching them makes me want to have my own clump one day.

  The crowd parts to reveal the Rowdy’s stand jam-packed with people waiting to be served. A little bit of pride rears up. It makes me sad that my grandfather isn’t here to witness it. It’s not lost on me that a few short days ago I was ready to wash my hands of all of this and now it’s a source of pride. Go figure.

  A group of employees move, placing me in Noah’s line of sight. When his gaze catches me, he does a double take and pauses talking to someone hidden amongst the crowd. Copper eyes hold mine, expression neutral. But it’s a forced neutral. He’s trying to not give anything away when in fact he’s never been able to hide anything from me, and something in the careful arrangement of his face tells me he’s worried.

  The clumps shift, move, and the person he’s speaking to comes into view. A woman holding a young child. I recognize her instantly. It’s impossible not to because it’s the woman Noah cheated on me with. Crystal Roy. Her gaze follows Noah’s line of sight and stops on me, her blue eyes flashing with something close to shame.

  My stomach drops so fast I’m pretty sure it resurfaces somewhere in China. It’s amazing how much time has passed and yet seeing them together still hurts. All at once I’m dragged back to the past.

  My grandfather’s words to me all those years ago come sweeping back and for the first time they make sense…

  My grandfather drove me to airport the day I left Oklahoma for good. He pulled his old pickup truck over to the curb at Will Rogers Airport and parked. We hadn’t said a single word the entire hour-long ride.

  I remember him staring ahead out the dusty windshield, jaw tense. He ran a fractious hand through his faded red hair and exhaled loudly, rubbed his bristly chin. I caught sight of myself in the side view mirror. My face was still tomato red from a crying jag that had gone on uninterrupted for days, the skin around my eyes raw. I was catatonic, so out of it I couldn’t even pack. My mother got me ready to leave while my father made all the phone calls and arrangements.

  “Maren, I want you to listen to me,” he started quietly as we sat in the cab of the truck, the low hum of the AC blunting his words. “There are people you love that come in and out of your life and in their wake leave great memories and warm feelings. And then there are those who get into your soul…in a way they become part of you. Callin’ it love doesn’t do it justice because it’s bigger than time and distance.”

  In the pause, I glanced over. Concern had settled in the deep grooves of his brow, made the lines around his mouth look more pronounced. “A moment could stretch into eternity and it still wouldn’t be enough––you get my meanin’?”

  I nodded even though I hadn’t a clue. I was buried too deeply under the pain to hear the words, let alone understand them.

  “Noah has lost his way and it has nothin’ to do w
ith how he feels about you. Give him time to find it again.”

  A love bigger than time and distance…

  Most people spend a lifetime searching for that and never find it. I found it at ten and a day doesn’t go by that I wished I hadn’t. And if my reaction to seeing them together again is any indication, this is a curse I will never be rid of.

  Bebe’s gaze follows my line of sight and the hold on my arm tightens. “I’m not feeling like burgers anymore. How about hot dogs? The kind with nitrites.” Without waiting for my reply, she drags me away.

  * * *

  “Oh, God,” Be says with a mouth full of hot dog. “He’s here.”

  Lost in thought, my mind still on Noah and Crystal, means I don’t hear her. “Who’s here?”

  “Jonah Walters. His son, Caleb, is my student.”

  I twist in my seat at the picnic table to search the crowd and find the object of her interest. He’s your stereotypical golden boy. Tall, built, scruffy sandy hair––perpetual half grin. He’s clutching the hand of a young boy who is the carbon copy of his blond father. “And?”

  “And he’s divorced.” The word divorced gets special treatment. It’s drawn out and hushed. Bebe gets a wistful look and Bebe does not do wistful. Ever.

  “I thought you weren’t interested in anyone.”

  “I wasn’t. Not until I found out his divooorce went through…he’s sooo cute.”

  I have never, in my entire life, ever heard Bebe speak this way about any man so naturally my interest is piqued. I look again. Maybe I missed something. Nope. I’m sure he’s a perfectly nice guy but…you know, bland. I shrug. To each his own.

  “That guy, really? You want to date him?”

  The fixed stare she’s leveling on Jonah Walters has me a little concerned for his welfare.

  “What I really want is for him to throw me down face-first, hogtie me with very rough rope, and have his very wicked way with me. Then I’d like to date him.”