by Mariah Dietz
Leela’s shoulders square, her discomfort visible. She places a hand on my shoulder, and once again, I wish I didn’t have these damn crutches. “Troy, this is Wes. Wes, this is my brother, Troy.”
Troy flashes a grin that almost appears as evil as it does contrived. “How are you, Wes?” he asks, offering his hand.
I take it, trying my hardest not to look like a steel wall just went up between us. I don’t know much about Troy, but from the little Leela has shared about him, he sounds like bad news. “It’s nice to meet you.”
“You too. Since that morning you randomly dropped Leela off at our front door without so much as an introduction or hello, we’ve all been wondering about you.”
I smile. “Oh, yeah? Well, consider me an open book.”
Troy’s stare breaks several times, his gaze shifting to Leela. I immediately recognize his concerns for his sister.
“I saw them trying to hang a piñata outside,” I tell him. “I won’t be much help in my current state, but I can hold it while you tie it up, if you’re interested?”
Troy takes a beat to respond, but then nods.
I look at Leela and smile. “We’ll be back. Also, where should I set this?” I lift the gift bag I’ve been clutching along with my crutch.
“I can take it for you,” she says. Her gaze shifts between Troy and me several times. She grasps the handles of the gift bag, but makes no attempt to take it.
“It’s going to be okay,” I tell her.
Slowly, she nods, and I release the bag.
33
Wes
I’d briefly forgotten how narrow the front steps were, and going down is even trickier. I sigh with relief as I manage to make it down without falling, and follow Troy to where two women are filling the piñata with stickers and candies.
“Would you like us to hang it?” Troy asks.
The older of the two women looks from Troy to me and smiles. “That would be great, but it looks like this one’s already fallen off a ladder.”
Troy and I both laugh, though I’ve been done hearing gimp jokes for weeks. “We’ll take care of it. Why don’t you ladies go cool down and get something to drink?” The women smile at Troy and his charm. I recognize it quickly, after all, charm comes second nature to me as well.
“So … you like my sister?” Troy asks, dumping the rest of the bag of candy into the piñata.
I nod. “I do.”
“You know she has big aspirations, right? She won’t be happy until she reaches her goals, and she’s worked her ass off to achieve them.”
I try to conceal my surprise. “Does she know you think this about her?” I ask, lifting the yellow rope off the ground and setting to work at untangling the many knots.
“What do you mean?”
I lift a shoulder, keeping my attention on making sure I don’t fray the old rope further. “I don’t know much about you or your relationship with Leela, but I didn’t get the impression that she thinks you support her wanting to become a doctor.”
“Sometimes I don’t,” Troy tells me.
With my face still angled downward, I glance up at him. “What does that mean?”
Troy shrugs. “She sacrificed most of her childhood for a dream that isn’t guaranteed. She never got to be a kid and she’s so damn afraid of making mistakes that she rarely does anything. She doesn’t drink, she doesn’t smoke, she does nothing. What kind of life is that? I know she looks down on me for what I do, but at least I’m doing what I want.”
“But do you think not supporting her is going to help? She’s already worked this hard and is so close to achieving her goals. These last years are tough. I know so many that lose their passion for this and start getting burnt out. Hell, I know I struggle with remaining motivated some days. I see my friends getting married and engaged. Some are a few years into a career and have their lives mapped out, and I still feel like I’m at the starting line.”
Troy shakes his head. “I don’t know how you guys do it. I’d be bored to death.”
“But think of all the people who are going to be really grateful Leela sacrificed what she did when she’s helping them and saving lives.”
Troy focuses on me. “Does being here make you uncomfortable?”
“Here?”
Troy looks around at the other houses and cars. “Here. In our neighborhood.”
I shake my head. “No…” I follow his gaze. I know he’s judging me, and that this conversation is likely imperative to not only my relationship with him, but the rest of her family. I need to be honest and respectful, but the pain in my foot is starting to nag at me, and with it I’m beginning to feel restless and impatient.
“It doesn’t embarrass you that we don’t come from a fancy, gated neighborhood?”
I shake my head. “Why would it?”
Troy narrows his eyes.
“I heard Leela talking to Luna about your family. She mentioned they don’t live around here. Something about Africa?”
I nod. “They live in Eastern Africa, in a house about a third of the size of your parents’ house.”
His eyes round with surprise.
I nod. “My feelings for your sister have nothing to do with money and everything to do with who she is.”
“Don’t take this wrong, but it’s hard for me to believe you. I’ve seen what people with money are capable of and how focused they become on having more.”
I nod. “Money can definitely bring out an ugly side in people, but I’m not sure why that makes you not trust me? Are you afraid that I’ll dump Leela to date someone who has money?”
“I’m saying your morals might be skewed because they can afford to be.” He slaps a piece of packaging tape on the piñata and hands it to me so I can attach the rope.
“Forgive me, but it seems a little ironic that you’re preaching to me about morals, considering what you do for a living…” I say, threading the rope through the anchor. “Listen. I want you to like me. I want your entire family to like me because A- I like people. And B- I really like your sister, and I want things to work between us. Each day I discover a dozen new reasons why I like and admire her. And I think it will be far easier for her if we can all get along. Family is really important to Leela, and I admire that. My parents were always gone when I was a kid. My family is my friends, and they love and adore Leela, and no one cares how much money she does or doesn’t have. You’re selling your sister short if you think people don’t want to be her friend because she doesn’t come from money, because your sister is amazing.”
Troy stares at me. His eyes are wide and calculating. I’m sure he’s working to gauge if I’m blowing smoke up his ass. “You know if you break her heart, I’ll break your face, right?”
A smirk tugs on my lips. “I don’t have any siblings, but one of my best friends is a girl, and I’d break a man’s face for far less, so I understand.”
He nods. “Good. That makes it easy.”
The front door swings open, and I catch sight of Leela out of the corner of my eye. Worry has her brow furrowed. I hand the piñata back to Troy and wave at her. She tilts her head as though she’s debating coming down to check on us. I offer a smile of reassurance.
Troy follows my gaze to where Leela is standing, and chuckles as he shakes his head. “You guys are pitiful.”
I grin because he might be right, but I’ve never been so happy to be pitiful in my entire life.
With the piñata hung, we head back inside. Handfuls of kids are running around, chasing each other and yelling.
“This is what you missed by being an only child,” Leela tells me as she sidles up beside me, handing me a glass of punch. “And this isn’t going to help do anything but quench your thirst.”
Jasmine approaches us, her face marred with agitation. “What’s wrong?” Leela asks.
“My mom hired a clown for the party, and the guy is a wreck.” Jasmine looks to the front door where a man is pulling off a yellow wig. “What am I going to do
? He can’t be here!”
“I’ve got it.” I make quick work of moving to the front door, blocking the path of the clown, whose makeup is unevenly applied. He looks like a serial killer instead of an entertainer for a kid’s party.
“Are you the kid’s dad?” the clown asks me.
“Let’s go outside and discuss things.” I swing the door open, and jerk my chin in the direction of the yard.
The clown steps outside, and with his ridiculously oversized shoes and total incoherence, he still makes descending the damn stairs look easier than I manage to.
Once in the yard, the guy grips his head with both hands. It’s hot out, but not enough to constitute how much he’s sweating. “What’s the plan?” he asks, pacing in a short line. “You’ve got the rest of my money, right? You said fifty before and fifty today. That was our deal.” He stops, and takes a step closer to me. “That was our deal, right?” His words are loud and aggressive.
“Easy, man. I just want to chat with you about the party.”
He takes a step back and begins pacing again. “My head is killing me.”
I reach for my wallet, ready to give him fifty for coming and another twenty to get the hell away from here and forget the address, but Troy stops me, placing a hand on mine.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he asks the man dressed as a clown. “You show up to some kid’s birthday party all strung out? Get your ass out of here.”
The man stops again, this time he takes a step toward Troy, who stands taller, his chest puffed out. “I want my money,” he says.
Troy shakes his head. “You’re a joke. Get the hell out of here or I’ll call the cops.”
The man takes his wig and stalks toward an old beat up car. He spits and then yammers about something before getting in his car and driving away.
Troy looks to me and shakes his head. “You don’t pay drug addicts off. Otherwise, they keep coming back.”
I stare at him for a moment, wondering if he realizes the irony of this situation.
“You think I’m a jerk for selling shit to people so they can act like that?”
I don’t respond. I’m not sure what to say.
“People are going to do that shit regardless. At least I sell them clean stuff.”
“So, you’re a drug dealer with a conscience?”
“Something like that.”
The pain in my foot fires off again. But before I can suggest Troy retire from his attempt at ethical drug dealing, he heads back inside.
I follow him, ignoring the discomfort in my foot as the clown’s face replays through my mind.
34
Leela
“It’s going to be totally fine. We have tons of food and the piñata. The kids are going to have a great time,” I tell Jasmine.
The kids are starting to lose interest in playing tag and are beginning to wander around, looking for things to do, disproving my words. Wes watches them, likely realizing my inviting him is equivalent to torture.
Jasmine shakes her head in swift, jerking movements. “I can’t believe she did this!”
“Can I use that tray of cookies?” Wes asks.
“What are you going to do with them?” Jasmine pulls her chin back, struggling to make sense of his question.
“I’ve got an idea.” He peers around the living room and kitchen. “Do you guys have some paper and a pen? And do you know everyone’s name?”
My best friend looks suspicious, but hope sends her off in search of the materials Wes requested.
“Can you write down each kid’s name in a row?” Wes asks when Jasmine returns.
“What for?”
But Wes is already moving to the middle of the room. “All right. Who’s ready to celebrate Jordan’s birthday with some fun games?”
The kids stop. A few look skeptical, but most cheer with excitement.
“All right, where’s Jordan?”
Jordan raises his hand, and Wes points to him. “You’re our leader! Let’s follow the birthday boy outside!”
The kids charge forward. Wes smiles, following them. He stops at the door and turns toward me. “Can you do me a big favor and carry those cookies out?”
Without asking his intentions, I follow him with the cookies.
The moment we step outside, I freeze. Derrick is standing at the edge of the driveway, lips pursed with anger. I turn to give the tray of cookies to Jasmine, but Troy stops me.
“I’ve got this,” he says. “It’s time he moved on.” Troy moves toward Derrick, waving him forward, and the two disappear down the road.
I look to Jasmine to ensure I’m not imagining things, and she gives me a gentle smile. “Maybe once in a while, Troy isn’t such a dick.”
“Okay, everyone. Who likes cookies?” Wes asks, his voice loud and filled with enthusiasm, reminding me of a game show host.
The kids cheer and jump around.
“Okay, well, then you guys are going to love this first game because everyone gets a cookie!”
They cheer again.
“But...” He pauses for dramatic effect, drawing out the moment. “Your cookie is going to start on your forehead, and you have to keep both hands behind your back, and use all those funny faces you make at your parents to help you move the cookie so it gets to your mouth.”
“What?” a little boy cries. “That can’t happen!”
Wes reaches for a cookie. “You don’t think so?”
The kid shakes his head.
“Watch this.” Wes places the cookie on his forehead and makes goofy and dramatic faces that have the cookie slowly inching down his face, leaving a trail of chocolate crumbs across his skin.
Jasmine buckles with laughter. “His face,” she cries.
Others are laughing, too, including my parents as everyone watches. Eventually, the cookie dips into his mouth, and Wes faces the kids, showing off his cookie before he eats it. They stop in amazement and then several cheer.
“Okay. Remember, no hands, and you want to keep your face tilted back so your cookie doesn’t fall!” Wes explains, as I disperse the cookies.
“Ready, set, go!” Wes filters between the group, laughing and talking to each of the kids, offering tips and positive affirmations.
“Damn,” Jas says, leaning against me. “He really is perfect.”
“I told you.”
Wes continues orchestrating different fast-paced games and activities, ending with a relay race before we pause for food and cake.
The kids are exhausted and smiling as they gather round the folding tables we brought over. “Thank you,” I say, taking Wes’s free hand as he releases a crutch.
He grins, and it’s so broad and bright I don’t doubt for a second that it’s genuine. “You’re so great with kids. You should consider working in pediatrics.”
Wes’s brown eyes dance with thought. “I’ve actually been considering being a pediatrician.”
I nod avidly. “Yes! You should. You’d be amazing.”
His smile returns but it’s dimmed. “You okay?”
He nods. “I’m great.”
By the end of the party, my dad is inviting Wes to dinner. Jasmine was right. Inviting him here was a great idea.
“You want to go to dinner?” Wes asks as we reach his truck.
“Sure. I’d love to.” I glance back at where my family remains in Jasmine’s yard, helping Jordan put a toy together. We get into Wes’s truck, and it doesn’t feel like I’m choosing between them and Wes—but as though I’m getting everything I could have wanted and more.
“What sounds good?” he asks, turning to face me.
“Anything,” I tell him. “You should have stopped me after that second piece of cake. I feel like I’m on a sugar high.”
Wes laughs. “Not a chance.” He gets on the highway, heading north. “Want to grab some tacos?”
“That sounds good. I need some real food.”
“Me too.” He expels a deep breath. It’s one of sever
al over the past hour, making me uneasy.
“Is everything okay?”
He digs in his pocket and hands me a bottle of painkillers. “I need you to get rid of these for me.”
I inspect the bottle, reading over the prescription and noting the pills seem low for how recently it was filled.
“I…” He releases another deep breath. “I think I’m gaining a dependency on those…”
“Are you sure? I mean, you…”
“I’ve started increasing my doses and taking them more frequently because the relief isn’t as fast or strong,” he admits.
“For how long?”
Wes shakes his head. “I don’t know. A week, maybe?” He takes an exit, pulling to a stop at the first fast food restaurant we come across. He takes another deep breath. “I didn’t even realize it.” He looks terrified. “I don’t want … I don’t want to take any more of them, but more importantly, I don’t want you to think I’m… With your brother and everything, I don’t want you to think I’m…”
I place a hand on his shoulder, and shake my head. “I know. I don’t.”
“I don’t even know how it started. I was so against taking any painkillers, and then when I did it finally stopped hurting. I was sleeping. I didn’t feel so irritable and frustrated.”
I nod, though I don’t fully understand, I do. “You can overcome this. We can overcome this.”
His brown eyes are pinched with guilt and sorrow. “I won’t touch them again. I swear.”
I release my seat belt and scoot to the edge of the bucket seat and reach for him.
“Ace called me out on taking them this morning, and I should have stopped and thought about it. Instead, I got irritated with her and rationalized it to myself. I thought I’m bigger than the average male, I probably need more.
“And then that clown showed up at the party, and I realized that was what I could become. I could end up like that guy.”
I shake my head. “But you won’t. You aren’t. You recognized it, and now we’ll take the steps to ensure it’s over.”
