by Lauryn April
I’d like to think my choice that night was based at least partly on the guys around me and how they made it easy to say no. They didn’t make me feel pressured to conform or like I wouldn’t have fun if I didn’t drink. In that moment, I thought about how insanely stupid I’d been to drive home from Nicolette’s. I hadn’t planned to drink that night, but Christy had handed me a beer as she dragged me down to the beach with the guys and made me feel like I couldn’t refuse. It was odd how sitting here with Brant, Charlie, Skyler and Jason, I felt more comfortable to be me then I ever did with Christy, Eliza and Ti. What it came down to was that I simply didn’t want to drink, I was having fun just playing cards, and that was fine with them.
“Hearts,” Brant called as he laid down an eight.
I cringed. I only had one heart, a two. I set it down and hoped that someone would change the suit again before it got to be my turn. When I looked to him, I saw he had that smug smirk plastered on his face.
Out of hearts.
My eyes went wide. He laughed.
I don’t need to read minds to know what you’re thinking, Ivy. You’d make a terrible poker player.
I laughed. He was probably right.
To my left, Charlie was giggling and holding her cards to her chest as Skyler tried to peek at them. The bottle of Jack that sat on the table appeared to have been completely forgotten by this time.
Charlie won that game, but Brant placed a close second. I watched Charlie smile as I offered to help clean up, then as I reached for the cards that were laid out on the coffee table, my hand brushed against Brant’s as he did the same. We both jerked back from one another and our eyes met. He’d touched me before, grabbed my arm to stop me from walking away, hugged me, wiped a tear from my eye. But something was different now. That small contact between his skin and mine had my heart sounding like the metrical tapping of a dozen marbles that had their jar overturned at the top of the stairs to bounce over every step in an erratic rapping beat.
Sorry, he thought, but shook his head as if realizing that he had nothing to apologize for.
Brant smiled at me and went back to grabbing the cards off the table. I just watched. I overheard Charlie talking with Jason. They were arguing over something frivolous, and as they talked I found I was still watching Brant clean up.
“I’ll prove it,” Jason said, “Brant, mind if we use your kitchen? You’ve got bananas, yeah? I know there’s pickles up there.”
“Not positive about the bananas, but yeah go ahead.”
Jason stood up then and started to walk out of the room. He nodded at Charlie to follow him and she did after casting me one last glance as if to double check that I’d be alright without her. Once they made it to the stairs, Skyler stood as well.
“Oh, I’m coming,” Skyler said. “Maybe I can score a free sandwich out of this.” He vanished up the stairs and then Brant turned to face me.
“You two having fun?” he asked as he put the cards away in the top drawer of his dresser.
I nodded. “Yeah, yeah it’s been fun… your friends seem nice, they’re funny.”
“Jason’s just drunk, he’s far less entertaining when he’s sober,” Brant joked sitting down on the couch beside me.
I laughed. “Does he always drink so much?”
Brant glanced at the stairwell for a moment as if to assure himself that we were alone in the basement. “Not usually,” he said, “but he found out his little brother has cancer. Lymphoma… it’s not as bad as it sounds, they found it early. He’s got a really good chance, but Jason’s been having a hard time with it.”
All I could do was nod. I thought about what I would do if anything happened to Sadie, what I would do if she was sick. My little sister could be a real annoying brat at times, but I still loved her. If there was even the possibility of anything happening to her, I’d be devastated. I could understand Jason’s need to wash away those feelings with the fiery liquid he’d been drinking that night. I knew what it was like to want to forget that something had happened to you.
“I guess everyone has something,” I said and Brant smiled at me.
“I think people like to think that when something bad happens to them that they’re special or something, as if no one else has issues in their life.”
I nodded. I’d done the same thing when I found myself being able to hear people’s thoughts. I wondered why me, but it wasn’t just me. Everyone has something.
“So what’s Skyler’s story?”
Brant laughed. “Actually, not much. Nothing as obvious as a family member with cancer at least. He just likes to smoke. Smart guy though, could be the next President if he wanted, and as President his first official ruling would be to make marijuana one hundred percent legal, no more of this medical excuse crap, as he’d say.” Brant laughed.
“Do you smoke?” I inquired and his eyes snapped to mine, wide and nervous.
“No… I mean yes, I mean, I have, but I don’t.” God, you’re a fumbling idiot, just talk to the girl. “I’ve tried it, but it’s not my thing.”
I nodded. “I noticed you weren’t drinking tonight either, so… what is your thing?”
I suddenly realized that we were sitting with little distance between us. His arm was casually resting atop the back of the couch, and he was turned to face me. Our knees were touching and the small amount of my skin that brushed against his jeans was tingling. I saw his sight waver from my eyes down to my lips, his long lashes fluttering at me. His lips were parted and I realized that mine were as well. I felt like I could feel every inch of my body. I was hyperaware of the slow shallow breath that passed my lips, of the thrumming of my heart, the sweat pooling in my palms and the deep low down tickle that felt like it was radiating from the pit of my stomach.
Right now, it’s you, I heard him think, and as I breathed, he moved in, chasing away the rest of the space between us.
His lips met mine and his hand came up around me, pulling me closer to him. My eyes closed as I let myself fall into his embrace, fall into his kiss. I didn’t know what to think, thoughts were impossible to form. All I could focus on was the soft slow movement of his lips that sent tingling electricity sparking through my veins.
He pulled away from me, still refusing to allow our faces to be more than a few inches apart, and I could feel his heated breath on my cheeks. My body was trembling. It wanted to be flush against his, and he seemed to feel it too, almost as if we were magnets that wanted to be stuck together. We had to restrain ourselves in order to keep any amount of distance between us but, like magnets, the closer we got to one another, the harder it was to resist. He neared again, his head tilting faintly and my eyes fluttered shut as I waited to feel his lips against mine again.
Then there was the soft thud of footsteps and the murmured sound of voices and Brant and I jolted away from one another just before Charlie and the boys made it to the end of the stairs. I could tell my face was flushed red as they came around the corner but no one seemed to notice. Brant was much better at appearing calm and casual. He and I watched as the three of them continued their conversation. Well, mostly it was Charlie and Jason talking as Skyler was currently stuffing his face with what appeared to be a peanut butter and banana sandwich.
“It’s not my fault he liked mine better,” Charlie said.
“Oh you cheat,” Jason replied. They both laughed.
“Oh, hey, Ivy, we should probably get going though, it’s getting late.” Charlie said.
I pulled my cell phone out of my pocket and noticed that it was after eleven thirty already.
“Oh yeah,” I turned to Brant, “Sorry, we really do need to get going.”
“It’s alright, I’ll walk you out.”
Brant walked us to my car. He didn’t try to kiss me again, but he did grab my hand and gave it a squeeze. Such a simple action but it made my heart race all the same. It was beating loudly in my chest, and as I got in the driver’s seat, I gave him one last glance before backing out of his driv
eway. His blue eyes shined through the dark, the sight of them sending shivers down my spine.
20
The Pieces You Didn’t Leave Behind
I was still buzzing with excitement when I walked through my front door. My mind was tingling with anticipation as I thought over the possibilities for what would come next for Brant and me. I felt warm, my cheeks were flushed. The memory of him kissing me repeated itself over and over in my mind, like a looped tape that keeps replaying the best part of your favorite song. I could almost still feel his heated breath warming my face; almost still taste the sweetness of his lips and the smoky undertone of their flavor. Or smell his cologne, a combination of scorched wood and fresh rain. I didn’t think anything could bring me down from my passion induced high.
Then I saw her. Sitting on the sofa in the living room, her blonde hair pulled up into a messy bun, mascara running down her cheeks, and a white tissue clamped tightly in her hand. Mom was crying. The smile vanished from my face. The happiness that I had been floating on disappeared and I felt as if a chain had been wrapped around my heart dragging it down to the pit of my stomach. I knew in an instant that she had found out about my father. I didn’t need to read her mind, it was glaringly obvious. She turned to look at me and as her eyes locked on mine, I saw a look of horror overcome her features. Quickly she wiped her face trying to brush away the smeared makeup and falling tears. I was at her side in seconds pulling her into a hug.
She held me tight and sobbed into my shoulder without saying a word. It felt strange to comfort her. She was my mom; she was always the one who was there for me. She was the one who held me, not the other way around. But that was exactly what was happening, and it was a little disorienting to have the roles reversed.
I felt my own eyes begin to tear up and wetness started to roll down my face. This was what I’d feared since hearing my father’s thoughts at dinner that night. This is what I’d wished she wouldn’t have to go through. My father’s affair hurt me as his daughter, but it didn’t compare to the utter devastating heartbreak I knew my mom was experiencing.
After a short while, her sobbing began to ebb and she pulled away from me. I sat down next to her on the couch and this time she pulled me to her and kissed me on the forehead. She sighed as she pulled herself together then looked down at me with a sad expression.
“Ivy, honey, there’s something we need to talk about.”
I noticed the few boxes that were scatted throughout the living room. “He’s moving out?” I asked but I knew the answer.
She nodded then thought, she probably knows a lot more than you think.
“Are you getting a divorce?”
Her lips thinned. Yes, “I’m not sure, sweetie. Right now we just need some time apart.”
I nodded.
“Are you okay?”
“I think so,” I said. It was a strange question and at the moment I wasn’t sure if I knew the answer. “Are you?”
For a second she looked like she was going to start crying again, then she nodded. “Yes, yeah, I’m going to be fine.”
“I love you, Mom,” I said and she smiled, pulling me into a hug again.
After talking with my mom, I went up to bed. It was late and I’d had a long day. Sleep came easy. Waking the next morning, however, came with an abrupt shaking of my bed. I was jostled from my slumber by the feeling of small hands on my arm tugging at my skin. In the back of my mind there was the mumbled drone of raised voices. Slowly my eyes opened and I was met with the image of huge dark blue orbs staring at me with their watery depths. Blonde hair fell into Sadie’s face.
“Mom and Dad are fighting again,” she said, once she realized that I was awake. I’m scared, I heard her think and I scooted over in bed so she could crawl in beside me.
Glancing at my alarm clock, I saw that it was six a.m., far too early for a Sunday. Sadie snuggled into my form as the sound of breaking glass could be heard from downstairs and I tightened my grip around her. Their voices were angry and, while muffled by distance and thin walls, it was still possible to catch the pain and anger that lied within them.
“Ivy?”
“Yeah?”
“Do Mom and Dad hate each other now?” Her question was tragic for the simple fact that she had to ask it.
“No… they’re just having a fight.”
“Are they gonna make up?”
I decided to be honest. “I don’t know,” I said and she simply nodded. She may have only been eight but she was old enough to understand what was going on. “We’re gonna be fine though, no matter what, okay?”
I felt her nod and I did my best to try and fall back to sleep. Before I drifted off again, I realized that she would need me. Mom would need me. I had to be there for them, had to do whatever it took. I still loved my dad but Mom and Sadie were the ones that were hurt here, especially Sadie. She didn’t deserve any of this, certainly didn’t ask for any of it. After Dad left, Mom would need to work more, she’d be upset, depressed, and Sadie would suffer. I knew then that I needed to step up and be there for her. I needed to look after my little sister.
It was noon by the time I got up. When I woke, I found that Sadie had already left my room. As I made my way down the stairs, I took note that the yelling that had in part woken me that morning was over. There was a dent in the living room wall revealing the white plaster behind the beige paint, and I noticed that the ornate stained glass vase that, as of yesterday, had held flowers was now missing. I turned away from the living room and made my way into the kitchen. It was empty. On the fridge was a note. Mom would often leave me notes on the fridge although usually it would be after school when I would find them.
After reading it, I learned that Mom had gone to the grocery store with Sadie. She had a small list of chores for me to do and one line that read, ‘your father won’t be home tonight, if you need him for anything you can call his cell’.
I finished everything on her list and then some. I got all the laundry caught up that I knew she’d been falling behind on. I did the dishes and vacuumed the living room. My room was cleaned and Sadie’s toys picked up. By the time I was done, I was feeling exhausted. I took a break, sitting down in the living room. I was about to turn on the TV when I reached for the remote and noticed that the picture of Dad, Sadie and I that once sat on the end table was missing. Looking around the room, I saw that a number of frames which once stood on the mantle of the fireplace were gone. None of Dad’s jackets hung on the hook by the door; he didn’t have a pair of shoes resting under the coffee table.
When I had cleaned the bathroom earlier, I noticed that his shaving kit was missing from the countertop. When I did the laundry, I hadn’t washed any of his clothes. He didn’t have any papers scattered across the kitchen table. He didn’t have anything here. It was as if any trace that he had ever existed had been removed. I realized then that he really was gone. When that realization hit me, I felt my heart plummet into the depths of my stomach like a sinking ship. I slumped deeper into the cushions of the sofa. My limbs felt heavy, they felt weak, and I began to cry. I didn’t sob, I didn’t bawl or whimper. The tears simply rolled from my eyes as I sat there still as stone. Slow and steady, the wet orbs tumbled across my skin and fell from my chin splashing in my lap. He was really gone.
21
And the Dish Ran Away with the Spoon
A few hours later, I was helping Mom make dinner. She thanked me for the work I’d done around the house and did her best to appear pulled together when I knew she was falling apart. Sadie seemed complacent to play in the living room while we worked and for that I was grateful. I was worried about her.
Our conversation was casual as we cooked. Mom took the time to focus on what she was doing, possibly in an attempt to keep her mind from wandering to things that she’d rather not think about. We were making meatloaf and she used the time to show me her tricks and shortcuts. I tried to follow her lead exactly, but there was no comparison between my sloppy imitation and th
e precise way she measured every ingredient with nothing but her senses as a guide. I helped peel carrots and mix the bread crumbs into the meat. I was a good student as she showed me how to make meatloaf just as her mother had showed her.
While dinner was cooking, I grabbed silverware as Mom grabbed plates and we went about setting the table. I followed her as she set the plates down, placing a fork and knife on either side of each one. She went back into the kitchen to grab glasses, and I placed a fork and knife on either side of the last plate at the table. Then I froze. There was a problem. I still had one set of silverware left in my hands. I’d grabbed four sets; she’d only grabbed three plates. I looked at the empty space at the table and suddenly the fork and knife that I held in my hand felt cold as ice. So cold that they burned and I nearly dropped them to clatter on the floor. Mom had always set a place for Dad, even when she knew he wouldn’t be home for dinner. The difference that night was that it wasn’t just dinner that he wouldn’t be coming home for; he simply wouldn’t be coming home.
After sitting down at the table, I watched Sadie enter the room. Her sight closed in on the table like a focusing lens, and I saw her turn to look at Mom as she walked in from the kitchen. Mom’s steps halted, and Sadie didn’t move.
“Dad doesn’t have a plate.”
For a moment, Mom didn’t breathe. “He’s not coming to dinner tonight, honey.” Mom ushered Sadie over to her seat.
“But we always get him a plate.”
“Well… After dinner, I wash all the dishes that are on the table, and I figured, it’s kind of silly to be washing dishes that aren’t dirty, don’t you think?”
