Something Special

by S. Massery

  Dad’s face is thunder. “Jared intervened?” he asks. His voice is so low.

  He used to intimidate me. Sometimes, he still does. The way he holds onto his anger. It’s so black. When he would get angry at me, it was an endless sea of darkness. Part of growing up, I think, is learning that your parents do crazy things because they love you. Right now, I want to hug him because I know he’s not mad at me. He’s angry for me.

  “Jared was suddenly there, and he told Colby to back off….”

  He rubs at his face. He’s older, I realize. More gray, more wrinkled, and even though it looks good on him, he isn’t the same as he was when I was fourteen. “That boy is damn lucky he’s still in jail.”

  I shiver, and it has nothing to do with the weather.

  He turns to go back to the house, and I stay by the tree. I touch the bark. This tree holds most of my secrets. “Dad,” I call. He turns around. “Thank you.”

  “For what?”

  “Everything,” I say. It’s the most honesty I’m allowed in one word.

  He nods. “I had someone look at that platform up there the other week. It’s still in fine condition. Although, you may catch a cold if you go up there tonight. I doubt Jared could manage to climb in his condition.”

  My mouth drops open. “You know we used to…?”

  “At ten years old, Charlie? You weren’t subtle. Not even a little bit.”

  I tip my head back and laugh. It is so refreshing to laugh, to know that they paid attention and let me do it anyway because it was harmless. He chuckles and starts toward the house again. “Goodnight, Charlie.”

  “Night, Dad.”

  48

  “Charlie,” Jared whispers. “What are you doing?”

  He hadn’t answered my text, and so I snuck across the street and tapped on his window until he slid it open. I grin at him. “What do you think I’m doing? Sneaking you out.”

  He smiles. “Oh?”

  “Yeah. It’s not that far of a drop. Pass me your wheelchair, grandma.”

  I have missed his laugh.

  “I am not throwing my wheelchair out the window. I can manage on my crutches,” he says. “Depending on how far we’re going.”

  I shrug. It’s been awhile since I’ve done anything spontaneous. My life has been carefully drawn out in ink for as long as I can remember. For tonight, the whole canvas is blank. “Not far,” I say.

  He grunts. “I’ll meet you by my car.” He closes his window and disappears. It takes him ten minutes to open the front door and meet me in the driveway.

  Wordlessly, I turn and start toward my backyard. “Grass okay?”

  “Should be able to manage,” he answers. “Probably not a tree, though.”

  I look back at him and wink. “I’ve got that under control.” Before we get into view of our tree, I glance at him and joke, “How do you feel about a pulley system?”

  Jared stops and glares at me.

  My poker face fails me, and I start laughing so hard I double over. “Oh, my god,” I wheeze. “That was a joke. But your face—”

  He finally starts laughing, too, and I give into the urge to hug him.

  I’m on him in two strides. He doesn’t flinch when I wrap my arms around his waist. I spread my legs, stabilizing both of us, just as he drops his crutches and hugs me back. I rest my chin on his shoulder and try not to bury my face into his neck.

  “I thought, since I was burned—”

  “That I wouldn’t—”

  “Yeah.”

  “I’m not afraid of you, Jared. I never have been. I never will be.” I crane by head back so I can see his face. His eyes are closed. “Jared.”

  He opens his eyes, and his arms leave my back, but stay on my shoulders, balancing him. There’s an ocean of vulnerability in his eyes one second, and it’s shuttered away the next. “Can you get my crutches, Charlie? Please?”

  I nod and put my hand on his waist as I pick up one, then the other.

  We continue on as if that didn’t happen.

  “You’re sneaky,” Jared says when he sees the blanket spread at the base of the tree. We lay flat and stare up at the sky. After a few minutes, he says, “You haven’t mentioned your boyfriend.”

  “No,” I admit.

  I haven’t thought much of him, either.

  “Tell me.”

  I sigh. “I just… I don’t know.”

  “You don’t know?”

  “I think I love him, but I’m not sure what that feels like anymore.”

  He breathes, and it feels like he’s breathing for me. “I understand that.”

  Our hands are laced together. I don’t remember the exact moment it happened, but my body flashes hot when his hand squeezes mine. I am thankful that this February is so mild. That the earth isn’t frozen solid and covered in snow, that the air is warmer than it has a right to be. I’m thankful that we can be out here, together, in jackets and sweats and that we don’t have to worry about catching a chill.

  “Did you know my parents knew we snuck out here?”

  We meet eyes. “Really?”

  “Yeah, Dad said something about it today.”

  He’s quiet for a minute. “Those were some of my favorite memories.”

  We resume staring at the sky.

  Then, “You can visit, you know. I don’t care if it was our moms’ idea. I’d love to have you.”

  “Avery would love to have me, too?”

  I shrug. “He’d be fine.”

  “Our moms have been meddling in our lives for a long time.”

  “You think so?”

  He blows air through his lips.

  “Macie never tried to get me back,” he says. “I told her I was leaving, and I couldn’t stop staring at that damn ring I had given her. She just twisted it around and around and didn’t say shit.” I listen to him breathe for almost a full minute until he adds, “The day I left, she tried to give it back to me. I told her, ‘Keep it, pawn it, I don’t give a fuck.’” He looks at me. “I should’ve taken it back.”

  I don’t ask why, because I think I know. It’s the same with Avery and the ring in his underwear drawer. That ring sits like a lump in my throat because I am so aware of its existence. It must be unbearable for Jared, to know that he once was in love and it didn’t work. That ring, that girl, are somewhere out there.

  Eventually, my back starts to get stiff, and I can’t feel my toes in my boots. I’ve yawned approximately six times in the past fifteen minutes. “It’s time for bed,” Jared says after my seventh yawn. “Your dad would kill me if I let you fall asleep out here.”

  I nod. “Will I see you tomorrow before I go?”

  I climb to my feet and hold out my hand to assist him in regaining his balance. “Thanks,” he mutters. We start the walk back to his house. At his door, he says to me, “I have PT tomorrow morning. It lasts a while.” He rubs at the back of his neck.

  “That’s okay. I’m glad we got to…” ...whatever it is that we did.

  He gives me the ghost of a smile. And then, he steps forward and pulls me into a hug.

  “Goodnight, Charlie,” he says in my ear.

  I can barely breathe. “Goodnight, Jared.”

  It’s harder than I thought it would be to walk away from him.

  49

  February flies into March, and brings snowstorm after snowstorm. By the time my birthday rolls around, we have a foot of snow. The wind makes walking to work miserable, and it’s making me cranky.

  I can’t stop thinking about what Jared said: how he and Macie orbited around each other. That is how Avery and I operate. We have developed nearly opposite work schedules, where he rises early and goes to sleep early, and I sleep in until he’s gone and stay in my office later than I should. Every night, I watch the clock on the wall tick toward nine o’clock and, every night, I think, maybe I should go home now.

  I don’t.

  For my birthday, my parents send flowers. They were supposed to come up to Boston
and take me to dinner, but the snow impeded their plans. It was sort of comical: the flower delivery guy showed up on his bike, with a box that had nearly frosted closed. His eyelashes had accumulated ice. Georgia sent a card—which arrived on time, because the postal service never falters—and Rose and Eve both surprised me with little presents at work. Rose got me a picture frame, already filled with a picture of her and me. Eve presented me with a delicious-smelling candle. Tom agreed to let me go home early, which was a gift of its own.

  When Jared calls, I’m not surprised.

  I’m eager.

  “Happy birthday, Charlie,” he says after I answer. His voice is deeper than usual, gravellier.

  “Thank you. How are you?”

  He chuckles. “I’m okay. They fit me for my last prosthetic the other day. Now it’s just a matter of learning to walk on it. How are you?”

  I nod to myself. I’m not ready to go outside and freeze my fingers off. This phone call is a nice way to procrastinate the walk home from work. “That’s great to hear.”

  “Charlie.”

  “Yes?”

  “I asked how you are.”

  “Oh,” I say. “Orbiting.”

  He sighs.

  “Jared?”

  “Charlie.”

  I manage to say, “Thanks for calling.”

  When I get home, my hair is wet from the snow that collected on it while I walked. Avery, for once, is already home. He blinks when he sees me, as if he’s surprised I’m home while the sun is still out, and then he smiles. “I was just making you dinner,” he says. “And I picked up a pie.”

  I laugh. My birthday is March 14. Pi Day. Today, it’s easy to slip in next to him and kiss him like I mean it. “Thank you,” I tell him.

  He responds, “Happy birthday.”

  And then we go back to orbiting.

  We haven’t had sex in almost a week, but tonight we slip out of our clothes and make love under the covers. He whispers to me, “I love you,” just before he finishes, but I know it’s the orgasm talking. We hold each other for a few minutes, until our eyes grow heavy. Only then do I slip away from him.

  Avery is asleep and snoring before I even get back from the bathroom.

  When his alarm goes off the next morning, he punches the snooze button and rolls toward me. He always looks perfect in the morning.

  He kisses me, pressing his closed lips to mine. When he opens our lips, his tongue sweeping into my mouth, I try my hardest not to pull away. God, what foul breath. But this is the most intimacy he’s shown in a long time. And while I’m cringing at his breath, I love the way his hands slide up my rib cage. His touch is feather-light, but he stops just under my breasts. His thumb traces back and forth while his tongue explores my mouth in a way that makes me think he’s forgotten what I taste like.

  Avery stops.

  “I have to go,” he says against my lips.

  I don’t breathe for a beat, and then let out a long sigh. I push his hands away from me, out from under my sleep shirt. “Then go,” I say. I let out a laugh for good measure. It’s a mean laugh that I know he’ll interpret as, I was bored of this, anyway. I wish I knew where this annoyance was coming from, on both sides. It’s a never-ending push and pull that makes me tired.

  He tenses, still half over me, before he rolls back away. I see his erection as he goes. He had passed out so quickly last night that he never put his boxers back on, and it hurts that he is choosing to leave for work instead of spending a little extra time in bed.

  I’m tempted to ask him if I can pee first, but I’m too proud for that. I can wait until he’s up and gone, and then get ready. I roll over and force myself to lay still as he gets up and showers and dresses. Time crawls as he gets ready. He doesn’t say anything as he leaves, but I feel his absence.

  When the front door of our apartment slams closed, I open my eyes. It’s only nearing seven o’clock, which means that Avery left earlier than usual—he doesn’t have to be in until eight. I get out of bed, walking around the room and rubbing out the indentations in the rug made by his shoes.

  By the time I finish getting ready, it looks like I have enough time to stop and get breakfast and coffee along the way to work. It’s finally warm enough to walk a few blocks without freezing, although there’s still a good amount of snow on the ground. Putting a pair of flats in my purse and boots on my feet, I leave the apartment and trot down the stairs.

  I sail into the café that Avery and I don’t go to together. He says the coffee is too strong “for someone who only drinks it black.” We met in a coffee shop. It seems only fitting that, with the way our relationship is sliding, we can’t agree on where to buy our coffee. Avery is wrong. Their coffee is great with some cream and sugar. After I order, I take a seat near the window and mess around on my phone until something on the street catches my eye.

  It’s Avery, bundled in a jacket against the cold.

  He exits the Starbucks, holding a drink tray with two coffees and a pastry bag. I should text him and tell him I’m not home anymore, so he doesn’t have to walk all the way back. But then he’s holding the door open with his foot, and a girl walks out behind him. She smiles at him in a way that is way too familiar.

  He smiles back. I’ve never seen him smile like that: open and bright. That sunshine smile is quickly replaced with a familiar frown. I’m disappointed in you, it says. They walk off down the street, toward his work. They travel close enough that their arms keep brushing.

  It feels like I can’t breathe for the rest of the day. Avery texts me twice, checking in, but otherwise it’s radio silent. I flip between wanting to know and not wanting to know. I flip between rage and tears, and I don’t even have conclusive answers, yet. My lungs just won’t work right; inhaling is hard.

  I tell myself that this is rational, the silence of the day. We don’t usually have lengthy texting conversations. This is normal. And yet, I find myself rushing home as soon as Tom leaves. When I get there, Avery is pacing the kitchen. He isn’t one to pace or fidget, but it seems he’s been doing both of those things.

  “Hi,” I say from the entryway. I startle him out of his trance, and we meet eyes. “You’re home already?” It’s still weird to say home and refer to the place where we both live.

  “Yes,” he says. I’m reminded how much my mother likes him: because of his proper use of yes opposed to yeah, his stable nine to five job, his devotion to everything he does, his desire for kids… “You are, too.”

  “Yeah,” I say, because I can’t help it. And then I ask, “Are you okay?” His face is lined with new tension. I see it in the way his mouth is held so tight. What I really want to ask is, Who’s the girl? or, Are you cheating on me?

  “We need to talk.” Ice shoots through me. The fear must translate through my face, because he holds up his hands as if in surrender. “Nothing terrible.”

  I follow him to the couch and perch on the edge, facing him as he sits beside me. He leans forward and kisses my cheek, putting his hand on my knee. His eyes look tired. Why haven’t I noticed that before now?

  Maybe because he is always asleep when I get home.

  “Do you remember when I told you about my ex, Elaina?”

  The beautiful brunette. With an awful sense of awareness, I realize that she’s here. She’s in Boston. She got coffee with him this morning and was talking with him weeks ago. I should’ve recognized her, but it never occurred to me that I may see her in person.

  I say, “Yeah, I remember that,” when I really want to say, What’s that bitch have to do with anything? And then I ask myself why he didn’t tell me when we went to dinner that night, after I practically caught her talking to him in the lobby of our apartment. This is our space, isn’t it? It shouldn’t be something that she can infiltrate.

  “I ran into her when I went home for the holidays,” he starts.

  “You didn’t mention that?” My voice squeaks. I meant it more as an accusation than a question.

  The l
ook he gives me makes me feel foolish and a little crazy. “I didn’t think it was worth mentioning. I ran into her when I was running errands for my mom. Picking up her dry cleaning, actually,” he says with a laugh. Ironic, because that’s part of my job. I get paid for that. I don’t laugh. It isn’t funny. His chuckles run out after a minute. He keeps looking at me.

  I motion for him to continue. “Please, just tell me all of it. Rip off the band aid,” I whisper.

  He nods. “Right.” He squeezes my knee. “I saw her and it was like a punch to the gut. She looked… not great. She asked how I was doing and where I was—I guess she didn’t even know that I moved. She probably didn’t know who to ask, if she cared enough. I told her I moved here, and about my job, and… I don’t know, Charlotte, it was just like catching up with a ghost. It was unnerving.”

  I feel like there’s a side to this story that he isn’t telling me. It settles in my bones, the surety of my intuition. I can relate to the feeling of catching up with a ghost. It was how I felt when I first talked to Jared after so long—at that party at my parents’ house. It got easier, and those cobwebs were swept away. I don’t want that to happen to them, though.

  “I only saw her that once while I was home. And then just yesterday, she was waiting for me outside of work.”

  He’s excluding the other time, weeks ago. That’s what he won’t say.

  Last night, on my birthday, before we had sex for the first time in a week, was when he saw her? He knew she was in the city? It cheapens the sex. It cheapens my birthday. Me. Even if it was me he came home to, the voice in my head says, did he think about her while making love to me? The question sits on the tip of my tongue, pressing on my teeth.

  “How long is she in town? What did she want?”

  He rubs at his face. “She said she felt terrible… Wanted to take me to dinner to talk. I told her I had plans with you… that I had to get home to you. I’m sorry, Charlotte, I didn’t really think to mention you to her in California. I didn’t want to hurt her more….”