sixteen
When I'm alone and free of all inescapable burdens life has to offer, I write. Hoping something tangible would escape from the endless stream of words jumbled in my brain. Hoping I could write myself into the life I wanted or thought I deserved. Hoping that maybe my mother could exist in an intangible world crafted only by my subconscious. It works most days. The days where I didn't feel like crumbling on the way to a lecture or when waking up wasn't dreadfully exhausting. This was different. I sat at the chipped white desk—eyes glued to a blank word document desperately trying to conjure up anything worthy of twenty grand. Nothing came. Nothing but my dad's voice on a loop in my mind practically admitting he didn't care about my mother anymore.
I wondered if the lingering smell of my mother's cinnamon and sugar scented fragrance ever collide with the overly expensive perfume that whisked passed me in a breeze when Lorelei left our house the night we were formally introduced. Surely my father would've had to tell Lorelei our house remained untouched since my mom last fixed it to her liking. That the picture of the four of us on our trip to New York hung perfectly over the fireplace and framed on the table of dads side of the room would never be replaced. Partly because he would never have the strength to rid us of such memories of her. Only I know the real reason. It was the last decent photo of us together. Before the cancer metastasized and morphed her usual olive toned skin to nothing but a dusty shade of gray.
A part of me expected to handle the news of him rekindling his love life with more maturity. At least enough to grant him the opportunity to love again. It remained unspoken between the three of us, but my brother and I knew our father rarely did anything without our approval. Needless to say, it hadn't changed anything. Instead, it only made him more desperate to prove that Lorelei was a suitable match for him. Suddenly, the three of us indulging in Dad's famous stew meant only for special occasions seemed more appropriate. Perhaps that first night standing amidst with Christian, pondering over who's Beetle sat parked in our driveway made more since too. Lorelei's debut as my father's new love interest was meant to be introduced to us as we all indulged in stew. Except something changed their minds that night.
The thought of Lorelei and my father corrupts me enough until I finally manage to shake the thought of them and focus back on the document staring back at me. It's pale brightness burns my eyes until my back hits the back of my seat, allowing my eyes to rest from the strain. My identity, the name of my university, and the name of my professor—since he nominated me for the reward—are the only words filling the left corner of the digital page. Taunting my lack of creativity until I shut its screen with a sigh of defeat then a knock startles me from my sulking.
Chris' husky voice announces his presence and enters in before receiving my permission. Normally, I'd argue with him about how a knock defeats the purpose if he walks in uninvited anyways, but instead, I bite my lip. He and I refrain from mentioning the argument from a few days prior, understanding that the fragility of our relationship was only temporarily mended by our mutual distaste in dad's news. My eyes follow him until he plops on the bed, phone in hand and typing something eager before he locks it and sets it beside his thigh. His eyes are heavy. Lack of sleep prominently adding a darker cast under the bags below his eyes. Clearly it wasn't just me tossing and turning the night before.
"I hope you're all packed," he says, picking his phone back up the second it dings with a notification. I guessed his rapid response was sent to Marcus. "We head out in ten." He refuses to linger any longer once he notices my luggage already stacked neatly near my door. Something he might've noticed had he waited for an invitation into my room.
When it's finally time to depart, I'm partly grateful my father's job prevents him from wishing us off. If the past few days gave us nothing more than a relationship, that would still be too much to handle. Instead, there's a sheet of paper laid on the table that catches my peripheral as I haul my bags to Marcus' trunk.
Call me when you make it back. Spilt this amongst the both of you.
Read the letter. Next to it, a thousand dollars pressed in perfect hundred dollar bills.
To say the least, a rush of relief sat into my skin once Marcus' pulled into the park of my dormitory. For the first time in days I finally managed to gasp a mouth full of breath that no longer felt foreign. The nights sky welcomes me back and that's when it hit me. This had become my home away from home. A place I could escape to when I didn't have the energy to fight against the guilt demanding a reaction from me back in Dreycott.
My brother helps me wrangle my bags out the trunk—complaining once again how my need to overpack benefitted no one. Though it had as I watched him haul a bag I'd stuffed with a few of my mother's old shirts that her scent still clung to. Lorelei wouldn't be able to take these away from me too. Chris holds the bag all the way until we make it to the outside of my room, sitting it at my feet before giving me a chance to fish out the key I should've already had ready.
"Well," he says in a slight whisper. "I'll see you around, he ends with a shrug that suggests this will be our last conversation until one of us had the balls to apologize to the other. Clearly he had no intentions of being the one to.
Before he scurries away, I pull the note and wad of cash from my pocket and show it to him. A distasteful crease finds its way in the middle of his brows and honestly, I await the lashing out he must've been scripting in his head, but he says nothing. Instead he pulls them both from my hand, reads the letter, then counts the cash silently in his head, splitting it equally between us both. He nods a goodbye then hands the note back to me before disappearing down the corridor and into the elevator without a single word.
A steady silence almost disrupts what I expected to be a welcome home gathering set by Lynn and Taylor, but there was no one here. I couldn't stand to be alone in a room anymore after meeting Taylor but instead of partaking in any further sulking, I don't. I line my luggage neatly in front of the closet, toss the note in the bin beside my desk and collapse onto my bed. It's stiffness almost more comforting than the memory foam mattress in my room back home.
On my walk to work the next day, I find myself appreciative of the slightly warmer breeze Wyoming had to offer. A week of breathing out clouds of air and attempting to conjure heat by rubbing my hands together would not be missed, though I knew it was only weeks until the weather shifted here as well. Still, it'd never get as cold as Minnesota and that was something to look forward to. Tomorrow I'd go to the Student Center to rent my bike back.
Hinkhouse was barren when I arrived. Well, apart from Josh lingering in the kitchen preparing to feed the hungry bellies our customers would arrive with in less than thirty minutes. He greets me with a smile, even halting his work to pull me into a hug more secure than the one he left me with before I went home. His lips hold a steady upturn in its corners long after he releases me and its evident that the frown he used to wear to work had retired. We work in quiet for a while. I prepared over a dozen trays of uncooked doe for rolls before Josh thinks to break the silence.
"You were right," is all he says before being engulfed in another smile that's way too large to be credited to the slab of beef he was precutting.
I give him a brow furrow in return. Words being too much of a hassle as my body tries to get over the thirteen hour ride fatiguing my joints. Josh nearly gushes on for fifteens minutes, indulging me in aspects of Sawyer's personality that I knew would mesh well with his. Tales of their kindling relationship and Josh's excitement about the first official date they'd have tonight is enough to pull a smile on my face. Anyone could sense the attraction between the both of them when Sawyer scooped me from nights I'd grown too tired to ride a bike home.
Our conversation concludes once Josh relishes in his final thank you for my persistence in bring them together then disappears to the lounge for a quick bathroom break. The kitchen is quiet then and I use it to soak in a shaky inhale to fight the emotional toll still eager to break me even though I no longer roamed the streets of Dreycott.
Perhaps this was my sign to never go back.
I pull another breath from the air, hoping it would somehow hold me over until I could purge this feeling out in the shower of my dormitory. An inward laugh escapes my lips at my ignorance. A shower would never mend the fact that now, my mother's death truly felt final to me. It isn't but seconds once I realize my gasps of breath become shallow and my chest tightens before I could stop them. Instead, I will my mind to acquiesce to stability though still managing to come up short. Tears creating paths down my cheeks and on the brim of my waterline distort any view I hoped to capture. Soft yet sturdy footsteps approaching me from behind give me enough warning to clear the stream of tears on my cheeks before a hand touches my back, nearly providing me with immediate stability.
A sense of karmic misery flushes over me when I turn expecting Josh to now be comforting me, but it isn't. It's Trevor. Covered in a face full of hair clearly from his lack of upkeep, though only adding to the attraction I saw in him. He rubs his hand against my back in a circular motion until I'm able to finally catch the full inhale I wanted before this attack took over me. He doesn't ask if I'm okay once my breathing steadies, but he removes his hand, already knowing that his soothing nature threw him into a pit of unprofessionalism. Suddenly the urge to say sorry rests at the forefront of my tongue until I swallow it away.
"Long night?" he asks, the intensity of his voice decreasing as he traveled towards his station.
My eyes trail him, watching as he gracefully washes his hands then covers them in gloves after he towel drying them.
"Long life," I spit back. Only realizing how depressing it sounded once it already soaks into the atmosphere. "But I'm fine," I add, wiping away whatever was left of tears that had gone haywire without my permission. Before I can combat my statement with anything more, the expression on his face approves his disbelief in it. "How was your Thanksgiving?"
He seemed so enthusiastic about my question, filling the room with blissful words about his daughter and their first Thanksgiving together, alone. You could physically feel the excitement radiating off of him whenever he mentioned her. Apart of me hoped he'd let the news of his pending lawsuit slip, but I knew he was far more professional than that.
"After we ate, I brought her on campus and the two of us went swimming at the Leisure Center. She loved it."
My smile plays off his as he talks more about Emma and the time they spent without the witch of a woman named Meghan until even a three year old isn't enough to keep it from quickly diminishing.
"And I've just bored you to death with my entire itinerary." He ends, his gaze falling from our momentary eye lock onto the grill in front of him.
"No," I interject. And it's not a lie. Well, not entirely. "I've just got a lot on my mind is all. But I'm glad you managed to enjoy your weekend," I smiled cheekily, hoping to hide the fact that the tears I pushed away wanted to make a return.
"If you don't mind, I'd love to hear about your time off," he probes, just before Josh breaks from the lounge. And truthfully, I'm glad his appearance snaps me back to reality.
"Maybe some other time," I lie. Knowing a time I'd spill the chaos corrupting my mind to him would likely never present itself again.
Work sort of drags along until closing finally gives me a little hope in turning my day around since I'd finally be able to see Taylor and Lynn for the first time since I made it back. It takes the three of us nothing but ten minutes after our final guest leaves to give the restaurant its proper nightly cleaning. Once we're done, Josh drags me out to front to wish him and Sawyer luck on their very first date and I wouldn't dare object. Sawyer pulls into the driveway of Hinkhouse the minute Josh and I emerge from inside.
He hops out the car and smushes me in a hug so tight he accidentally pops a joint in my lower back. I'd be lying if I said his enthusiasm hadn't instantly improved my mood because it did.
"We have to catch up soon," he says, bouncing in place with his hands shoved deep in his jacket pockets. This weather for them affected them more than it had me and I knew had the weather from Minnesota followed me back, they'd all be on the verge of hypothermia trying to bounce it away with body heat. "You need a ride home?" Sawyer asks, we both walk around the driver side door and he hops in the car. He lets the window down before shutting his door. "I've got approximately three minutes to spare before we'll arrive late for our reservation."
I shake my head already knowing the way to my house would steal much more time than he was allotted. Sawyer wastes another minute trying to convince me otherwise before finally taking my no for an answer and speeding off into the opposite direction of my dormitory. Seconds later, the lonesome car left in the parking lot chirps, illuminating a white and yellow brightness across my brown skin. The sound of jingling keys in the door catches my eye as Trevor locks up the restaurant then shimmy's towards me in a similar bounce Sawyer had done moments before. He'd never survive a winter on the frozen lakes in Minnesota during ice fishing season if this was enough to get a shiver out of him.
"Someone picking you up tonight?"
"No. My legs should get me home quite fine though," I shrugged, trying to avoid an explanation. He wouldn't let me break free of the ride I knew he was preparing to offer me if I kept the conversation short.
He shakes his head in disapproval. "In this chill of night? It's too dangerous. If you don't mind sticking around while I run an errand, I'd be happy to take you home." He speaks as if the light breeze will send me into hyperbolic shock. Trevor holds his ground, giving me a brow raise as he struggles to stick his hands into his pocket awaiting the answer he knew would be a yes.
The car ride is quiet besides the blaring sound of heat escaping the vents and the classical music playing much too low to be heard unless we were stopped by the laws of traffic. "Tell me about your vacation," he says, turning to me to steal a quick glance.
Truthfully, I don't want to. Because how would it look to him? Hearing a girl go on and on about her father's love life as if it were the end of the world. He was already battling the possibility of never seeing his child again and I had already created a plan to never talk to my father again.
"I got to sleep in my old room," I shrug. "Oh, and I mended a strained relationship between me and an old friend," I finish with a smile.
It's almost immediate that I notice his dissatisfaction with my reply.
"I sense the feeling it went a little different than you're letting on. It isn't my business so I won't pry but if you need or want to discuss whatever it may be, I'm a good listening ear." He says simply and there's not a second that goes by we're I think he means anything less than that. His words carried too much empathy to fake that kind of connection.
Trevor finds solace in the nod I give him in response and we spend the rest of the way listening to the sound of blaring heat and faint classical music. It isn't long until we stop outside of house assembled with three Greek symbols I never bothered to learn hanging above the door. The place was large enough to stuff my dorm room in at least twenty times. Silence fills the air until Trevor unfastens his seatbelt and reaches for a perfectly folded blanket and a pink stuffed elephant from the backseat before insuring he'd take no longer than two minutes once he hops out the car to leave.
There was a large marquee board posted in the front lawn with the words Iota Chi Theta plastered on it. A girl emerges from behind the door with a toddler propped steadily on her hip. It wasn't Meghan, even though the lack of light made it impossible to see a face from my distance. I'd recognize her silky brown locks against blonde from any distance, not to mention, the toddler glued to her hip was dressed in green. Emma was more of a pink girl.
He talks with the silhouette of a girl for a moment, even pulling the little boy into a familiar embrace before handing over the items in his hands and waving goodbye to them both. She finally steps into the light, watching Trevor's back like a hawk while he jogs the distance from the house to the car. That's when I get a good look at the familiar strawberry blonde haired girl. Rachel Geraldo, Taylor called her. It was enough to shake my attention elsewhere until Trevor got back in a drive away, silently praying she hadn't noticed me.
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