Nari goes home in the morning, after we've fed up on cold leftover pizza. Her mom expects her back for Church, so I lay in bed after she's gone and check Instagram.
It's the same old, same old. Niles left a love heart comment on my photo with Nari, we posted a snapshot from our pizza night at Nick's.
Suddenly, I hear the sound of No Doubt coming from somewhere in the house, it's muffled by walls and distance but I know immediately, mom is cleaning. Sunday is cleaning.
She turns on her nostalgic hits, the ones she listened to in her teens and she dances around the house while she mops and vacuums.
Obsessive cleaning has been her crutch for as long as I can remember. She told me once that her mom was absent a lot, left her home alone to take care of herself which meant mom had to learn a thing or two about maintaining a house. It wasn't until dad left that it got bad.
Aunt Ellie said it was just one of those coping mechanisms people developed. I was always grateful that her drinking didn't amplify. It had the potential to.
Downstairs in the living room, I find mom on a ladder, dusting the lampshades. She's wearing her leggings and an old t-shirt; her hair is pulled into a bun.
She bops along to the music, humming the words. I watch her for a little while, guilt surfacing over the fact that things aren't the same between us. Why do I get so pissed off with her all the time?
"Need some help?" I ask, it seems like a good peace offering. Mom looks down at me with her mouth parted in surprise.
"Oh, has Nari gone home?" She asks, I nod. "Oh. You don't have to help, honey. You must have some unpacking to do?"
I do, but it's not urgent. "What has to be done?" I ask.
She looks around and lazily gestures at the fire mantle. "That has to be dusted. Oh, and the windowsills."
Still in my cotton pyjama pants and hoodie, I wander over, grab a cloth and start cleaning.
We work quietly for a while, moving around the room, dusting, vacuuming, spot cleaning little scuffs on the walls. The further into it we get, the more we find to clean, I can see how it turns into a whole day rather than a few hours.
Finally, when we've moved onto the dining room, mom looks at me.
"How was last night?"
"Fine," I say, sifting through her bucket of products in search of the wood polish. We don't use the dining room that often, so the table only needs a light wipe.
"Back to school tomorrow," she says. "Good thing there was a spot available last minute."
"Yeah, that was lucky."
"Coen is there too now," she hovers behind me while I push the dining room chairs aside to splash the table with polish. "You could drive together? Use the car if you want?"
"Your car?"
"Yeah."
Mom works part time at the nursing home, dad paid the mortgage and left her the house after the divorce and child support contributed to her income, she often tells me how despite dad leaving, she feels blessed that she can keep this roof over our heads.
"Don't you need it for work?"
"I can bus," she says.
"Coen and I can walk."
She's quiet for a moment, I don't look behind me but I can hear her fidgeting. "You two should have a safe mode of transport to school. It's not a big deal. I want you to take the car."
"Fine, thanks."
"Um, Luce," she touches my elbow and I turn around. "Can I check your thighs please."
There's no reason to be annoyed, so I lift my pants and hear the audible gasp pass her lips, she steps back as if someone hit her in the stomach. "Luce," she breathes.
This is the first time she's seen the damage, her pain is gut wrenching, tears well in her eyes.
"No fresh ones," I say, covering up again. "Stop it, mom. I'm fine."
It's clear she doesn't agree when she looks up at me, her chin quivering. "Look at what he did to you," she slaps a hand across her mouth when a sob escapes and I clench a fist, nails digging into my palm.
"I told you, I didn't want to talk about him all the time."
"We have to talk about it some time," she says and I walk out of the room, barely hearing the light footsteps following me because I'm so preoccupied with the volume of my frustration.
"Lucy, I know you want space but this isn't something to let lay dormant. You need to talk to someone, a therapist, there has to be a step forward of some sort or it's going to fester and get so much worse."
"I'll talk to someone when I want to," I say, going upstairs, I can barely see two feet in front of me. "It's not going to be you. Stop crying and coddling me. It's suffocating."
"Lucy," she blubbers, it grates me but it hurts too. It's conflicting, two warring emotions, neither of them I want to feel. "Please, I'm sorry if I'm not handling this right, I just want to help and it's so awful, it hurts to think about what he did—"
I spin around in the second-floor corridor and we collide. "Oh, it hurts?" I shout. "Imagine how I feel! Imagine how I fucking feel, mom. I don't need to hear about your hurt. What I need you to do is give me about five feet of space and stop giving me those stupid sad faces because I couldn't care less about how you feel."
"That's not what I meant," mom wipes at her face and then reaches for me, I pull back. "I know it's not about me, I just want to make it better and it kills me that I can't, but I can't ignore it either, I can't pretend my daughter isn't going through this pain, what kind of parent would that make me?"
"One that listens. You don't listen. You just think you know what's best all the time. I feel fine until you start looking at me like I'm broken."
"I'm sorry, Lucy. You're not a mother though, you don't realise how hard it is to know your child is suffering."
"Yeah," I say, stepping closer. "But you are not listening to me. I don't want to talk about it. I don't want to walk around in my own home, worried my mom is going to remind me of the worst thing that ever happened to me. Get it? I'll see a therapist, but I'm fine. I'm healing. Or I was. You're back peddling everything. So just shut the fuck up."
"Don't speak to me like that, Lucy," mom palms her cheeks and inhales a shaken breath. "I'll do my best not to make you feel coddled, but just know I care, please know that I'm here. For whatever you want."
"I want my dad," I scream, turning around and slamming my bedroom door in her sobbing face.
Sinking into the bed, I let my violent thoughts eat away at each other, all the things I want to tell her, tell Coen, tell Gia, tell Logan. It's like a cesspool of word vomit, swimming around and begging for release.
I'm angry about things I don't give a second thought on any given basis. If I were face to face with Nari right now, I might accidentally tell her that I hate the way she chews on her chapped lips. I don't hate that, but right now, I do.
I'm not sure how long I lay there and listen to hatred but eventually, I drift off to sleep, later waking up to an empty head.
As usual, the aftermath is brutal. I'm brutal. It makes me sick with guilt and I sit up, rubbing my face. There are crease marks in my cheek and the afternoon sun has warmed the room up, drenching me in sweat.
My bedroom door is open now, I guess mom came in to check on me at some point.
Coen walks past and does a double take when he sees I'm sitting up, fixing my hair.
"Being a bitch must be so exhausting," he says.
"Shut up," I mutter, not in the mood to get up and chase him.
It's not like he's wrong. He comes further into the room and folds his arms across his plaid button shirt. For a long while, he watches me, not saying a word, just giving me this look like he wants to apologize but his lips are pressed too tight.
Eventually, "You look like dad."
And then he leaves, taking his weird little riddles with him.
It's obvious he knows what happened to me, part of me thinks he was weighing up whether to mention it or not. I'm grateful he didn't but I'm not sure what to make of his dad comment. His tone almost suggested it was an insult. Little shit.
A few minutes later, when I'm still finding the will to get up and move, mom appears at the threshold, now dressed in her jeans and a yellow tank top. Yellow is her colour.
"Can we talk?" She asks, walking into the room.
I gesture at the end of the bed and she sits down. Her lids are swollen from this morning's tears, it makes me feel guilty so I don't look at her.
"Something occurred to me earlier," she says. "When you asked for dad."
I'd almost forgotten about that, I wince, embarrassed, what a toddler.
"Naturally, you've got all of this anger and hurt simmering under the surface and it needs an outlet. I'm the safest person for that outlet. I've always been here and created a safe space to express yourself and it's common for children to have a parent that sees the worst of the worst because they're the safe parent."
Staring at my fingers in my lap, I pick at the skin. "I feel safe with dad."
"I know, sweetheart. The safe parent is a subconscious thing and as safe as you feel with dad, he left. You two were so close and then he left and that did damage, of course it did. So as safe as you feel with him, there's subconscious part of you that doesn't want to push that hurt and anger onto dad in case he decides not to pick up the pieces."
"Trust me, mom," I say. "Dad saw plenty of my anger."
"He said there were a lot of good times too," she said. "We talked. I know you're fighting to be close to him because you want that relationship and I'm really glad that he's doing the same thing. Girls need their dads. You've always clicked well with him. You're like two peas in a pod. I guess we show our love in different ways too. You never could stand my fussing. And like I said, I'm a safe space to express your emotions. It's a whole thing I heard on a parenting podcast."
I lightly laugh, what she's saying makes sense. "I'm sorry, mom. I hate the way I lash out."
"I know, dad told me you felt bad about it."
I finally look at her. "When exactly did you talk?"
"This morning. After you said you wanted him, I thought I should get some advice from someone who was handling things so well. I want to listen more and stop assuming I know best. I've always had that role, knowing what's best for my children but I don't this time, so I'm here, whatever you need."
"Thanks, mom."
She gives me a pat on the thigh and stands up, something she's done for as long as I can remember, but it doesn't feel the way it used to. "Mom, please don't touch my thighs. Ever."
"Okay, I'm sorry."
"It's just—"
"You don't have to explain. I won't do it again. You should come and have something to eat. You slept right through lunch."
We go downstairs and mom opens the fridge. A moment later, the front door opens and closes, I think nothing of it until I hear dad calling out.
"Hello?"
"Dad?" I run out of the kitchen, passing mom whose smiling and there he is, in the foyer.
"How's it going kid?" He nudges me in the shoulder. I missed him more than I realized, so I hug him. Hugging seems easier when it's my idea. "Giving your mom a hard time, huh?"
"What are you doing here?" I ask, stepping back.
"Thought I'd come and visit when mom said you were missing me," he says, sliding his hands into his pockets. "Plus, I had an idea about six minutes after you left on Friday."
"Oh," I gesture for him to follow me and we go through to the kitchen where mom is cutting up vegetables, she and dad nod at each other in acknowledgement, there's even a small smile. "What's the idea?"
"I'm going to open an office here," he says. "In Fort Collins. There's a lot I can do in Colorado. So, I'm moving back."
Mom's knife comes to a halt and I lean against the countertop. "You're moving to Fort Collins?"
He nods, looking between the two of us. "I want to be around, all the time. For you and Coen. I want the sort of relationship where you can walk in through my door whenever you want, I can't go back to the way things were. There's no chance."
I'm breathless with elation. "This is awesome. When are you moving back?"
"I have a few things to arrange. Which I started doing pretty much straight after you left. My place is going on the market this week. I have to look for a new place, find an office space, a whole lot of admin and that sort of thing. But I can do a lot of work from here, so it'll be soon."
To say I'm excited would be an understatement, having dad close enough that I can see him whenever I want, it changes everything.
"Where's Coen?" Dad asks, looking around.
"He's next door with Parker," mom says, returning to her meal prep, dicing potatoes and dropping them into a bowl. "Noah," she keeps her head down. "Would you like to stay for dinner?"
His brows shoot up, so do mine and mom looks between us with exasperation. "Don't look so shocked. I'm not a villain."
"I wouldn't mind a real home cooked meal. I haven't had one since. . . our divorce."
"Oh bullshit," mom says.
"It's true, I don't get invited to Ellie's Christmas mega feasts."
"That's not true," mom defends. "You get invited. You choose not to come."
"No," dad says. "Our nephew threatened to hang me with women's underwear and burn me with hot cheese if he ever saw me again."
Mom bursts into loud laughter and the situation renders me in a state of shock. Mom and dad are laughing together, true, it's at his expense, but it's still happening and it blows my mind.
"You have to hand it to Drayton," she's still laughing. "He's creative."
Dad mumbles something under his breath. "Oh," he perks up. "Can Niles come?"
"Niles is here?" I stand up straighter.
"Yeah, I needed my assistant for business related purposes," dad says dismissively. "I left him at the hotel we checked into. Thought I better assess the situation here first."
"He's welcome too," mom says. "I hope he likes baked chicken with spinach stuffing."
"He will," I assure her. "He's a foodie. He loves all things food."
Mom grimaces. "No pressure then."
"Don't worry about it, Cass," dad says in a playful tone as he starts to leave. "Your cooking is excellent."
Mom doesn't comment but she does smile and I might need to pinch myself because this is an alternate reality for sure, there is no way my mom and dad are laughing, smiling and being civil while standing in the same room.
"You know dad is a vegetarian now, right?" I say and mom's mouth falls open.
"You are?"
"Don't worry about it," he says. "I'll eat whatever I can apart from the chicken. I see potatoes. Love potatoes."
He walks out of the kitchen, mom staring after him.
Dad goes back to the hotel and returns fifteen minutes later with Niles.
At this point, Coen is in the living room watching television. Dad beelines straight for him and they strike up conversation, leaving Niles and I in the foyer, smiling at each other.
"I didn't think we'd be seeing each other again so soon," he ducks his head, scuffing his foot on the tile floor. He's so cute when he's nervous. I wonder if he's thinking about the crush confession. I sure am.
"Should we go upstairs?"
"Hang on," he steps around me and looks over his shoulder. "I never officially met your mom."
That's right, Niles, a man with impeccable manners. He extends his hand to mom in the kitchen, she's in the middle of pouring a large wine and turns a soft red when she notices the tall stranger standing next to her.
"I'm Niles," he says when she takes his hand.
"Cass."
"Nice to meet you, ma'am. Thank you for the invite."
Mom looks at me, failing to hide a suggestive smile. "Wow, what a gentleman. Hold on to this one."
"Mom," I grumble, feeling hot in the cheeks. Typical. "He's a friend. Be quiet. What's with the giant wine? It's not even five."
"There's progress happening here," she says with a warning look. "But give me a break, I'm having dinner with your father. Be grateful it's just wine."
I don't even want to ask what else it could be. The interaction gives me a warm feeling, compared to how the morning started, I didn't think it'd be possible to have a positive conversation with mom, one that reminded me of what we used to be.
Taking Niles finger, I drag him behind me and we go upstairs.
"Nice bedroom," he does a slow circle and then heads for the patio doors. "Damn, and I thought my fire escape was dope."
"It is dope," I stand next to him and we look out over the back garden, the sun glittering off the pool surface and the stretching land in front of us.
"No wonder you wanted to come home."
His words rattle me and I stare at his side profile, admiring the slope of his nose and the jut of his lips and how his eyes are so full of awe, all the time. "I don't think I really wanted to come home," I admit. He looks down at me, brow raised. "I did at first but, Jersey City grew on me. Dad grew on me. . . you grew on me."
I keep my attention facing forward but I can feel him watching me and then he bumps his hip with mine and we laugh.
"I started thinking less about my plans here and started thinking more about a life there. It wasn't extravagant plans, but it was getting easier to imagine a future there. Being close to dad is. . . he gets me. It's important."
"Good thing about him moving to Fort Collins then, huh?"
I grip the railing and lean back. "Man, I still can't believe that's happening. It's going to be so weird."
It occurs to me that if dad is here, I'll have no reason to go to Jersey City. There's no way Niles will move that far from his grandmother. The thought of not seeing him again, tears a little strip from the progressing patched hole on my heart.
"Your dad offered me a promotion," Niles says, leaning his elbows on the railing.
"He wants you to come with him?"
"Nah," he says. "He said I'm wasted on assistant work and I should be an office manager."
"Wow," I smile and give him another hip nudge. "That's huge, Niles. Congratulations."
"I didn't take the job," he says and confusion knits my brows. "I told Momma G about the job and it led to this huge discussion about the future. One thing leads to another and I'm going to College starting next Fall."
"Niles," I turn around and lean on the railing, the warm sun hits my back. "That is so good to hear, you have no idea how happy I am right now. You deserve this. But what about Gladys, a caregiver and all that?"
"Noah offered Momma G an admin job," he says. "Well, at first he offered to cover the cost of a caregiver. She refused because she doesn't want handouts."
"Fair."
"She can work from home doing admin, all from the computer. I'll come home during the weekends and take care of her. It's a compromise. I'm excited to go to College but I'll never not feel like I should be with her, you know? She took care of me, I need to take care of her."
"You will," I tell him. "When you're in charge of some major company, loaded, you'll get to take care of Gladys in her retirement."
"Your dad did tell me I'd have a job with him when I graduate."
"So, when did all this go down?" I ask. "I've been gone for two days."
"He offered me the job about a week ago. I was thinking it over, talking to Momma G. It was all finalised yesterday."
"He didn't even tell me. You didn't tell me about the job offer."
"I needed to figure a few things out without anyone offering me their strong opinion. Momma G had more than enough of those as it was."
It's clear he means it light heartedly but I respect he did what was best for him. Wanting him to go to college wasn't something I was quiet about. Thinking about it, I probably went a bit far on a few occasions.
"I only wanted the best for you," I say and he lightly laughs. Suddenly I feel like my mother.
"I know, that's why I like you."
The warmth in my cheeks has nothing to do with the warm afternoon sun. "Can I ask a question?" I practically whisper and he turns to face me. A curl falls over my face and Niles pushes it behind my ear. "If you don't feel like . . . sexual attraction to me, but claim to have a crush, what do you see? I want to understand."
His throat rolls, like he's nervous but he doesn't waver as he reaches out and touches my cupids bow. "I see that your top lip is a little bigger than the bottom one," his finger tip traces the line of my mouth and I forget how to breathe. "Usually it's the other way around, but I like it.
"I see this cute little dimple in your chin and this curl, how it's stubborn, it refuses to be tucked behind your ear. Your left nostril flares when you're mad, but the right one doesn't. You have dark brown eyes but, in the light, there are three golden rings rippling around the outer edge. It reminds me of the sun hitting a pool surface and creating patches of shadow on the bottom."
My stomach rolls over on itself.
"I see you, Luce," he says. "I see that you're beautiful. I might not look at you and have sexual intentions or thoughts. Baring your body to someone is intimate, sure. But baring your soul," he winks. "It doesn't get more personal than that. That's all I'll ever need."
He's right, in every single way, he's right. Niles knows me on a deeper level than Logan ever could because Niles knows me. Logan might have stolen something that I can't get back. He might have a physical claim on the most intimate parts of my body, but who I choose to bare my soul to, no one can steal that, even if they wanted to, that's mine to give to who I choose, when I choose.
Reaching out, I wrap my hand around Niles finger, he watches me as he lifts my knuckles and gives them a light kiss.
"By the way," I say. "I have a crush on you too."