by Staci Hart
I reached for her hand. “Mama, I—”
“No, no. Let me finish. You see, every aspect of my job as your mother falls under one of three cardinal rules: to love you, to protect you, and to respect you. Sometimes, to do one, I have to betray another. In my effort to protect you, I haven’t respected what you want. Baby, I’m happy you’ve found a job. I want for you to find independence and a life outside of me, outside of us. But I’m scared, too, and fear is a beast not easily slain. Sometimes, it’s not even a beast you can look in the eye.”
“I know,” I whispered, squeezing her hand.
Her gaze dropped to the carpet and through it. “It doesn’t make it any easier that I’m not myself. I don’t even know what that means anymore—myself. Who I was is gone, and I’m left a stranger to myself. I wake up every day with a glimmer of who I used to be hanging on to the edge of my mind like a dream, and I live the rest of my day chasing that vision. But it’s impossible to catch, and that impossibility is almost more crippling than my ruined legs.” She took a deep breath and let it out slow. “Being here is easier though, isn’t it? When every little thing is different, it feels like a fresh start. If we were back home, I don’t know how any of us would get out of bed in the morning.”
“I’m glad for the distraction, and I’m grateful you’re all right with my working.”
“Well, you’re an adult, as hard as that is to believe.”
I snorted a laugh. “I don’t feel like an adult at all. Six months ago, I was taking chemistry finals and getting ready to graduate from high school. And the second I had that diploma in my hand, I crossed the threshold into adulthood with no idea what I was doing.”
“Well, let me give you a hint, Annie.” Mama leaned in, her smile small and conspiratorial. “None of us knows what we’re doing. Nine out of ten people you ever meet are faking it.”
The thought was comforting.
“I really am happy for you,” she said. “Just bear with me if I occasionally lose my mind.”
I moved to hug her, hooking my chin over her shoulder, her glossy blonde hair against my cheek and her arms around me.
“Thank you, Mama.”
“I love you. No matter what, no matter where, no matter how, I love you.”
I sniffled and stood.
“Well,” she started, hands on her wheels, “I think I’ll go see after lunch. You coming?”
“I think I’ll head to my room for a bit.”
She nodded and backed up her chair, turning it toward the door. “Let me know if you want a plate made up.”
“I will,” I said, and we parted ways in the hallway.
Once in my room with the door solidly closed, I let out a sigh that felt like it aged me. The afternoon sun cut into the room in a wedge, diffused by the sheer curtain. The wooden princess set my father had made stood in its beam on the desk, the sunshine gleaming off the shiny varnish of each piece.
He’d made it for me when Mama was pregnant, carving each piece with the same gentle hands and love he later gave me. The castle was made of blocks that fit together, and he carved little figures to live there—a princess and knight, a king and queen, a dragon and cave. They were the only things I’d packed besides clothes and the stuffed animal I’d slept with since I was in a crib. The rest of our possessions wouldn’t get to us for a while, but this, I didn’t want to be without.
I picked up the princess, running my thumb over her wavy hair and the details of her dress, imagining my father with a half-carved block of wood in his hand and his face scrunched in concentration. I’d seen that look a thousand times in my life; one of my greatest fears was that I’d forget the sight.
I sat on the edge of my bed, the princess in my palm, but my mind turned and looked back down the broken road I’d traveled in the last month.
No matter how much I’d thought about it, it still felt like a dream. The ringing of the phone. My sister’s voice carrying the words that would forever change me. The smell of the hospital, stringent and sterile. The sight of Mama, unconscious in the hospital bed.
They’d been on their way home from our family’s store where Daddy sold the furniture and art he made. The man who hit them had dropped his phone, speeding and swerving when he reached for it.
Daddy died on impact. His truck was left a snarling twist of metal.
I didn’t even know how Mama had survived; every day, I woke with gratitude that she had.
She had been confined to her hospital bed, unable to attend his funeral. I was of little use, and we had no other family; our paternal grandparents had passed on, and our New York family were strangers to us. So Elle handled every detail with stoic grace while the rest of us unraveled, hour to hour, minute to minute. I spent those days at Mama’s side in the hospital, Meg with Elle where it was easier. When the doctors determined the extent of the damage to her spinal cord, things moved quickly. Because there was no therapy to speak of, no recovery to plan. Only the transition into the reality of her life and her loss.
Every day for two weeks, a nurse would spend a few hours at the house, teaching us how to care for Mama, teaching her how to care for herself. We had to learn to transfer her in and out of her wheelchair, how to turn her every few hours when she was confined to the bed, how to look out for signs of sores. And those were the easy tasks.
There were so many more that stole bits of her dignity, and there was no easing into it, no little by little. It happened all at once with staggering suddenness. It was in the emptying of her ostomy bag—or worse, the changing of her ostomy bag. Her inability to shower on her own or cook for herself. She could reach nothing, couldn’t see the stovetop from her wheelchair. She needed constant care, and we had no way to help her but with our own hands.
It was Uncle John who convinced her to come to New York. They had come for the funeral, and John spent several long afternoons in the hospital with Mama with one mission: persuade her to accept his help. He had the room for all of us, the funds to eradicate the medical bills and pay for nurses, and the desire to do something.
Her acceptance, as much as she hated it, was the best thing that could have happened to us. Because John had saved us from an uncertain future. We were indebted to him in a way we could never repay.
He’d given us hope when hope was lost.
And now, everything had changed, and it was going to be everything we needed, everything I needed, everything my father would have wanted, and everything that would patch up those perilous holes in my heart. Because even though they’d never mend on their own, I could endure them and honor him by living every second with every single part of me.
So I would.
I would live out loud.
3
Sweet and Salty
Greg
The pavement rolled beneath the wheels of my skateboard the next morning, my hands buried in my coat pockets and beanie pulled down over my ears, while I did my best not to think about Annie.
I’d tried to forget about her all yesterday afternoon when that yellow coat and pink hat crossed my mind, unbidden. And at home with my family last night when I’d replayed her running into me and stopping my universe for a breath. And this morning when I’d worried a little too long about what I’d wear today.
I’d settled on a black-and-white-plaid button-down, cuffed three-quarters to leave my tattooed forearms on display. I wouldn’t admit that with a gun to my temple, but it was the truth.
Don’t get me wrong; it wasn’t like I’d been obsessing about her or anything. I hadn’t thought of her much. But, out of nowhere, she would invade my mind like cigarette smoke. I’d wave thoughts of her away with a dour twist of my lips, all while jonesing for just one drag.
You’re just attracted to her. That’s normal, I told myself as my sneaker hit the pavement, propelling me on.
She was cute and innocent, different from New York girls. But she couldn’t even drink, for Christ’s sake. Not for nearly three years.
She was practicall
y jailbait, which meant she was off-limits. This probably made things worse—the knowledge that I couldn’t have her.
But it wasn’t that simple. Nothing ever was.
The fact was that we were at completely different places in our lives; she was figuring out who she was, who she would become, and I had done that ten years ago. She was experiencing life for the first time; everything was speeding up for her while I found myself slowing down.
It would never work, and that was the heart of the matter. Nothing about pursuing her made sense.
But I thought of that moment when she’d fallen into me, and I’d looked into the depths of her eyes, felt her body pressed against me. And, if the last twenty-four hours were any proof, I knew she wouldn’t be so easy to forget. The knowledge that it was chemical, that it had no depth or roots, didn’t matter. Something in me recognized something in her, and that was that.
Hoping it would blow over was probably futile. I’d do my best to ignore it all the same.
The last few years had largely been spent devoted to my family. When lupus had finally confined my mother to her bed, my siblings and I’d moved home to help out. And when she died, we couldn’t bear to leave our father. He needed our help—not only with his loss, but with the crushing weight of medical bills.
I’d tried to date, but the result was a long string of failures. I did the dating-app thing long enough to figure out that people were really strange. The only date that actually worked out was with Rose, one of the owners of the bookstore. We ended up going out a few times—until she admitted that she was still in love with her ex.
I’d sworn off dating websites after that.
More recently, my failed dating experience was thanks to a pack of well-meaning, meddlesome friends and family.
My family was one culprit. My sister brought home her friends from Columbia all the time, parading them in front of me like show ponies. The fact that they were all so close to my baby sister in age was a negative, the nature of which seemed to be lost on her.
Work was the other source of badgering, and Cam was the lead offender.
Matchmaking was a quirk of hers, a hobby fueled by compulsion and good intentions. She’d tried to set me up with at least two-dozen girls since we started working together, and none of them worked out, much to her frustration. In fact, she once went so far that we’d made her swear she’d stop.
It was a lie we all pretended to believe.
She wasn’t the only one though. My two head bartenders, Harrison and Beau, loved to bring in girlfriends of chicks they were seeing. Even Rose had been working on me, introducing me to a tattoo artist who worked with her boyfriend. Once, she’d even had her roommate, Lily, bring me a ballerina she danced with at the New York City Ballet.
I was everyone’s favorite project, probably because I wasn’t interested in participating. I put my energy into my family and my job, and both areas thrived. It was my source of happiness. And even though I wanted to meet someone, it needed to be on my own terms. It would happen—and not by enduring a hundred uncomfortable setups.
I was resolved to hold out for something more. I didn’t even really know what that meant and was—probably naively—banking on the hope that I’d know it when I saw it or that it’d hit me like a Mack truck—something undeniable, unavoidable, and potentially fatal.
Kinda like the feeling I’d gotten when I met Annie. Who I couldn’t date. At least not for a minimum of five years, which would put her in the vicinity of a reasonable age.
I found myself frowning as I hopped the curb in front of Wasted Words and stopped at the door, propping my longboard against the building as I dug my keys out of my pocket and unlocked it.
The closed bookstore was weirdly still, like an alter ego of its open counterpart, especially compared to the nights when the place was jam-packed with people and chatter and laughter. I headed to the bar just as Cam came out from the back.
She was a tiny little thing with dark hair and big glasses, wearing a T-shirt illustrated with Phoenix from X-Men, jeans, a worn-out pair of Chucks, and a smile.
“Morning, Gregory.”
“Morning, Cameron.”
She hopped up onto a barstool as I packed my gear in the cubbies under the bar. “Rose told me about your unauthorized new hire,” she joked with one dark eyebrow arched. “What’s up with that?”
I shrugged and turned to the register computer to clock in, avoiding her eyes. “You guys were busy.”
“I mean, you could have at least asked Rose.”
“She would have said no.”
Cam bobbled her head. “Maybe, maybe not. So, are you gonna tell me the story? This is the first time you’ve ever expressed interest in new hires who aren’t working the bar.” She leaned in, watching me like a chess board.
I sighed and rested my palms on the counter in front of her, hoping I had my face in check. Because if Cam caught a whiff of my interest in Annie, I’d be doomed.
“I dunno, Cam. Just a gut feeling, I guess. She seemed like she needed a job, and she got a thousand times too excited about your coaster quotes. I got the feeling she would fit in great. I figured you and Rose would be all right with it. I mean, it is okay, isn’t it?”
She smiled, but she was still watching me a little too closely for comfort. “You like her.”
I rolled my eyes. “Not this again. We’ve agreed you aren’t allowed to set me up anymore.”
“Oh, I don’t think I’ll need to do much setting up at all. That’s why you hired her, isn’t it?” she asked, eager as a Jack Russell terrier.
“No. I told you why, and I meant it. Honestly, wait until you meet her. You’ll get it.”
Her eyes darted to the door, and her smile widened. “Well, speak of the devil.”
I turned as Cam hopped off her stool. Annie stood outside the glass doors, looking unsure of herself, bottom lip pinned between her teeth as she knocked, and by the look on her face, it wasn’t the first time. We hadn’t heard her over The Ramones playing over the speakers.
She smiled when she saw Cam, her worry gone, replaced with sunshiny happiness.
I found myself smiling, my heartbeat speeding up just enough to notice.
In other words, I was fucked, and in the moment, I didn’t even have the good sense to realize it.
They were chatting as they approached and walked past the bar. Cam gave me an I-told-you-so look, and Annie raised one pink mittened hand in a wave.
She barely spared me a glance.
I tried not to consider the horrifying possibility that I might be invisible to her.
While I didn’t consider it, I kept myself busy setting up the bar, carting ice from the back and rubber mats from dish while Cam showed Annie around.
A few minutes later, Ruby flagged me from the sidewalk outside, and I trotted around the bar to let her in, her fire-engine red bob peeking out from her black beanie and her dark eyes smiling.
“Heya, Greg-o.”
“Hey, Ruby. I think you’re training a new hire today.” I nodded over to Cam and Annie behind the register counter.
“Aw, she’s adorable,” Ruby cooed. “So, does this mean I’m finally getting promoted to cocktail?”
I winked at her. “I’ll see what I can do.”
“Yes!” she whisper-hissed and fist-pumped. “Mama needs a new leather jacket.”
We split up—Ruby for the back, me for the bar—but I realized I had finished setting up. So, I grabbed my laptop, poured myself a cup of coffee, and slipped into a booth to work on the bar schedule.
It really wasn’t a bad idea to move Ruby up to cocktail; she could work in both the store and the bar for a while until she got her footing, and it would free up hours for Annie. Done and done. And as I looked over the schedule, it’d be easy to double Ruby in.
Harrison showed up to take over the bar just as it was time to open the doors. His smile was crooked, and his blond hair looked like he’d both just rolled out of bed and messed with it in the
mirror for half an hour.
I headed to the liquor cage in the back to work on inventory—for real this time—setting up my phone to play music. The first half of my shift was spent locked up with cases of beers and shelves of rum and tequila. The only interruption was Cam, who popped in to tell me that I was right—Annie would fit in great—and that she knew I liked Annie.
She skipped away with the know-it-all pride of a nosy kid sister before I could argue. Not like it would have done any good. Once Cam saw an opportunity for hooking somebody up, she wouldn’t quit. It was part of her charm just as much as it was my personal curse.
Around lunchtime, I emerged from the fluorescent cave to gather up lunch orders for delivery. But what I found at the bar had me slamming on my brakes so hard, my sneakers almost squealed.
Harrison was leaning on the bar with a sideways smile on his face, and his eyes were locked on his prey, just like I’d seen him do a thousand times.
Except this time, it was Annie.
She was laughing at something he’d said, but her body language told me she didn’t realize he was interested in her, which was crazy to me. I could see it from across the room.
I stormed over, schooling my face as I approached.
They looked over, and Harrison’s expression told me I’d done a piss-poor job.
I ignored him. “Hey, guys. I’m ordering sandwiches from Jonesie’s. You hungry?”
“Starved,” Harrison said. “Get me a Philly, extra onions.”
I smiled as I made a note in my phone, hoping it would give him dumpster breath. “How about you, Annie?”
Her face quirked in thought. “Hmm. I’ve never been there before.”
“Annie just moved here,” Harrison offered enthusiastically.
“I heard,” I said flatly, turning back to Annie. “It’s pretty standard in the way of sandwich shops. But their Monte Cristo is the stuff dreams are made of.”