by Scott, Kylie
“Right.”
“You always took fucking forever in the bathroom.”
“Guess I had more hair back then.”
“Yeah. If I didn’t get up first and get sorted, you’d be pissed at me for showering and fogging up the mirror while you were trying to do stuff.”
“Sounds like a heinous crime to me. I don’t know how you live with yourself.”
The man almost smiles.
“Now tell me something good about when we were together.”
“Hmm.” He tosses the teaspoon into the sink. “I got to wake up to your face every morning. I used to like that.”
I cup the warm mug in my hands, not sure what to say.
“Sometimes on your lunch break you’d go over to The Holy Donut,” he says. “Pick up a box to bring into the parlor. Everyone loved you those days.”
My stomach does some weird upside-down type thing. It’s the sound of his voice, deep and a little rough. Kind of distant, but not in a bad way. As if these memories are good ones for a change. Positive memories that include previous me not being high-maintenance or hellish or something similar. Amazing.
Even so, I feel conflicted about the ease with which he stirs all these emotions and desires within me. I try and keep reminding myself it has all gone south before. True, maybe he didn’t cheat, but there must have been something wrong between us if it was possible for me to believe that he had. Or maybe I wanted out and the cheating accusation was just what I used to escape. Or maybe Ed was getting cold feet about proposing and my accusation was a good excuse to let me go. Either way, there’s a nagging feeling in the back of my brain that I’ve been down this path before and it didn’t end well for either of us.
And I wonder if he’s thinking it too.
“Better get ready or we’ll run out of time,” he says, lifting the coffee to his lips. A clear indication he’s done with this dialogue.
I swallow. “Right. Sure.”
We walk along the waterfront down Commercial Street to get to work. It’s a little longer, but the view is spectacular. The restaurants, hotels, and gift shops. The wharves, boats, and water. I enjoy being in the city and I love the smell of the ocean. Where Frances lives is nice, but it’s not like this. Here there’s a rush, a vitality, and loads of character. About what you’d expect for an old seaport with plenty of history.
Conversation goes back to being stilted following my question, but for once I don’t mind. It’s like we’re making actual progress on moving past him not liking me. Maybe. It would be foolish to get carried away. There’s a moment when he leaves me at the shop and pauses sort of leaning into me for a second. Like perhaps he was going to kiss me goodbye. Probably a leftover response from our coupledom days. I wouldn’t have said no to a kiss, even something chaste and friendly-like on the cheek. It probably would have made things awkward for him, however.
So no kissing accidental or otherwise is best.
Frances comes in to visit. Interestingly enough, this occasion has less of a supervisory feel and more of a sisterly affection vibe for once. It’s nice. We have lunch at an amazing oyster place on the waterfront. Iris even closes up the shop to come with us. Apparently she does this occasionally when cabin fever starts to settle in and she needs to get away from the books for an hour or two. With a few drinks in her, my boss tells the most amazing stories about her various ex-husbands. Despite having one die, one cheat, and one come out of the closet, she remains a hopeful romantic at heart. Currently, she’s seeing the owner of a gelato shop a block over. He’s a dapper Sicilian gent who’s apparently killer in the sack—a detail I didn’t need to know.
A little after six, Ed arrives to take me home. My insides sort of swoop at the sight of him. The want to not inconvenience him wars constantly within me against the need to be around him. If he knew, he’d be even quieter, more guarded. And he’s being pretty damn silent as it is. I can barely get a word out of him. We pick up some more takeout, tacos this time. Turns out, I fucking love tacos. Then back at the condo, I watch another movie while he works. A pity. Because despite the whole clear division of areas on the couch and required physical space between us the night before, I enjoyed experiencing the movie with him. But tonight, not even Gordy’s interested in hanging out with me. Maybe I smell funny or something.
“Oh my God.” I sigh when it’s over, relaxing back on the couch with my stress cushion still clutched tight against my chest. “I loved that movie so much.”
“Yeah?” Ed sits at the table, drawing on a computer tablet. “It used to be another one of your favorites.”
“It was a really great love story.”
“Clem, you do know the movie’s called Terminator? It’s about a killer robot.”
“I don’t care. I mean, it’s not a romance because strictly speaking it doesn’t have a happy ending, but the love story in it is superb.”
“Those are the rules, huh?”
“Those are the rules.”
“The second one’s pretty good too. I kind of envy you being able to watch them all over again for the first time.”
I smile grimly. “Gotta be some perks to my situation.”
“After the second one, though, the quality drops off. At least, that was what you always insisted. I asked you once what you had against movies made this century.”
“Yeah?”
He nods. “You said these ones from the eighties were all your mother’s favorites. That you used to watch them with her.”
“Oh.”
“Mind if I ask, have you been to see her grave?”
“No, I don’t mind. But no,” I say. “I suggested it to Frances once, but she shot the idea down pretty quickly. I think it’s weird for her, still mourning Mom when I don’t even remember.”
He nods.
“Did you want to watch it with me? The second movie, I mean . . . if you feel like it.” Hope is such a bitch. “No big deal if you don’t. I was just thinking, it’s only nine and—”
His jaw firms. “Pretty busy right now.”
“Right. Sure.”
Silence.
“What are you working on?”
“Just a piece for a client.”
I wait, but no further information is forthcoming.
Gordon sleeps on in the corner on his bed. The very picture of doggy contentment. When someone hammers on the door, however, he bounds instantly to his feet. His ears start twitching, nose sniffing.
Ed frowns.
“Were you expecting someone?” I ask.
“No.”
When he opens the door, all hell breaks loose. Or at least it sounds that way. A deep voice shouts out greetings followed by much manly hugging and slapping of backs. Gordy shuffles elatedly around the newcomer’s feet, tail wagging like mad. I just wait on the couch.
“’the hell are you doing here?” asks Ed, not unhappily.
The new guy is about as tall as Ed with dark hair. Lots of ink. He has a motorbike helmet in one hand and a six-pack of beer in the other. “Heard you and Clem broke up. Figured you’d need cheering up.”
“That happened a while back.”
A shrug from the stranger. “Well, I’ve been busy on the West Coast. Hadn’t talked to Mom for a while so I only just heard. How are you doing? Never did like that girl, too fucking high-strung.”
“Man—”
“I’m telling you, you can do much better.”
“Really? ’Cause I seem to remember you trying to come on to her a time or two.”
“I’d had a few drinks. I was just being friendly!”
Ed grabs the back of his neck. “Right.”
“I mean, at least you didn’t marry her and then have everything go to hell. Imagine if you two had kids. It would have been a damn mess,” he says. “Better to get out now when things aren’t so complicated. Or is she being a bitch about this place?”
Ed just turns and looks at me. His face is drawn, expression distinctly pained.
Then the man a
lso turns, taking me in with surprise. “Ah, shit. Hey, Clem. Good to see you.”
I lift a hand in greeting. “Hi.”
“Sorry about calling you a bitch. And high-strung. And the other stuff.”
“No worries,” I say with a somewhat forced smile.
“Clem, this is my little brother, Leif.” Ed takes the helmet off of him, placing it on the table. Next he gets busy with the beer. “Leif, Clem sustained a head injury a short while back resulting in amnesia. She doesn’t know you. She barely knows me. So go easy, okay? And probably stop speaking shit about her—that might be nice.”
“You’re messing with me, right?” asks Leif, accepting a beer and taking a seat opposite me. The resemblance between them is obvious now. They’re both tall and built along the same lean but hard lines. The same high cheekbones and beautiful eyes. Masculine pretty. But sized so that you wouldn’t want to mess with them if you had half a brain. The internet said Larsen was a Danish name. Maybe they have Viking blood in them.
“No, he’s not fucking with you,” I say.
Leif turns back to his brother. “Jesus, Ed, you haven’t told Mom?”
“I’ll tell her when I’m ready. Things have been complicated enough.”
Leif exhales hard. “Okay. So was it a car accident or what?”
“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.” Ed intervenes, handing me a beer as well.
“It’s fine,” I say. “Someone tried to kill me. Well . . . they were robbing me, you know? Hit me over the head and took my bag.”
“Shit.”
“Yeah.”
Ed settles once again at the opposite end of the couch. It’s like I have cooties. Or ex-girlfriend germs. “Clem’s staying here for a while. It’s closer to her work and stuff.”
“No problem.” Leif takes a swig of beer while scratching Gordy behind the ears. “I’ll sleep on the sofa.”
“That your way of asking if you can stay?” asks Ed with a faint smile.
Leif grins. “You bastard. I haven’t seen you in almost half a year and you don’t want to spend time with me? Your own brother? Hell, I came back to the East Coast just for you.”
“No you didn’t,” says Ed, his smile broader now. Cue the tingles. So attractive. “Tell the truth, asshole.”
Now Leif grimaces, making a show out of holding out on the answer. “I may have slept with someone I perhaps shouldn’t have slept with. Several times, in fact. It happens.”
“Told you, don’t fuck where you work.”
“Oh that’s rich coming from you.” His brother laughs. “Besides, I was only a guest artist there. It was never meant to be permanent. You got room for me at the parlor or not?”
“Of course I do. Did you tell your old clients you were coming back to town?”
“I put something on Instagram.”
“Good.”
“You’re a tattoo artist as well?” I ask. “And what do you mean, that’s rich coming from Ed?”
Leif studies me, gaze curious. Or maybe just a little stunned.
“Yeah, Clem, he tattoos as well,” says Ed. “We both apprenticed with my uncle. He used to own the parlor.”
“Christ, this is weird,” mumbles Leif, studying me.
“Shut up, you idiot. Don’t make her feel uncomfortable.”
“Sorry, sorry. It’s just . . . amnesia. Shit.”
“You already said that.” I drink my beer. As much as I’d like to press the point about the other question, Ed is relaxed and happy. He’s even sitting on the same item of furniture as me again. Questions can wait. I’m so hungry for his words, for his attention. Not that it stops my brain from turning things over. “Hold up. It says and sons on the shop window.”
“Uncle Karl thought it sounded better than and nephews,” says Ed. “I used to hang around so much he told me to pick up a broom or get out. That’s pretty much how I started. Then Leif got interested too and he had both of us annoying the hell out of him every chance we got.”
Leif gets up, heading into the kitchen. “Good times. Whiskey?”
“Above the fridge.”
“In case I forget to mention it later, I was always your favorite Larsen, Clementine. You absolutely adored me, okay?”
After the whole high-strung bitch thing it’s just not so believable. “Got it, Leif. Thanks for the information.”
“Not that it was ever awkward or anything. Nothing like that. Entirely platonic. For you, I was basically an unattainable object of adoration.”
“I can see why you had to flee the West Coast,” said Ed, shaking his head but grinning all the same. “You’ve been here less than ten minutes and we’re already realizing how good we had it before you showed up.”
“What do you both specialize in?” I might have flipped through a few books on tattooing at the shop. What can I say? Everything about the man makes me curious. And if having his brother here gets him talking, then Leif can have the futon and whatever the hell else he wants. “Traditional or realism or water color or—”
“I do neotraditional,” answers Ed. “Like the piece on your shoulder.”
“Same as what’s on your arms?”
“Some of it is.” He displays the blue rose on the back of his right hand. “On my back there’s a more traditional Japanese piece and there’s some fine line work on my side that Leif did. That’s what he does. But I’ve got a few different styles on me.”
“Did you do any of them yourself?”
Leif laughs, carrying over three glasses with a couple of fingers’ worth of liquor in each.
“Yeah.” Ed takes his glass of whiskey, smiling again. “On my thigh, when I was starting out.”
“What did you do?”
“An anchor and a Celtic knot and some other stuff. My legs are a bit of a mess. Leif’s are the same.”
Leif nodded. “It’s not all our doing. We both let a couple of apprentices practice on us over the years. So yeah, the legs get to be a bit of a dog’s breakfast.”
“Is your uncle still alive?”
“No. He passed away a while back. Cancer, the same as your mom,” Ed says. “Only his was lung cancer from smoking a pack of cigarettes a day his whole damn life. The man was lucky to last as long as he did.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Thanks.”
“To Uncle Karl.” Leif raises his glass and Ed and I do likewise. We all drink.
“So.” Leif settles back into his chair once again. “You two aren’t together, but you’re living together? How does that work? Because from what I heard from Mom, the breakup was like Death Star levels of . . .” He mimes something exploding with his hands, throwing in some rather disturbing and violent noises as accompaniment.
“Death Star?” I ask.
“Sci-fi movie. We’ll watch it sometime,” says Ed.
“And I’m not talking the original version either,” Leif continues. “No sir. The digitally remastered one, where you can feel the explosion’s shock wave through your whole body.”
His exuberance only makes me frown harder. “I think I get the picture.”
“It’s just while I get Clem her down payment back and have the deed changed and everything,” said Ed, returning to his brother’s question.
Leif’s brows pull together. “Thought Mom said you had that sorted?”
The expression on Ed’s face . . .
“Jesus,” says Leif, looking to Ed’s face, and mine, and back again. “Brother, my apologies. But I cannot even begin to keep up with what you are and aren’t telling our parents or your ex-girlfriend these days.”
“It’s done?” I ask, setting my glass down on the coffee table.
After swearing under his breath, Ed shoots his brother another foul look. Leif swallows down his whiskey and looks elsewhere. Anywhere that’s not me or Ed.
“Well?” I ask.
He relents. “The money’s in the bank as of a few days ago; I just have to transfer it over to your account. I’ll do i
t tomorrow. Paperwork’s not ready yet, though. I was waiting on that, but I guess it doesn’t matter.”
“No, we should do it the right way. Wait on the paperwork and everything.”
“So fucking complicated,” mutters Leif. “Remind me to never have a serious girlfriend.”
“Thing is, Clem, I didn’t want you using it as an excuse to leave,” Ed says, gaze troubled. “I know this is awkward, but you’re still safer here with me.”
I frown.
“We’re getting on okay, aren’t we? Basically?”
I don’t know what to say. The truth doesn’t seem wise. And yay me for not blurting it out for once.
“Wait, she’s in danger?” asks Leif.
“We don’t know, and I don’t want to risk it.” Ed downs his drink in one go before rising to go get the bottle. “It’s not a big deal. The reasons for you staying here haven’t changed.”
Leif sits up straight. “What the hell’s going on?”
“Someone trashed my car,” I say. “Took a tire iron to it or something. We don’t know who or why. It may be about Frances being a cop and have nothing to do with me being assaulted at all. But your brother has kindly been babysitting me just in case there’s a big bad dude out to get me.” I look him over and realize something. “You know, you’re not going to fit on the sofa; you’re too tall.”
“I’m six foot two and I’m the runt of the family.” Leif smiles, but it’s a distracted and small thing. “I’ll be okay—don’t worry about me. I’m more worried about you, right now.”
“I can take the sofa. You have the futon in the spare room.”
Ed tops up everyone’s drinks before sitting back down. “You’re not sleeping on the sofa. You heard him: he’ll be fine. And you’re staying here for as long as it takes to make sure you’re safe and okay.”
“We don’t even know if there is a problem.”
“We don’t know that there’s not. Didn’t we just have this argument?”
“That was like twenty-four hours ago,” I say. “It’s clearly time for us to revisit the topic.”
He downs half his drink. “No, we’re good.”