Love Thy Neighbor (Friend-Zoned #2)

by Belle Aurora

  His eyes hold mine for a solid minute. Then he turns and walks out of my room.

  I start to hyperventilate.

  I hear the apartment door close, and it feels so final that I do the only thing I can in this situation.

  I slump forward, my shaking hands barely supporting me, close my eyes tight and howl my sorrow.

  ***

  Someone knocks on Asher’s apartment door.

  It’s been four days since he left. He hasn’t come home. Not once.

  I’m worried.

  He won’t return my calls or even text me that he’s okay. I spent yesterday night in his bed, hoping that if he came home, he wouldn’t have the heart to move me or tell me to get out, but he didn’t come home.

  The girls are trying to figure out what’s wrong with me, but I can’t stomach telling them. I called Nik last night and begged him to tell me where he was, but he said Ash never told him where he was going. So now Nik knows. He said, “Give him time, sweetheart. He’s got a lot to deal with. The demons in his head are sometimes stronger than he is.”

  So now someone knocks on his door and my heart pounds. I automatically think the worst. I imagine it’s a couple of officers standing there, bracing themselves to tell Asher’s loved one that he won’t be coming home. Ever.

  My gut twists and tears blur my vision.

  I may not have been loved back but he was my loved one.

  Unable to stand not knowing, I throw open my door and glance down the hall. A tall, older woman stands there. She turns to face me. I get a good look at her face and immediately I know who she is. My face voids of any emotion and I ask, “Can I help you?”

  She asks politely, “Excuse me. I was just looking for my son. Do you know Asher Collins? I’m Grace.”

  My heart races in anger and my breathing heavies. Rage twists my gut and I flush.

  Grace.

  I want to punch this woman in the throat. No wonder Ash threw his phone at a wall. It was his mother calling.

  How dare she come here?

  She’s dressed like any other mom. This could’ve been my mom. Wearing white linen pants and a light yellow blouse, she looks as if she could be Mother of the Year. Her hair’s styled in a short, neat bob. She looks prim and proper.

  Oh my, how looks can be deceiving.

  My blood boils and before I can control it, my mouth opens and hate flies out. “Oh no, mommy. You have no right to be here. How dare you come here?”

  Her face becomes pained. Her eyes… Asher has her eyes. She opens her mouth to speak but I cut her off. I glare at her through narrowed eyes and tell her, “He is not your son. In order for him to be your son, you would’ve had to protect him at some point in your dismal life. But you didn’t. Did you?”

  Her face crumbles, and I get a twisted sense of pleasure knowing that I’m hurting her. I spit, “Despite all the ugliness you helped put in his life, he survived. You know you helped put that ugliness there, don’t you?” Tears of rage pour down my face. I croak, “You stood there while your husband burnt holes into him, cut him like a piece of meat, beat him and broke his bones. You did nothing to stop that. You should be ashamed of yourself.”

  She covers her mouth with her hand, closes her eyes and silently sobs.

  I need to make her hurt. I want her heart to break.

  I say quietly, “You can forget about him…because he forgot about you a long time ago. And I am not a hateful person, but I hate you and your husband both the same. If there is any justice in this world, his daddy will be shoveling shit in hell. You aren’t his mother. You are nothing. I am his family.”

  I stop to take a good look at this woman. This awful, awful woman. I tell her, “Don’t ever come back here, Grace.” Then I turn on my heel and head back into my apartment.

  Once inside, I rest my back on the door, cover my face in my hands and cry. Sliding down the door, I cry harder.

  Sobs tear out of my throat and my heart breaks some more.

  Come home, Ash.

  ***

  God, whiskey tastes like ass.

  Cringing as I take another sip, I really have no idea how he drank this shit almost every day of his adult life.

  Sitting on my father’s grave, staring into it as if it’ll bring me some answers to the questions I don’t know how to ask, I wonder if he can see me right now.

  My father is dead because of me.

  I killed him without a bat of an eyelash.

  He was a bad man.

  It was a couple of months after I’d left that hell-hole. I took another route home, one closer to my old house. I guessed you could say I was curious to see how they’d been getting on without me. Secretly, I wanted them to be worse off. I wanted dad to realize that I wasn’t the shit thing in his life.

  He was.

  I climbed over the side gate, peeked through the kitchen window and froze at the sight before me.

  He was wailing on mom. She looked like I used to. Black and blue. This was obviously not the first time she took a beating since I’d been gone.

  My anger boiled into a rage and unable to stop myself, I went around the house to the back door and into the kitchen. I took hold of a ten-inch kitchen knife, tore my father off of my barely-conscious mother and reared my arm back before piercing the very center of his gut. I pushed that knife in as deep as I could.

  It took longer than I expected it to, but I took pleasure watching him gurgle and gasp for breath. I saw the exact moment the light faded from his eyes.

  Unsure what to do next, I called Ilia. He told me he’d take care of it and to come straight home.

  My mom tried to hug me but I pushed her away. I told her someone would be there soon to clean up and that she needed to take care of herself. With only a nod, I left my mother with my father’s dead body and never looked back.

  Ilia came home later than normal that night and came straight up to my room. He took the bag full of bloodied clothes I’d been wearing in one hand and searched my face. Just before he turned to leave, he told me in his heavily accented speech, “Turns out your mom knifed him in self-defense. She’s lucky to be alive, son.” Putting a hand on my shoulder, he said, “You did good, Asher. She needed you and you came to her. You are like the archangel Michael. The protector. I’m glad you’re a part of this family.”

  Family.

  I have one of those.

  Coming to an epiphany, I tell my father’s headstone, “I’m nothing like you.”

  I have to get home. I have to see my girl. I somehow have to fix what I fucked up.

  But before I do, there’s one stop I need to make.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Grace

  I knock on the front door and hundreds of memories course through my brain at once.

  It’s been a long time. I used to spend most of my summers here.

  The front door opens and the short, plump woman asks, “Can I help you, son?”

  Shorter than I remember, that’s for sure. Wearing thick coke bottle glasses, I can see her pretty green eyes peeking out from somewhere behind them. Her hair is in a neat bun at the back of her head. Smiling at the sound of her voice, I tell her, “Yeah, aunt Faith, you can help me.”

  She gasps dramatically and holds onto the door frame for support. She leans closer and whispers, “Asher, baby? Is that you?”

  “Yeah. It’s me,” I say, chuckling at her dramatics.

  She blinks. Once, twice, three times.

  Then she squeals and jumps up and down in excitement, her plump body jiggling with every jump. She yells, “Oh, sweet Jesus! Oh lordy lord! I prayed and prayed and prayed for you, baby.”

  She jumps into my arms and smiling like an ass, I hug her tight. I missed my aunt. Pulling back a little, she places her hands on my forearms and says, “Let me get a look at you!”

  She searches my body first, her hands cup my cheeks and she shakes her head and clucks, “Oh, dear me. You turned into a looker, Ashy.”

  I open my mouth to s
peak, but Aunt Faith turns on her heel and walks back into the house. She shouts, “Follow me, honey.” So I do. I open my mouth to speak a second time but she cuts me off again with a shout to another room, “Jeffrey, get off your ass! We’ve got company!”

  Holy shit. Jeffrey’s still alive?

  Jeffrey putters in saying, “What’s with all the squealin’ woman? I can’t hear what the hell’s going on on Wheel of Fortune.”

  Aunt Faith puts a hand on her fleshy hip and responds, “What the hell do you need to hear when you watch Wheel of Fortune? It’s all right there on the screen, Jeff!”

  Uncle Jeff scowls at her and says, “I’m missin’ all the one-liners. Wheel of Fortune ain’t funny if you miss the one-liners. Oh shit, woman. Askin’ you to be quiet is like asking the cat to take a dump on the toilet.” He turns to me with a smirk. “Ain’t gonna happen.”

  I chuckle and watch as his brow furrows. He stares at me long and hard before a small smile breaks out on his face. He whispers, “I don’t believe it. Is that my little man Asher?”

  Smiling so hard my cheeks are starting to hurt, I nod. Uncle Jeff comes forward and wraps me up in a bear hug. I don’t do hugging all that much, but if I’d let anyone hug me, I’d let Jeff or Faith.

  Jeffrey is a large African American man who fell in love with my aunt Faith when they were in college. I’ve never met a more perfect couple in my life. Faith is my mom’s sister and the complete opposite of what my mom is.

  Mom is tall, Faith is short. Mom is graceful, Faith is not. Mom cares about appearances, Faith…not so much. Mom is quiet and Faith is louder than an air horn. Faith is happy…mom is not. Mom told Faith she was making a mistake by marrying a ‘colored’ man, Faith told her to stick it.

  Jeffrey taught me how to throw a football. He taught me how to swing a bat and pitch too. Jeffrey was everything my dad should’ve been and I loved spending summers with them. They never had kids of their own, but they fostered two or three needy kids at a time. They had a lot of love to give and would give it freely to whoever needed it. Faith did a lot of charity work with special needs children and Jeffrey used to coach a baseball team for paraplegic kids.

  They are, for lack of a better word, exceptional.

  Jeff finally lets me go and clears his throat. He says quietly, “How you doing, Ash?”

  Sitting at the table, the same table I sat at as a kid, it all pours out, “If you’d asked me that yesterday, Uncle Jeff, I’d have told you I was doing pretty shitty. But today, I’m better. I’m doing better than I’ve ever been.”

  Aunt Faith’s face softens. She raises her brows as she smiles, “You got yourself a girl, baby?”

  My face falls. I tell her, “I don’t know. I hope I do. I fucked up.”

  Uncle Jeff booms, “Oh hell! Never thought I’d see the day!” He turns to Faith and says, “The boy’s in love, Faithy. Seen that look many, many times before.” He smiles at me and recalls, “I remember this young man told me one day a long time ago that girls were yucky and that he’d never take a wife because he didn’t want to catch cooties.”

  My head falls back and I burst into laughter. I really did say that. Faith and Jeff laugh with me.

  Suddenly, I’m sad. My chest hurts. I tell them both, “You guys were the only good thing in my life, and I’m sorry I never came to see you after I left. You- you helped me a lot and I guess- I guess I just wanted to say thank you.”

  Faith bursts into loud and noisy sobs, and for some reason it makes me want to burst into laughter.

  Aunt Faith…she’s somethin’ else.

  Jeff looks over at me and rolls his eyes. I grin at him. He knows how she is.

  What Faith sputters through tears makes us both sober: “If I’d known- If I’d known, baby. I would’ve taken you away from that place. Never taken you back. You’d have been safe here, Ash. I would’ve protected you with my life.”

  She says this with such conviction that I don’t doubt her, not even for a second.

  Her face remains devastated when she asks quietly, “So all the sports injuries you had? They were really-”

  Cutting her off, I reply, “Yes, ma’am. Never played sports all that much. Dad was a serious case of fucked up.” Turning to Jeff, I say, “You remember how he liked to drink, right? I can’t really remember a time he was sober.”

  We sit in thoughtful silence for a while before I decide to get to the point of my being here.

  I ask, “Do you know where mom is? I don’t want to call her. I don’t actually want to speak to her, but she has something I want.”

  Jeff and Faith look at each other in a way that makes me narrow my eyes. Jeff says quietly, “Well, you see, son, Grace lives here…with us.”

  My back straightens and I look around. I see photos of her on the wall and wonder why it never clicked.

  I ask quietly, “Is she here?”

  Faith looks confused for a moment before saying, “Honey, I thought that was why you were here. She went to see you today.”

  My brow furrows.

  Why the hell would she come to see me? She’d know I wouldn’t want to see her.

  Just as I open my mouth to ask, the front door opens and from down the hall, a familiar voice yells out teasingly, “It’s just me. Don’t shoot, Jeff!”

  She walks into the kitchen with a small smile and says, “Why so glum, chum?” Then she spots me.

  Her body stiffens, her hands fly to her mouth and her bag drops on the ground, its contents spilling everywhere. I take this moment of silence to get a look at her.

  She looks like my mom used to. Happier with bright eyes. I guess she should be happier with my dad gone.

  I stand slowly and, knowing it would hurt her, say in a way of greeting, “Grace.”

  Direct hit.

  Her eyes close tightly, her face pained. I suddenly wonder why I feel like a piece of shit.

  Faith clears her throat and says, “C’mon, Jeff. We’ll give you two some time alone.” They both stand. Faith quickly picks up the contents of mom’s bag, placing it on the counter. They both walk out, leaving me and my mother alone for the first time in twenty years.

  Coming to terms with the fact that her son stands only feet away from her, her face softens and a small smile appears on her face.

  She looks really pretty. I missed that.

  She tells me, “I just went to see you, but you weren’t in.” She shakes her head, smiles and rambles, “Well, of course you weren’t in. You’re here! Which is strange as heck. And I know you don’t want to hear it, but I’m your mom and I’m going to tell you anyways… You grew to be a handsome man, baby.”

  I can’t stop myself from staring at her.

  She’s a different woman to the one I knew twenty years ago. To the woman I hated.

  Who is this woman?

  She claps her hands together, goes through the fridge and says over her shoulder, “I missed lunch so our options are turkey on rye or…” she looks closer before nodding, “turkey on rye, it is.”

  I still haven’t said a word, but she goes about making our sandwiches and talking jibber jabber. She chuckles, “So, like I said, went to your place today and you weren’t there.” She turns to look at me and says, “Ashy, it’s not a great neighborhood, baby. Are you sure it’s safe there?”

  Stunned into silence, I can only nod.

  I feel like I’m ten again.

  She puts the cheese on the bread first then the mayo then the turkey and cuts off the crusts, just how I used to ask for it. By the way she moves around the kitchen, she hasn’t even noticed. She utters, “I guess I should ask what brings you here today, but we can talk about that over lunch.”

  She brings me my sandwich on a plate along with a glass of sweet tea then brings hers over too and sits. She takes a bite of her sandwich and watches me closely. Suddenly feeling awkward, I take a bite of my sandwich and her face erupts into a beautiful smile.

  Unable to fight myself any longer, I say quietly, “You can’t p
retend it never happened, mom.”

  Her face falls a little but not into sadness, into something serious. She tells me, “Asher, I spent twenty years with that man, fearing for my life and yours. I was a different person back then. Did you know that your father threatened me? He told me if I went to the police that he would kill you.” Her face falls further as she whispers, “And I had no doubt he would, baby.”

  Clearing her throat, she speaks a little stronger when she says, “I told myself that if I had you beaten but alive, I was winning. I know I wasn’t there for you, Ash. I wish I could go back and do what you had the strength to do. If I could, I would’ve been the one to end it. But after you’d gone, I felt like I was getting only what I deserved, so I didn’t fight him.”

  I shove half the sandwich in my mouth to stop myself from speaking a little while longer.

  Fuck this, get to the point.

  After I swallow, I tell her, “I want Gram’s ring.”

  She blinks at me wide-eyed for a moment before standing and walking away. Not a minute later she comes back with the blue velvet ring box. She places it on the table in front of me, opens it and says, “Asher, this was yours from the day you were born, baby. No need to ask for what’s yours. That’s why I’ve been calling. I came to bring this to you today. This and something else. Something I’m sure you won’t want, but I have to give it to you.”

  I don’t ask her what she wants to give me so she takes this as permission to continue. She says, “When Robert… When he died, I didn’t realize just how much he had his life insurance payment set to. After his death was ruled self-defense, I got that inheritance and put it in a bank account. You were still underage, Asher, so I had them put it under your name. It’s been sitting there for almost twenty years and I don’t want the burden anymore. I can’t touch the money anymore. You’re an adult now, and I can’t access it, so you need to make a decision about what you want to do with it, baby.”

  I scowl down at the table.

  I can’t believe this shit.

  I sneer, “You’re seriously fucking throwing this on me now? Seriously, Ma? I don’t fucking believe this shit.”