by Quin Perin
“I want you to get to know him. He’s a good man. You’ll like him,” she called from the hallway. My sister was annoying as hell, but I knew what she was trying to do.
We’d both cut the cord to our parents, while Steven had been the golden boy. We only had each other, and I think the reality of it had finally settled in for her. I stretched and then, without a word, slid out of the room. I stopped before entering the bathroom, reached out for her, and wrapped my arms around her shoulders. Sara stiffened for a second before she literally melted into the hug. The duvet between us was soft and still warm. Things hadn’t been easy on her. She’d been on her own since she was twenty-one and had gotten pregnant with Leslie. Sara had raised her alone until she passed through this little town and met Jan. And well, I hadn’t been the perfect big brother either, hopping from continent to continent without staying in touch. Until recently—until she’d called me about Steven’s accident.
We stood in the hallway for a moment until Leslie, who was five years old by now, dropped something in the living room. Sara twisted out of my grasp, blinking back tears. We didn’t speak about these things in our family. We swallowed back the pain, bottled it up, and ignored it. Neither of us had the cash to fly over to the States to visit our brother’s grave. I’d scraped together every last bit to fly to Amsterdam; then I’d taken the train to come here. We were family, and this was all we had left.
I took a long shower, washing my hair as well as my beard. Whenever I grew my beard out, I regretted my decision a few days later. It itched so bad I was gonna shave it off right then and there. But beard oil had helped soothe the goddamn itch. Plus, I liked how it looked on me. Some said I had that whole lumberjack thing going, and I wasn’t going to object. I rubbed some of the oil in after toweling myself dry, then headed back to my makeshift bedroom to get some clothes. Leslie and Sara were already gone.
Sara’s little family lived in a three-bedroom apartment facing the sea. There were too many people living in this building for my taste. At least thirty families, but who was counting? Even with the shore right there, a couple of hundred yards away, the whole place seemed cold and grey. I pulled on a white hoodie and zipped up my jeans, getting ready for lunch. Perhaps I should have gone for a jog along the beach today. There were no rays of sunshine though, nothing that would brighten up the dull view, but—
Hold on.
The office window faced the exact same bench I’d sat on yesterday afternoon. There was a ray of Asian sunshine. That guy. For some reason that made me smile. I checked the time, confirming that it was barely after 1 PM. Jetlag had me all messed up. I was ready for dinner when we’d have lunch soon. Perhaps I could sneak a peek at him before we got to that.
Swiftly, I pulled on a pair of clean socks and hurried down the hallway, stuffing my feet into old sneakers that looked as if they were about to fall apart. I stumbled, rushing as if I was going to miss an epic sunset or something. Before I leaped out the door, I hesitated. I was going outside to stare at a guy. That was the bottom line of it. He was so incredibly...pretty. Or was he really? Maybe sleep deprivation had gotten the better of me yesterday. Maybe it’d been an illusion. As I bounded downstairs, I texted Sara I’d be outside, and I’d come back shortly.
I crossed the street. A few tourists took pictures of large ships passing by. Maybe that was what the guy came here for. As I approached, I noticed he wasn’t wearing a scarf today. His throat was exposed—pale and slender. And the closer I got, the more my memories were confirmed. He was fucking beautiful. Same smile. Same dimples. This time, his arms were stretched out and hooked around the back of the bench. He moved slightly at the sound of my footsteps, but I didn’t say anything. I stood and stared.
I was gaping at a stranger in the middle of the day. But truthfully, I didn’t care. I admired the line of his jaw, the pointed chin, and that plump, pink bottom lip. Jesus. His skin was flawless, clean-shaven, and his eyebrows looked trimmed. Compared to me, I’d say we were the exact opposite. And then he pulled off his knitted hat without so much as sparing me a glance.
Yup, complete opposite.
He had thick black hair, shorter than mine but long enough to brush across his forehead. His thin fingers tucked the wild strands back behind his ears before the wind could take care of them. The hat landed in his lap.
If I had to guess, he was about seven inches shorter than me. Maybe a little less. I wasn’t sure, but what did it matter anyway? Not daring to move, I glanced at the sea. It wasn’t rough today; instead, the waves lazily caressed the sand, taking pieces of itself back and tinging the rest with a darker shade. I wanted to say something, wanted to speak. But like a fucking creep, I stood there with my thumbs hooked in the pockets of my jeans and my wet hair whipping around freely. I’d forgotten to pull it back, and it made it hard to see him, so I did it now. After wrapping the elastic from my wrist around the hair on the back of my head, I faced him again.
Something told me he knew I was there despite his closed eyes. He hummed softly, and when he sat up on the bench and grabbed his hat, the words were on the tip of my tongue. You come here often? But somehow...they couldn’t get past my lips.
And so I watched him walk away.
My sister, Jan, and Leslie were already back at the apartment when I rang the doorbell. It was still weird that I hadn’t been able to stop looking at him. I’d seen him twice, and yet it was like he’d imprinted on me. If I closed my eyes, I could still see the pout of his lips.
Jan smiled at me, carrying Leslie on his hip down the hallway when I made my way back inside. “Needed some fresh air, eh?” he asked as I peeled my shoes off and pushed the door shut. Curly blond hair, a thick mass that reminded me of a cloud, hung around his pale and freckled face. He was clean-shaven with vivid blue eyes. He wore a dark blue turtleneck sweater and black jeans, topped off with ringed socks. White and yellow. I blinked. That guy was weird. I could picture him as a lighthouse keeper in the middle of nowhere, dressed in a yellow rain slicker while the waves crashed around him and he guided ships to safety. That kind of weird.
“Yeah, I just, uh, I like to be outside. I’m the brother,” I said and held my hand out in greeting, only to realize he didn’t have a hand free. Jan smiled.
“Figured, didn’t expect any other guy marching in here.” He adjusted his hold on Leslie, who bit her fingernail. She looked intently at me. I hadn’t seen the kid for almost two years. Not since I’d started backpacking around the world.
“It’s a shame,” Jan began as he headed into the kitchen where Sara was chopping carrots and zucchini. “The weather turned right before you got here. Two days ago we had a late summer party at the beach. It was a blast.”
I nodded, following him inside the kitchen, where he placed Leslie on a chair at the table. She instantly turned on her knees, chubby fingers—nails painted a bright pink—clutching at the back of the chair as she watched me. I’d met her twice, once right after she’d been born and the second time before I went on my journey around the world.
There were family pictures all over the wall above the kitchen cabinets of the new family Sara had gathered around her. Jan, his parents, and a woman who could have easily been his sister. They had the same lighthouse style going on. I scanned across them while Jan and Sara got busy making lunch in the background, catching little snippets of their conversation. When Jan asked, “Liefje, kan ik je met iets helpen?” I had no clue what it meant.
Up on the wall was one picture of Steven and me, facing the camera, when I had graduated from high school. He’d been the eldest, three years older than me, while Sara was two years younger than I was. Like me, she’d decided to opt out of our family ties, but she was smart enough to do it after college and not after spending several years in a shitty career. Instead, she’d headed to Spain when she was twenty-one. And there, she’d fallen in love and gotten pregnant. I glanced at the result of that short love affair. Leslie was a bright kid, and since I last saw her, Sara had taught her English,
whereas Jan made sure she could speak Dutch as well. Currently, she occupied herself with a book and alternated between reading a page and looking up at me. I smiled. She was a cute little kid with a purple bow in her brownish hair, clipping a strand aside. She had olive skin, big dark eyes. All inherited from her deadbeat of a bio-dad. When I sat down opposite her, she clapped the book shut and straightened in her chair.
“I like your hair,” she told me, all business. Sara barked out a laugh in the background. “Can I braid it?” Leslie asked innocently as if it was the most normal thing in the world.
Now I laughed. “Honey, I don’t think it is long enough for that.” I chuckled.
“Not yet,” Sara quipped, which made me scowl at her.
“It will not come to that,” I promised her quickly when Leslie pushed herself up on the table and reached for my chin. As her fingers grazed my beard, she started to giggle and beam. It had that weird feel between scratchy and soft.
“You’re strange.” Leslie decided and plopped back onto her chair and then scurried away to help prepare lunch.
We spent the afternoon talking about where I’d been the past two years. And despite my initial thoughts, it was nice to sit and talk with my family. I usually spent my days and nights in places where I knew nobody, and quite frankly, I hadn’t even realized how exhausting it had been. Eventually, Leslie and I had settled in front of the TV where she scanned up my forearms and examined each and every one of my tattoos. I’d collected them during my yearly travels, but now they’d become much larger and more colorful. Job-ender tattoos were what our parents had always called them. So noticeable that no one respectable would ever hire me. They were even visible under a long-sleeved shirt. Starting at the back of my hands, some led straight to my shoulders. Others twisted around my wrist and forearms and then merged with the one I had on my chest.
“Naptime!”
Sara’s singsong voice tore my attention away from the TV. I’d gotten entirely into whatever cartoon Leslie was watching. I didn’t understand the language, but it was fascinating.
“Don’t wanna.” Leslie instantly pouted, crossing her arms over her chest. She looked way too much like her mother when she did that.
“Leslie…” Sara warned.
“Wanna stay,” she whined. She fisted one of her hands in the sleeve of my shirt, holding on tightly.
“It’s time for a nap, Leslie.” Sara tried to sound firm, but I could see a smile twitching at her lips.
“But…” Imploring eyes turned to me, and Leslie directed all of her cuteness my way.
I melted. But just a bit. “It’s out of my hands, kiddo.” I’d be a terrible parent. I’d have given in right away. “You need to do what your mama says.”
Another whine and she held her arms out toward Sara, allowing herself to get picked up. “Meanie,” she directed at me.
I laughed, rising from the couch. “Ouch! That hurt,” I told her.
She huffed, and they trotted off into her bedroom. Really, I had a feeling naptime was mostly for Sara, not Leslie. Waiting until the door shut, I retreated into Jan’s office to check a few emails and review the changes my editor requested.
I’d been working on a new book these past few months. The last ones I’d published were mainly focusing on my time in South America, North America, and Europe. This one was about Asia. I’d spent so much time on the road that my head had burst with stories to tell. My editor had gotten back to me on a few parts of the book I needed to work on. It annoyed me, but it had to be done, and I’d already kept her waiting because of my recent travels.
I was almost done going through my inbox when someone knocked on the door, making me look up from my laptop. It was Sara, ensconced in a sweater to keep warm.
“Hey,” I said with a smile. A couple of hours with her had really helped us ease back into our brother-sister relationship. I’d missed her, even if she could be a pain in the ass sometimes.
“What are you doing?” She crossed her arms, tugging the sweater around herself.
“Just going through a couple of emails.”
Sara hummed and leaned against the desk opposite me, facing me on the couch. “It’s good seeing you. Leslie missed you. You’re her uncle after all.”
I set my laptop aside before I clicked it shut, not wanting to seem distracted.
“Yeah, it’s been nice seeing her. Sorry for being so grumpy yesterday.”
“And this morning,” she reminded me.
I narrowed my eyes in a playful glare and rested my elbows on my knees.
“I’m glad I came here.”
Sara smiled and glanced over at the backpack I’d placed next to my couch/bed. It wasn’t exactly small, but considering all of my belongings were in there, it wasn’t big either.
“That’s all you own?” There was disbelief in her voice, a tone I recognized all too well.
I eyed my half-opened backpack. “Yup.”
My clothes were neatly rolled up, and there was a plastic bag for clothes that needed washing. Usually, I spent my time in countries that weren’t cold or rainy. Not like here. So I mostly wore shorts and a few sleeveless shirts. Very casual. My running shoes took up most of the space, but I wouldn’t want to miss them.
“Yeah, I got rid of everything I owned, sold most of it.”
“Drastic.”
“Guess so.” I shrugged one shoulder, then leaned back against the couch, pulling my legs up with me so I could rest my forearms on my knees.
“Are you happy?” Sara asked and met my eyes.
“Very,” I confirmed. “You don’t have to worry about me. I’m a big boy.”
She turned her head, but even then, I could tell she was fighting tears. Steven had died on the highway on his way to work, whereas I skipped across continents without a scratch.
“I know...but—” Sara sucked in a ragged breath, which had me jumping to my feet. I knew that sound all too well. I crossed the space between us and once more, like before, pulled her against me.
“This is about Steven. I know,” I whispered in her ear as she began to cry into my shirt, her tears soaking through the fabric and wetting my chest.
I closed my arms tighter around her weeping form as she let loose against me. I’d barely grieved myself. When she’d called me about Steven, I’d been in Phuket, eating fish in a farmer’s market and laughing with an old sailor. There’d been no one else I could have shared the terrible news with. And so I’d kept it to myself. Bottled it up. Like always.
“I’m here now,” I told her, lips against her ear. She nodded, inhaling gulps of air as her entire body shivered with the rolling tears. “We’ll be okay.”
FOUR
Dima
“Dima!”
It was too fucking early for that bright, chipper voice to hit my ears. I tightened my fingers around the handle of my spoon. Footsteps scurried over, and hands smacked down on the counter. I kept my back toward the door, wishing I didn’t have to acknowledge the man.
“Dima! Hey!”
My shoulders tensed, and I sighed, squeezing my eyes shut. “Hey, Tim.”
“Can you come out and talk for a moment?” He sounded like a hopeful puppy.
“I’m really kinda busy…” To stress my point, I beat my batter harder, the spoon clattering against the sides of the bowl. Sometimes, even with all the nice machines Jan had, I liked doing everything by hand.
“C’mon. Just for a minute. Then you can get back to work,” he said. “Please?”
Ugh, he was pouting.
“Fine.” Setting my bowl down, I carefully wiped my fingers off on a towel before heading from the kitchen to the back of the building. The moment the door slammed shut, Tim was standing right in front of me. He cupped my cheek and leaned in to press a kiss to my lips. Too fast for me to stop it.
Turning my head when he dipped back in for another kiss, I pursed my lips. I didn’t like being affectionate in public. Especially not with him. “What do you want?”
&n
bsp; “Whatcha up to tonight?” he asked.
He tried to sound casual, but the words felt like a loaded gun. Tim had gone way past casual. He wanted more from me. We’d been fooling around for a few weeks. Nothing serious. He’d come over when I got home from work sometimes, and once or twice we’d gone to the park not too far from where he lived. We would fuck, get off, and that was it. I didn’t want anything more. I’d been very clear about not wanting more. Tim had agreed he wasn’t looking for a relationship. That was the way I liked it. No drama. No man. Me, my apartment, my job, and the sea. All that I needed to be happy.
“I have plans.” I turned to head back inside, but his hand on my shoulder stopped me.
“What kind of plans?” The kicked puppy shtick was definitely not working for me.
“Look, Tim. I have plans not involving you. For all the near future.” I picked his hand off of my shoulder and let it fall. Crossing my arms over my chest, I tried my hardest to look as unapproachable as possible. I didn’t want him to touch me again. Didn’t want him to think he had a chance. “This isn’t working for me.”
“What do you mean? What’s not working?” he asked, dropping to a whisper.
“This. Us. I don’t want to do it anymore.” I suppose I should have felt guilty. It wasn’t the nicest way to let him down. But he was the one trying to break our verbal agreement.
“Why?” His voice rose and cracked, sounding like a teenage boy who hadn’t hit puberty yet.
I barely managed to keep the grimace from my face. His voice had been a turnoff for me from the very beginning, but he’d been there at the right time. I was willing to make a compromise. Especially since he was decent in bed. But really, I wanted a man to fuck me. A growling, deep-voiced man whose words made me tremble and drop to my knees. Someone with big hands. A cock almost too much to take. Tim was not that. And he was turning fucking clingy.