Stepdork

by Murphy, A. E.

  Maybe I should reconnect with them too? I still speak to Molly sometimes but very rarely and never about the past. Brett is married now, he invited me to his wedding but we drifted years ago too. He spiraled again after I left, though not because I left. He ended up in rehab for drug abuse and trying to commit suicide again, but from what he told me a few years ago, he met his true love in rehab and they’re living their happy ever after.

  I should have fought more to keep in touch. I really messed up.

  I close my phone after another long hour of searching for Travis’ profile that just doesn’t exist, and uninstall FB before I can create a profile and do something stupid like reconnect with people when I’m feeling emotional.

  I send Molly a text instead.

  I might be coming back to Cali for TG next month. Want to get a coffee?

  Her reply is immediate.

  Molly: You kidding? Of course! Just let me know when.

  Raven: I will.

  Molly: I miss you. It’s been so long.

  Raven: It has, hasn’t it? :-(

  Molly: I have so much to tell you!

  Raven: Maybe we can FaceTime later?

  Molly: Let’s do that. :D xoxoxox

  Out of all the girls, Cella was the one I expected to stick around. How wrong I was.

  Travis: Mom said you’re visiting for Thanksgiving? Must you?

  Raven: If you really don’t want me there, Travis, I won’t go. I don’t want to ruin your day.

  Travis: Being a fucking martyr won’t make me like you any more than I already don’t.

  Raven: What turned you into such a massive asshole?

  Travis: You did.

  Raven: Okay, so maybe I did, get over it already.

  Travis: I fucking can’t.

  Travis: You don’t have a clue.

  Travis: You do not have a clue.

  His messages come through like rapid fire.

  Travis: You have no idea how badly I wished you were a junkie. I fucking hate that you’ve been happy all these years.

  Raven: You’re being way harsh. Message me when you’ve calmed down.

  Travis: Stay away. Don’t visit. I do not want you here.

  Raven: Why don’t you stay away when I visit? Nobody is forcing you to be there!

  I imagine him stomping around like a petulant child, grumbling under his breath, pushing his shaggy hair back, like how it used to be before he cut it to impress me.

  Why does he hate me so much? He seems to be doing well for himself. So why so much animosity? If he doesn’t want to build bridges with me then fine, but there’s no need for the constant hate.

  Raven: Random question…

  Molly: Go on.

  Raven: What do you know about Travis now? He doesn’t have social media or anything and my parents don’t talk about him much.

  Molly: I’m sorry, honey. I don’t know. Maybe Bris might? She got with Preston for a while back in college but they broke up. I haven’t spoken to her in years though so I don’t have her number.

  Raven: Thanks, Moll. It’s probably nothing.

  Molly: I do remember he didn’t go to university the same year as us, but we went to different places so I could be wrong. I heard he took a gap year or something.

  Raven: How odd.

  Molly: Want me to do some digging?

  Raven: No, it’s okay. I’m sure it’s nothing. Thank you though.

  Molly: Yeah, sure, no problem. <3

  Raven: <3

  The Californian air is brisk but not as brisk as the city is this time of year. I don’t need a jacket, just a light sweater.

  I arrived yesterday morning and spent the day with my dad, we went grocery shopping where he proudly told everybody what I do for a living. Everybody who would listen that is. Then we went home and I helped Shonda prep for Thanksgiving dinner which her family came to. Which Travis didn’t show up for.

  He called, asked if I was there, and then said no way and didn’t show up.

  So of course, I acted like that was fine but really I’m fucking pissed.

  I demanded his address off my dad and borrowed Dad’s car before making the hour drive to Sacramento where Travis lives.

  It’s a gorgeous place, one I frequented as a teen with friends for decent shopping trips. Though for that we mostly went to Malibu or LA.

  I check the fly of my jeans and push my bag strap up my shoulder as I ascend the two steps leading up to Travis’ door. His house from the outside is stunning. It’s a one-story home with a front-facing garage and a small porch by the front door. The yard stretches around the property with a low border fence separating him from his neighbors.

  It’s in a cul-de-sac, a family place definitely. There are kids bikes and scooters lying on front lawns and a basketball hoop below a tree in the middle of the cul-de-sac center. It looks like such a nice, quiet place to live.

  Maybe Dad was right, I shouldn’t have disturbed him. Dad didn’t mean anything by it, I think he’s just worried I’ll get upset. Does Travis’ level of hatred stretch that far for me?

  I knock on the dark, wooden door and stand out of sight of the peephole. I’m worried if he sees me, he’ll ignore the door, but then I realize if he saw Dad’s car rolling up, he’ll ignore the door anyway.

  Perhaps he’s not even home?

  I should have parked around the corner.

  When the door swings open, I offer a smile as my breath catches in my throat. Shaggy hair, a stubbled chin, golden eyes, golden skin, an older, more handsome face than memory can conjure and the few photos I have of him can compare.

  “Hi, Trav,” I softly announce at the exact same time that he breathes a disgruntled, “What the fuck?”

  He’s taller now, maybe even an entire foot taller than me, but I don’t get to assess it or him too much because he slams the door in my face.

  I hear a thud on the other side and bite my lip as I straighten my body.

  “Travis, I just want to talk,” I say through the door, placing my hand flat on the glossy wood. “Please?”

  He doesn’t reply so I knock again and again until my knuckles get sore. “I’m not leaving until you talk to me.”

  Still nothing.

  Sighing, I turn and sit on the chair in the corner, by a small table that is splattered with paint of some kind. I wonder if he still does his action figures.

  I pull out my Kindle and read a book while I wait. I hope he doesn’t make me wait long.

  My phone rings after a few minutes. It’s Dad.

  “S’up?” I ask, placing my Kindle on the dry paint-splattered table.

  “Travis said you’re sitting on his porch, refusing to leave?”

  “Something like that.”

  Dad chuckles but then sighs as heavily as I did moments ago. “I told him if he doesn’t open the door and talk to you, I’ll come down and talk to you both.”

  “Talk to me about what? What don’t I know that everybody else knows?” The door swings open with a light creaking noise and Travis steps out enough for me to get another good look at him. He’s not nerdy at all, not in the slightest, even with the glasses. “Dad, he’s here. Gotta go.”

  I hang up before he can say anything else and stand, ready to face the music I should have faced years ago.

  “Okay, come in, but you only get half an hour,” he barks, his eyes blazing with annoyance and no small amount of anger.

  “Thanks, Trav.”

  “Travis,” he corrects, standing to the side so I can pass him.

  His home smells like peppermint, or some kind of menthol oil. It’s clean, bright, airy, and spacious. Definitely a family home. An odd choice for a single man. Perhaps he’s suffered heartbreak and won the house?

  “Nice place,” I comment, lightly touching the glass dome of a lamp on a desk under the window to the left.

  I notice railings on the walls, handles like they use in the hospital for people with difficulty walking.

  Maybe the house was owned by someb
ody with certain handicaps at one time?

  “Through there,” he says as I take in my surroundings. The walls are bare and a shiny white, no photos to speak of.

  He follows close behind, I can almost feel the heat of his chest at my back.

  “Wow, this kitchen is insane,” I mutter, awestruck at the space.

  “Just had it redesigned,” he replies as I run my hand along the island with its black granite worktops. The cupboard doors are a glossy gray. The modern kitchen doesn’t fit the style of the house, but it works anyway. “Coffee?”

  “Please,” I reply, pulling my hair off my neck and letting the air-conditioning hit my skin. I’m a bit clammy. It’s the nerves.

  I daren’t look at him.

  It’s weird seeing him so grown up, moving around his own kitchen. We really did know each other when we were just children.

  When he places a steaming cup of black coffee in front of me, I finally look up and find his hazel eyes behind his thick glasses. He leans against the bar, staring at me intently, glaring at me like I’m an intruder in his home.

  I’ve never felt less welcome in my life.

  “Why are you here?” he asks, his tone harsh.

  I sip the coffee and gather my wits. “You didn’t come to dinner.”

  His eyes narrow. “You’re a smart girl, Raven, you can figure out why I didn’t come to dinner.”

  I place the mug down and look him directly in the eyes. “I’m sorry for what I did to you. Truly. I am.”

  He waits a beat, and his lips twist upwards with a cynical smile. “That’s it? That’s all you came for? To tell me you’re sorry?”

  I hesitate because I’m still not sure how to approach this. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”

  “I want you to say nothing, go back to the city, and don’t contact me anymore.”

  My lips part. “You contacted me.”

  “Yes, only to deter you from reinserting yourself back into our lives, but I guess you didn’t catch the rather obvious memo.”

  My heart gives a painful thud as I stare at his emotionless face. “I feel like we’re not on the same page. I feel like I’m missing something.”

  He wets his lips and his throat bobs as he swallows. Then he turns away to the coffeepot which was left slightly off center. “The only thing you’re missing is your cue to leave.”

  “Trav…”

  “Stop saying my name like that!”

  I step back when he throws the coffeepot into the sink and it shatters, sending coffee spraying in all directions. Luckily the glass is shatterproof but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t crack into large, sharp pieces.

  “I should go,” I murmur, only now realizing the depth of his anger toward me.

  “Now she gets the message, after the destruction of my favorite coffeepot.” His tone is so fucking condescending.

  “Don’t you dare blame that reaction on me,” I hiss, pointing at him. “That action was your own choice, not mine.”

  His eyes look away, filled with shame. He moves to the sink and I notice he has a slight limp as he walks, his back and broad, muscular shoulders look straighter than natural and I wonder if it’s because he’s trying to hide pain. It’s something I see often in people who are trying to hide injuries in physiotherapy, so they can get signed back into work quicker. It’s not my area of expertise but I like to think I know a little about it.

  It’s something I didn’t notice before about him but then, now that I recall, he walked behind me so why would I? I don’t have the chance to ask him because he curses under his breath after starting to clear away the glass and I watch him reach for a rag.

  “This is just not my day,” he mutters, and I watch as the rag turns from gray to dark red with his blood.

  “That’s deep,” I comment as I watch the blood soak through at a steady pace, and he glares at me over his shoulder. “May I?”

  “Just go,” he begs, his tone weaker than before. He looks so exhausted and I know that’s because of me too. “Please, Raven. I don’t want you here.”

  His tone destroys me, mainly because he sounds so destroyed himself.

  “Okay, I’ll go, as soon as I’ve looked at that hand.”

  “It’s just a scratch.”

  “No, it’s not,” I reply and turn toward the door. I have my work bag in the trunk of my car. I take it everywhere with me in case of an emergency and thank heavens I do.

  When I return, he’s sitting on a stool at the island, trying to wrap a bandage around the cut on his hand.

  After placing the things I might need on a sterile covering on the island, I grab him without permission and toss the bandage to the side.

  “You’re in luck,” I say after carefully assessing the cut. It goes across the base of his thumb to the heel of his palm. “We can get away with a bit of glue, so long as you promise to not get your hand wet for at least forty-eight hours.”

  “Like I said, it’s fine.”

  “If I took you to the hospital they’d give you stitches. That’s not stopping bleeding by itself anytime soon, and especially not with a bandage.”

  He rolls his eyes and waits patiently while I fix him up. He still smells of the aftershave I purchased for his eighteenth birthday. Does he still use it? The scent is so comforting and nostalgic.

  Once I’m satisfied the cut isn’t about to split back open, I spray it clean again and clear away my mess.

  “Thanks,” he mutters, sounding softer than he did. “Will you be sending me a bill?”

  This time I roll my eyes. “No, but maybe now you’ll tell me why you hate me so much.”

  “I don’t hate you.”

  I raise a brow and cross my arms over my chest, leaning my hip against the worktop, my navel almost touching the curves of his bent knees.

  He lets out a laugh, it’s faint but it’s an improvement to how he was. “Okay, so I hate you a little bit.”

  His admission hurts despite the fact I already knew that.

  “I didn’t cheat on you with Lake,” I murmur, placing my hand on his wrist, just below the cut.

  His eyes fly up to mine.

  “I swear it. I have no reason to lie. Lake and I were done before you and I ever slept together, Travis.”

  He looks away and then shakes his head. “I believe you. But that’s not why I… well, it’s part of it but…”

  I listen to him struggle to find the right words and my eyes watch his lips. He used to be so limber, sweet, and kind, happy, and softly spoken. Now he’s athletically muscular, and rough around the edges. He looks like a man, not like the boy I remember.

  His eyes are the only thing that hold that same innocence he had the night he told me he loved me. The night I broke his heart and mine.

  “Are you back for good?” he asks cautiously, changing the subject.

  I shrug. “I might move back when my residency is over. It all depends on you, I guess.”

  He stands suddenly, getting in my space, towering over me, making me feel nervous. “Don’t put that on me. If you want to move back, move back.”

  “If you don’t want me here, I won’t come back, Trav.”

  His eyes darken, his pupils dilate and his voice lowers to a gravelly, deep tone. “Don’t say my name like that.”

  “Why?” I whisper, my eyes level with his sternum, which upon closer inspection has a smattering of light hair peeking over the edge of his dark button up. He’s well dressed which means he likely decided not to come at the very last minute.

  “Just don’t,” he replies harshly.

  I tip my head back to look at him. “I’m sorry for everything I put you through, Travis, but you have to know…”

  “I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”

  I ignore his interruption. “I loved you too. I know I didn’t say it but it’s true. I was terrified of hurting you and every decision I made to protect you from pain, only brought you more than I ever could have imagined. You meant the world to me, Trav
.” His eyes follow the path of the tear that escapes my eye and leaks to my jaw. “I should have said it. I wanted to say it but… I was scared.”

  “If that’s true, why didn’t you come back?”

  “Because by then I thought everybody hated me. Nobody answered the phone when I called, I texted you constantly and you never replied. Preston said you’d moved on with Sierra and didn’t want to hear from me anymore…”

  He narrows his eyes. “Preston is a name I heard a lot back then when it came to our relationship.”

  I frown, keeping my hand on his forearm. “What does that mean?”

  “It was Preston who put you on that swinger site. The one you accused me of doing.”

  I blink with surprise. “No way. Really?”

  “Yep. After we found out that you and Lake hooked up, I wasn’t in a good way. He just wanted to have my back.”

  “I guess I can’t blame him for that.”

  “So I understood why you retaliated the way you did, with the picture… but it was a low blow. You have no idea what I went through after that picture.”

  I place my hand against his chest and feel his familiar heartbeat against my fingers. “I didn’t mean to. I just meant to send it to Sierra. I was so jealous. I wasn’t thinking straight. I saw you both together and I saw red. You have no idea how badly you affected me back then.”

  “I know.” His voice is so soft and tender. “You were just a stupid kid. So was I.”

  “Why didn’t you come after me? If what I did hurt you so much, why didn’t you answer my calls?”