by Elena Monroe
Aspen walked out of the shower with a towel around his waist, his toned stomach on display, and a sense of awareness the guilty version never had. He never minded us as he dug through his weekender bag to find his extra set of clothes. I pulled my thin, old t-shirt back on, suddenly feeling very naked without a shirt. Caden was in just underwear, but he was always semi-naked, making this normal.
“Breakfast sounds good. They’re not gonna be awake after last night and that much blow, until we wake them.”
Firsthand experience: blow takes a toll on you, and you paid for it by sleeping most of the next day off, if you were lucky. Most people lost a day to sleep altogether. Only serious users were able to party and wake up the next day almost unscathed; I never reached that level. I was somewhere in-between, and that that fact alone always justified my control to myself—at least I wasn’t losing days kind of attitude.
Aspen knew a breakfast spot within walking distance from the hotel, and no one argued. Food was food. We weren’t Instagramming it or on specific diets; we were just hungry.
Caden almost ran ahead of us, like he hadn’t eaten in years, and Aspen shouted behind him, “Didn’t you just eat cereal?”
“Don’t food shame me! That was a snack!”
We all laughed in this comforting way. I had missed them, regardless of if I wanted to admit it or not. I was in Amherst, two hours away, ignoring my phone and making excuses for why I was better on my own, when really I was looking for independence that didn’t require me to sacrifice my family. I knew why I assumed I couldn’t have freedom and them simultaneously. Everything was high/low, group discussions, and being on the same page. I wanted to be in an unmarked book, with old pages, and no blurb. I wanted to be my own person. None of that was all it was cracked up to be; I was pretending to be a saint.
It took five years to see that Caden was always right: once a Sinner, always a Sinner.
We walked past a jewelry shop window, and a ring, dead center, placed on blue satin, caught my eye. I didn’t realize that I had stopped until Caden pushed his head between me and the window to look too. I could see Aspen’s reflection in the reflective surface of the window smirking.
“Are you… asking Maddison?”
He unfolded his arms, and an expression washed over him, like when your answer is so far off your face makes a physical express of “what the fuck?”
“No, but you’re asking Layla.”
Now I was returning the same look, and Caden snapped up with silent excitement.
“We just got back together,” I explained.
“Don’t use that as an excuse, Ollie. That time apart doesn’t count. You both needed to forgive yourselves and love yourselves, before you could really be each other’s.”
I stayed silent, and Caden held the door open for us to walk through. As much Aspen embodied back stabbing in my absence his words were nothing, but raw loyalty. He always preaching forgiving yourself in his sober moments I could appreciate. I already forgave him, but now I was softening to liking him the way I did before his wreck ruined his personality.
“Why do I feel played right now? Was this always the plan? How drunk was I last night?”
I had more questions running through my mind, but those were the only ones to make it past my lips. Caden laughed beyond the socially acceptable time before he answered me, “Trust me, the scotch got you talking. Nothing we didn’t already know.”
There was a girl dripping in shiny diamonds at the glass counter—prim and proper, statuesque. You wouldn’t think she was animated until she asked if we needed help. I wanted the kind of diamond glimmer on her wrist as she waved a hand over the item right below. “Would you like to see any of these?”
Suddenly, my palms felt sweaty, and my arms felt heavy, standing there, surrounded by diamonds.
Aspen seemed comfortable. “The ring in front, teardrop? We’d like to see that one.”
She hesitated. That ring was a pretty penny, and together, we looked like every walk of life, mixed and matched. She couldn’t see through us enough to discern if we were wasting her time or not. I knew we were, but my friends were busy planting seeds of marriage. She went to the window, pulled out the ring carefully, and held it with two hands, like her life depended on it. She looked nervous under her frozen smile as she sat it down on the glass counter and let us look without a window between us.
I didn’t take a closer look or ask questions. I knew the ring staring back at me was meant for Layla, and I was meant to be the one to give it to her.
She deserved something beautiful with sharp edges and dual meaning, just like us. We were Sinners, but sometimes Saints—that was more like it. This ring was happy and sad all at once. Why else would someone make a teardrop-shaped diamond?
Aspen leaned forward, “How much?”
She coughed, like it was too big of a number to even say out loud. She choked out the figure that had more than one comma. I didn’t care; it could have been all my money from trusts to last salary checks, and I would have forked over every cent. I took out my wallet, while at the same time, I told her, “I don’t care what size it is. I’ll take that one, today.” I forked over my card, tossing it on the glass surface and listening for the ping of the plastic.
“Sir, are you sure?”
I nodded my head at her hesitation. “Look, sweetheart, I have the money. Swipe the card.”
Caden’s eyes were wide with excitement when his hand landed on my shoulder like I joked around on the regular.
“Bro! You’re gonna really gonna ask her to marry you?”
The girl took my card to the back with the ring to box it up, while I finally wiped my palms against the front of my jeans. I wasn’t nervous, but the condensation beaded up on my palms was a clear sign of something.
“At Liz’s wedding reception? It’ll be the perfect time.”
The guys were in a state of quiet shock after the confession came so easily from my mouth. I didn’t even think about it; it all came so naturally, like breathing. It was a simple truth—just like all the other truths I rallied up over the last five years:
I had a son with a girl too unwilling to change for him, forcing me to be both roles now.
I got out of a toxic relationship with blow and blocked her number.
I chased reckless behavior instead of highs now.
I lost the girl I loved for five years, only to find her with my mortal enemy, only to win back a version I didn’t know as well—stronger, more confident, and everything I wanted her to have, but I couldn’t give her.
I got fired for something I didn’t do, but it was a blessing instead of a curse.
I was going to ask Layla to marry me.
Once the ring was safely in my jacket pocket, we got breakfast, and none of us could stop smiling. I was high off the possibility of Layla. My addiction to her was only getting worse.
After breakfast and a pit stop at the hotel first, we all piled into the Uber to the private airstrip. Leon didn’t pull any punches; he wanted people to envy him. I wondered if that was where Caden got it, or he simply connected with him on common ground.
I stopped Leon from going up the stairs with my hand on his chest, holding him back. He could pull his macho shit, but I perfected a certain brand of cruelty that made even the strongest crumble.
“About Liz…” I took the step above me, becoming taller than him before I continued. He had nowhere to run with me blocking the entrance. “I’m permanent. And not because there are feelings or motives. I’m protective and always will be; she’s my family. And, stop the blow before you wreck everything you care about.”
He scoffed and averted his eyes in any other direction, but mine locked on his when he spoke: “When are you gonna grow up? There’s no grey area for you to hide in anymore. It’s all black and white in the real world—family or stranger, friend or enemy, success or failure…”
He shoulder checked me as he pushed by me, and I spoke louder so I knew he could hear me. “W
atch yourself, Leon. I’m not called a Saint. There’s a lot of regret on my hands.”
Pushing every button I had, he didn’t stop or keep arguing. It was clear he hated our bond and hated the Sinners being family more. In a way, I understood his insecurities. How could one person compare to a group of make-shift family? How could he figure out where to fit when her dance card was full?
I wasn’t trading the Sinners for Layla; she was a Sinner, both family and the love of my life.
The plane ride was quiet. Everyone’s heads dipped low, and mouths fell open from exhaustion still hugging their bones. I knew how they felt, but my mind was racing, trying to figure out how to propose in 5 hours to Layla. I found a pen and used the thick napkin to write on, during the short flight, while I had the quiet time on my hands and the weight of the ring on my heart strings.
It wasn’t until I cut open my chest and poured my heart out onto the napkin that I pulled out my phone to text her.
Me: I have to run an errand before the wedding and pick up my tux. Can Arson stay with you? I’ll have the nanny pick him up before the wedding.
Arson wasn’t going to the wedding—not because it wasn’t kid friendly, but because I wanted this moment reserved for us. Two souls, two hearts, and one yes.
Layla: Sure. How was the bachelor party?
Me: I was there, and that never promises a dull moment. I still despise Leon.
Layla: Can’t wait to hear about it. I’m being summoned to hair and makeup. Don’t be late. She’s already making me stressed.
I could feel the tension, even in her texts, like an employee running to the bathroom to use their phone against company policy. I wouldn’t expect anything less from the uptight, chronically OCD, borderline perfectionist. That’s how I spotted flaws in her design, when her compulsions dulled and her energy amplified—not that she had a need for pills anymore. There were no tests, grades, or reading material for being an adult. Standing up, I folded the napkin and shoved it into my pocket along with the ring.
“I gotta go to Amherst before the wedding. I’ll be back in time.”
Caden made a fist before it bumped into mine. “Don’t be late. She’ll make sure you get the death chair.”
I had enough time to go home, grab my suit, and get some motherly advice before taking a knee—something I wasn’t sure I would do yet. We weren’t traditional, and we certainly did not play by the rules.
The first thing I did, while my car warmed up, was text the nanny, who was happy to pick up Arson, even if it was in Boston. She had seen him grow up as much as I had, and there was something very genuine in the love she had for him. I couldn’t deny she was a kid whisperer. There was no other way to explain it.
The drive seemed shorter; maybe it was the frequency of how often I was driving to Boston now to see Layla. The trips were getting easier. I knew I wanted to talk to my mom before I asked anyone anything. Layla didn’t have a dad to ask for her hand in marriage, and I didn’t have enough time to hunt her mother down. I had put my mom through Hell and back; she deserved me doing something undoubtedly right. No blow, no reckless behavior, no cruel words, no sins in sight. Just her son overcoming it all for a happy ending instead of the more common coffin.
I didn’t knock or even check for Richard’s car when I let myself into their house. It was hard to feel detached from their home as an adult who didn’t live there anymore. I still felt like I had ownership of it somehow, and I didn’t even have a room there anymore. All that changed when I came back from rehab to live in the guest house. I didn’t truly blame them; after all the bullshit I put them through, it could have been worse. In rehab, I heard about parents actually calling the cops on their own kids and cutting ties completely. It could have been much worse for me, and I was grateful.
“Mom!”
I immediately stopped at the kitchen first, then I headed up stairs to their bedroom, where I still came up empty. I took two stairs at a time, cutting down the time of searching their mini mansion.
“Mom! I gotta talk to you!”
Without knocking, I pushed open their door and came up empty again, but I saw the light on in the bathroom glowing from under the door cracked open. I leaned against the wall next to the door.
“Mom, you in there? Damn, you’re hard to find—”
The door flew open, and the wrong parent emerged: Richard—the guy who never wanted me, the guy who got me to cry in his arms, while keeping my son secret, and now the guy I cared even less for. My fists felt tight in my hoodie, as he walked across his bedroom to the dresser in just his boxers. He didn’t have a single gray hair; his body wasn’t flabby or untoned, even though his muscles looked less obvious without his button-down shirt. His skin was an olive complexion, and his eyes were dark. You couldn’t see any emotions or dreams in them, only nightmares.
“Oliver, what are you doing here? Your mom just stepped out.”
Richard, with the heavy hand and paper heart, hadn’t come back since that moment in his office. He was firmly planted in this amiable version of himself I couldn’t recognize still. Considerate, kind, patient… all the things his addict son needed before and never got. It made me hate him more for being able to suddenly be the person I always wanted.
“I need to talk to mom. I’ll just text her.”
I pulled out my phone, not moving. I wanted to rub it in his face that I would rather stand in front of him, texting my mom, than talk to him.
“Something I can help with? Is it Arson?”
I forced my eyes to stay glued to my phone screen. My whole body felt ten degrees hotter, and my muscles felt atrophied when I tried to move any one of them. I hated him even more when he said my son’s name.
“No, I just wanted her to know some stuff.”
He twisted the chair around after he finished tying his joggers in place and sat down facing me. “You can’t avoid me forever, Oliver. I know we don’t have the best relationship, but I meant what I said in my office. I want us to move on from this.”
“Moving on from you hiding my son from me?”
“You weren’t in any state to take care of an infant—neither of you were. She came to me for money and help. It was her choice, Oliver, as his mother.”
“Don’t you think that would have sobered me up, since you were so worried? It was my choice to make too.”
His palms smoothed against his thighs in an active motion to not make fists. “It would have sobered you up for the wrong reasons. You didn’t need that kind of additional stress, while trying to get sober. It may have been a mistake, but I don’t regret putting your health first. You’re my child.”
His words made the breath hitch in my throat without trying. Whatever asshole remark I was going to make was erased when my eyes felt suddenly heavy with possible tears. It took those words for it to all make sense in my mind. If Arson wasn’t sober and I had to choose between his health and a child that could be his, I would do the same thing. I was here to protect Arson, not the Jades of the world.
Nothing about Richard made sense to me until now.
He may be an asshole, but he was loving me in a way I couldn’t see before.
“You should have told me.”
I still kept my eyes on my phone, even though I wasn’t actively texting anyone. It would take too much strength I didn’t have sober to look at him and not crumble. There was no drugs padding between me and my emotions; I felt it all too much now.
I watched Richard stand up as I looked down, and his feet moved closer to me. I waited for impact—not of a heavy hand, but his arms this time.
His muscular arms wrapped around me tightly, and he kept me against his chest, crushing my hands and phone in the process. He didn’t care; this was bigger. He was crushing all the doubt and hate I had for him in one action. His worn voice felt warm against my hair. “I’m sorry, Oliver. I should have told you about Arson. That wasn’t my choice. I didn’t wanna lose you.”
I held back everything threatening to pour
out by biting the inside of my cheek and not letting go until he did. I stayed silent, letting him crush me. I needed to be crushed until the shit I didn’t need to hold onto disappeared for good. I couldn’t be the man Layla needed until I locked up all my demons.
When he finally pulled away, I dug into my pocket and dropped down the little box onto the bed. He immediately scooped up the box and looked at me with pure shock, until his grin took over every other emotion. He opened the box and pulled me into another hug, like he couldn’t be more proud that I ended up this way, despite our own issues.
“I’m proud of you, Oliver! You deserve this moment. You’ve come so far.”
I wanted to correct him; we had all come this far. None of us got too far ahead of anyone else. Even Richard was continuously fitting himself into what I needed, even if that meant hiding his love to make me this strong. Nothing was without reason, and nothing was ever just one thing. We were all dual meanings, deep reasoning, and fitting into different roles that life demanded of us.
Once in a while, someone could scream at your soul and cause a wave of change. My wave was named Layla, and she was about to become mine forever.
S itting in the makeup chair gave me enough time to ponder college, post-grad nightmares, and the five years it took to get here. I still looked like the same Layla: innocent features, sinful past… and the present was a mixed bag of each. It took five years to realize that there was no black and white. The world was filled with shades of gray, all varying different confusions. Nothing was as it seemed, and nothing was ever as straightforward as black and white.
Liz was getting married, and I didn’t know why that felt like the optimal sign of being an adult, instead of some romantic gesture, like it really was.
“All done, sweetie.”
I looked into the mirror, and my features were molded into sharp ones with contours and highlights. I was wearing more makeup than in all of my life combined. I felt the heavy mask not quite sink into my pores. I shrugged, knowing it was Liz’s day, and that, one day, her attention to detail would save my own wedding’s ass…