Trouble (Orsen Brothers #1)

by Aubrey Watts

  I rolled my eyes and sighed into my palm. “You don’t have to do that. It’s been over a half hour since I bought it. Just drink it already.”

  “Yes, well…” She waved a hand in the air derisively. “Never mind that. I burned my tongue this morning. You smell like sin and your eyes are puffed up the size of golf balls. Coffee can’t disguise that can it? Have you been going to your meetings?”

  “Every Wednesday night like clockwork…”

  “Tonight, then?”

  I squinted at the calendar hanging on the wall behind her chair. The page was pinned on March. It was August. “Is it hump day already?”

  “Venus…”

  “I’m kidding.” I sat up straighter. “Sheesh...”

  “And I assume Stephen will be going with you?”

  “What would make you think that?”

  “Sorry?”

  “That he would be going with me,” I clarified, “you know how his schedule is. Besides…therapy isn’t really his thing.”

  “Isn’t really his thing?” She snorted and rolled her eyes. “It’s your mental health, darling, not a cocktail party he’d rather not attend…”

  I pulled my cigarettes from my purse and shook one free from the pack. “I don’t know how many times I have to explain it to you,” I said, “we’re separated. He’s not obligated to go with me to things and I quite prefer it that he doesn’t.”

  “Separated isn’t the same as divorced,” she noted, pointing her pen at me. “You should still be trying to make progress.”

  “We’re making progress,” I lied, “we get together once a week. In fact, you’re right. I’ll be seeing him for dinner tonight.”

  “After AA?”

  “Right…” I pressed the end of the cigarette between my lips and lit it with a peeling lighter, taking a slow drag. I stopped going to those meetings months ago but the last thing I needed was her on my case anymore than she already was. “After. We’re going out for our anniversary.”

  “Well, that’s fantastic.” Her entire face lit up like a jack-o-lantern. “It’s good to know I don’t have to abandon the hope of ever having grandchildren…”

  “Oh, god.” I let out an audible snort and flicked a piece of ash off my blouse. “That’s a little crass don’t you think?”

  “What?” she retorted, feigning offense. Her smile dissolved and she narrowed her eyes at me. “So I want at least one of my daughters to give me grandchildren one day, is that really such a crime?”

  Unbelievable…

  I shook my head in disbelief. She even found a way to make Luna’s early menopause about her.

  “God, is that really all we are to you?” I questioned, my eyes darting briefly to a copy of her best selling book—Venus Unearthed—propped up on the shelf behind her. “Baby making machines? Hot topics for you to write about?”

  “Venus…”

  There she went. Saying my name in that way again.

  “Please,” I interrupted, rubbing my temple. “Can you just not?”

  “Honestly…” She sat up straighter and shook her head, running her fingers through her perfectly tousled hair as she pursued her lips. “Why do you always have to be so negative? Taking a more light hearted approach every now and then would only help you…”

  “You’re one to talk.”

  “I just think it’s something you should be thinking about sweetheart. You only have a small window of time to…”

  “What part of ‘separated’ don’t you understand mother?”

  “I know, I know.” She held up her hands and shook her head. “I’m not trying to upset you. It’s just, if I don’t remind you of these things who will?”

  Her tone couldn’t have sounded more condescending if she tried.

  “You know,” I spoke up, “I didn’t realize I was here to be grilled about my reproductive health…”

  “You’re not,” she said, sighing into her palm and keeping her eyes trained on me. “But Stephen wants children doesn’t he?”

  “We haven’t talked about it,” I lied, clenching my jaw.

  She nodded and uncapped her pen, pressing it against her notepad. “Since the separation?”

  “No,” I corrected. My mouth suddenly felt dry. I flicked my tongue over my lips and tore my gaze from hers, crossing my arms over my chest and slumping in my chair. “I mean…in general…”

  T H E N

  He slid into our room like a thief in the night, his drunken stupor clashing against the smell of cheap perfume. I remained perfectly frozen in bed but briefly fluttered my eyes open to get a look at him in the adjacent mirror. He was debouched out of his mind, stripping off his work suit and using the wall behind him to maintain his balance.

  Times like this made me wonder why I was the one going to the meetings.

  He collapsed onto the memory foam mattress beside me and I braced myself, keeping my back turned away from him as he leaned forward, his whiskey tinged breath warm and tickling against my neck as he skimmed his hands beneath the blankets and caressed my torso.

  I stiffened beneath him. The artificialness of our façade chipped away at me with every passing moment. It was a terrible disease, the heaviness I got in my chest every time he laid a finger on me, which remained there longer after he relented. I began to think of him as a sort of poison, and if there was an antidote, I certainly wasn’t aware of its existence…

  “Venus,” he whispered, his honeyed voice void of any and all repartees. He didn’t have an explanation to give me as to where he had been and I didn’t expect one from him. I had come to the conclusion a long time ago that he savored my jealousy, which was why I offered him none. These women were trashy nothings unworthy of any searing words I might have had to offer him.

  We had been down this road before, long before it was ever paved. He made the money; my job was to look pretty and not ask any questions. It was pathetic, pitiful even, but it was what worked for us. At least that’s what I told myself when I married him.

  It was like some sort of case study. The kind my mother always loved. What happens when you combine one screwed up girl from Poulsbo, the mayor’s son, and all the expensive chardonnay a person can get their hands on?

  With a groan, he pressed his lips against my shoulder and I winced, glancing over at the clock. Morning would steal him away from me soon, as it always did. I probably wouldn’t even see him at breakfast. He would get up before me. He’d shower and scrub himself of her scent. He’d put drops in his bloodshot eyes. He’d put on a new suit, one void of any make-up smudges. And he’d leave me perfectly written instructions on what he wanted for dinner.

  I half-wondered when he ever slept but the white, chalk-like substance dusted over his fingertips quickly gave way to an explanation. He didn’t. He was as flighty as a bird and I was silly to think I could ever cage him.

  He began to pull at the silk fabric of my nightgown despite my whispered protests, molding my breasts in his heavy palms. I lived for this once—the way my body melded with his as we danced, or made love, or even just talked—but those days had long since passed. “Stephen,” I breathed, shoving his hands away. “Not now. I’m tired…”

  He sighed and collapsed on his back. “You’re always tired,” he slurred, the words falling from his mouth with a drunken ease. “Why is that?”

  I remained quiet and refused to grace him with an answer. How cliché, that he’d come to me for comfort after being turned loose by his latest screw up. It was almost laughable.

  At breakfast the next morning, I stared down at my bowl of watered down oatmeal, catching a brief look at my reflection in the spoon. I looked like shit on a stiletto.

  He sauntered into the room with an air of confidence and we met eyes. He should have been at work by now but I didn’t ask him why he wasn’t. He poured himself a mug of coffee and sat down across from me, shaking his newspaper open without a word.

  The silence wore away at me until I couldn’t stand it any longer.

&n
bsp; “Stephen,” I spoke up, setting down my glass of orange juice. “I need to tell you something. Something serious.”

  “Serious?”

  “Yes,” I said firmly. I sat up straighter and cleared my throat, forcing the words out. “I’m pregnant.”

  His face gave way to no reaction. He pushed his reading glasses up on his nose and licked his fingers, slowly flipping the page.

  “Well?” I urged, waving a hand at him, “aren’t you going to say something?”

  “Yes,” he said with an unfazed shrug, “you could get rid of it.”

  “What?” My voice cracked. “Get rid of it? I don’t know if I could—”

  “You don’t know?” He looked up at me over the frames of his glasses and nodded. “Tell me then. Can you be a parent? A mother?”

  The thinly veiled bewilderment in his tone made my blood run cold. I bit down on my bottom lip and studied my hands. “I don’t know,” I said firmly, ignoring the creeping terror that had taken shelter in my chest. “I hadn’t ever thought about it…we were always safe…”

  “Yes, well, obviously not safe enough.”

  “Accidents can happen, Stephen.”

  “They can also be taken care of,” he bit back, his eyes burning against mine. “Sweetheart, just think about this for a second. You’re in recovery. I’m up for office soon. And what about school? What happened to wanting to get your Masters?”

  God…

  Did he have to sound so condescending?

  “I still want to,” I said softly.

  “Well how will you with a child?”

  “Our child,” I corrected, putting emphasis on ‘our.’

  “Yes well…” He waved a hand in the air and took another drink of his coffee. “It doesn’t have to be.”

  A lump surfaced in my throat. “Why are you so against this?” I questioned, “am I stupid for thinking a small part of you would have been happy? Look, I know this might be inconvenient timing but…”

  I reached for his hand but he pulled back and sat up straighter, flattening his tie. “It’s not just inconvenient. It’s completely impractical. It’s a mistake. One I won’t let you make.”

  “You won’t let me?” I retorted. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you were the deciding factor here.”

  “Venus…”

  “No, don’t.” I jumped to my feet and knocked over my chair. He knew I hated when he said my name that way. It reminded me of my mother. “I get it. Lets just drop it, alright?”

  “I’m sorry. It’s just…you’re not being rational. If you’d just think this over for a moment, you’d see that this is the best option.”

  I shook my head and bit down on my bottom lip until I tasted iron. “It’s not for me,” I said, turning for the door. “But clearly it is for you.”

  Chapter 6

  —

  “Venus?”

  My mothers voice jolted my forward. I sighed and sat up straighter, trailing my fingertips along the edge of her desk. My name always sounded like something toxic leaving her mouth.

  “I was just thinking. I got distracted, that’s all.”

  “About?”

  I shook my head. “Nothing.”

  “Sweetheart…” She smiled tightly and picked up the metal trashcan beside her desk, holding it out to me. “You know I appreciate your cooperation.”

  “Don’t be dramatic,” I said, flicking my half-smoked cigarette inside of it on top of a pile of others stained with her choice red lipstick. She could be such a hypocrite. “It’s just a cigarette.”

  “It’s a disgusting habit,” she corrected, waving her pen at me, “one I’m sure Stephen doesn’t appreciate.”

  “Trust me, he couldn’t care less.”

  She folded her hands together and cocked her head to the side, narrowing her eyes at me. “You’re better than this.”

  It was her standard line but she still didn’t sound as though she believed it. I pulled my knees up against my chest. It wasn’t comfortable in the way it was when I was a kid but the strained look she got on her face whenever I sat that way made it worth it. “What makes you so sure that this isn’t me at my best?” I asked her.

  “I don’t know.” An elongated sigh left her mouth and she shook her head. “I’m only your mother.”

  I stared at her and crossed my arms tightly over my chest. “You only use that line to make yourself feel better.”

  “Enough!” She shook her head and clenched her jaw. Her next words slid from her mouth like venom. “You know…your father would be so disappointed in you…”

  T H E N

  I sat on the edge of the windowsill blowing white columns of smoke into the air. Autumn in Poulsbo was nice enough but it still wasn’t like the crisp Midwest Autumns of my childhood, before my mothers job at the university had transplanted us here.

  The filter at the end of my cigarette began to crumble away into ash, burning my already blistered fingertips in the process. I took a final puff of it before flicking it onto the roof to join a pile of others, making a mental note-to-self to pick up another pack next time I was out.

  I stuck my head out the window and held it open, gathering as much spit as I could and aiming for my mothers shiny new Cadillac. It hit the windshield with a blot of rain and I smiled in satisfaction before looking back at Luna.

  My younger sister shared my olive skin, messy brown hair, and freckles but that was where our similarities ended. Her face was soft and pixie like, similar to our mothers, while I favored our father, with his sharp, refined features and too-full lips.

  Luna didn’t seem to notice me looking at her. She was sprawled across her unmade bed petting her cat, Minx, who kept his beady green eyes trained on me as if to say, “don’t come any closer.” Luna caressed behind his pinned back ears and wiggled her fingers beneath his studded collar as he purred. He offered me a slow, insidious blink as I climbed off the edge of the window and paced towards them. I snorted at him and he jumped to the floor and ran past me, scratching Luna’s forearm with his back claws in the process.

  “Sorry,” I told her.

  But she only shrugged, rolling on her back and picking up the open book beside her—a weathered copy of “Catcher in the Rye.”

  I maneuvered around her bed and stepped out into the hallway. Loud Christmas music and the shrill sound of my mothers voice speaking over it greeted me. She was on the phone with someone, most likely my father, but the conversation wasn’t all sunshine and rainbows.

  I slammed my fist against Fiona’s door and after a brief pause and some commotion on the other side, it swung open and she greeted me with a strained look of annoyance, her dull green eyes burning against mine. “What?” she demanded with an exasperated sigh, adjusting her loose bra strap on her arm. “I was just packing…”

  “Right…” I laughed and looked over her shoulder, eyeing the half-naked male form stretched out across her bed. Did my mother know he was here? Somehow I doubted it. She didn’t seem to see much of a point in meddling in her stepdaughter’s affairs; at least not in the same way she did with her own daughters. “I was just wondering if I could bum a smoke. Just one until I can go to the store. Mom took my emergency stash.”

  “Sure, kid.” Fiona laughed and crossed the room to her dresser, reaching for her pack of camels and reappearing in front of me. She dangled one just above my head. “But only if you say please,” she retorted, glancing back at her latest boy toy, who rolled over and laughed. I caught a glance of his firm buttocks and the tattoos on his shoulders and swallowed hard.

  There was never a shortage of attractive men in Fiona’s life.

  “Please,” I said, snatching it from her fingers before she could react, “you don’t have to be such a dick.”

  “That’s subjective,” she said, slamming the door in my face. I heard a squeal on the other side of it followed by a gross, all too telling squeaking noise that became even more rhythmic the longer I stuck around.

  I gagged and turned
for my bedroom.

  “Venus!” my mother called after me, keeping the phone pressed firmly against her ear. “Tell Fiona that her father will be here soon. Their flight leaves in an hour and she’s not even packed yet. Oh, and just so you’re aware, your father is coming to dinner tonight.”

  I perked up. “He is?”

  She sighed and covered the receiver. “Yes,” she said, keeping her voice low. “It seems he’s been released…for the holidays…”

  Excitement coursed its way through my veins. “Is he staying here?” I questioned.

  “God no,” my mother answered, pacing away from me, “what would make you think that? He’s just coming for dinner, that’s all. Now tell Fiona what I said please!”

  I nodded and knocked on Fiona’s door again, but this time it didn’t open and the squeaking continued. “Fiona!” I yelled, kicking my foot against the wood. “Mom says your dad will be off work soon. You need to pack!”

  “Fuck off, Venus!”

  “Well,” I muttered. “Can’t say I didn’t try…”

  I rolled my eyes and entered my bedroom, collapsing on my bed. “Dad’s coming tonight,” I told Luna, who was still focused on her book. “I wonder if he’ll cook.”

  Yes, for all his shortcomings and perpetual fuck-ups, my father made delicious food. The kind people raved about long after consuming it. My mother, on the other hand, could burn water if you let her.

  “Well I’m sure he’ll drink,” Luna answered drily, flipping the page.

  “Lu…” I sat up, propping my head on my hand. “That’s not funny.”

  “I never said it was.”

  I sighed and fished out my lighter from between my mattress and bed frame, lighting the cigarette Fiona had given me.

  “I thought he was supposed to be gone until January,” Luna commented.

  “Yeah well, I guess he’s making progress.”

  “Fat chance.”

  “Come on,” I said, meeting eyes with her. “Can you at least give him an opportunity to prove himself? Maybe he’s changed.”

  She was quiet for a few moments while she mulled it over. “Alright,” she relented. “At least Fiona and Jeff won’t be here if he does anything embarrassing.”