Ghosting You

by Alexander C. Eberhart

  “Fine.” I heave myself off the bed and shove my phone into my back pocket. “A movie it is. What painfully-straight, white-washed, romantic comedy bullshit are you going to subject me to?”

  She grins. “It’ll be a surprise.”

  “Lucky me.”

  The night air is heavy when we exit the cinema. Dark clouds have obliterated the stars, making the sky feel incredibly close.

  Mom and I walk in tandem down the sidewalk, towards home.

  “That wasn’t so bad, now was it? I heard you chuckle at least once.”

  I scoff. “That was me choking on a popcorn kernel.”

  “Whatever you say, Tommy.” Mom shakes the remaining half a bag of popcorn at me.

  “So, wait, how come the rules of popcorn don’t apply to the leftovers?”

  Mom hesitates, but it doesn’t take her long to rationalize. “The rules of not wasting food supersede the rules of when popcorn can be consumed.”

  “Uh huh.”

  We pause at one of the two crosswalks in Hester.

  Tonight’s the most time I’ve spent with Mom since the summer began. She looks stronger, more like herself than she has in months. We’re miles away from the worst of her battle. There were days when I couldn’t recognize the husk of a person she’d become. Her sickness took everything away. Even her joy.

  Now she’s working her way back, one step at a time.

  “Why are you staring at me?”

  I blink, looking down. “Sorry. It’s been a long week. I think my brain melted out of my ears at some point.”

  “That explains a lot,” Mom agrees and rests a hand on my shoulder.

  We laugh, then the light changes and we resume our pace.

  “How are things at Claudine’s?”

  “They’re fine,” I say, shoving both hands into my pockets. “The work’s not terrible and now that I’m not the newest employee, I kinda fly under the radar.” I leave out the part about Mel making Nick’s life a living hell. “How’s the Senator’s office? Isn’t he supposed to be on vacation or something?”

  “You’re correct. He’s supposed to be. But the Senate keeps arguing back and forth over this bill and they won’t go into recess until it’s settled.”

  “So, they’re holding everyone hostage, essentially. Seems very diplomatic.”

  “That’s democracy at work, Tommy. Everyone gets a voice, even the ones who spew ignorance.”

  “And yet, you work for the most ignorant of them all. Incredible.”

  Mom let’s out a sigh. She’s given up arguing with me at this point. Instead, she switches tactics.

  “You know I love you, right?”

  “Yes,” I mutter, my cheeks lighting up with embarrassment. We’re not a family of warm fuzzy moments. They make me uncomfortable.

  “And you know I worry about you. Like, constantly.”

  The heat in my face flares. We’re reaching inferno levels, here.

  “You don’t have anything to worry about, Mom.”

  She nods, chewing on her bottom lip. A stiff breeze whips down the street and I relish the short relief it brings to the blaze.

  “Are you seeing anyone right now?”

  Her question trips me up worse than the splintered sidewalk.

  “Wait, what?”

  “I just want you to know that you don’t have to hide him from me, if you are. He can come over anytime or if you guys need the apartment to yourselves, I can just—”

  “Mom!” I interrupt. “What the actual fuck are you talking about?”

  She presses her fist to her mouth, as if to shove the words back in. “Sorry,” she finally says, lowering her hand. “I got a little carried away. What I’m failing at saying is that I hoped this summer would be the perfect chance for you to meet someone.”

  “Meet someone?” I echo. “In Hester?”

  She waves her arms, “I know, I know. It’s not exactly prime real estate when it comes to progress, but there’s bound to be someone you’re interested in. Maybe from school? Like Cheryl’s boy! He’s cute! I’ve always gotten this vibe—”

  “Are you talking about Russ? Oh, hell no—I’m not having this conversation right now. Or ever, for that matter.” I charge forward, putting distance between us.

  Mom hustles alongside me. “Come on, Tommy. Don’t be like that. This is the time for you to cut loose and enjoy yourself! I know we’ve had a hell of a year, but you’ve been a shadow of yourself ever since Chase—”

  I stop walking and Mom skids to a halt.

  My heart hammers in my ears, fists clench at my side, fingernails digging into my palms. I stare down at the pavement, tracing the fragmented designs of fissures weaving through it. Anything to keep your name from penetrating my mind.

  I can think it a hundred times over, but as soon as someone says your name, I shatter.

  “What’s the big deal, Tommy?”

  Your voice ricochets in my head—

  Stop, stop, stop.

  Mom realizes she fucked up.

  Her voice is soft velvet in my ear. “Let’s get home.”

  I nod, a chill shooting up my spine as I unglue myself from the spot.

  Your name sapped all the heat from my body.

  We don’t say anything else the rest of the way home. Mom’s all but shoved her foot in her mouth. Before long, we’re standing in the kitchen. She dumps her popcorn into a plastic bag and zips it closed.

  I should head to bed, but I don’t want to be alone with my thoughts right now. I eye the puzzle sitting on the table, untouched since last week. Mom’s been too busy to work on it. Before I can think twice, I take a seat, sorting through the nearest pile of purple pieces.

  Mom watches me for a moment, then joins me on the opposite end of the table.

  We work late into the night, our symbiotic movements replacing conversation.

  The tick-tack sound of Ma’s typing seeps between the floorboards. It’s late. I have to get up early for another day of fresh hell. So why won’t my stupid brain meat shut up and let me sleep?

  I got an email from Duke. It’s my formal welcome letter.

  Now that my inevitable future stares me in the face, my thoughts twist into brambles.

  College has always been part of the plan. At least, my dad’s plan. His recipe for perfect son. It worked so well with Sammy. Then again, Sammy was disciplined. And self-confident. And straight.

  I’m none of those things.

  Trying to make me the perfect son is like baking a cake without flour. I’m missing the necessary ingredients.

  I check my phone again, hoping for a distraction. But my Stranger has been silent all night. Maybe I scared them away. Wouldn’t be the first time.

  Ma’s typing has tapered off, I realize. Maybe she’s finally crashed. An echoing chorus of cicadas is the only noise now.

  All this pensive reflection bullshit has me itchy and ready to bolt. I groan as my muscles protest leaving my bed. If I’m not sleeping, I may as well do something.

  The stairs are dead silent under my feet. I pause halfway down, waiting to hear my mother’s light snore drift from the master bedroom. There it is. Sometimes it’s hard to differentiate her snoring from Trevor’s. They’ve both got a deviated septum.

  The kitchen is dark, so I flip the switch by the stove and a warm yellow light envelops me.

  I check the fridge next, my nose scrunching at the barrage of smells coming from the bowl of green slime that takes up the entire middle shelf. I rummage through the rest of the leafy contents, but besides a few sticks of butter, there’s nothing of interest. Nothing I can bake. Nothing I can mix. Nothing to distract me from the weight pressing down on my chest.

  I mean, I’d take Betty Crocker at this point.

  “No matter how long you stare at them, they’re still going to be vegetables.”

  Whoops. I guess that really was Trevor’s snoring. I should have known he’d be in Ma’s bed. She always cuddles with him when Dad’s gone.

&nb
sp; I shut the fridge door. “A man can dream, right?”

  “That would mean the man was sleeping. Which you aren’t. Something up?” Ma asks, climbing onto one of the barstools. She’s still fully dressed despite it being way past her bedtime.

  “Nope. What about you? Out of ambien?”

  Ma needed a little help getting to sleep after Sammy died. Dad too, but he refuses to take anything. He’s as stubborn as I am sometimes.

  “I’m taking a break. Seeing how it goes. It clouds my thoughts, most nights.”

  I nod, crossing my arms before leaning against the counter across from Mom. “That’s not always a bad thing.”

  She doesn’t respond, only looks at me, as if she’s tossing a question back and forth in her mouth. When she does speak, it’s through pursed lips.

  “What’s keeping you up, Nicholas?”

  It’s moments like this, when it’s only me and her, when I suspect my mother knows far more than she lets on. She’s a prosecutor. She knows how to keep a straight face. Keep her cards close to the chest. But if that’s the case, what does she want me to confess? She already knows I don’t want to go to Duke.

  I only have one secret. At least, only one that matters. Maybe it’s time I shared it.

  I know how Dad will react. Mom is a toss-up.

  “Too much coffee at work.” I say, forcing a smile.

  Mom smiles too, and it releases the tight coil around my heart. She leans forward, a mischievous twinkle in her eye.

  “Do you know what sounds perfect right now?”

  “If you say whatever’s in that bowl, I’m putting myself up for adoption.”

  Mom snorts. “That’s my algae scrub. I was thinking something a little sweeter…” She points to the cabinet behind me.

  I pull open the wood-paneled door and I honest to God tear up.

  Mom is grinning when I look back in disbelief.

  “Figured you’d need those at some point this summer.”

  I grab the basket of ingredients from the cabinet, setting it on the counter. It’s got all the necessities—flour, sugar, extracts—like a baker’s survival kit. I’m kind of upset that she’s hid it from me this long, but then the happiness outweighs the disappointment.

  “There’s a hand mixer in the drawer by the stove,” Mom says, pointing it out.

  I dig through the basket. My mind races with possibilities. Definitely some sort of cookie…

  “Shortbreads?” I think out loud.

  Mom’s eyes get misty. “All that butter… I’m going to have to run for three days straight.”

  Or spend one day inside of a bloated latte costume.

  She shakes off the distant look, an excitement taking its place. Mom might hide behind her kale and her kumquats, but I had to get my sweet tooth from somewhere.

  I wonder where the rest of me came from.

  Mom stares back at me, a knowing expression in her eyes that makes my face hot. “Want me to preheat the oven?”

  “Absolutely.”

  It’s past midnight when I fall into bed.

  Mom ended up nodding off half an hour ago. So, I finished up my corner of the puzzle, then tucked her into bed. Unfortunately, I’m not having the same luck in the sleep department.

  I pull out my phone, but even Facebook’s endless stream can’t lull me to sleep. I guess there’s one thing left to do.

  Me: Sorry, I didn’t mean to ghost you. I’m sort of terrible at sharing. 12:13am

  I hover over the send button, then tap it. The response is almost instantaneous.

  Don’t sweat it, Stranger. I’m sure you’ve got your reasons. 12:14am

  Me: I didn’t wake you, did I? 12:14am

  I wish. I just laid down again, but my brain is running a million miles an hour. What about you? 12:15am

  Me: Same. I had a weird day. 12:15am

  Me too. Wanna talk about it? 12:15am

  Me: Not really, no. 12:16am

  Then what do you want to talk about? 12:16am

  Me: I don’t know. Anything else, I guess? 12:17am

  What are you wearing? 12:17am

  Me: I beg your pardon? 12:17am

  Jk, jk. Just trying to break the ice, here. What else are two complete strangers supposed to talk about? 12:18am

  Me: How old are you? 12:19am

  47. 12:19am

  Me: Shit, are you for real? 12:19am

  Of course not. Do you know any 47 year olds that text this fast? 12:19am

  Me: Other than my mother, no. And Lord, Jesus Christ, if you’re my mother, I’m going to just go ahead and launch myself into the sun right now. 12:20am

  Welp, be sure to wear your sunscreen, dear. Your father and I will miss you terribly. 12:21am

  Me: You’re so weird. 12:21am

  Really? Because I’d call me generous. Do you know of any other eighteen-year-olds who would go out of their way to make a stranger laugh? 12:22am

  Me: That makes so much more sense. I figured you’d have to be around my age. 12:23am

  Oh no! The cats out of the bag. I’m a horny teenager. Is this where I’m supposed to ask you to send nudes? 12:23am

  Me: lol, I think you might not be too happy with the results. 12:24 am

  And why’s that? Are you deformed or something? Bad haircut? Oh, bangs! I bet you have bangs. 12:25am

  Me: Well, first off, I’m also a guy, so there’s that. 12:26am

  And why are you assuming that I’m a dude? That’s super misogynistic of you. >:( 12:27am

  Me: am I wrong? 12:27am

  No… but that’s beside the point. Check your privilege. 12:28am

  Me: That’s what I thought. 12:28am

  Well, the joke is really on you then, Stranger, because for your information, I’m a dude that happens to be attracted to other dudes. 12:29am

  Hello? 12:35am

  I’m going to assume you fell asleep and didn’t just ghost me again. 1:13am

  “Nice! That looks great, T-man!”

  Rod claps me on the back then bends down to inspect my work on a closer level. Steam rises off the small hole left in the foam atop the latte. He bends down to get a closer look.

  “The créma is just right. The design is well-defined, a little sloppy on the end, but other than that it’s a solid effort!”

  “T-Thanks,” I manage through another onslaught of back patting. “Told you I’d get there.”

  I slide the drink over to one of our regulars, the girl with her own fortress of books. Her hair is purple this week. It matches the amethyst earrings dangling from her head. She smiles at me and nods a thanks, then flits back to the chair in the corner.

  I like to imagine you’d be there too, Chase. Red sneakers propped up on the table and your head buried in the latest graphic novel you unearthed from the stacks at Brooks Books. I’d tease you for muttering to yourself while flipping pages—

  “Mel!”

  My vision of you fades as Rod calls over to our bitch-in-charge. “Did you see that one? Tommy’s really getting the hang of things.”

  Mel types away on her phone, unimpressed. “Well, it’s been like a month. I’d be worried if he wasn’t.” She looks up, brow furrowed. “Where the hell is Nick?”

  “You told him to go knock down all the wasp nests out back,” Rod says, leaning up against the counter beside the register. Today’s Hawaiian shirt features pink flamingos, which perfectly match the highlighter pink fedora he’s summoned from the seventh circle of hell.

  “Oh, that’s right.” Mel nods slowly then tucks a strand of blonde hair behind one ear. “Grab him for me, would you Tom-Tom?”

  Tom-Tom? I guess it’s a step up from Not-Tina. May she rest in peace.

  “You got it.”

  The two of them continue a conversation in hushed tones as I duck under the counter and head down the hall. I step out back and into the heat and swat a stray crimson wasp out of the way. He pays me little mind.

  Damn, it’s hot. Then again, that shouldn’t be surprising. It’s diffe
rent today, though. This is the kind of heat that bakes your brain, leaving everything swirling in a haze. It’s the type of day where your eyelids sweat.

  I duck behind the dumpster, hugging the brick wall of the alley. The Chinese restaurant across the gap left their back door open and a white-plumed chicken struts out into the alley.

  Huh. Guess the food is pretty fresh.

  No sign of Nick. Maybe he’s turned into a raisin by this point. That or he’s finally taken my advice and given the proverbial middle finger to Claudine’s. I’m about to check back inside when the sound of heavy footsteps comes from around the corner of the building.

  Nick tears around the brick wall, panic hijacking his features.

  “Inside!” He shouts, but the shock of him barreling towards me has my feet rooted to the ground. It takes him yelling, “Inside!” again to tear me loose.

  He stampedes past me and ducks through the back door just as I hear the angry buzzing sound coming from a swarm of wasps just behind. That’s the jolt I need. I side step the chicken, and it clucks angrily at me. My heart is hammering as I haul ass back inside. Nick slams the door shut behind me, but the buzzing doesn’t all fade.