Lock & West

by Alexander C. Eberhart

  Happy. Is that really all that matters?

  “I brought this for her.” He offers me the wrapped present. “Jim had already picked it out for her birthday. He was always ahead of the game. I found it last month, and I’ve been working up the courage ever since to bring it to her.”

  “How’d you know where to find her?” I ask, taking the box from him.

  “Jill told me.” He rises from the bench. “She also told me she’d run my ass over if I even thought about showing up today. Never a dull moment with her, is there?”

  I find myself laughing. “You have no idea.”

  “Give it her,” he tells me, zipping his jacket. “If you don’t mind. I know Jim would want her to have it.”

  I give him a nod.

  “Thank you, Lachlan.”

  He doesn’t say anything else, just turns and walks into the parking lot, while I’m left holding the last gift Dad will ever give.

  “Hold still, West.”

  Heather, the wannabe makeup artist in charge of painting our faces, traces my eyes with a pencil.

  “It would be a lot easier if you weren’t stabbing me in the eye.”

  “Get over it, you baby.”

  Once my torture is complete, I shrug on the rest of my costume and wander backstage. I haven’t seen Lock yet, but the crew’s not supposed to be here for another fifteen minutes. I’ve been trying to decide what I’m going to say to him all afternoon but can’t seem to commit to anything substantial. Maybe I’ll just wing it.

  The stage is dark, the curtain drawn, and only the pinpoints of overhead lights shine down. I’m about to recite one of my monologues to warm up when I catch a glimpse of Lock in the opposite wing. He sees me too and freezes in place. He hasn’t changed into his black t-shirt yet, so he’s still got his gray jacket on.

  He’s every bit as handsome as I remember.

  “Hey,” I call over to him.

  Lock steps into the wash of a pin light. “Hey.”

  “Listen,” I start. “About last night. I was hoping we could talk.”

  He nods, gripping the end of his jacket.

  “The guy you saw…” I step closer so I don’t have to shout my dirty laundry across the stage. “We’ve got a complicated history. And I regret ever letting him back into my life. But you have to understand—”

  “You don’t have to apologize.” Lock cuts me off, eyes lifting from the floor to find me. “We aren’t together, so it’s not my place to be jealous.”

  “And that’s my fault too,” I say. “If I had just told you how I felt, then we could have avoided this whole mess.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I really like you, Lock. Even from that first moment at the lunch table, there’s been something between us. And I’m not talking about the spaghetti tacos.”

  He cracks a smile, and it gives me the courage to keep on.

  “The last few weeks, every moment I spent with Clay, I was thinking about you. You probably couldn’t tell by the dozens of text messages.”

  “They may have tipped me off.”

  “I know I fucked this up. That I fuck everything up, really. I’m this swirling disaster on two feet. But you help me feel like more than that.”

  “You are more than that.”

  My stomach flutters. I take another step towards him because this space is agony. He does the same, and then we’re inches apart, Lock’s hand finding mine. He exhales as our fingers intertwine.

  “I can’t promise I’ll always agree with you, but I’ll do my best.”

  I can’t take it anymore, so I close the remaining distance between us, pressing my lips to his. It’s intimate and soft and everything I want it to be. When we part, I’m filled with the urge to kiss him again, but instead I exhale and memorize the way he looks at me.

  “What is it?” I ask him because his eyes are wide and his breathing is quick.

  “Nothing,” he whispers, pulling me closer. He kisses me, and this time, it’s heat and excitement and friction.

  Someone clears their throat behind us, and we break apart to find Trina pointing at her watch.

  Nothing can disrupt her schedule. Not even love.

  “I should probably start checking props,” he says, but he doesn’t look to be in any rush to let go of my hand.

  “Yeah, you probably should,” I agree, throwing a glance over my shoulder. “Or…we could always do a little visualization session behind the lockers?”

  His grin turns mischievous. “Definitely.”

  “What time is West coming over?” Jill asks, pouring another scoop of batter onto the hot waffle iron. She closes it, the sizzling filling the kitchen.

  “He texted me about half an hour ago, saying he was about to pick up Chels.” I set the last place at the table, counting backwards just to make sure. We’ve forgone a traditional dinner for breakfast food, and the intoxicating aroma of bacon is making me ravenous.

  “When did your mom say she’d be back?”

  I look at the clock. “She should be here any minute,” I say, doing my best not to worry about her. She’s been home with us for a week now and seems to be doing really well on her new medication. She took Jack to run a last-minute errand. Being Christmas Eve, she most likely got stuck in traffic.

  “It’s freezing outside,” Jill tells me. “I hope they don’t catch their death out there. They were saying there’s even a chance of flurries tomorrow night. Can you imagine?”

  “Georgia is just full of surprises.”

  “Oh!” Jill’s chair spins around to face me. “That reminds me. I’ve got a couple of presents hidden under the bed. Would you go grab those?”

  “Sure.” I set the last fork then hurry down the hall, ducking into Jill’s bedroom. The place is a mess as she and Mom are sharing a room since she got out of the hospital. I duck under the bed, retrieving the three wrapped gifts. I set them on the comforter as I get up, stopping to admire the framed picture sitting on the bedside table.

  I’d waited until we were ready to leave, the day I gave her Jordan’s gift. I wasn’t sure what it was, so I wanted to make sure she was back in her hospital room before she opened it. Turns out, it was a photo of the four of them: Mom, Dad, Jordan and Jill, the night they met at the party—the night I was conceived.

  Even in the photo, you can tell there was something between Jordan and my dad. They stood just a little too close, and there was the way Dad wrapped his arm around his waist. I can’t help but wonder if his life would have been easier if he’d never gone to that party. But then again, that would mean I wouldn’t exist.

  All this hypothetical thinking is starting to push me to the verge of an existential crisis—which is a downer on any day, especially Christmas Eve—so I grab the gifts and book it back into the living room.

  “Look who showed up,” comes a familiar voice.

  I can’t help the smile that springs up.

  “Merry Christmas,” West says, standing by the front door in his red silk shirt and pants. Chels is there too, decked out in a Santa hat and matching footie pajamas.

  “Ditto,” I tell him, hurrying over to set the gifts under the tree.

  “Where are your pajamas?” Chels asks, eyeing me up and down.

  “I haven’t had a chance to change yet,” I answer, wrapping West up in a hug.

  “Want some help?” he asks me, and I jab him in the ribs. “Ow! Kidding!”

  “Hey everyone,” Jill calls from the kitchen, “don’t mind me. I’m just the one slaving away in here with no recognition or affection. I sure hope nothing gross ends up in these waffles.”

  “I’m on it,” Chels says, heading into the kitchen. “It smells great, Jill. Can I help with anything—”

  “Hi.” West bops the end of my nose.

  “Hey.” I’m still smiling. These past few weeks have been filled with smiles and kisses but no sex yet. We’re trying to take it slow.

  “I got you something,” he tells me, grabbing the red wrapped
box on the floor by the door.

  “Shouldn’t we wait until everyone else opens theirs?”

  “Well, I’m not gonna lie, there are like four more boxes in the car for you, but this one is special.”

  With a pull on the ribbon, the bow unravels, and I lift the lid of the box. Inside is a stack of papers.

  “What is it?” I ask.

  “It’s an internship application,” he says, “for a publishing company downtown. They’ve got some openings this summer in their intern program. I had Father pull a couple strings, and you may already be approved.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “As a heart attack.”

  I drop the box, pulling West closer. We kiss, forgetting for a moment where I am and who might be watching.

  The front door opens, and I hear my mother clear her throat.

  Jack’s voice comes next with a giggle. “Ewww.”

  West pulls away, cheeks matching his shirt.

  “West,” Mom greets him, arms laden with bags. “Nice to see you.”

  “You too, Jenny. Let me help you with those.” He takes the bags, carrying them into the kitchen. Jack follows him. I’m starting to think he might like West more than I do.

  I avoid Mom’s gaze until I’m afraid it might start melting a hole in the side of my head.

  “Yes?” I ask.

  “Did I say anything?”

  “Do you ever?”

  She just keeps staring at me, and for a split second, I’m afraid my other mother might rear her ugly head. But then she’s smiling, and I breathe a sigh of relief.

  “It’s nice,” she tells me. “Seeing you smile. I’m glad you found someone who does that.”

  “I am too.”

  “Dinner’s ready!” Jill calls from the kitchen.

  “Better go get changed,” I say, turning to leave. But Mom catches my arm.

  “Lan?”

  I look back at her. She’s not looking at me, just sort of staring off into space.

  “Promise me something, would you?” Her voice is soft.

  “What is it, Mom?”

  “Promise me…you won’t leave. Even if I tell you to.”

  I blink, caught off-guard.

  “I’m not going anywhere, Mom,” I tell her, taking her cold hand in mine. “I’ll be right here as long as you need me.”

  She nods, misty-eyed.

  “I love you, Lan.”

  “Love you too, Mom.”

  The pre-Christmas carnage is great, shreds of paper covering the floor and boxes stacked up everywhere. Jack’s passed out in Chels’s lap, which Lock tells me is a rerun from Thanksgiving. Jill and Jenny have retired into the kitchen to start on the dishes, and Lock sits beside me on the couch, hand in its proper place—wrapped around mine.

  “Are you guys still coming to Chels’s for dinner tomorrow?” I ask in a hushed voice.

  “As long as Mom still feels up to it.” He matches my volume. “But either way, I’ll be there.”

  I nod, resting my head on his shoulder as we watch Jill’s gas log fire burn in the corner.

  “Mom and Dad won’t stop talking about you two,” Chels adds to our low-volume conversation. “I swear, West, you’re the favorite child.”

  “Was there ever any doubt?” I laugh.

  We fall back into silence, except for the running water and the clank of dishes in the kitchen. I could stay like this forever, close to Lock. The past few weeks have been so wonderful, I can’t help feeling like something horrible is waiting around the corner. But every day I wake up, it’s just another day of loving Lock, and I couldn’t ask for better.

  After a while, I start to drift off, but his voice brings me back.

  “West?”

  I crack an eye open. “Hm?”

  “I’ve got something I want to show you.”

  I look over at Chels, but she’s asleep too. “Yeah? Okay.”

  “It’s in my room.”

  I let out a groan as he stands up, pulling me along with him. But then I realize we’re about to be in his bedroom alone, and suddenly, I’m very awake.

  What does he want to show me?

  He leads me down the hallway, opening the door on the left and ushering me into his room. It’s the first time I’ve been in here (we don’t come to his house often). The bedspread is this weird floral print, but I remember him telling me this was Jill’s guestroom.

  “Have a seat,” he tells me, moving to the desk in the corner. He grabs his laptop, and it comes to life with the sputter of the fan. “I wanted you to be the first to see it.”

  He hands over the ancient device, a title page displayed.

  “You finished it?” I ask, scrolling down to the first page.

  “Yeah.” He grins, his hands fidgeting because he’s probably nervous. “You could be the beta reader. You know, if you want. I mean, it’s not very good, and keep in mind, it’s the first draft, and there’s always something to be said about—”

  I lean in and shut him up with a kiss.

  “Shh. Let me read.”

  He settles in next to me, and I lean against him as I start.

  West pauses his reading only once, to say goodbye to Chels. Jill tells him he can stay the night, but only if he sleeps on the couch, so I’m left lying in bed, staring at the ceiling until I hear him knock on the door. It’s past midnight.

  “Finished,” he tells me, setting my laptop on the desk in the corner. He moves so quietly, there’s no way Jill or Mom heard him.

  “What did you think?” I ask, watching his expression carefully.

  “I…I don’t know what to say.”

  My stomach sinks. Of course, he didn’t like it. Why would he?

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to waste your time.”

  “Lock, no. That’s not what I meant.” He sinks onto the end of the bed, eyes wide. “It was scary as hell. And real. And honest. It was like…really good.”

  The sinking is replaced with flips.

  “Really?”

  “Really.” West nods. “Where did you come up with the idea? I feel like it was written just for me. Is it bad I saw myself in the monster?”

  I can’t help but smile. “That’s what I was going for. I think everyone will see themselves. It’s what makes it so terrifying.”

  “So, what happens now?” he asks.

  “There are a couple of different places I can submit it to that publish short stories,” I tell him. “But honestly, I’m in no hurry. Maybe I’ll enter it in a scholarship contest this summer.”

  “Let me know when they opt for it to be made into a movie,” West says excitedly, “and I’ll be there to audition. Which, of course, will just be a formality, seeing as I’ll be sleeping with the screen writer.”

  “And what makes you think I plan on sticking with you that long?”

  West raises an eyebrow at me, and I can’t keep it up. I burst out laughing.

  “Not funny,” West tells me, but he’s smirking too.

  “I’m not going anywhere,” I assure him. “I’m here as long as you want me to be.”

  “I hope you’re comfortable.”

  West cranes his neck to kiss me, light and sweet, but it intensifies quickly and he’s not letting up. There’s heat growing between us, building into a raging fire threatening to take us both. I can taste him on my tongue, sweet and musky, and he nearly tackles me back onto the bed.

  “Hang on.” West breaks away, hopping off the bed and rummaging through his backpack that he dropped by the door. He’s back, crinkling something in his hand. “I got you one last present,” he says, handing me the plastic square. “Why don’t we unwrap it?”

  I wrap him up in my arms, flipping him onto the bed. We’re both laughing. After one more kiss, I tear into the plastic with my teeth.

  “Holy shit.” West collapses beside me, bare chest glistening with a layer of sweat. “I mean, holy shit.”

  “Is that good or bad?” I ask through labored breath, disposing of the seco
nd condom we’ve used.

  “Are you kidding me?” He laughs. “If this is what it’s going to be like every time, we’ll never leave the bedroom.”

  That makes me smile as I pull my comforter to cover both of us. West snuggles up next to me, skin against skin.

  “It was much better sober,” I agree, sliding an arm under him so we can be as close as possible.

  “Oh yeah,” he says, fingers trailing along the line of hair that runs down my abdomen. “Do I need to sneak back into the living room? It’s like, two thirty…”

  “Stay a little longer?” I’m not ready to give him back to the world. I want to hold onto him for just a moment more.

  “As long as you want.” He looks up at me, Puget Sound and all, and for once, my heart doesn’t hurt for home or for the things I used to find familiar because I am home. Jill and this house are home. My school and long afternoons working on sets with Chels are home. West is home.

  And it’s just like Jordan said. Home isn’t a place.

  I pull West closer, exhilarated with the familiarity of his touch.

  I’m home.

  Mom and Dad are the perfect holiday hosts. They even invited Claire, who, of course, was ecstatic to tag along. Lock and his family show up just as the sun is setting, wearing matching Christmas sweaters. I think it’s adorable, but Lock tells me he’s burning it the moment he gets a chance.

  We gather around the dinner table, and Dad carves the ham while Mom serves her famous sweet potato pie (which I eat two slices of before I even touch my dinner), and we forgo the wine out of respect for Lock’s mom. Jill has us all in stitches, telling a story about the time she and Jenny unwrapped their gifts a day early then had to put them all back together.

  After dinner, we go into the living room where Dad puts on a Christmas record and the grown-ups talk about Christmases past while Jack and Chels play a round of holiday pirates and we all marvel at their spectacular tree.

  Lock and I are nestled on the loveseat, legs twisted up in each other. After last night, things have been so perfect between the two of us. I couldn’t wish for any better.