It's Our Secret

by W Winters

  His rough chuckle eases the tension that’s nearly suffocating me; the feeling that we’re rapidly approaching being too close. “I told her I’d just stop by but that we also had other plans.”

  “What plans?” I ask him.

  “Maybe we go to dinner and you tell me your story?” he asks, taking a quick peek at me.

  Shaking my head and ignoring my racing heart, I tell him, “So, you want to be bored to death?”

  “I know there’s something there,” he says, and I feel like a monster. Guilt and regret creep up my body in a slow wave.

  “Nothing that’s interesting.”

  “You don’t always have to brush things off. It’s okay to let someone in, you know?” As he talks he periodically peeks at me. Like he’s gauging my reaction.

  “I think I’m good.”

  “It took a lot for me to tell you about my mom. You could open up a little too.”

  “I did that once. Like I said, I think I’m good,” I tell him as I pull my knees to my chest, stretching the seatbelt over them and looking out of the window.

  “I’m guessing it didn’t end well?” he pries.

  “Nope.” My answer is simple, my voice high pitched and peppy, but inside I’m screaming. Inside it hurts. All the pain is wound up and coiled into barbed wire, cutting me open and wishing I would spill it all.

  “Well, who was it you told?” He’s keeping his voice light and acting like he’s just making small talk, but I can see right through him.

  “No one you know,” I tell him and feel guilty for not confiding in him. I usually don’t care if I disappoint someone, but Dean is different.

  “You know how I just said it’s okay to let people in?” he reminds me with a smirk and then rests his hand on my thigh when I don’t respond. He rubs his fingers back and forth in soothing strokes. Like he’s comforting me. It feels like a setup.

  Silence greets me, backs me into a corner. Waiting for me to make the next move.

  “It’s not fair that you decided to make this trip a fucking therapy session.”

  His laugh is brief before he replies, “Life’s a therapy session, Allie Cat.” He doesn’t move his hand, he just keeps it on my thigh and I find myself wanting to put my hand on top of his and run my thumb along his knuckles.

  “Sam… Sam is who I let in.” I give him that small bit of information, but hearing her name makes me feel like I’ve betrayed her. Has it been that long since I’ve said her name out loud?

  “What’d he do?” Dean asks, and I let out a genuine laugh and pretend the tears in the corners of my eyes are from humor.

  “Sam as in Samantha.”

  “Oh, a chick?” Dean leans forward and then relaxes back in his seat, clearly not expecting that. “So, was this like, a thing?” he asks me, and the smile stays plastered on my lips.

  “Sorry to disappoint you, but I’m only into dick.”

  “Got it,” Dean says. “So, she was a friend?”

  I just nod and look back out of the window. I remember when we met in preschool. We were so young and stupid, fighting over some rainbow eraser until the teacher took it away and made us share a simple one. Back when everything was okay, and we were just kids. When “best friends for life” meant something special.

  “What was she like?” he asks me. Dean isn’t getting the hint, but for some reason, I like it. Maybe it’s the memories or the soothing sound of the engine rumbling and the wind passing by the car. Or maybe it’s just been a while since I’ve thought of Sam back before the night that changed everything happened.

  It takes me a moment to think of the best way to answer him. “A lot like me,” I start, although it’s not quite right. I’m just pretending to be a lot like her.

  “Big boobs. She was gifted,” I tell him humorously and I think about stopping there, but I don’t. “She had the most beautiful smile and laugh. Like seriously, she used to joke that she was going to be a dentist because everyone would pay big bucks for a smile like hers. And she laughed at everything and it was real.” I remember how happy she always was. “She was just a very confident, happy person.”

  “Sounds like a good friend,” he comments after a moment.

  “Keep your eyes on the road,” I scold him when I notice he’s spending more time looking at me than he is paying attention to driving.

  “What happened?” he asks me.

  “My mom didn’t want us hanging out,” I tell him and then explain. “We were just girls, fourteen and fifteen at the time.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “People said some things. Blamed some things that happened on Sam and my mom said it was her fault.” My voice cracks and I feel myself breaking down, so I reach for the volume on the stereo again. I turn it up, feeling guilty about so much and not wanting to deal with it.

  Guilty about what happened back then.

  Guilty about what’s going to happen.

  “Hey,” Dean says softly, and I hear him over the constant bass of whatever song this is. I glance at him, wishing I could hide, but he does that thing again, taking my hand and kissing the tips of my fingers. “You did good, Allie Cat.”

  If guilt could kill someone, I’d be dead.

  Chapter 22

  Dean

  * * *

  This is a bad idea.

  The shrink was wrong. Driving all the way to 24 Easton Avenue in Brunswick wasn’t anything I needed. Even as I watch my mother, who’s sitting on the steps of the porch taking another puff of her cigarette, I already know I’m not going to get anything from her.

  Closure, mending fences—whatever the hell Dr. Robinson thought I’d get from this isn’t here.

  My mother looks the same in a lot of ways but also beaten down, as if the years haven’t been kind to her, or maybe I just remember her differently. She’s in loose-fitting clothes that make her look even smaller than when I saw her last. She’s frail-looking beneath them.

  Dr. Robinson is just like everyone else, thinking I’m exaggerating or that my perception is skewed. But showing up out of nowhere to tell my mother I’m working on my anger and making progress was a fucking mistake.

  Allie stretches in her seat, slowly waking up from the nap she took for the last thirty minutes of the drive.

  She’s so fucking beautiful when she sleeps.

  I wish she’d stayed asleep, so I could keep driving.

  “We’re here?” she asks me and looks up at the house we’re parked in front of. The seat protests as she leans forward and looks at the porch, a red and blue wreath adorning the front door and two matching pots with baby’s breath on either side of it. “It’s cute,” she says sweetly.

  I gesture across the street to my mother’s place with my hand as it rests on the steering wheel and then turn off the ignition. “That one,” I tell her.

  She’s quick to look and say it’s cute too. And maybe it’s alright on the outside. No homey details and it looks just like it did five years ago when my mother bought it with that asshole. Only more weathered… just like my mother.

  “You can stay here if you want,” I offer her. My anxiety is getting the best of me. I told Dr. Robinson I’d do it, so I will. I’m not a bitch. But no one likes being pushed aside and dismissed. Especially by their own mother. And definitely not in front of the woman they’re seeing.

  “I’ll come,” she says as she unbuckles her seatbelt. As she reaches for her purse on the floorboard, my mother’s gaze finally finds its way over here.

  A puff of smoke billows from her mouth slowly. Other than that, there’s no reaction. I know she recognizes me though, ‘cause she doesn’t look away. My chest tightens, making each breath more difficult. I focus on forcing air in and out. Just in and out.

  The neighborhood is quiet when I step out, listening to the sound of Allie’s door and then mine clunk close before I turn to look back at my mother. She’s still seated, blowing out another puff before putting out her cigarette on the concrete step.

  Allie wa
its for me before making her way across the street.

  This was fucking stupid. It’s all I can think as I make my way back to a house I hate, back to a woman I fucking loathe. The anger is subdued though. It’s fucked up that even after all these years, I want something to change between the two of us.

  That’s the first mistake. Having hope.

  “So, you came back?” my mother says and slowly stands up on the stoop. Her sweatpants hang loose on her body, as does the shirt she’s wearing. I keep my shoulders square and look my mother in the eye.

  “What are you here for?” she asks, putting her hands on her hips.

  I was right in my assumption from the car, she’s lost weight. Could be the cigarettes or it could be the stress of losing Rick.

  “I heard about Rick,” I tell her and as I do, I feel Allie’s small hand brush against mine, so I take it. It’s funny how that little touch makes my heart hammer harder, but in a way, it’s calming.

  My mother breaks eye contact and looks past me as I tell her I’m sorry for her loss.

  “I’m sorry too,” Allie says politely, but in a voice that’s so genuine and full of pain.

  “Yeah… well, thanks,” my mother says coldly, dismissively.

  “Mom,” I say, and it feels odd calling her that, so I have to pause before continuing, “this is Allison. Allison, this is my mother.”

  I introduce them and Allie steps forward with her hand out to give my mother a handshake, even though she’s still standing a step higher than us.

  My mom’s a fucking bitch, leaving Allie hanging there with an empty hand held high. She looks at Allie’s hand good and hard before nodding her head and saying, “Hi.”

  The air turns cold around me when I see Allie’s face fall. Allie’s innocent in all this. I shouldn’t have brought her here.

  Taking a large step forward, I shield Allie from my mother. “Just wanted to tell you that I’m doing fine if you were wondering.” My words come out hard and bitter. I don’t know what the fuck the good doctor was thinking or what I was thinking when I decided to take his advice.

  But there, I’ve told her, so we can get the fuck out of here.

  “Fine? Is that what you call getting arrested?” My anger falters, even if just for a moment while my mother’s face forms a twisted sneer. “I always knew you were no good.”

  I bite my tongue and hold back the explanation. She doesn’t fucking deserve one.

  Just as I’m about to tell her goodbye for fucking good, Allie steps around me, her ass brushing against my leg as she shoves herself in front of me.

  She’s short, shorter than both me and my mom and she has to crane her neck to look in my mother’s eyes as she tells her, “He was trying to do the right thing.”

  I haven’t seen Allie angry really. I’ve seen her want to run, or pick a fight. But I’ve never seen her pissed like this. Her little hands fisted at her side. Her chin held high and her eyes narrowed. It’s sweet of her, but I wish it wasn’t for me.

  “I’m sure,” my mother says and then pulls out another cigarette. She lights it and adds, “If you’re here for money, Rick didn’t leave anything to you.”

  My body tightens, and my heart feels like it’s being squeezed. It fucking hurts. I can’t deny it.

  I don’t know why what she said hurts even more. Not that Rick didn’t give me anything, but that she’d think I’d come back here looking for a paycheck.

  But then again, money’s the only thing that ever mattered to her.

  “He’s not going to do anything with his life, so you should really consider your options,” my mother tells Allie. She nods her head condescendingly as she speaks to Allie and doesn’t even bother to look at me.

  “What a bitch,” Allie says with a high-strung voice, looking my mother directly in the eye. “You didn’t tell me she was this much of an asshole.” She turns her head to look at me with disbelief and then seems to check her anger when I don’t respond.

  “Your son’s a good man and I have no clue how he got lucky enough to get away from you.”

  My mother laughs, cold and disparagingly. She’s good at that. “Aww, sweetheart, I hope you enjoy getting your heart broken.”

  Allie opens her mouth again, and her face is scrunched up as she bites her tongue. She’s letting my mother get the best of her.

  The difference between these women is simple. Allie cares; my mother doesn’t.

  I wrap one arm around Allie’s waist and pull her in close to me, letting her ass press against my upper thigh and cut her off.

  “Like I said, just wanted to give you my condolences.”

  Allie peeks up at me with a bewildered look. “Let’s go,” I tell her softly, not bothering to tell my mother goodbye. I said it once years ago. I don’t need to say it again.

  Chapter 23

  Allison

  * * *

  “Are you angry with me?” I ask Dean and then try to swallow. But I can’t. There’s a spiked lump in the back of my throat that won’t go away.

  I know I’m a bitch. I’ll be the first to admit it.

  I like to hate people before they can hate me. I’ll call them out, but I call myself out on my own shit. I know it doesn’t make it right though.

  “I didn’t mean to upset you when I called your mother a bitch.” Even as I give him the apology, I feel awkward and like I’ve done him a great disservice. He wanted to make things right with her and I think I just made things even worse.

  I fidget my thumbs nervously as I wait for Dean to look at me. I feel awful. “I should have just been quiet,” I tell him, and my voice cracks a little.

  “You’re fine,” he replies and lifts the turn signal lever, the ticks echoing in the hollow cabin of the car.

  “What I said wasn’t though,” I mumble. “And I’m sorry.”

  Dean softens. He’s been tense and stiff ever since we left. And my words have been caught in the back of my throat. It’s weird feeling this overwhelming urge to be forgiven. I’m not used to it. At least not like this.

  “I told you she’s a bitch,” he points out as he straightens out the wheel and leans back, setting his hand on my thigh. In that same spot as before. Moving his thumb in the way I like. I’m getting used to him doing that and even more, I’m growing to love the little touches. I cover his hand with mine and peek up at him.

  “Next time, I’ll be quiet.”

  He turns to look at me with a pinched expression. “There’s not going to be a next time.” My stomach sinks and I can’t breathe until he adds, “I’m not going back there again.”

  “Well, if ever there’s any other thing…” I stumble over my words. “I won’t--”

  “I like that you stood up for me,” Dean says, cutting me off.

  “You like it, so you forgive me? Or you like it--”

  “I like the way you handled yourself. I’m not mad.”

  “So, we’re okay?” I ask him desperately, my heart hurting more than it should and it’s only just now that I realize what I really feel for Dean. And that’s dangerous.

  Dean lets out a humorous breath, with a light in his eyes that eases me. “You’re sweet, Allie Cat,” he tells me and then gives me a soft smile.

  “So where are we going?” I ask him, finally relaxing back into the seat and sitting cross-legged. He tries to take his hand away, but I put it right back on my thigh and he lets me.

  “The hotel around the corner has good room service,” he answers like it’s a question.

  “I like room service.”

  “And then you can tell me something to take my mind off the fact that I’m fucking stupid for coming down here at all.”

  “Why did you?” I ask him.

  “Because my shrink said I should.”

  “Why?”

  “My guess would be, so we could talk about it.”

  I let that sink in for a moment before I ask him, “Do you want to talk about it?”

  He hesitates and takes his hand back, bu
t only to steer into a parking lot. It’s not until he puts the car in park and turns it off before he answers. “Sometimes I think I do.” With the hum of the engine and the stereo off, it’s quiet. Too quiet.

  “I’m here if you want to talk,” I offer him although my stomach twists and that unsettled feeling comes back to me.

  “I’d like to talk about something else,” he answers.

  “About what?” I ask him, straightening my shoulders and readying to talk about whatever he wants.

  “I don’t know,” he says, and I let out a small laugh. “How about your major?”

  “Undecided.”

  “No shit? Me too.” He gives me a handsome grin that settles those nerves and I reply, “Great minds, huh?”

  “My lack of direction and commitment in choosing a major is one of the reasons Dr. Robinson said I should talk to my mother.” He keeps tapping his thumb on the wheel and I’m not sure why he’s so nervous.

  He looks out the front windshield and toward the street as he talks. “Shit, I don’t want to talk about that.”

  “You have no direction or commitment? Oh God, I really should hightail it out of here,” I tell him humorously to lighten up the mood.

  He chuckles, that deep, rough chuckle I love to hear and grabs my hand, pulling it to his lips. I love his smiles, but I hate that he’s only doing it to make me feel better. If I weren’t here, he wouldn’t be smiling. I know that much. “I like you, Allie,” he says softly and then adds, “I’m sorry I brought you and you had to see that.”

  I feel like I’m drowning. I’m in over my head and the weight of everything pushes against my chest, forcing me further down into an abyss that’s sure to consume me.

  But I want it to.

  When I look into Dean’s eyes and I see the emotion that stares back at me, I see myself and it hurts. It’s a sweet, deep pain that I want to take from him. And if that means drowning… so be it.

  “Hey, you okay?” Dean asks me and it’s only then I realize I wasn’t breathing.