The River In Spring

by Leslie Pike

  Week six into our relationship has arrived, and it’s weird I counted. Things are morphing. I’ve always been consumed by my career. After Kristen’s death even more so. But lately, since Dove’s arrival, work and most other routines have to be squeezed in among the really important things in life. Like fucking. Or hiking the property and watching Netflix with her. It’s strange to have priorities realign. Friends, family, and every other consistency have taken a backseat.

  I don’t want to be a prick. But shit, I want to concentrate on what calls me. It’s not like there is a choice. When I saw my family more happy for me than mad about missing my company, it meant something. They all get it. Every one of them.

  Laughing, preparing meals, taking a shower, everything common and normal holds greater weight. Colors are sharper, music more meaningful. And nobody is invited to join our club. Stay away! A memory of the Lyon boys’ treehouse with a sign No Girls Allowed briefly pops in my mind. I’m changing the rules. This time it reads Only One Girl Allowed. One perfect one.

  Today brings something new. Meeting the best friend. That, and having lunch at Casa Dove. It will be the first time seeing inside. Not that I have avoided it, but it’s just so comfortable at my place. Wonder what kind of taste she has? There has been one clue. Apparently, she’s sentimental about her grandparents’ things and her home reflects that. She said it one day when we were talking about my taste. She had made a comment that all my heart was hanging on one wall in the kitchen. The pictures. Can’t argue with that. Why have stuff spread all over?

  Maybe her place will be something completely different from mine. I don’t give a damn, except for the story it will tell. I have a feeling we will align despite any differences, making coming together in the future seamless. It only makes sense when everything else fits like a glove.

  Things have gone smoothly for us. So far. Don’t get ahead of yourself. The mantra replays in my head at least once a day as it regularly comes up against my eagerness. Never has the future been on my mind so much. Sometimes life climbs into your bones.

  Not being able to spend the night away from Maudie has unexpectedly worked in my favor. There is no need to explain my idiosyncrasies. I like my bed. I feel strange using other people’s beds and toilets. How am I supposed to take a shit in an unfamiliar bathroom? The thought makes me cringe. Those are things she’ll eventually learn. I could write a book on my habits.

  Can’t help myself. Even as a kid, it was like that. I have the perfect excuse right now, because it is true. I can’t risk being away from the dog. And it hasn’t stopped us from being together or spending every Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday sleeping in my bed.

  The weekends suck. She is required to perform and rehearse, rehearse, rehearse. To fine-tune new music she and Jimmy write. Getting her sleep, taking care of personal business, doing whatever she does without my company. It all takes time. She reminded me it takes a lot of effort to be serious artists of their caliber.

  There are thousands of talented people willing to put the time in, just waiting to take their place. The fact sounds bitter in my mind. But that is just the initial reaction. Being resentful of her talent and career, so she can be at my beck and call, is a move a lesser man might make. That isn’t me. I think she’s so talented and everyone else does too. Of course, it requires devotion. The truth is, I am constantly having to keep myself in check and remember what my father told me about knowing the real person. It’s better to look at the long game.

  As I approach the final twist in the road, Siri speaks.

  “Your destination is ahead in three hundred feet.”

  Looking around I take in the houses. Okay, 3607 Cloud Way is next. As I make the turn Dove’s home comes into view, surrounded by tall trees standing guard. It’s Hansel and Gretel’s place, a tiny, enchanted cottage, set back from the street. Looks like it’s about to come to life. Bibbidi bobbidi boo, as my mother likes to say whenever she sees something with a Disney quality. The unstructured front yard is flush with wildflowers and rose bushes on one side and a vegetable garden on the other. Colorful stone pathways snake through.

  Her two thousand ten Accord is parked on the gravel driveway, in front of a well-restored VW Bus from the sixties. Must be the girlfriend’s. Is that music I hear coming from inside the house? Pulling up, I park and grab the flowers. Once out, my question is answered. Definitely music. It’s great, whoever is singing. Think it’s Sting. A smooth voiced female accompanies him in a soulful jazzy ballad.

  Walking down the path leading to the front door, I hear laughter. Male laughter. What the fuck? Who’s here? Calm down. I really hate this jealousy shit I’m noticing about myself. It surprises me more than anything. Who is this guy I am turning into?

  The front door is wide open and Dove comes out dancing barefoot. The sexy beat of the song sets a seductive rhythm, and she knows how to take advantage. Moving with erotic intent, her eyes locked on mine, she sings every word. I have got to remember to add this to our playlist. A pair of low slung green cargo pants hug her waist as hips roll. The short yellow top that stops right under her breasts just about begs me to reach underneath. Shoulder sweeping earrings brush against golden skin. I would like to lay her down between the roses and radishes and fuck her senseless. Instead, I hold out the bouquet.

  “Are those for me?” She pretends innocence with a tilt of her head.

  “Yeah babe. Come get ‘em.” Now it’s my turn to tease. I lower the flowers in front of my crotch, erasing earlier lofty thoughts about the gift of flowers. Lately my fourteen-year-old boy’s sense of humor has made a return. Dove doesn’t seem to mind. Instead, she joins in the play. With a sprint, she comes to me and takes the bouquet. I feel fingers wave over my dick. A big smile puts a cherry on the sundae.

  Our lips meet under the Montana sun and we share one perfect kiss. I’m about to go for seconds when we are joined by a tall, blue-haired woman standing in the doorway. The expression is of a pissed off babysitter, overwhelmed by the screaming toddlers.

  “Excuse me! Hate to interrupt. Dove you better get your ass in here. I think today’s science experiment is about to boil over. Want me to shut the fire off?”

  A barely there smile cracks, and a hand raises in a wave, as I hold Dove in my arms. I return the gesture. Dove untangles herself and turns to her friend.

  “Deborah, this is Nobel. Nobel, meet our manager, and my best friend forever and ever.”

  I move toward the woman who is deciding if I pass the litmus test.

  “Hi. Nice to meet you.”

  Instead of a greeting I get a review and a warning.

  “Handsome. Hope you aren’t too particular about what constitutes a lunch. Or how it tastes. Other than that, it should work out. So, welcome to Casa Dove’s Don’t Expect Too Much or You’ll Be Disappointed Lunch. It’s an annual event.”

  What? I’m not sure how to take the news. But it delights Dove, who does not deny the words and thinks her BFF is funny. “Quit exaggerating! I cook more than once a year!” She says it with no conviction.

  As we make it to the door, I get a look from the friend that says, ‘You’ll see.’

  “Give me the flowers, I’ll find a vase.”

  Dove hands over the bouquet and Deborah disappears into the house.

  “Your house is really unusual looking, love the garden,” I say one second before entering crazy town.

  I thought there would be a story, and a quick scan tells one. There’s hardly a free space on the walls. Not for one more picture, poster, drawing, or sculpture. It looks like the sixties threw up in here, then came back and got sick again. The only thing I like is the oil painting of Dove. Her face is half in shade, as she sits under a tree. But the eyes. The artist got it right. It goes from the sublime to the ridiculous. Is that a photograph of two old naked people in a hot tub smoking weed?

  I don’t know where to look first. Yes I do. Tony sits on a purple print couch, strumming his guitar.

  “Hey man,�
� he offers, hardly looking away from the strings.

  “Nobel, check out the photographs on the wall of my grandparents! And you guys, introduce yourselves! I’m going to attend to the feast.”

  She heads for the next room, which I think is the kitchen. A giant plant with Christmas lights hanging randomly from the branches covers most of the doorway.

  Tony looks up and gives me a smile that the female fans must get off on. I think it’s overkill and slightly fake, but girls might like it.

  “I’m Tony. Surprised you made it this far, man, most don’t. Except for me of course. I have an all access pass.” He laughs. He fucking laughed. That was a deep dig. And there is no hesitation letting the prick know how I feel.

  “You either just insulted me or Dove or both. Don’t do it again.”

  The genuine surprise on his face makes me question my interpretation of the comment. Shit.

  His palm comes up, putting a stop to any further response.

  “Dude! I only meant this fucking house is usually much worse than it is today. It’s not always easy to navigate through all the instruments or fishing gear, whatever. That’s all. She straightened things up for your arrival.”

  I would be happy to melt into the floorboards. To disappear like a bird in a magic trick. Fuck! I look like a man with zero confidence. Not how I wanted to come across the first time meeting the band.

  Deborah speaks up. “You have to forgive my brother. He’s going through an emotional crisis.”

  “Fair point,” he says, going back to the guitar. And then as a sidebar, “That may be the truest thing anyone has said to me in years.”

  I’ve been in the house for thirty seconds and I’m completely confused. Deborah sees it on my face and lets me in in the private joke.

  “He just broke up with his boyfriend.”

  Oh boy. Did I get that one wrong. Suddenly I like this Tony guy a lot better. His interest in my woman is strictly platonic. It wasn’t a jab he threw at me. It was a compliment.

  “Don’t talk about that asshole. I’m over him,” he says.

  “Who’s the asshole today?”

  The keyboardist I saw that first night walks in from the hallway and makes eye contact with me. He moves forward, hand extended. Now this guy has some smarts.

  “Hi. I’m Jimmy.”

  “Nobel.”

  “Good to finally meet ‘the guy.’” His air quotes are questionable. Then he points and the smile fades. “Treat her right. There’s four of us watching.”

  What the fuck? I’m forty-three years old, guy. Is that jealousy behind his eyes? Could be I’m imagining false attacks again. Rivals that do not exist. Calm down, Nobel. You already made yourself look like an ass once today.

  “No problem,” I say. “It’s not my style to do otherwise.”

  A nod is all I get in response, as he settles next to Tony on the couch. His eyes don’t look away from me though. And I saw Deborah shoot him a look. Like she was telling him to back off. For some reason he takes the hint.

  “My brother and Jimmy are very protective of Dove. They all are. It’s totally annoying most of the time,” she says with a dry delivery.

  Tony plays a waa waa on the guitar and it makes me chuckle.

  So Tony is her brother. Okay. Putting the puzzle together piece by piece.

  “Lunch is ready! Everybody grab a bowl, help yourselves, and let’s take it out back. There’re plates for our bread and salad on the table,” Dove calls.

  “Sounds good,” Tony says, getting up and putting the guitar down.

  “It’s such a pretty day. Has everyone met?”

  Dove’s return could not have been better timed. This room and the company need to be aired out. Outside sounds great.

  “They met all right. How do you think it went?” Deborah’s sarcasm hits the mark.

  Dove points a finger in the keyboardist’s direction. “Play nice.”

  So, she identified who would have a problem with me. Why him? Interesting.

  “Come on. Jimmy open the wine, will you?”

  I follow her into the kitchen and come up against the latest in the day’s revelations. It’s a small space with a cat sitting on the table, grooming itself. There’s a big pot on the stove and what is in it is unidentifiable at this point. But it’s red and boiling.

  “Get a bowl of my infamous chili,” Dove says.

  Aha. Chili.

  “Get your cat off the table!” Jimmy commands Tony. “That is unsanitary!”

  I guess he’s not all bad. The cat and his human completely ignore the order. Instead, Tony gives one of his own.

  “Pussy, ignore the haters. What’s a little cat hair between friends?”

  “Pussy is shedding like a motherfucker! I’m putting her down!” Jimmy takes the reins and does what he said.

  “What the hell crawled up your ass?” Tony says, scooping a bowl of chili.

  I head outside as quickly as possible, mindful of the fact I’m on Jimmy’s team as far as the cat goes. There’s no reason to divulge that information. I don’t have a dog or cat in this fight. I’m playing the guest and don’t think anyone has figured out I hate animals around food prep. When Pussy licked herself in the nether regions while sitting on her table throne, I had to look away. It was puke worthy.

  Only Dove knows my ways. No one else knows I’m pretty much a minimalist when it comes to décor, or that there’s something about order I like. This first look at Dove’s habitat is a shocker. I sound like the fucking tight ass I have turned into.

  The backyard puts on a show before we make it outside. This time it’s a good one. French doors open to a different scene than I expected. Thought there would be more of the same as the front. Maybe more vegetables in the sunlight. Instead, it’s all about the natural beauty of the shady setting. There’s one wind chime and pots of flowers, but they are the only extras. No garden elves to be seen, not a gnome in sight.

  The American Sycamore trees lift to the sky and surround the large patio. You could get fifty people out here comfortably. At least fifty. It is wider than the house. A round ten person table, with a blue umbrella, takes center stage. The patio full of loungers and chairs take up the rest.

  “Wow. This is great,” I say, trying not to sound surprised.

  “It’s where we hang out in the spring and summer. You like it?” Dove asks.

  “I love it. Great place for a party.”

  “We have had some outstanding ones. Remember your grandmother’s birthday?” Deborah says.

  “Oh God! Don’t remind me!” Dove chuckles.

  As we take our seats, Tony adds his two cents. “The best one was when we all got soused and did the fucked up line dancing. That was your birthday, Deborah.”

  “No,” Jimmy says.

  With that one syllable word, the table quiets.

  Deborah pops back in. “That was a different night.”

  What just happened? Seems like they all came to the realization of something at once. Except for me. Dove’s eyebrow raises slightly, but I see it. She keeps her head down and her spoon in play. Just as Deborah’s about to say something, Jimmy interrupts.

  “It was the engagement party,” he says, looking in my direction. “Dove’s and mine.”

  8

  Dove

  “I looked like an ass! Why didn’t you tell me? It’s ridiculous!” Nobel says.

  He is pissed off and does not care to hide the fact. The meet and greet ended early and people couldn’t wait to get the hell out. That’s not a first, which is the point. Unfortunately, he doesn’t know why it happened once before.

  “I didn’t think it would come up so soon! You are overreacting! Let me explain!”

  I’m trying to hold my emotions in check, but they are about to boil over. I’m either going to cry or scream. I might tell him to calm the fuck down. Probably the last one.

  “Overreacting? You think I don’t have the right to expect you to at least warn me when I’m going to be in the
close company of someone you have loved?”

  He takes a few beats before adding with emphasis, “Or fucked.”

  The heat rises on my face. “Ohhh. There it is.” I point right at him. “That’s what this is all about.”

  He stops and looks me in the eyes. His demeanor calms. Like the eye of a storm.

  “No. It isn’t. But it’s part of it. You were being disrespectful to me hiding something so important to know. It makes it a secret between you two. I don’t like that you did that. I have to go.”

  I feel tears well. He doesn’t look me in the face as he moves to the door. It slams in a final statement. I don’t think he realizes how hurt I feel. We have only known each other for a short time. I am not required to tell this man every single thing I’ve gone through. He has nothing to worry about but didn’t give me the chance to say.

  Closing my eyes, I try seeing things from Nobel’s point of view. Once I do it’s kind of hard to deny he has a point. Shit. Grandma used to tell me I was my own worst enemy because of my iron stubbornness. Thought I outgrew it.

  I figured I had more time to ease into the conversation. Now he is going to think my avoidance equals repressed feelings. How do I explain without sounding pathetic? Or cruel. Or revealing Jimmy’s vulnerability. And will he believe me? I can hear him now, pointing out nobody agrees to a marriage proposal unless they want to. Least of all me. Things aren’t always black and white. I have to talk with him tonight. In person. Make him understand exactly how I feel about any other man, past or future.

  * * *

  It’s dusk when I finally make it to his place. The deep purple streaked sky reflects the mood of the moment. I climb the steps of the porch and feel my stomach turn. There are more than butterflies taking flight. There are condors. I didn’t want him to reject my plan to talk it out, so the visit is unannounced. He hasn’t called me once since walking out this afternoon. Don’t really blame him. Damn.