All I Want

by J. Daniels

  I’m out the door before he can give me a response, but I don’t need one. Not from him. The only voice I want to hear comes to me in a recording as I hold my phone up to my ear.

  “Leave a message.”

  I nearly stumble at those three words before I give him my own. “How could you leave me? How could leave us, Luke? You couldn’t even tell me goodbye, and I’m supposed to move on, and forget you, and be okay with this, but I can’t. I won’t let you go. Do you hear me? I’m not letting you go.”

  I disconnect the call and step out of the hospital.

  ***

  “Sshooooo. Sshoooo.”

  “Nolan, get that airplane off Aunt Tessa’s head.”

  Nolan stands on the couch, leaning his body into me as he skims the airplane down my neck and onto my shoulder. I’d normally get annoyed that he keeps getting that thing tangled in my hair, but for the past three days, nothing has gotten a reaction out of me.

  Not the asshole that banged his car door against the side of mine, leaving a very noticeable dent.

  Not the shit weather we’ve had, the constant slow drizzle that makes it impossible to pick a damn windshield wiper speed.

  Not even the looks I’ve been getting from Ben, Mia, Reed, my parents… okay, practically everyone in this entire fucking town. The sympathetic stares. The knowing head tilts, paired with a silent “it’ll all be okay”. I don’t want to hear it from anyone, but I don’t react. I keep my head down and let a four-year-old get airplanes tangled in my hair.

  “Hey, what did I say?” Mia asks, coming up to stand in front of the two of us.

  Nolan quickly removes his airplane off my shoulder. “But Aunt Tessa said I could pway.” The couch cushion shifts beside me as his little body moves closer. Suddenly, his head pops up in front of mine, big gray eyes filling my vision.

  My eyes focus for the first time in an hour, and I glance up at Mia. “I don’t care if he does that. It’s fine.”

  “Do you want something to drink? Some tea?” she asks.

  I shake my head. I can’t have tea. “No thanks.”

  “Uh-oh,” Nolan says, falling back against his cushion. He clutches his airplane to his chest as Mia leans down.

  “What’s the matter, baby?” Mia asks, trailing her finger down this nose.

  They always do that. The three of them. It was something Ben and Nolan did before Mia came into the picture, and now it’s something they share.

  Nolan looks over at me with a deep frown. “Arwe you sad, Aunt Tessa?”

  Mia straightens up, quickly turning away from me and heading back to the kitchen. I hear her quiet sniffles as I nod at Nolan. “Yeah, buddy. I’m really sad.”

  A tiny line forms between his eyebrows, and I watch him move quickly, scrambling into my lap and wrapping his arms around my neck.

  He squeezes me with all his strength, I know it, and I gently hold him against me, wincing as I remove his knee that’s digging into the sensitive spot on my hip.

  “I’m supposed to give you hugs when you’wre sad. I forwgot.”

  “Who told you to give me hugs?” I ask, closing my eyes as this tiny hug gives me more comfort than I ever thought it could. He smells like the detergent Mia uses. Lavender, and that distinct little boy smell. Like he’s been playing in the dirt all day.

  He shifts in my lap, flattening his cheek against my chest. “Uncle Wuke. He told me to give you lots of hugs. Are you still sad?”

  I press my lips against the top of his head. “Yeah, buddy. I think I’ll be sad for a while.”

  “I think Uncle Wuke is sad too.”

  I take in a deep breath, opening my eyes at the sound of something in front of me. Mia sets a mug down on the coffee table and falls back onto the cushion beside me, both hands flattening against her belly.

  “Nolan, why don’t you go play in your room for a little while. Daddy said we’ll go out for pizza later if you want.”

  “Pizza!” Nolan darts off my lap and scrambles in the direction of the stairs leading up to the second level.

  I drop my head against Mia’s shoulder. “I said I didn’t want any tea.”

  “I know.”

  “You made me some anyway.”

  “It was either that or ice cream, and we only have Cherry Garcia.”

  “Sick.”

  She laughs. “Tell me about it. I don’t know how Ben can eat that flavor.” Her head leans into mine. “What’s going on with you and Mason?”

  “Nothing. We’re just friends.”

  “He’s such a sweet guy.”

  “Mia,” I warn. “I can’t be with anybody else. I can’t.”

  “I know that. I’m just saying he’s a sweet guy, but once you’re friend-zoned, that’s it.”

  “Not for you,” I say through a small laugh, one paired with my first smile in what feels like a month.

  “Definitely not for me,” she agrees with a chuckle. She holds her hand out, palm up on her lap, and I place mine in hers. “I’ll make Ben stop for ice cream on our way home from getting pizza. What kind do you want?”

  “Cookie Dough.”

  “Okay.”

  “And the one with the waffle cones crushed up in it. Whatever that’s called.”

  “I think that’s… No, that one has potato chips.”

  “Don’t get that one.”

  She laughs again, and so do I.

  “You can stay here as long as you want. You know that, right?” she asks.

  I nod against her shoulder.

  “It won’t always hurt this bad. Give it some time.”

  “Grab that salted caramel one too, while you’re at it, Miss Chatty. If you keep saying shit like that, I’m going to need an army of Ben & Jerry’s to numb out my heartache.”

  She gently squeezes my hand. “Sorry.”

  “It’s fine. I’m really hungry anyway.”

  “Me too.”

  I tilt my head, eyeing up her monstrosity of a belly. “I can’t imagine why. At least your binge-fest is warranted.”

  She squeezes my hand. “So is yours.”

  I let my eyes fall closed, and we both sit there until Nolan calls out for Mia sometime after I’ve almost fallen asleep. When I’m finally left alone, I slip my phone out of my pocket and tuck myself into a ball.

  “Leave a message.”

  I hang up three times, needing to hear those three words again, then again, before I give him my own.

  “You sound so pissed off on your recording. I love it. Is it weird that I love it? I can picture you, all annoyed and ready to break your phone ’cause you have to leave a greeting. I’m really glad you left one.

  “I think that’s the only thing keeping me going right now. Sometimes I listen to it twenty times before I leave you a message, which actually sounds kinda stalkerish, now that I’ve heard it out loud.” I laugh softly into the phone. “I’d totally stalk you if I could. But I know you don’t want me to know where you are.” I turn around as the sound of footsteps on the stairs alerts me of Nolan’s presence. “I love you today. I really wish you were here to ask me.”

  I disconnect the call and shove my phone back into my pocket.

  Her name flashes across my screen with another incoming call. I ignore it like I always do, like I have to do, letting it go to voicemail. I don’t listen to those either. I can’t. Hearing Tessa’s voice isn’t something I can handle right now. She’s racked up eighteen voicemails, one a day, and I’ve let them sit there. Maybe in a couple of months I’ll be able to listen to the soft, raspy sound that rumbles in the back of her throat, teasing every syllable, but not now. She could scream at me for leaving her, or beg me to come back. It wouldn’t matter. I’d hear the pain I’ve caused her and it would fucking destroy me.

  I swipe my thumb across the screen to clear the call and the voicemail waiting for me, pulling up all my text messages to Ben. The ones that prick is doing a damn good job at ignoring, for the most part.

  I can’t talk to Tessa, or listen
to her voice, but I need to know she’s okay. I need someone to tell me I’ve done the right thing by getting out of her life, but my asshole best friend won’t give me shit.

  I go to the first one I sent him the day after I left, and begin scrolling through.

  Me: How is she? Is she okay?

  Nothing. I’d tried again the next day.

  Me: Have you seen her today? Is she any better? She likes that disgusting green tea shit. Make that for her. It might help.

  Again, nothing. I’d kept trying.

  Me: She keeps calling me. Is she talking to you? Is she talking to anybody? Mia? I’m about to start texting Reed if you don’t give me something. I haven’t answered any of her calls, but I need to know she’s okay.

  Me: Reed is a dick. He won’t answer me either. I’ll fucking call Mia if you don’t start answering.

  I’d never call Mia, ’cause it would upset her. And this fucker knows it.

  Me: I’m going fucking crazy. Just tell me she’s breathing, asshole. I need something before I start ripping shit apart.

  That finally triggered him.

  Ben: She’s great. She’s completely forgotten about you. Her and that Aussie are picking out engagement rings and shit.

  Me: What the fuck, man?

  Ben: What the fuck, nothing. You want to know how she is so badly? Get your ass here and find out.

  I scroll through the rest of the texts, all different versions of me begging, and Ben giving me bullshit responses.

  Ben: She’s great.

  Ben: She’s moving to France to study Art History.

  Ben: She got a life-sized cutout made of you and ran it over with her car.

  That one I actually believed.

  Reed finally removed his fingers out of some chick’s pussy to text me back, four days after I sent him a message. His response almost had me driving back to Ruxton to choke him out.

  Reed: Did you move or something?

  Eighteen fucking days of this shit. I feel like I’m losing my mind, which seems appropriate, considering I’ve lost everything else. All I want—besides Tessa, because she’s still everything I want—is for her to be okay, and happy. That’s it. I know the happy part might take a while, but I need someone to tell me she’s okay, and I needed to hear it seventeen days ago.

  “Hey, Evans. There’s some guy here to see you.”

  I look up from my phone at Harding, my new partner, as he stands behind my desk. He’s only about ten years older than me, but the stress of the job has left him with a full head of gray hair, and deep lines etched into his skin.

  He takes a sip of his coffee and motions in the direction of the double doors.

  “Who?” I ask, closing the folder in front of me than getting to my feet, tucking my phone into the inside pocket of my jacket. I try to peer out the small window in the door, but I can’t make out anybody at this distance.

  “I don’t know. Big guy. Tattoos.”

  Ben?

  “Is he a cop?”

  Harding smiles through a swallow. “Not with that haircut, man. You finished with that paperwork yet?”

  Fuck. What the hell is he doing here?

  “Yeah, it’s in the folder.” I point in the general direction of my desk as I begin walking toward the double doors.

  He’s sitting alone in the last chair lined up along the wall, head down, elbows resting on his knees with his flannel shirt rolled up to mid forearm, exposing his ink. His hair is pulled back out of his face, which turns up at the sound of my entrance.

  The first thing I notice is how rested he looks. I’d even go so far as to use the word healthy. His eyes aren’t bloodshot, there’s color to his face, and he appears steady on his feet as he stands, greeting me with a drop of his head.

  “Son.”

  “What are you doing here?” I ask, ignoring the bullshit title he’s just given me. I do a quick take of the waiting room to make sure we’re alone. If I have to lay into this asshole, I don’t want anyone else to hear it.

  His eyes trail down the front of me, and he smiles. “You’re in a suit. It’s been a long time since I saw you dressed up.”

  “Yeah. Twelve years at Mom’s funeral. I’m surprised you even looked at me that day.”

  “I looked at you, Son,” he replies, lifting his chin and squaring off with me. “I just couldn’t deal with your pain and mine at the same time.”

  “What do you want?” I’m losing my patience, and it’s evident in my tone as I try and hurry this conversation along.

  He sticks his hand into the front pocket of his shirt and retrieves something, which he flips at me. I catch it out of instinct, letting my fingers fall open to reveal the blue chip.

  “Ten days sober,” he says proudly. “I know it ain’t much, but it’s more than I’ve had in a long time.”

  I study the chip, letting my thumb glide over the engravings, rolling it between my fingers like I did with the one I took from his cigar box. I don’t realize he’s moved closer to me until I feel a hand on my shoulder.

  “I’m not gonna lie. That doctor scared the shit outta me. After you left when he told us both I needed to stop drinking or I’d kill myself, I kept thinking about your mom and how she would’ve looked at me. How she would’ve hated me for what I was doing.”

  “I’ve told you that for years,” I grunt out, shrugging his hand off my shoulder and looking up at him with nothing but resentment. All the shit he put me through, and all it took was hearing from a fucking doctor that he was going to end up drinking himself to death for him to listen? “You never even flinched when I brought it up.”

  “Drunks can’t be reasoned with, Son. We care about one thing, and one thing only. Anything you tried to say to me when I was drinking?” He shakes his head with a grimace. “Waste of your time.”

  I toss the chip at his chest. “You know what else is a waste of time? You, driving six hours to show me you’ve finally decided to man up to your shit. You’re too late. I don’t care what you do anymore.”

  “I didn’t just come here to show you that. I came to give you this too.” His hand not clutching the chip produces a set of keys out of his pocket. He forces them into my hand, and I look down, recognizing them immediately.

  “Your house keys?”

  “It’s hard for me to be there,” he explains, his voice shifting into a tone I haven’t heard him use since I was a kid. “I want to drink, every day. Right now, I want to drink, and it’ll always be like that. That shit doesn’t go away, and being in that house doesn’t help me. My sobriety has to be number one. I found a small apartment in town. I’m gonna stay there. The house is yours if you want to sell it, or do whatever you want with it.”

  I look up at him. “I thought you were already selling it ’cause you needed money for booze?”

  “Booze? No. I left you a message telling you why I was selling it. Didn’t you listen to it?”

  I shrug. “Few seconds of it.”

  He tucks the blue chip into his pocket, giving the panel a gentle pat. A smile twists across his mouth. “You know I can’t work computers for shit. Your mom was always better at that stuff.” His eyes fall to a space between us. “The first rehab center I found online was gonna cost me fifty grand. I figured they all cost that much these days, and I don’t have that kind of money. I’ve dipped into your mom’s life insurance policy a bit, but the rest of it I put away for you.”

  My eyes widen.

  He studies my response with a steady look of assurance. “I’ve known I’ve had a problem for a long time. I made it so I couldn’t touch that money, sober or not. It’s yours when you want it. I called a realtor to put the house up for sale to pay for that rehab center, but then that little spit-fire of yours came to see me.”

  There’s a lot of information I should be taking in right now. My dad’s sober, I’m holding keys to the house I never thought I’d step foot in again, but that last thing he just said to me seems to be the only thing I’ve heard.

&nb
sp; “What are you talking about?” I ask, wanting for the first time in years to hear what he has to say.

  His smile grows to a full on grin now. “The redhead. She’s a feisty thing. Reminded me of your mom a bit.”

  My heart knocks against my ribs, hard enough to crack several. “Tessa? She came to see you? When?” I feel myself moving closer, needing this information more than I need to breathe. “Hello? Fucking talk!”

  He backs up, holding his hands up in surrender with a laugh. “Jesus. Relax, will ya? She came by…” He looks up at the ceiling for a few seconds, and I think I might actually die before he figures this out. I’m so close to beating the information out of him, but what the hell good would that do me?

  He nods decisively, and a loud gush of air leaves my lungs as he comes to his conclusion.

  “The day after you gave me my chip back, she came to see me. I’m not really sure what brought her there, but she had these pamphlets with her. Treatment programs for addicts that are run through the hospital. It’s great, and it’s free. I have a ton of support. I can meet with doctors if I’m having problems…”

  “Yeah, yeah, that’s great. What did she say?”

  He chuckles through his grin, reaching up and scratching along his jaw. “She laid into me a little bit. A lot, actually. Said some shit you’ve said to me, but it felt different coming from her. It was like she was protecting you or something.”

  My mouth goes dry, making swallowing near impossible. “I don’t understand why she would bring you anything. She doesn’t know you. I never talked about you with her.”

  He shoves his hands into his pockets, his smile fading. “That doesn’t surprise me. I can’t say anything I’ve done over the past twelve years deserved to be talked about, and I get keeping her out of all that. I do. But women, they figure shit out on their own, Son. Your mom was the same way. When they’re determined, good fucking luck keeping them in the dark about stuff.” He shakes his head through a laugh. “That girl of yours, I like her. She doesn’t take no shit. That’s a good quality to have in a woman.”