by J. Daniels
“Mm. That’s funny. I don’t remember asking you anything.”
“Don’t give me lip,” my mother snapped in her finger-waving-in-my-face tone. “It’s disrespectful.”
I bent my knees and dug my bare toes into the comforter. My calves tensed.
“Don’t talk about my best friend, Mom. It’s really uncool.”
“I’m simply saying, you should be home, with your husband and dealing with this as a couple. It takes two, dear, and you’re backing out when you should be fighting for your marriage.”
“I’m not backing anywhere! He wanted out!”
My mother gasped, breathed heavily through lingered seconds, then queried, “My God. Why are you yelling?”
“Are you serious?” I sat up, punched the mattress with my fist, and cried, “You’re making me crazy! That’s why I’m yelling.”
My face and neck warmed in exhausted anger.
How could she throw all of this on me? I didn’t understand her. She knew Marcus was the one who ended things. I’d told her the entire play-by-play three nights ago, and it’s my fault?
Was she serious?
“Marriage is a covenant, Sydney,” she started again in a soothing but instructive tone.
I pressed my lips together so tightly I could feel my pulse against my teeth.
“An unbreakable vow between you, Marcus, and God. Now, I’m not saying I ever thought much of your husband, because truth be told, I didn’t. Thought my baby girl could do a thousand times better, but you chose him, vowed to him, ’til death do you part, and that is not something you should take lightly and just throw away when things aren’t working.”
“I didn’t throw anything away,” I replied after taking a breath, willing my battering heart to slow.
“Well, it sure sounds like you did,” my mother argued. “And divorce is not an option.”
“Do you even hear yourself, Mom? What about women in abusive relationships? Or adultery? What if Marcus would’ve cheated, would divorce be an option then?”
“Abuse, adultery, drug use, those are all acceptable reasons for divorce if people cannot change. Not someone wanting out because they fell out of love with their spouse. There is marital counseling for that, which is what you should be seeking right now instead of living in sin in Dogwood Beach.”
My mouth fell open with a gasp.
“Now…” My mother cleared her throat, not even missing a beat. “If you would like me to set you and Marcus up for an appointment with Father Frank, I would be more than happy—”
I disconnected the call.
My throat burned like I had been breathing fire. Tears threatened to pour down my face, but my head was the holder of the worst of my pain.
A thousand tiny needles stung my scalp, and the base of my skull throbbed so violently, my vision blurred.
Footsteps lifted my eyes as I dug the points of my fingers into my temples.
Tori appeared in the doorway with a green Christmas quilt draped over her shoulders and head.
She always wrapped up in blankets like a cocooned caterpillar when she watched television.
“You okay, hon?”
I shifted my eyes to the phone next to my knee.
“My mom,” I explained.
“Again?”
Behind heavy lids, I nodded. I couldn’t look at her as I clung to my lie from earlier.
It sucked.
“You wanna talk about it?”
I shook my head and stared at my eggplant-colored toenails.
“All right, well, I’m LaLa’d out for tonight. You change your mind, come get me. Otherwise I’ll see you in the morning, Hookah.”
I gave her a weak smile and my hazel irises, nodding when she asked in silent question with a hand on the light switch if I wanted the room dark, then I fisted my phone and slid under a heavy teal comforter and champagne satin sheets, pressing my head between two pillows and praying for reprieve.
My mouth tasted like sweet sparkling wine and mango salsa. A combination I needed to kill with Crest and mouthwash, but the throbbing in my skull kept me horizontal.
I don’t know how long I lay there before my phone rang, but it was long enough that my lips were cracked from sleep-riddled breaths bursting free.
I pulled my head out from under the pillow and flipped to my back.
The screen lit up above me. I wet my lips eagerly and answered with slumber lingering in my voice.
“Trouble. You okay?”
I heard his breathy laugh. It sounded cozy and familiar.
I wanted to watch his chest move with it, his throat and his mouth.
I wanted to see if he dipped his head or threw it back.
“Why are you asking if I’m okay?”
“’Cause you said your day went to shit,” I pointed out, pulling the covers closer. “Why did it go to shit?”
He breathed slowly, then replied, “You don’t need to worry about that, babe. It’s better now.”
I smiled against cool satin, but it didn’t linger when I thought about Brian’s reasoning from a day ago.
“Is this the bad in your life, Brian?”
“Yeah,” he answered without pause, like a relieving breath.
“Is it stuff you can’t share with me?”
“Yeah.”
Again, no pause.
I rolled toward the ocean-view window and sighed, not in disappointment.
In content.
I wanted this Later.
And he was giving it to me, even after his day went to shit.
“Then we’ll just talk about stuff you can share with me,” I said after tucking the blanket over my shoulder and getting cozy.
He laughed again, light against my ear.
“Like what, Wild? What do you want to know?”
I closed my eyes.
Everything, I thought, but I started simple.
Chapter Seven
BRIAN
“I haven’t had peanut butter in seven years.”
I dropped my pen in the crease of the book of crosswords I was working on and closed it.
“Say what?” I asked into the phone, then kicked the chair out next to me and stretched out, foot propped up and body angled back.
Sydney and I were shooting the shit, had been since I called her up after getting home at the end of a long as fuck day working at Wax. I was listening to everything she was saying while reading and filling in answers, set on finishing out the page, but not having peanut butter in seven years had me putting my pen down and giving up on Puzzle 17.
“Crazy, right?” Wild asked, sounding like she couldn’t believe it herself. “It’s because of Marcus. He’s allergic.”
“To peanut butter?”
“To peanuts,” she corrected. “And I mean really allergic. He can’t even smell anything with peanuts in it or he’ll start breathing different. It’s serious. He’s had to go to the hospital twice because of a reaction.”
“Shit,” I muttered, not really giving two fucks if this guy had to go to the hospital or not. I was more reacting to what I knew Syd was getting at.
“I love peanut butter,” she whispered longingly. “I love it enough to eat it straight out of the jar, but I couldn’t keep any in the house. I couldn’t even eat it when I wasn’t home because I’d come back smelling like it. It lingers.”
She was right. Even after brushing your teeth, you could sometimes still taste it.
“So not only did I give up peanut butter,” she continued. “But I gave up peanut butter cup sundaes at Friendly’s, and I loved that sundae. Whenever we got good report cards, my mom would take Barrett and me and I’d always order that sundae. It was tradition.”
Christ, I hated this fucker.
He couldn’t help having an allergy but it still pissed me the fuck off.
Her mom took her and Barrett there. That meant a lot to her.
Sydney should be eating peanut butter cup sundaes every fucking day of her life and keeping that memory.
“Couldn’t have a dog either,” she added quietly. “He was allergic to those, too.”
I cracked my neck, then asked, “You want a dog?”
“I’ve always wanted a dog. A boxer. Male. They’re beautiful creatures. And smart. I’d name him Sir Duke because he’d be regal and would need a regal name.”
Her voice raced with excitement.
I laughed under my breath.
“Sir Duke? You serious, babe? You can’t give a dog two names.”
“He’d have two names but he’d go by Sir. Just Sir. Sir Duke would be on his birth certificate and I’d only yell that if he was in trouble, which would be never because he’d be perfect.”
I shook my head, but I did it smiling.
She was quiet for a couple breaths.
I was about to suggest she get a dog after hitting up Friendly’s when she shut me up with her speech.
“I gave up peanut butter and a pet for him, but I didn’t mind because you give up stuff when you fall in love and you do it not caring because you’re in love. You gain so much more than what you’re losing, and I would’ve given up more than that to be with Marcus because I was in love and I knew he felt the same. There was a time he would’ve given up peanut butter and a pet for me, too, but you know what, Brian?”
“What, babe?”
My chest felt tight. I was no longer relaxing in that chair with my foot up. I was hunched over the table, elbows holding the weight of my upper body and my head cradled in my hand as I listened and waited, staring at the tattered pages of my book.
“He wouldn’t give up anything for me anymore. Not one damn thing. Not even if I was allergic to it.”
I breathed deep with such force, my nostrils flared.
I hated hearing the hurt in Syd’s voice. It fucking ate at me.
I stood up and walked to the fridge to grab another beer.
It was either that or hunt down every Marcus currently living and breathing and beating the shit out of them one at a time.
“Know what I think you should do?” I asked her, holding the bottle at an angle against the counter and knocking the cap off with the side of my hand.
I took a swig.
She sighed, thinking about it. “Go buy a bag of peanut butter cups and eat the entire thing, then mail all the wrappers to Marcus in a box wrapped all pretty with a bow?”
I smirked.
“Not a bad idea, but what the fuck is the point of eating peanut butter cups if they aren’t mixed with vanilla ice cream with whipped cream on top and you’re not sitting at a booth eating it out of a giant sundae glass? Go big or go home, Wild. And I’d expect nothing but big coming from you.”
She paused, then with a smile in her voice added, “And peanut butter sauce. They put that in it, too.”
“Good. You’re making up for seven years. You deserve a fuck-ton of it.”
“You think that’s what I should do? Go to Friendly’s and eat a sundae?”
“I think you should do whatever you want to do, and if that’s eat peanut butter with every meal for the rest of your life while you’re surrounded by boxers with two fucking names, do it,” I replied. “It’s your life, babe. I get why you gave it up and respect that, I hope he respected it ’cause giving up a memory like that is heavy and not something he should’ve brushed aside, but if you’re saying he’s past the point of giving up shit for you, then fuck it.”
“It’s my life,” she whispered, breathing a little faster like she was excited.
She was repeating what I had said, and hearing it coming out of her own mouth, really listening, tasting those words and getting used to the idea of living that life. For the first time.
That made me smile.
I heard the jingle of keys through the phone and turned, glancing at the time on the stove.
“Where you going, Wild?” I asked, and I did this grinning, not smiling, fucking grinning because I knew where she was going.
But it still felt good hearing her confirm it.
“To live my life.”
Two hours later I checked up on her.
You eat a sundae?
Nope. I ate two.
* * *
What’s a four letter word for the guy at Table 6 is pissing me off.
Bad day, Wild?
He’s complaining about everything! And it’s stupid stuff. Like his water is too cold and he wanted two tomatoes on his BLT, not one. He didn’t say anything about tomatoes when he ordered and HOW IS WATER TOO COLD? I’m going to get the worst tip if he even leaves one and I’m betting he doesn’t.
Maybe you need a break.
Can’t. One girl called out ’cause her son is sick so we’re short and it’s lunch rush.
OMG he just told me the lights are too bright in here. I’m going to kill him.
Won’t be able to talk to you if you’re in jail.
Fine. I won’t kill him. But I’m not bringing him extra napkins. So he’s gonna know I’m mad.
Damn girl.
Shit just got real, B. I’m a redhead. He should know better.
* * *
I almost died just now. Our last conversation would’ve been about how underrated Violent Femmes are. I would’ve been okay with that.
I read her text and immediately hit Dial as I stepped into the back office at Wax and kicked the door shut behind me for privacy.
Cole was out on the floor. I didn’t need him hearing this shit and asking me about it.
Sydney wasn’t something I shared with anyone, and I was planning on keeping it that way.
“Hey,” she answered with a smile in her voice. “I’m surprised you’re calling. I figured you’d be working right now.”
“I am fucking working right now.”
“Uh…okay. What’s up? Why do you sound mad?”
“What the fuck do you mean you almost died?”
I kept my voice down but didn’t keep the edge from it. I wasn’t sure I’d be able to swallow that back right now. I was pissed. And her nonchalant tone was only fueling my irritation.
“Oh,” she answered through a light chuckle. “I was kidding. I mean, not totally kidding. There was a small fire but it’s been dealt with. Crisis averted. But it definitely could’ve gotten out of control if Tori didn’t have a fire extinguisher. Luckily, she does.”
“Are you fucking serious?” I grated.
“Yeah,” she replied hesitantly. “What’s wrong with you? Are you okay?”
“Am I okay?” I asked harshly. “You send me a text saying you almost died and what, you’re expecting me to respond with a ‘That’s fuckin’ great, Wild,’ or ‘Glad you didn’t kick it,’ like I don’t give enough of a shit about you at this point to call and ask what the fuck you mean by that. Then you’re gonna get on my ass because I sound mad when I have every fucking right to sound mad after reading that text and further listening to you downplay it like something happening to you is one big fucking joke, and you’re asking me if I’m okay?”
“Um…”
“To answer your question, babe, no, I am not okay.”
She was silent for a moment, then with a quiet voice asked, “You’d care if something happened to me?”
I stared at the wall.
What the fuck?
“You serious, Wild?”
“You give a shit about me.”
She stated this. It wasn’t offered up as a question.
I rubbed at my face.
How the fuck could she think I didn’t?
“Yeah. I do, Syd. I give a shit about you.”
Exposing that about myself should’ve felt strange and maybe a little wrong, but it didn’t. I wanted her to know. I wanted Sydney to understand why I was reacting this way and why I would always react this way.
If she was expecting feelings to be left out of this, whatever this was between us, it was too fucking late for that.
I heard her soft breathing in my ear as I moved to the leather chair facing the desk and colla
psed into it.
“My mom sent me pamphlets on marriage counseling in the mail today,” she began, this time without a hint of amusement in her voice.
I knew she was no longer smiling. In fact, I pictured her sitting on her bed and twisting a lock of hair around her finger, an admitted habit of hers, and doing this while her eyes remained downcast and her shoulders slouched.
Her mom always took the fire out of her when they spoke. I fucking hated it.
She sighed, then continued.
“Like I’d even consider counseling with Marcus at this point. So Tori suggested we put them in a pot and set them on fire, which I thought was a great idea because it would destroy all evidence of those stupid pamphlets.” She took a deep breath. “We did. It got a little out of control when bits of flaming paper started floating out of the pot and onto her carpet, but Tori has a fire extinguisher so we were able to put it out.”
“You didn’t get hurt?” I asked.
“No. Not at all…” Her voice trailed off. “Are you mad at me?”
Now it was my turn to smile.
I dropped my head back and stared at the ceiling.
“A little. But it helps you’re alive, so I’m sure when we talk later tonight, I’ll be over it.”
“Mm. And you give a shit about me.”
She was teasing now. Doing it smiling again, I was sure of.
But I knew Sydney. I knew even though she was teasing and making me eat my confession from minutes ago, she still liked knowing how I felt. And she let me know just how much she liked knowing it with the next words out of her mouth.
“I give a shit about you too, Brian,” she admitted softly. “A really big shit.”
“Glad we’re on the same page, babe,” I chuckled.
“The giving a shit page? I’ve been on it. Glad you caught up, babe.”
This time when I laughed, I didn’t hold it in for the sake of being quiet. I gave it to her.
And I took what she gave me—her own admitted feelings and her sweet as fuck giggle. I took them.
With no intention of giving them back.
* * *
Famous person (dead or alive) you’d want to have dinner with. Go.