by Amo Jones
Following her deeper into the house, I pass through the sitting room and kitchen, right to the doors which open out onto the patio out the back.
Dad’s flipping patties wearing the apron I bought him for Father’s Day a few years back wrapped around his waist that reads “Don’t Leave me Alone with the Grill” and a beer in hand. I lean against the door frame, fighting the smirk that’s on my mouth. “Hey, Daddy.”
Dad turns quickly, a smile radiating across his face. Dad is classically handsome. He has salt and pepper hair, a dusting of crinkles around his eyes and smile lines in his cheeks. He has an infectious smile and laugh that can flip even the angriest of people. He has tons of friends and is always the life of the party. But he’s also a little scary when he wants to be—especially when it comes to me.
“Hey sweetheart, how was the trip?”
I shrug, walking forward until his arms wrap around me and I sink into his warmth. “It was rather long considering Mom kept calling me.”
“What’s your mother hassling you about now and why is she calling you while you’re driving?” he asks, going back to the patties.
Dad and Mom have an odd friendship. They joke and call each other names and even pretend to despise each other. But everyone knows that they’d kill and die for one another. When I asked them why they broke up if they loved each other so much, my mom replied, “Sometimes, love isn’t enough to keep a relationship or marriage working.” I then shot back, “But you do, you both have friendship, too!” She said, “Yes, we have friendship and love, Amethyst, but we don’t have the kind of love that sets your soul on fire, and that’s the only kind of love that you should ever settle for.” I must have been really young. Maybe four or five, because their not being together has never, ever bothered me. I think it helped me in a way. Two happy homes are better than one broken one, and I learned at a young age that you should always keep your soul and intentions real.
“Jonathan…” Lara warns, using my dad’s full name. Everyone usually just calls him Jonah. She gives him a warning glare while placing the knives and forks onto the outdoor table.
I chuckle, inhaling the smell of freshly cut grass and fresh lavender from the garden down below. I love this place. It has always been home to me. I know I’m lucky. I have so many homes, but the thing I loved most growing up was two homes, two separate rules. They were always eating out of the palm of my hand when I was a teen—it was great.
Lara hands me a beer, and I take it, popping off the lid. Taking a swig, I shrug. “Well, I met my new stepbrothers.”
Dad grunts.
“Dad, you never told me that you knew Elliot?”
Dad grunts again. I figured that’s all I was going to get out of him for now.
“Anyway,” I add. “It turns out that I may or may not have met his son the night before at a bar.”
Dad stills, tilting his head to look at me from over his shoulder. I take a seat on one of the chairs.
Lara laughs, placing the large salad bowl onto the table and wiping her hands on a dishcloth.
“Girl… you did?” Her smile beams briefly, before obviously realizing old daddy dearest is listening, so she collects herself and straightens her shoulders.
God, I love her. No evil stepmom here, nope. Lara is a few years younger than Dad, and when they met, she was still in college, just shy of graduating law school. Most college people, me, for example, would run if a guy had a kid. But she didn’t. She has always treated me like a friend. I respected her a lot more for it. I have two parents, everyone has two parents, I didn’t need three. She let Mom and Dad parent me while she played the cool role. Sort of like a cool aunt but only better.
“What do you mean, at a bar?” Dad asks, his eyes narrowing on me.
“I mean as in we did something.”
My dad and I have always had an open relationship. As in I’ve never hidden anything from him because I knew he’d never judge me or be disappointed. But he would kill anyone who’d hurt me. My dad is my safety blanket. He’s something no one could take from me. Sure, I love my mom, and I’d never compare the two loves because they’re completely different, but Mom has always been… Mom. She’s light, funny, and can at times, be a little…away at the fairy’s. But Dad? He was my constant. I knew no one could take him away from me, so I knew he could handle anything I did in life. I like to test this theory a lot.
“Amethyst.” Dad shakes his head, turning the patties again. I make my way to him, inching up on my tippy toes to kiss his cheek. It felt like rough leather against my lips. My poor pops is getting old that’s for sure.
“Anyway.” I resume my seating. “I remember Maddox from when we were kids…” I pause, looking back to my dad. I didn’t want to rub it in or make him feel bad. Or get my mother in trouble.
His face relaxes. “Amethyst, I know about Elliot and your mother. I’ve known since we were kids.”
“That’s not like, weird for you?” I ask, watching as he starts piling the cooked meat onto a tray.
He shakes his head. “No. I stole her from him to begin with, it was only fair that they would be together again.”
I massage my temples. “Lord have mercy. This whole family shit is a little messed up.”
Dad takes a seat opposite me, taking off his apron and popping his beer. “You’re telling me, but baby girl, it’s fine. I know everything. Now, tell what happened with you and Maddox. The PG version, please. Too young for a heart attack.”
I take a piece of meat and some salad, ignoring how Lara is hanging on the edge of her seat for all the details.
“I don’t know. We pushed and pulled for a bit, but I can’t deny that there’s a bond with him. It’s easy, and not complicated. He has a bad reputation on campus, you know, womanizer and because he beats people’s faces in for a living, it only adds to his bullshit appeal.” I suck in a deep breath. “But he’s not any of those people when he’s with me, which is what makes all the difference. You know me, Dad. He’s not my type at all.”
Dad quirks an eyebrow. “I know. But maybe this is what you needed. Those nerd boys you messed around with were little fucks.”
“Dad!” I snort, taking another sip of my beer.
Lara sighs, brushing us both off and taking a long, hard sip of her wine. “Well, what’s the problem aside from the not-your-type thing?”
I push the meat around with my fork. “Mom doesn’t like it. I think she thinks it’s like incest.”
Dad scoffs, taking a bite out of his bun. “Don’t listen to your mother, Ame.”
“I guess.” I pop some meat into my mouth. I shouldn’t listen to her, and she shouldn’t really be judging me.
“Tell him not to lose his fight this weekend. I got two-hundred large on him. Marcus is rooting for the opposition.”
“Of course he is.” I roll my eyes. My uncle Marcus is fiercely overprotective of me, so I can’t wait until I see him. He’s not really my uncle, he’s my dad’s friend and has been for as long as I can remember. Where my dad is the life of the party and has lots of friends, my uncle Marcus is broody, moody, and dangerously cold. But, he loves me.
“Wait!” My eyes narrow. “How did you know I was seeing him?”
Dad gives me the look. “I didn’t know you were seeing him like that, but I know who they are, Ame.”
“Right.” I sigh, digging back into my food. Stupid question. Of course, if they didn’t run backgrounds on everyone, they’d know who they were just from knowing Elliot in high school.
“I guess you have a lot to think about with the whole Maddox thing, but I’ll always support you, darling.”
“Thanks, Daddy.”
“I will kill him if he hurts you, though.”
“Of course.”
The rest of the night goes easy like it always does at Dad’s. I finished my meal, and then Lara brought out her famous pecan pie. I ate way too much (with added cream), it’s near eleven at night and I feel like I need an extra push to get any shut-eye.
I make myself hot cocoa and tiptoe back upstairs and into my bedroom which is exactly the same as it was when I was growing up. Splatters of bright neon pink and blue paint is splashed on the wall, with a bright blue blanket covering my bed. It’s like going through a time machine. I tell Dad to change the room every time I come home but he never does. If you ask me, I’d say he’s a hoarder. A hoarder for feelings.
I’m slipping under the covers when I hear my phone ding on the bedside table. Picking it up, I flip it unlocked.
Maddox: when will you be home?
Me: Sunday, why?
He doesn’t text back, so I open another one.
Me: You know, since I’ve met your dad, it’s only fair for you to meet mine.
But as soon as it sends, I instantly regret it. He probably thinks I’m some stage five clinger. My phone chimes with a text.
Maddox: Yeah? I’ll see you tomorrow then.
I grin, stupidly like a little teenager. God. I send him an “Ok” text and the address and put my phone on charge. What am I doing? I feel like I’m doing something wrong. But how can something be so wrong when the wires that the warning signs are held up by are of feelings that feel so right?
MADDOX
“Do you know what you’re doing?” Dad asks, pushing his hands into the pockets of his slacks.
“No? But fuck it, I’m going to do it anyway.”
Dad sighs, sitting down onto the sofa. He wanted to talk with me about the fight this weekend, only when I walked through the door, Amethyst’s name was the first thing that came out of his mouth.
“Maddox. She’s not disposable like your other girls. If this ends badly, it would impact not just you, but me and her mother too.”
My jaw clenches. “Careful.”
I want to fly into a fit of rage and tell him to go fuck himself because I didn’t give a shit about their relationship, but I don’t. Because as much as I fucking despise everything that he and Jessica built their relationship on, I respected my old man. Ain’t that a bitch.
“Maddox—you also need to stay focused on this fight, on your career. You can’t have distractions. I thought you agreed you would keep it as friends? What happened?”
“She happened, we happened, that’s what,” I say, leaning back into the sofa and stretching my legs out wide. “Listen, I don’t care much what you or anyone has to say about her. I’m going to go with what feels right, and right now, she feels right. If that changes in the future, I’ll let her know nicely, which is more than what I’ve given anyone else and you know this.”
“Do you have feelings for her?” Dad asks, watching me carefully. I take my attention away from him and look to the gas fireplace. The flames lick around each other in an inferno.
“Not like that, not yet, and I don’t know what will happen in the future. But right now” —I look back to him— “this is what’s happening.”
I head back to my place and pack a bag.
AMETHYST
If I were a nail-biter, I’d be chewing the shit out of my goods right now. I’m pacing up and down the front porch of my dad’s house when my eyes lock on the fountain in the middle of the driveway. It has a sculpture that sprays water in the general direction of wherever you are. I hate that sculpture. He needs to change it. I hear Maddox’s car before I see it. Anyone could, with its loud V8 awakening hell itself.
I lick my lips, squashing the cliché butterflies that were about to take flight in my gut. I’d chop their wings soon enough—just not right now, because like a sucker, I was addicted to the adrenaline. Like a moth to a flame, only the flame is way too large to just flutter over my fragile wings. It was going to ignite them.
He climbs out of his car. He’s wearing a hoodie and jeans with a leather jacket over it. He stretches his arms over his head while walking around his car and slowly coming to me. His shirt lifts, revealing his abs and that glorious V that dips under his jeans.
“Hey,” I say shyly. Suddenly, I’m not as badass as I pretend to be.
“Come here, baby.” He struts to me and pulls me into his chest. I inhale quietly, sucking in the smoothness of soap and leather to comfort the loneliest parts of my soul.
Stepping backward, I lean up on my tiptoes and kiss him on the lips. “How was your trip?”
“Pretty fast.”
I grab his hand and ignore the stupid pangs that shoot straight to my chest. “Come meet Dad.”
“I’ve met your dad, Ame.”
“When!” I turn to face him, just as we close the front door.
“When he was a lot smaller than what he is now,” my dad answers, coming toward us.
Maddox grins, putting his hand out to my dad.
My dad takes it. I’m trying to decide what he thinks of Maddox. “I take it I don’t have to have the talk with you because your old man probably already did it, and also, you haven’t met her uncle Marcus—”
“Truth,” I mutter.
“—Who is out back now.”
I smile guiltily at Maddox. “Sorry. He was persistent and wanted to meet you.”
Maddox shrugs, pulling me under his arm and kissing the top of my head. “Chill, baby.” He wasn’t even a little scared? It’s almost insulting.
We follow Dad out to the back patio where Marcus is at the grill, who isn’t any better than Dad. His wife, Shanika, is sitting at the table with a glass of wine, laughing with Lara. They both pause when we walk through. Lara’s eyes fall on Maddox.
Shanika smiles politely at the both of us.
Lara stands, her hand extended. “Maddox? So nice to meet you.”
Maddox smirks, taking her hand in his. “You too.”
Dad introduces him to Shanika and then we both look to Uncle Marcus nervously, who hasn’t stepped away from the grill. I chew on my bottom lip.
“Unc? Come meet someone!” I call out as casually as I can.
He pauses and then unwraps the apron before turning to face us. Uncle Marcus is old school. He has dark chocolate skin, hazel eyes that remind me of hot cocoa, and a deep soul that he guards with a brick wall. But if you get over that brick wall, his love is infinite. I love him like a second dad.
“You’re on your own, kid.” Dad pats my shoulder. I give Uncle Marcus my cheesiest smile, hoping my charm can still work on him. Maybe I need the messy top knot and my deck clutched under my arm, because his face remains hard, impassive.
He looks to Maddox. “I’m not a fan right now, and I might never be a fan, but I’d be damned if I ever come in the way of my Cherub being happy, but just know that if you so much as cause a single tear to drop from her eye, you’ll have me to deal with, got it?”
“Jesus.” I shake my head. We used to blame it on the fact that they could never have kids as to was why he was so overprotective of me, and that probably played a massive part in it, but I also am a strong believer in soul connections. And he and I had a huge one.
Maddox, being the cheeky shit that he is, salutes him and winks. “You got it.”
Maddox is a badass, but as I said, Uncle Marcus is old school.
Unc turns to me. “Hey, Cherub.” He squeezes my cheeks and I melt into him. He’s a pain in my ass, but I love him.
“You do realize I don’t have fat cheeks anymore, right?” My voice comes muffled because I’m pressed into his shirt.
“I know.” He kisses my head and backs away. His gaze drifts to Maddox briefly who is taking a seat beside Dad, popping open a beer, then they come back to me. “Be careful, ok?”
“Your vibe thing?” I ask through a whisper.
Uncle Marcus is famous for his “vibes.” I would say they were bullshit, but he cracked a lot of cases based on those vibes. Enough to find evidence against people. So my odds are not looking very good right now.
He offers a small smile. “No, just saying.”
Lie.
Uncle Marcus is a terrible liar.
He goes back to the grill and I take a seat beside Maddox, who is now talking with Da
d about the fight.
I zone their conversation out as Shanika and I start talking about her newest little project—a new clothing boutique. Great. Because the world needed more of those.
“Your dad, he’s different from your mom,” Maddox says, pushing me forward on the swing. The wooden swing that hangs off an old tree branch is still here from when I was a little girl. I don’t think my dad has the heart to chop it down. Like I said, emotional hoarder.
I chuckle, looking to the patio that is now lit up with small tea lights hanging around the rails. The sun has set, the night turning the air damp. “He is. I think that’s why it always worked with them, you know?”
He stops the swing and comes around to face me, dropping to my level. His eyes search mine. “Probably.”
I divert my attention away from him, unable to allow myself to get lost in what feels like an endless ocean.
His finger hooks around my chin as he brings my face back to his. My eyes almost cross from the closeness of his face.
“Amethyst…”
“Maddox,” I answer breathlessly.
“Are we doing this?” he asks, tilting his head.
“We can try.”
His shoulders relax, his lips brushing over mine softly. “We can try.”
We arrive back to campus the next day, me climbing the stairs to my dorm with a stupid grin on my face. Later that night, Dad had Maddox sleep in the guest room on the other side of the house—as I expected—but the next day, before we followed each other back to New York, we stopped at the old abandoned hospital I used to skate at when I’d stay with Dad. The aged cracked walls were still sprayed with rebellious graffiti, and the inside held a darkness that left sticky dampness clinging to your skin, but I loved it. It was haunting, but it fed my cravings for adrenaline. The walls, even though they were old, held memories of me as a kid, learning to skate. St. Catherine’s old hospital was where my skating obsession started, the sign smudged from age on the front entrance.