Sexton Brothers Box Set

by Lauren Runow

  “Good. You don’t have to worry about getting caught buying him alcohol.” He lets out a raspy chuckle, and I can’t help but roll my eyes.

  “I’m serious. This is not a joke, although I’m glad you’re having a good laugh about it.”

  “I’m just bustin’ chops. Seriously, why are you so bothered by it?”

  “I’m eight years older than him,” I explain as if my dad can’t do simple math.

  “And?”

  “And we’re at totally different stages of our lives.”

  “And you know this because—shit!” he shouts.

  I panic. “What happened?”

  “I overcooked the bacon. Mommy likes it with the burned edges. I want my pig to still be oinking at me when it comes out of the microwave.” He lets out little curses, which I’m sure are from him trying to peel the bacon off the hot plate that just came out of the microwave.

  “Watch your fingers.” I worry.

  “I’m a mechanic. I touch things hotter and more dangerous than some bacon. What were we talking about again? Oh, your childlike boyfriend. I don’t know what the big deal is.”

  “How can a twenty-two-year-old be at the same point in life as me?”

  “You do realize, I was twenty-two when I married your mother, right?”

  I inhale a deep breath. I’ve heard their story a thousand times. I never had to read romance novels or watch Lifetime Christmas specials. I had my own parents’ story to remind me daily how true love existed and when it was meant to be, it would be.

  They met while she was still in high school. She and her friends were heading to a concert. My dad caught her eye on the subway. They smiled at each other but then got off and went their separate ways.

  At the concert, while ordering food at the concession stand, she realized she’d forgotten cash and started to panic. He appeared beside her and paid for her food. Then, he took her hand in his and simply kissed the top before walking away with his friends.

  Hours later, my mom stepped onto the subway, only to see him sitting directly across from her. They knew then that they were meant to be. It wasn’t long after that when he proposed. My mom always said he’d swept her off her feet.

  I’ve always wanted to find my own story like that.

  For a moment, I thought I had.

  “Sweet pea”—my dad’s voice pulls me from my thoughts—“what’s on your mind?”

  “How did you know Mommy was the one so soon after you got together?”

  He lets out a short puff of air, which I can only deduce is from smiling at a memory.

  “It was her eyes. They were this clear blue, and I couldn’t stop looking at them. I didn’t know anything about her, but when she looked at me, I got this feeling. It was like a magnet. I was drawn to her. Then, as I got to know her and I heard her stories, I felt this freedom—like everything that I had been told I had to do went out the window, and because of her, I could be anything. She’s the one who pushed me to open the shop. With my Rita, I felt alive, and every time she looked at me with those eyes, I knew it was going to be okay.

  “When you were born, I was scared shitless. Not her though. She took one look at you and was instantly peaceful. My heart was racing a mile a minute, and when she looked up at me, I had a brick lifted off my shoulders. When we bought the house or when Nanny died, it was okay because she was there. That’s why, even though she looks at me like I’m a total stranger, I still see it. The blue in those eyes that tells me it’s all going to be okay.”

  “Daddy,” I say as I hear the break in his voice.

  “Ah,” he says as if he’s waving me off, “I didn’t tell you all that to get emotional. It just came out. Rough night, remember?” I can hear him putting a pan in the sink and running the water. He shuts it off. “You asked how I knew if Mommy was the one. There’s no easy answer. I just knew.”

  “No, I get it. I totally get it.”

  “You know, she might not be here with us like she used to be, but I can live a lifetime on the memories we’ve shared.”

  When Aaron and I broke up, I opted to sleep on April’s couch instead of going home to my old room. I lied and said it was because the commute was too long, which it is, but I honestly can only stand the visits with them in short bursts. To watch my mom deteriorate as my dad cares for her like a father should for a small child is heartbreaking.

  He doesn’t ask for help other than the occasional weekend, so he can run errands or play a round of pool with his friends. He needs to get out to keep his sanity, and I need to sit with my mom alone and look through photo albums of happier times.

  The romance my father still has with my mother is one-sided, but it’s strong. I could never love a man like Aaron, who thinks a fling is acceptable. I want the real deal. A man who will cherish me and only me and who I will vow the same thing right back. Because the person I give my forever to will be getting it all. In sickness and in health. Till death do us part.

  “I’ll say a prayer to Saint Anthony for you to find that special someone.”

  “You’re supposed to pray to him if you lose something.”

  “Lost, looking—it’s all the same. I’ll light a candle at mass tomorrow.”

  “I love you, Daddy,” I say, fighting the tears I feel pricking my eyes.

  “Love you, too, sweet pea. I have no doubt, you’ll do just fine. You know, there’s a movie Mommy made me watch a few years ago about a younger guy and older woman that you might like. It had Michelle Pfeiffer in it; that’s the only reason I agreed to watch it.”

  I laugh at his admission. She always knew how to get her way.

  He continues, “It was a book they made into a movie, so of course, she read the book first. It was a French classic called Chéri, but she was able to find the English version. You should read it. I bet you’d like it.”

  “Okay, I’ll check it out. If you can, give her a big hug for me.”

  “Will do.”

  We hang up, and my heart is both healed and broken at the same time. I know what I want. I just need to figure out a way to move past my own insecurities.

  It took me a little longer than normal to get out of the house today. My mind keeps going to Tanner and what I should say or do. I also have Willa front and center in my thoughts. I shouldn’t have judged her like that. It’s none of my business what she wants to do or with whom. I was just upset with myself, and I took it out on her.

  When the bell finally rings for recess, I head straight to her classroom. She’s chatting with a student in the corner when I clear my throat to get her attention. Her face tells me she’s not happy with me, but I stand up straight and head toward her, waiting for my turn to speak to her.

  After the student exits the room, I hold out my hands to her. “I’m sorry. I’m an idiot. I shouldn’t have given you an attitude about Ryan.”

  “No, you shouldn’t have.” She crosses her arms, her long, dark hair cascading down one side of her neck.

  “I was upset and took it out on you. Sometimes, I forget how young you are—”

  “How young I am? I’m in my twenties and a goddamn schoolteacher. There’s nothing young about me.”

  “That’s not what I meant. I mean, casual one-night stands are more appropriate for someone who is—”

  “You do remember that you, too, went home with Tanner the first night you met him.”

  “I know. I’m sorry. I’m such a mess right now. I don’t know what I’m doing or thinking, and I … I’m sorry.”

  “Why did you leave anyway?”

  “I’m an idiot?” I shrug.

  Something in my self-deprecating comment has her dropping her arms and sarcastically speaking with an eye roll, “Well, yeah, we already established that.”

  Her mouth curves up, and I relax at the sight of her dimple.

  “Did you have a fun night at least?”

  Her face lights up. “Yes, actually. Ryan is amazing. We hung out at the bar for a few hours, and then he came back
to my place.” Another student enters the classroom, so she turns to the whiteboard to wipe it down even though there’s nothing on it and whispers, “I’m going to see him again tonight, hopefully.”

  “That’s great.” I’m glad my comment at the bar didn’t force her to rethink hanging out with him. “Did you see Tanner before you left?” I try to sound nonchalant.

  “Yeah. He left not long after you did.”

  I nod and bite my cheek. I didn’t expect him to stay. Maybe head back to his studio or the speakeasy perhaps. Maybe he went to his bar in Harlem.

  “He left with a girl,” Willa says, and my stomach turns.

  Of course he left with someone else. He’s twenty-two. What else do guys in college do when their older girlfriends wig out on them? They hook up with a hot girl at the bar.

  Willa puts her hand on my arm. “Ryan said it was a friend of his, so it’s probably nothing.”

  I give her a deadpan stare. “Yeah, and Aaron was just hanging out with Nicole.”

  She squints her eyes. “Do you really think Tanner is anything like your ex-boyfriend? I mean, I don’t know either man really, but from what you’ve told me about Aaron, I find it hard to believe that you’d give your time to anyone who remotely reminded you of that swine. And, besides, if Tanner did go home with a girl, it’d be completely different. He has every right, especially since you walked out on him. It’s not like you guys were exclusive, or you told him you wanted a break or anything.”

  “We were on a break!” Ross’s classic line from Friends echoes in my head, and I fight back the urge to slap myself on the forehead. Not the time or the place.

  Willa’s right. Tanner is absolutely nothing like Aaron. And, if he did do something last night, then I have no right to be mad at him.

  More students enter the room, and I reach for Willa’s arm. “I’m sorry I was such a bitch,” I whisper. “Are we good?”

  She smiles. “Yeah, we’re good.”

  We hug, making my chest pull and my mouth dry. I’ve mended one relationship. Now, I need to work on the other one.

  On my walk back to my classroom, I stop at the water fountain to quench my thirst. My students have gym right after lunch, so I get my coat and take the free period to go outside and get some fresh air. The Den is down the block. If it wasn’t the middle of the workday, I’d go in for a drink. Instead, I pull my coat tight and turn in the other direction.

  Tanner is twenty-two years old.

  Why can’t I get over that stupid number?

  When he’s thirty, I’ll be thirty-eight. There we go with more numbers.

  I might not have been ready to meet someone new, but I sure as shit had hoped when I eventually did it would be a man who had the same plans as me. Get married, buy a house, have some kids, open up an IRA. Instead, I fall for a guy who is still racking up student loans.

  Your young twenties are such a blissful time. You have complete freedom for the first time in your life. No parents, no school … there’s nothing like it. I’m content with watching Friends and drinking wine. He is about to embark on wild nights of parties and panties.

  As much as I’d like to paint Tanner as the wild bachelor about town, he’s far from it.

  The guy is an artist.

  He plays the piano and is a member of a secret jazz club.

  He reads classic novels and listens intently.

  He moonlights as a graffiti artist and makes love with his entire body.

  He nurtures.

  He cherishes.

  He loves.

  One thing’s for sure; I’m not over him. Especially since I’ve been under him, there is certainly no way I’m getting over him so fast.

  While the age thing still nags at me, there’s something that actually has me feeling sick. Tanner went home with someone else. I don’t know if anything happened between them, but the thought of him being with another woman has me trying to catch my breath. Suddenly, the age thing doesn’t matter anymore because I’d rather him be twenty years younger than me than be with anyone else.

  Actually, when I say twenty years younger, eight doesn’t seem so bad.

  Is it all just perspective? Can I talk myself out of this stupid perception I have?

  It’s not like I’m miraculously fine with it, but I’ll be damned if I want him with anyone else … painting someone else.

  I’m being selfish. Tanner Sexton deserves to be with a woman who accepts him for who he is.

  And I just made the biggest mistake of my life.

  “What the hell is wrong with me?” I ask out loud to myself.

  I just let the greatest man I’ve ever met walk out of my life. I’m absolute crazy about him, all of him … everything about him, and I let him go because of a childish detail.

  Call it fate or serendipity or just being at the right place at the right time, but I find myself standing in front of the tree Tanner painted, and it feels like a knife to the gut when I notice a local gang tag painted over it.

  I take a deep breath and dial his number. After a few rings, his voice mail picks up. Not prepared to leave a message, I go for cavalier to hopefully make him smile and forget that I’m a total ass.

  “Hi, my name is Harper. I think we met one night where I was a complete ass, yet you let me follow you onto the subway. I was hoping we could go back to that day. Start over, so I stop making a fool of myself? That would be nice. So … yeah, give me a call, okay?”

  I hang up, knowing I lost my game toward the end and needed to save myself from ruining it even more.

  He hasn’t called me back. After scrubbing April’s apartment from top to bottom, I binge-watch Friends.

  Of course, the episode where Rachel decides she loves Ross comes on. She’s waiting at the airport for him to return from China, but Ross comes out of the gate with Julie on his arm. Yeah, that sounds about right for me. I can’t even find solitude in Friends anymore.

  “You know, I just cleaned that yesterday,” April says as she watches me clean her toilet.

  “I clean when I’m anxious.”

  “He’ll call.” Her voice is reassuring.

  “And if he doesn’t?”

  “Then, it’ll be okay.”

  I sigh and put away the cleaning supplies, deciding to take a shower before climbing in bed.

  Sleep finally takes over around three in the morning as drowsiness supersedes the anxiousness in my body.

  After the alarm rings, I have even more issues getting ready for work, and I know it’s going to be a shit day.

  After school, I stay late, tutoring a few students who signed up for after-school sessions. Then, I organize the next three weeks of lesson plans until I have no more room to store the papers that have been copied and stapled.

  Finally, shutting off my light, I head toward the subway. The tree Tanner painted comes into my vision once again. Today, someone has painted over the entire fence and put up posters for a Jay-Z concert that’s coming to the Barclays Center.

  Without hearing anything back from him, I feel like my heart has been painted over, too, never to feel as alive as that tree once did.

  Melancholy, I know, but I’m in a downtrodden kind of mood today.

  I never got to thank him for the tree or for the painting of the caressing couple on the door. I lift up my phone and call him again. Of course, it goes to voice mail.

  “It’s me again. You said you liked to hear your thank-yous instead of having them written, so here it goes. Thank you for the artwork. Thank you for the reminder of the first night we spent together. Thank you for the tree that signified our second night. I’m glad you didn’t paint anything after our third because I don’t think it would be so kind.” I laugh a little at my joke, but I know he probably won’t find it funny. I rein it back in. “Before I get cut off, I just wanted to let you know that it has meant more to me than you can imagine. Hope you’re well. Bye.”

  And that’s how you leave a message for the man you’re pretty sure you’ve lost for
ever.

  With Aaron, I was so upset with him. He’d lied and cheated and not thought it was a big deal.

  With Tanner, I’m only upset with myself. I felt alive with him. It’s strange to say that because it’s not like I’d felt dead before I met him. I now realize I wasn’t living.

  Every day with Aaron, we were living his life, with his friends, and I was just there to make sure he was happy. With Tanner, it seemed like he was there to make me happy. And I shit on everything all because of the way things were perceived.

  Tanner made me see how amazing nights could be. He taught me adventure. He taught me how to let go of my anger. He taught me passion.

  I might never see him again, and I’ll probably never meet anyone like him for as long as I live. However, it turns out that I know I’m going to be okay.

  I’m a little stronger, having met Tanner.

  A little livelier.

  A little more … me.

  Instead of going home, I take the train straight to the library. I could go to the local one, but for some reason, I head downtown and get off at 42nd Street.

  The lion statues greet me as I climb the steps and head inside the iconic library. I search through the classic section for the book Chéri by Colette, the one my dad told me about. Luckily, it comes in English. It’s only about a hundred and twenty-two pages, so I take a seat in one of the heavily carved wood chairs and open it.

  The story is about an aging courtesan in Paris who embarks in an intense love affair with a playboy half her age. They fight their intense connection before parting ways … never getting their happy ending.

  Well, that’s not how I was hoping it would end. I guess this will be our story, too.

  I check out the book and head toward the subway. Call me a glutton for punishment, but I find myself back uptown and standing outside Tanner’s building.

  His lights are on, and music is pouring out the open window. I contemplate trying to get into the building and knocking on his door, but he’s made it clear that he doesn’t want anything to do with me, so I set the book down on his doorstep. I pull a simple piece of stationery out of my tote bag and pen a note., leaving it with the book.