by L. B. Dunbar
Quickly, I call him back.
“She’s dead,” he announces into the phone, a choking sound in his rough male voice.
“What? Who, honey?” Although the second I ask, I know who he’s speaking of, and my stomach drops. I don’t know if I feel more sorry for Chopper or the passing of my sister. Chopper, I realize instantly. I don’t know my sister. I haven’t since I was nineteen, which is more than half my life ago. But Chopper, the sweet young man on my phone, has a new set of loss to deal with in life.
“She died this evening. Crystal called me.” Chopper swallows so loudly I hear it through the phone. “I didn’t get to see her.”
“Chopper, honey, where are you, baby?”
“I’m just driving around.” He swallows again, and suddenly, I’m worried he’s drinking and driving.
“And where’s your dad? Does he know?”
“I called you first. He’s at the shop.”
“Why don’t you come here? Let’s talk.”
“I don’t really want to talk,” he says gruffly.
“Okay, let’s just hang out. I can teach you to make cupcakes,” I tease. He isn’t a child, but I need to distract him somehow. Making cupcakes always works for me.
Silence follows a moment before he whispers, “Why didn’t she love me enough?”
My heart has no answers. I want to say it shouldn’t matter. He had Brut, and an uncle and his late grandpop, but I know that won’t be enough. A boy wants to know why his mama didn’t keep him. Brut certainly had those questions about his mother, who ran off when he was still young but old enough to remember her. It’s another reason I wanted Chopper to know me. I was a woman who would stick with him, if he wanted me.
“I don’t know, honey. I’m sure she did in some way. But you were better off without her.” I pause, hoping I’m not overstepping with what I’m about to say next. “Her dying is sad, but this might be a sign. You weren’t meant to reunite or make amends or whatever she was hoping would happen. It wasn’t on you what happened to her. She’d already been gone from your life.”
I’d like to think he was nodding as if he agreed, but I couldn’t see him, and he remained too quiet through the phone.
“So, you’re coming here, right?” I close my eyes, hoping he’ll say yes. Getting drunk is certainly an answer but drinking and driving isn’t.
“I’ll get there, eventually,” he says, but I don’t like his answer.
“I’m open all night for you, honey.”
“Okay. I’ll be there in an hour.” Relief envelops my shoulders. I don’t want to betray him, but there’s someone who needs to know what’s going on. I inhale for courage and resolve to call Brut after I hang up with Chopper.
27
Reaching out
[Brut]
The shop phone rings. Yes, we still have a landline although Midge has been trying to convince me it would be cheaper to use a cell phone for the business line. It’s after hours, and I shouldn’t answer it. We have a service that collects the messages, but when it rings a second time within a matter of seconds, something tells me to pick up.
“Restored Dreams,” I bark, annoyed before any conversation has begun. I need to go home. I’ve been spending too many hours in the garage, hoping it will keep my mind distracted from the clusterfuck of my life at the moment. The loss of Lily. The discovery she knows my son. The news of Lauren.
I don’t know how to feel about Lauren’s prognosis. I have no feelings when it comes to her, yet I don’t wish death upon anyone. Selfishly, I want her to live, knowing her son had a decent life without her. I want her to know he was happy, healthy, and cared for by a loving parent, if only one. Privately, I want him to refuse to see her, but I’ve heard Chopper tell Hank his plans. He’s going tomorrow to see Lauren…with Lily.
I’m upset he didn’t ask me, but then again, I don’t know how I would handle it. Twenty-two years ago, that woman ruined my life in some aspects. I instantly remind myself she enriched it as well by giving me Chopper. Even more so, she completed it when she disappeared. I shiver when I think we might have shared custody. I would have been tethered to Lauren Warren for the rest of my life. It wasn’t always easy to raise a son alone, and I don’t think it was great he didn’t have a mother, but I can’t say I wish she’d been present. I fear the influence she would have had on him.
“Brut?” I startle at the female voice, soft and hesitant, through the phone.
“Lily pad.” I exhale her name in a strange sense of relief although I don’t know why. I’ve resolved to let the whole lot of Warren women go. Lily kept things from me and while I could beat myself up for keeping things years ago, that was the past. The deception with Chopper is more relevant, more immediate. Mostly, I’m hurt she’s had a relationship with my son for the past seven years and hasn’t included me.
Silence falls between us until I remember she called me.
“What’s up?” I ask too casual, too flippant, as if I couldn’t care less that she’s called, but my heart hammers in my chest, knocking on the inner wall and scolding me for being a dick.
“Chopper called me.”
“Oh, yeah?” Sarcastic again, but now my heart pinches. I’m jealous, I admit it. In the past week, my world with my son has turned upside down. A decent relationship has twisted to nonexistent.
“He told me Lauren died.” The words hang between us, a weight dropped to a solid thud, like a door closed too hard.
“I’m sorry to hear that.” A strange sense of feeling nothing surrounds me, like when a customer mentions their spouse’s mother’s cousin died. It’s sad news, but it doesn’t affect me. Death is sad. Cancer sucks. But I didn’t know Lauren even twenty plus years ago. She was the sister of my sexy secret, who seduced me when I was drunk and vulnerable and stupid.
I want to ask why she’s telling me, why Chopper didn’t call me, but I bite my tongue, the bitterness filling my mouth.
“Well, thanks for letting me—”
“Chopper’s just driving around. I’m worried he’s drinking. I asked him to come here, to talk, to hang out, and I thought…I thought I’d let you know, in case you worried.”
I rub at my forehead. I am worried, but more so, I want him to come to me. Still, I appreciate what Lily’s doing, and I exhale in relief. At least he’s safe if he goes to her.
“Thanks for letting me know.” I have so much more I want to say, but I hold my tongue. Again, I’m ready to dismiss Lily. If I don’t, I’ll end up begging her to explain things to me. I want to understand—How did things get so out of control? How did I lose her so quickly?
“If you want…you could come here, too. I can’t promise a party, but we could just be here for Chopper. I told him I’d even let him make cupcakes.”
I snort. “Haven’t you already taught him how?” Admittedly, I’m a little upset to learn he did something with her without me. Something important to her, like baking cupcakes. A vision of Chopper in my kitchen as a child comes to mind—scooping out ingredients and dumping them into a bowl—only added to the visual is Lily, and she’s laughing. I miss her sounds. Shaking my head, I rid my mind of things that never were.
“Nope.” She giggles without humor. “I just didn’t know what else to offer him.”
“Well, thanks, Lil. I’m sure he’ll enjoy the distraction.” Instantly, I recall Lily making cupcakes at the beach house and how we got distracted together, smoking out the kitchen. Then I remember the night I frosted her neck and nipples. Caramel will never be the same to me. I’m hard in a second and curse myself.
“Okay, yeah, he said he’d be here in an hour. I can call you again if I think things look bad, like he’s drunk or something.”
“Maybe we could just have a code for it.” My lip curls as the words leave my mouth, and I wait to hear if Lily recognizes what I’d said. It takes a second, and then she snorts. The nasally, dismissive sound stiffens me, and I have to lean back in my chair due to the uncomfortable strain behind my zipper. Damn it, I miss her
.
“I’ll keep you posted, unless, again, you want to come here.” There’s something in her invitation, and I want to believe she wants me present, but I can’t give in. Anger still lingers under my skin. Only, once we hang up, I find myself reaching for my keys, already knowing where my SUV is going to lead me.
28
Because cupcakes
[Lily]
Chopper stirs batter with the efficiency of a mix master. Beating the crap out of the ingredients has given him some focus despite the sway to his steps when he initially arrived. He walks with a swagger of sorts, but his pace was that of someone who’d been drinking, and I take another breath of relief he’s sitting in my bakery kitchen instead of driving on the road.
I probably shouldn’t have called Brut. Chopper will think I betrayed him in some way, but I also thought I needed to let Brut know what had happened and how I handled things. I wasn’t Chopper’s parent—I wasn’t a parent period—so the respectful thing seemed like giving Brut a heads-up. The decision whether to be here or not would fall on Brut, but I offered my place as a haven, a neutral territory of sorts for father and son.
I am lost in Chopper’s eager stirring, so it takes a second to realize someone is rapping on the back door to the kitchen.
“Special delivery?” Chopper asks, his brow raised in the familiar way of his father. Looking up at me with his teasing grin and his relaxed face as he mixes batter in a bowl, I see the child inside the man, and my heart breaks a little for him.
Under normal circumstances, I wouldn’t open the door this late, but I have a suspicion of who it could be, and a smile graces my face. Brut instantly admonishes me for opening the door without peering through the peephole.
“You know it isn’t safe to open your door this late.” His eyes narrow as I step back, allowing him entrance through the delivery door. “Unless you’re expecting someone.” The drop in his voice and the hesitation that I might be waiting for someone else sends cartwheels inside my belly. Does he really think I’d already be with another man? Brut Paige has ruined me once again, and I won’t be dating or anything else for a long time.
“I was only hoping it was you.” The statement might have come out a little too breathy, a little too desperate, so I clarify. “For Chopper, of course. I was hoping you would show for Chopper.” With that, I turn and lead Brut farther into the kitchen.
“What the…?” Chopper stops his rapid swirling to peer up at his father, and then he looks at me, the depths of confusion unmasked in his eyes. “Lily?”
“I called your dad. He needed to know about Lauren.”
Brut hesitates beside me, slipping his hands into the pockets of his jeans. He stands like an errant child, and I marvel at the exchange between father and son. Who’s the parent here? I wonder until I see the crushed expression on Brut’s jaw, a twitch at the pain he feels knowing his son doesn’t want him here.
A heavy silence falls between us, thicker than the batter in the bowls. The first to speak is Brut, his tone calm, his body language shifting.
“Whatcha making?” I hear it in the sound of his voice. This is how Brut has mastered taking care of others. He isn’t yelling or screaming, threatening to hit something, which might have happened in my family. He’s calm and confident, at least in presentation, as if he can handle this situation. In response, Chopper’s shoulders settle, and he looks down at the bowl before him.
“Monster cupcakes,” Chopper replies, his voice lowered. Brut steps forward, keeping the steel work table between him and his son.
“What’s in those?”
“Oatmeal and M&M’s and peanut butter. It’s like a cookie on crack.” Brut laughs at his son’s explanation. He hesitates as though he’d like to help, as if he can’t help himself not to offer, but he holds back, just watching his son who is no longer swirling but mashing the whisk into the thick mixture.
“Sounds delicious.” Brut points at a second bowl, the one I’d been experimenting with. “And what’s that one?” It’s chocolate with salted caramel and a bottle of liquid caramel sits to the side. Brut’s lips twist in a recognizing grin.
“Lily says it’s Midnight Nibble, but I think Midnight Nipple sounds better. She’s going to cover the top with drizzles of caramel.”
Brut’s eyes jump to mine, but I look away quickly, feeling the heat on my face.
“Sounds even better.”
I can’t look at him, but the corner of my lips curl. I hate that I’m responding to Brut when he hurt my feelings the other day, accusing me of sleeping with his son and then accusing me of knowing him without Brut’s knowledge. I also think back on the sex we had against my front display case. Desperate. Raw. Edgy. As if we were saying goodbye forever, taking the one last chance we didn’t get when we were interrupted Saturday morning. My grin grows heavy as I realize I may never touch this man again.
“Want to help?” I offer. We all have our own thoughts tonight, and cupcakes may distract us for a little bit. Cupcakes can be the solution to many unanswerable questions.
We mix, stir, and fold before we bake. Small words travel between us until I reach for the whiskey.
“Let’s toast,” I begin. In the Irish tradition, you take a shot in honor of the dead and turn the glass upside down on the casket. We won’t be doing such a thing for Lauren, but something could be said in honor of her. Chopper warily peers at me while Brut’s edge has returned.
“To fathers and sons,” I begin. “For love and understanding. Patience and kindness. Dedication and devotion. Relationships that—”
“Can we just drink?” Chopper interjects to which Brut responds, “Don’t interrupt Lily.”
Chopper defiantly slams back the shot, and Brut watches, his anger slowly brewing. I sigh, taking my shot for liquid courage. Chopper lowers his glass with a sharp thud on the steel and hops off the stool he’s been sitting on most of the night.
“I’m out of here,” he announces, swiping at his lips, but before he takes two steps, Brut asks, “Where are you going?”
“Out,” Chopper snaps, turning for my front door. Without thinking, I reach a hand for Brut’s forearm but direct my voice at his son.
“Sit,” I snap, and Chopper freezes. Slowly, he turns his body to face me, fists clenching at his sides. Before he can even say excuse me, which I see lingers in his eyes, his father speaks up.
“I have something to tell you.”
Both Chopper and my head whip up to Brut. He lowers his head, twirling the shot glass between his fingers.
“I have a story to tell you.”
“I’m a little old for story time,” Chopper snarks. I still grip Brut’s forearm, and I see Chopper’s eyes trained on my hold. I slowly release Brut who watches my fingers slip from his skin.
“Well, this is a story I should have told you a long time ago.” Brut takes his shot, lowering the glass with a gentle tap on the steel. To my surprise, Chopper slides back onto the stool.
“When I was twenty-three, I loved a girl.”
My breath hitches, and Chopper’s eyes shift to me.
“She was full of promise. Excitement. The world ahead of her. And her laugh. God, her laugh was the best sound in the world.”
I feel myself trembling.
“Lauren was like that?” Chopper interjects, and both Brut and I glance over at him.
“Not your mother,” Brut clarifies. “I’ve already told you before, what happened between your mother and I was a one-night decision.” Brut peers at his son, and I sense there’s a whole conversation I’m not understanding. “I’m talking about your mother’s sister.”
It takes Chopper a second before his face morphs, registering my relationship with his mother. Confusion scribbles over his expression as he looks from his father to me and back. “Lily.” My name whispers between us all.
“She was younger than me. Nineteen. So pretty. So sexy,” Brut adds, and I watch as Chopper makes a face. “She had plans and so did I. I wanted to be a teacher, ma
ybe a professor one day. But I lost my scholarship, and my pop couldn’t afford the tuition. He’d run our shop into the ground, and his drinking was taking him down as well.” Brut swipes through his hair as he looks up at his son.
“I wanted to give this girl her dreams. Be her everything and beyond. I lost focus. For one night, I lost focus.” Brut sighs.
“Lauren,” Chopper mutters. His brows pinch, and he glares at his dad. “Your girlfriend’s sister?” His voice echoes through the kitchen, bouncing off the steel and ricocheting back at us. Brut holds his head high, but his shoulders bear the weight of so many things.
“I regret every moment of that decision, and it changed the course of my history.”
Chopper watches his father until I witness him suck in a breath.
“But that means I—”
“Am the only positive thing from that night, and you are one of the best parts of my life.”
Tears fill my eyes at the admission Brut has given his son.
“You are the only thing I have never regretted.”
I swallow back the lump in my throat and quickly swipe at my eyes.
“But I could have been her son.” Chopper points at me, and I turn my head to Brut, wondering what he’ll say next.
“You would have never been her son. You would have been someone else, or actually no one at all without Lauren. And because I’d never give you up, give up who you are because of us, I don’t ever wish for you to be anyone else’s.”
What Brut says makes total sense to me. If we had children, they would have been a different combination of genes and personality, which means scientifically speaking, Chopper wouldn’t be Chopper even if we named a son the same name. It doesn’t mean I wouldn’t have raised this boy as my son if Brut had asked me to. No, Chopper was destined to be who he is because of who his parents were. I understand the reasoning, but Chopper still struggles.
“How could you do that to her?” Chopper questions.
“I’ve asked myself the same question for twenty-two years.”