Inside Out

by Lia Riley

  “You left messages that said, ‘Call me sometime,’ not ‘I’m having a kid.’ Jesus, Dad.” Bran’s bones must be made from rubber because I’m crushing his hand and he’s not even flinching.

  “You were busy getting set up—”

  “I had time for this—”

  “Jessie’s been unwell. She was hospitalized for a blood pressure issue right before you contracted malaria. She’s better, but gets easily tired.”

  “I can’t believe I didn’t know. Not cool. Not cool at all.”

  “Listen, if you want to be upset, take it out on me. Jessie’s still got the whatchamacallit, morning sickness.”

  Dad gets supremely uncomfortable with woman issues. He lived in a house with three of us. We’d synchronize periods and he’d double down on the surf sessions. I’m pretty sure he suffered a minor heart attack the one time Pippa requested that he pick up tampons.

  Bran keeps squeezing my fingers in a steady rhythm.

  I’m here. I’m here. I’m here.

  Gratitude. Love. Weak, white words we assign to feelings so vast and profound that it’s absurd we even bother to try.

  I grip Bran’s hand harder, hanging on like I’m in a movie, playing the person dangling off a bridge.

  Please, please, please don’t let me go, even if it would be the easier option.

  Chapter Four

  Bran

  Talia and I stand before the kitchen sink in strained silence. I give her a sideways glance. Her cheekbones are sharply defined and her under-eye circles are the only color on her face. The doctors say she’s fine physically. Mentally? Not good.

  Jessie and Scott are walking the dogs. My offer to wash the dinner dishes wasn’t a brownnose move for her dad’s benefit; nothing will alter his opinion of me. Scott set his mind before I arrived—probably since Talia fled Tasmania—that my future isn’t with his daughter.

  “Sorry¸ bud,” Scott had said the day we arrived, two weeks ago. He appeared in the doorway as I dropped our bags in the guest bedroom that was halfway to becoming a nursery. “You’re downstairs. House rules. Jessie set you up with clean sheets on the veranda.” In other words, the heatless porch on the front of the house with a lumpy futon and litter box.

  After he left, I stared at Talia. “What the hell? We’re sleeping apart?”

  She’d shrugged, avoiding my eyes. “He’s a lapsed Catholic.”

  “I’m not religious, no idea what that means.”

  “He turns his morality on and off like a tap.” She gave a heavy sigh and sat on the edge of the bed. “Roll with it for now, okay? He’ll come around soon.”

  I’ve been in Sacra-fucking-mento for fourteen days, and Scott hasn’t come anywhere. The bloke bides his time, thinks our relationship is a lost cause.

  He underestimates me. When it comes to Talia, I’m not mucking around anymore. The real reason I roped her into dish duty tonight was to force her into the same room with me, alone, for more than five seconds.

  She’s hiding in her room up to twenty hours a day. “Catching up on sleep” is her official line but she’s not a goddamn koala. The current situation needs to change, starting with her telling Daddy to piss off. I’ve given parental respect a fair go, but enough is enough. Scott is sailing the river of denial, pretending Talia’s fine, just needs space and alone time.

  He doesn’t grasp it’s a bad idea for Talia to be by herself, hour after hour, avoiding the world. Last night I woke to the sound of her locking and relocking the front door. By the time I came out of the veranda, she’d dashed up the stairs. I’m not sure what to say because I don’t want to cause her more anxiety or continue to feed the OCD cycle. This morning, all the electronics in the kitchen were unplugged. If only I could hold her, talk, maybe it would make a difference, help her feel like she’s not facing this alone, but I can’t even get close.

  A cat brushes my leg and I almost leap from my skin. This is the fat orange one. Pumpkin? Persimmon? The house is a bloody menagerie. Jessie has three cats, two dogs, four fish tanks, backyard chickens, a blind rabbit, and a chinchilla. Step in any direction and you’re bound to collide with a wagging tail or ball of fur. I never grew up with animals, and I’m not used to them. The cat purrs against my ankle; this one’s staked me out as some sort of favorite.

  “Hey, guess what? I got an e-mail from Karma.” I select a neutral lead-in, an update on my old office mate at the University of Tasmania. We became the black sheep of our environmental studies program, dropping out of honors before completion. “He’s traveling around Australia.”

  She gives an absent nod in lieu of a response, wiping the same plate over and over.

  “The dirtbag sent me a picture of a pig’s ass from out Innamincka way, on the Strzelecki Track.”

  No response.

  “Talia?”

  All through dinner she chased salad leaves around her plate. If she took three bites it was a miracle.

  “Sorry.” She glances in my general direction, stops, averts her gaze. Her fringe falls forward, shielding one eye. “You were saying something?”

  “Nothing, no worries.”

  Her shirt hangs loose around her collarbone, skims one shoulder enough that her black bra strap peeks into view. I know this one. It used to be my favorite. A frustrated anaconda coils my spine—any second it will crush the bones. Forced abstinence sucks ass through a straw, but there’s a deeper aggravation. I am bloody useless, doing nothing but watching her unravel. She hasn’t shut me out. She’s taken away the door. Three’s a crowd in any relationship, and right now it’s me, Talia, and her OCD.

  “You ever notice how Jessie watches him?” Talia mutters—whether to herself or me is impossible to say. “She’s got a raging lady boner for my dad. All those flirty touches and cheese dick smiles?” She makes a huffy noise. “God, it’s so nasty.”

  “Jessie?” Scott’s girlfriend is actually pretty cool. Still, Talia’s talking at least, so that counts for something. And we’re alone; all that separates our bodies is air.

  “Look at me,” I murmur.

  Her breath picks up speed. “Can’t.”

  “Why?”

  “You have those eyes.” She continues to dry the plate. Something about the way she grips the holey, faded tea towel gets me hard.

  This situation is in a giant hurry to go from weird to fucked.

  Talia turns toward the sink, starts to rant. “And please, Jessie’s plaid shirts? Those hiking boots? Whatever. It’s not like she’s hitting the Pacific Crest Trail anytime soon. And Dad? When he runs to Safeway to buy her that full-cream maple yogurt. Jesus. You’d think he hunted her a gazelle at the local watering hole.”

  Where is she going with all this? “Yeah, it would be way cooler if he sat on the couch with a beer and watched her vacuum.”

  She flings her hair back, gazing at me over one shoulder. For a moment her eyes are shiny, focused. I’m here. She sees me—even if it’s for the wrong reasons, like the time I called my mum a stupid cow when she arrived at a swim meet after I’d already won. I got her attention all right, and was shipped off to boarding school the following year.

  The front door slams, and there’s a mad scramble of dog paws raking the hardwood. Milo and Otis, the golden retrievers, fly into the cramped galley kitchen and head straight to Talia. They love her and the feeling is mutual. She sinks to her haunches and hugs them with all her might.

  My stomach flip-flops. Great. I’m jealous of a pair of drooling dogs.

  I want to push but how hard? She’s so thin, fragile, and half the time hovers on the verge of tears. Bloody Scott, with his sleep-in-the-veranda power play.

  “Captain.”

  “Yeah?” Her face is buried in thick fur.

  “The separate bedrooms—”

  “Look, Bran, after all our drama from before, Dad needs time to trust you. As it is, he’s acting like it’s a big favor to let you stay at all.”

  “Do you want me here?”

  “Yes.” Although
she doesn’t look at me when she says it.

  “Fight him on it.”

  Fight for us again, for fuck’s sake.

  “Maybe I need space, okay?”

  I force myself not to shoot back, No! Not okay. Instead I ask, “Want to go for a walk? Or slaughter me in Monopoly?”

  This is what I’m reduced to, boring piece-of-shit board games.

  She stands, gives the dogs a final pat and wipes her hands on her jeans. “I’m tired.”

  “We need to talk about—”

  “There a problem in here?” Scott fills the door. The dude is built like a mastodon, and he’s not afraid of throwing his size around, especially in my direction. He gives me a look like, Just give me a reason, bud.

  “No.” Talia’s widemouthed yawn isn’t fooling anyone. “I’m going to bed.”

  I glance at the clock. It’s 7:45 p.m.

  She catches my look. “I told you, I’m exhausted.”

  “’Course you are, Peanut. It’s normal after what you’ve been through,” Scott says.

  She steps toward him and he wraps her in a hug, holds fast, and slides his gaze to the ceiling fan. His jaw clenches and for such a big guy, it’s obvious he feels weak as fuck. “Love you,” he growls.

  Jessie strolls into the tight space and joins the cluster that’s me, Scott, the cat, and two dogs, all crowding Talia. All eager, too eager, to help.

  “Okay, I’m out.” Talia jumps back, wipes her eyes, and makes a quick exit. I’m blocked by everyone else.

  Cocksucking bloody hell.

  I grab the teapot and throw on the sink tap as Scott bails to watch television with the animals. Only Jessie lingers, poking around the fridge, one hand splayed over her swelling belly.

  “Want a cuppa?” I ask, striving for politeness. This is her place after all.

  “Mmmmmm, that would be great, thanks.” She shuts the door and pulls her hair in a loose ponytail. “How’s T doing, really?”

  I shrug my answer.

  “Still not talking much?”

  “No.”

  “Has she committed to going to her graduation this weekend?”

  “That whole not-talking part makes it difficult to tell.”

  Talia graduated in December. She’s eligible to walk in the commencement ceremony at UCSC, but refuses to say if she wants to attend.

  Jessie gives a sympathetic smile. “I know this is hard. Keep trying. Whenever someone’s pushing the world away is right when they need love the most.” She grabs an apple off the counter and takes a big bite.

  “I’ll take that under advisement, Yoda.” Jessie’s solid. If she asks a question, she cares about your answer. I like that.

  “Hey now.” She waves the fruit in my direction. “I handle the dad, remember? Those two push their stuff down deep. You need patience.”

  “Not one of my particular strengths.”

  “She’s been granted a clean bill of health?”

  “More or less. Doctors are saying she’ll probably be fine, but there could be unforeseen complications. They were surprised she ended up as sick as she did.”

  “She must have run herself down over there.”

  “Yeah,” I sigh bitterly. Or before, during our fallout in Tasmania.

  “I’ve been meaning to ask, Scott calls you Brandon. Do you prefer it?”

  “No.”

  “He’s a Daddy Bear.” Her eyes crinkle in restrained affection. “Has a hard time adjusting to his little girl in love.”

  “I can see that.” Scott’s not my favorite at the moment, but he’s the father of Jessie’s kid. Not going to travel down that shit-talking road. “Hey, speaking of adjustments, you excited for the baby?”

  “There’s still lots of time—two more months. I’d be happier if the due date was tomorrow.” She leans back with a deep sigh.

  “Two more months?” Her bump is at watermelon proportions. How much bigger is she going to get? Another thought slams me with equal parts relief and foreboding. Talia’s stalemate can’t last forever. That baby’s coming out. At some point, the dynamic will change. “You’re going to need the nursery soon.”

  “Soon and not soon. I’ve got around sixty more nights of peeing twenty times an hour. But, Bran, I got to say, I’m ready to be done. Even the smell of lettuce makes me queasy.”

  “I wasn’t aware lettuce is odorous.”

  “I know! It’s like I’ve been granted superpowers and became a bloodhound.”

  “Or a vampire.”

  She laughs.

  The kettle boils. I pour water into the mugs.

  “You know something, I never planned to have kids.” She smiles. It’s her mouth’s default setting. Jessie is the most smiley person I’ve ever met.

  “For real?”

  “No strong maternal urge, you know?”

  “Um, not exactly.”

  “Ha! What I mean is that this pregnancy came out of left field. I was on birth control. The statistical chances of conception were nil.”

  Jesus, I like Jessie, but do I want to hear about Scott Stolfi’s super-sperm? No. No I do not.

  “All I’m saying is, things don’t always go as planned and that doesn’t have to be a bad thing.” Her features soften into a private expression of contentment as she idly rubs her belly. “Sometimes it’s in the unexpected where the magic happens.”

  I set her tea on the counter to cool. “You sure you’re not Yoda?”

  “Hey, maybe you’re onto something. I’m as green as he is most mornings.” She grins and glances up. Talia’s room is directly above us. “Go talk to her.”

  “She doesn’t want to.”

  Jessie picks up her tea and blows against the rim. “She does, she just doesn’t know how to start. Trust me, I’m getting to be an expert on Stolfisms.”

  That’s how I end up giving the guest room door a cursory knock two minutes later. Jessie’s right, Talia and I need to start somewhere. I need her to know I’m sticking around, no matter how hard things get. I walk in before she has a chance to turn me away. “Hi. Want to hang out for a bit?”

  Talia sits on the bed, cross-legged, staring at her phone. “Um…” She glances up with a guarded expression, watching me lean back and close the door. “I guess so.”

  “Don’t sound too excited.”

  She sucks in her top lip and worries it a little between her teeth.

  “Checking out that job?” At dinner Jessie mentioned a position advertised at the local history museum for a program coordinator. Do I want to live in Sacramento? No, but I’ll work under the table, scrubbing petrol station toilets, if it meant snapping her out of this funk.

  “Nope.”

  “What are you doing?” I pluck her phone from her grip, half in jest and half to get her attention. “Playing online Scrabble or something?”

  She tries to grab it and misses. “Hey, give it ba—”

  “Wait.” My chest tightens when I look down at the screen. “Talia, is this an app for—”

  “Medical marijuana.” Her cheeks flush even as her jaw sets in defiance. “The site is remarkably organized.” She adjusts her glasses like the action gives her scholarly authority. “The reviews rank different varieties on criteria such as the potential to cause paranoia or decrease anxiety.”

  “You’re shitting me?” My arms drop to my sides. “Please don’t tell me you’d rather research weed than hang out together?” My company isn’t legendary, but this is a fucking ego blow of the first order.

  “Pot helps lots of people. I’m taking anxiety medication again but it’s not working fast enough. I thought an indica strain might take the edge off—”

  “Sweetheart.” I sit down, toss the phone to the end of the bed, and rub the small of her back. This isn’t about me. I need to remember that. Talia’s carried a whole suitcase of stress back from Africa. “Everything is going to be okay.” Her eyes fix on the window, and who the hell bloody knows if she even hears me. Her vertebrae jut beneath my fingers. She’s too ski
nny. “I’m here for you, always.”

  “Are you, or are you just sorry for me?”

  I throw up my hands. “What do you want me to say?”

  “I…I…look, I can’t face it if you stop, okay?”

  “Stop what?” I try to catch her gaze but she ducks. Her blond hair veils her features behind a golden curtain.

  “Us. I’m not exactly a barrel of fun, am I?”

  My nails bite into my palms. OCD isn’t about logic, it’s about anxiety. I need patience, fucking buckets of patience. “Talia, I love you. No matter how hard you fall, I’ll be there to catch you in the end. You’ve put up with my bullshit time and time again. No way am I leaving because you’re down. I meant every word, we are in this together. You’ve fought for me and deserve no less in return.”

  She digs her fingers into her temples. “I can’t hold everything at bay—the bad thoughts, the fears. My brain keeps taking me to the worst possible places.” Her face crumples. “Like what if someday you think of me the same way as the Lockhart Foundation?”

  “My father’s charitable organization?” I wrinkle my brow. “Not following, Captain.”

  “He wants you to be involved still?”

  Her tone is dead calm, but that’s in no way reassuring. Red blinking alarms flash, Warning! Warning! in my mind. “Sure, yeah, I guess so.”

  “And have you committed to them?”

  “No.”

  “Because you’re waiting for the other shoe to drop.” Her voice fades to a whisper.

  “Talia…” I draw a deep breath, and another for good measure. There are already enough fires to put out without throwing my dad and his new foundation into the mix.

  “What I’m trying to say is you expect the worst from your dad. You are so sure, despite every shred of evidence to the contrary, that somehow your family foundation’s environmental work is going to be nothing but greenwashing, a bogus front to make his company’s shady exploits more public friendly.”

  I got nothing to offer in response because she’s right. This is something I worry about. I evade my dad and sister’s efforts to bring me on as staff with the foundation because I’m afraid they’ll only disappoint me again, or I’ll disappoint them. But why is she grabbing this issue like a dog with a bone?