Unsurprisingly Complicated

by Claudia Burgoa

  Mase: When 7 happened, I blew 8 and 9…

  I gasp as a sliver of hope is delivered in the form of our usual e-junk. My heart isn’t tap dancing but stops sobbing.

  Mase: I’m lost without my friend. Can we talk?

  Now my heart is back to sobbing. Friend? He misses his friend, the one he can tell about that beautiful wife and…I’m such a sucker for romance that I believed he wanted something else… like talking about us and getting back together. Not to recover his fucking friend. My brothers telling me that Mason was sobbing had me going for a few seconds, wishing that he’d come back.

  Mase: Nine, talk to me.

  J-9: No, sorry. I’m not at that stage of the breakup where we can be friends. Please stop texting me.

  I follow my usual routine to get ready for work. During the routine, I added cooking for my brothers, who are asleep in the guest room. I prepare a frittata for breakfast and leave a note for them.

  Morning,

  Breakfast is inside the refrigerator, warm it up in the oven. Three fifty for ten minutes. There’s juice, cereal, milk, and mostly everything in the pantry. If you plan to stay for dinner text me.

  Love,

  AJ

  Today has to be a better day. I won’t think about him for the next hour. Who am I kidding? Toby meows when I approach the staircase. He gave me a cat, he treated me like a queen, and then he dumped me. It’s all my fault for creating an illusion based on a relationship he never offered, but I wanted badly.

  “Be nice to your uncles, sweetheart.” I crouch and pet him.

  “Meow.”

  “I’ll miss you, too.”

  I open the back door and notice that the garage door is open. Wearing a plain white t-shirt, a pair of jeans that hug his muscular legs, and his industrial boots, Mason leans against Eleanor. His face sports a four, maybe five-day stubble, and his weary eyes are in urgent need of sleep. I fight with myself, as I want to take his hand and put him in bed. Nourish him until he’s rested.

  Stay strong, AJ.

  “Didn’t you receive my last text?” I question him, wondering how I can climb inside my car and scoot away without having to listen to him.

  “Five minutes to explain myself.” He shows me his hand and points at each finger.

  “Two, and you already wasted one.”

  “I was scared.” He doesn’t ask for more time, instead gets right to the point. “Your words shocked me, you loved me. I panicked. It was too fast, too soon for me to adapt. Thank goodness I traveled in between events or I don’t know what would’ve happened.”

  I force myself to listen and remain quiet, ordering myself that I shouldn’t hurt him with my words. Poor thing, he looks worn down, and clearly he’s already hurting.

  “As much as I tried to work at it, I couldn’t hold it together when my mother came for a visit.” I cross my arms creating a shield between his words and my heart. “She called this my house, assumed we were together-together. The woman wanted to teach you how to cook, she wanted to take you with us to Vancouver. Mom asked me if we planned on having children. Too much too soon.”

  Children? I frown because we were together for only six months. Not even living together, and definitely not in love. Well, I was; he wouldn’t let himself love.

  “Too much too soon, what?” I growl, tipping my head to the side as I observe him. Mr. Logic is making no sense this morning.

  “Too many things happened within days—hours,” he explains, closing his eyes. “I feared that we’d end up like my parents, who had this tornado affair that ended as fast as it started. That I’d be mourning for you for the rest of my life like I thought Dad was doing with Mom.”

  “That gave you the right to try to break my heart so viciously?” He closes his eyes and shakes his head. “You said we’d try it together. The relationship, the flying away, and loving each other. Instead, you left me and let me create some Utopia inside my head.” I can’t continue when he doesn’t have any response—physical or verbal.

  “Well, your minute is over, Mason.”

  He opens his eyes and straightens his stance, taking a few steps to where I am. The whiff of Mason’s scent drags a heavy sigh out of me.

  I miss him.

  “One more chance, Ainse.” He pins me down with those stormy eyes. “Please, Nine. After I had left the house, I realized the mistake I’ve made. I was an idiot.”

  “On that much we agree, Mase,” I duck and step to the side, opening the car door. “Look Mason, things didn’t work out, and you called it a day. I’m this intense, impatient woman who can’t change the way she loves to accommodate your fears.” I pause for a few breaths. “One day,” I return to my rant. “One day, I’ll want a house with the man I love… and who loves me. A promise of forever and four or five children, maybe a dog. That’s not you. It’ll never be you. You look better with a… ” I bite my tongue because I won’t insult him.

  I won’t hurt because I’m hurting.

  “Ainse, please, I lo—”

  “Shut up.” I raise my voice loud enough for the neighbors to hear me. “Do. Not. Do This.” Yep, the neighbors are about to come over and check on me. Thankfully my parents aren’t in town or they’d jump to the rescue. “Don’t you dare say those three words right now. I waited too long for you to say them, and they never made it out before.”

  He opens his mouth, but I shake my head again.

  “You have no right to say them,” I demand him to stop. “Not after you crushed my heart. Not after you proposed that I become your fuck buddy. Not after you said I was making up the entire relationship and pressuring you.”

  Mason’s stony eyes reflect hurt and I stop, because maybe there’s another version. Not one I want to hear, though.

  “This scene, I lived it years ago,” I grudgingly remind him about it. “Porter asking for another chance after hurting me. I watched the movie, and it wasn’t worth it the first time.”

  He flinches, his jaw tightness. “If you gave me a chance to tell you how I feel.” He scratches his chin, his eyes hardening. “Explain to you what… ”

  Before he can say the words, I stop him once again, taking a big gulp of air to let the irritation, hurt, and confusion out. It doesn’t work; everything is pressing against my chest. It won’t go away unless I say something.

  “FYI, if you ever say those words, you have to mean them. In fact, show them. Anyone can spit shit, but what matters in the end is the way you treat the people you care about. A piece of advice from your old friend: if you ever let yourself fall in love, show her… show her that she means everything to you.”

  I jump inside Eleanor and leave him staring at me mouth agape and eyes wide.

  My heart shakes with anger, sadness, and a bit of joy as Mason almost said something I yearned to hear for so long. Too bad it’s too late, and I’m not sure why he wants to say them. A thought crosses my mind. What if he persists and stays at my house until I forgive him?

  Would I forgive him?

  A car behind me honks as the green light changes. As I continue driving, I daydream about the thousand ways Mason could ask me for a second chance.

  Ainse holds my stare for a few seconds before jumping in Eleanor and jetting off from the house. I deserve what she said. If only I had spoken out loud.

  “Our exact words were, ‘wait, we’ll talk to her,’ when we left you in the penthouse.” JC walks through the door that connects the attached garage to the house. “Were you that drunk when we ordered you to stay put?”

  No, I wasn’t, but they don’t get the urgency. I have to fix things between us. My lungs and my heart are about to give up because she’s no longer with me. Yesterday, over a bottle of tequila, I told them exactly how I ruined my perfect relationship with the most perfect woman in the world. A woman who happens to be their sister. Surprisingly, they behaved as friends and not her brothers, not beating me to a bloody pulp after breaking up with her.

  “Dude, you already sang the story several times.
I know you love her—everyone knows.”

  That’s a given. “You believe me?”

  JC puts a hand on my shoulder. “She’s your true love, your soul mate. Remember, the Colthurst-Decker clan believes in all that magical shit.”

  True, they do, and if someone knows about finding that magic, it’s JC. Sadly he found it too soon and lost it that fast.

  “Tell me what happened just now,” JC questions.

  Skipping the texts, I recite everything she told me up to the moment she scurried away from me and jumped into her car, leaving me cold.

  “A miracle, my friend. That’s what you need. The key is finding it,” he suggests and closes the garage door, prompting me to follow him inside the house. “What do you have up your sleeve, loverboy?”

  Toby pounces from the couch where he was curled up only seconds ago and walks to me meowing. I bend down and pull him to me. He purrs when I gently scratch behind his ears. “Yes, baby, I missed you, too.”

  “Fuck, why can’t I get a decent night sleep after being up for almost two days?” MJ treks down the stairs. “Oh, you came before we told you to. I bet the bitch sent you right back where you came from, didn’t she?”

  “Don’t call her that,” I warn him.

  “You’re no fun, and for your information, she doesn’t give a shit what I call her as long as I love her, which I do. She’s my favorite sister,” MJ defends himself. “In any case, what’s the plan?”

  “Breakfast,” JC points to the kitchen. “Then we’ll try to help loverboy fix his shit. Let me tell you the complete story, bro. He’s buried in a deep pile of shit. Maybe the parents will have to interfere, too.”

  I dread heading home. My last student called to cancel. Giving private piano lessons is a hit and miss. The parents could be busy that night, or the kid has extra homework, but I’m tied to their schedule. JC insists I charge some cancelation fee, but I won’t. The time slots they leave open are the periods I dedicate to practice, composing, and planning while I wait for the next class I have to teach. However, today being my only class, I could head home. But I don’t.

  Looking for a way to stall, I leave the music school and cross the street. I make my way to the brick building, take the set of stairs and enter the second studio, as the first had a red light on it. There’s plenty of practice rooms here, but for some unknown reason, I have the itch to be in this big room. There’re plenty of instruments to choose from. Drums, guitars, a piano, keyboards, violins, a tambourine, and others I can fiddle with.

  Of course, I begin with the drums. Banging them with little rhythm and too much rage. Letting the throbs of anger inside me strike the drums, I find a beat, but the music doesn’t take me too far. Drums and I don’t mesh too well—if at all. That’s Matthew’s department; not even JC can match his expertise.

  Jumping to the guitar, I strum a nice riff that will sound great with a combo on the keyboards… I jump to the piano after taking a few papers with me to scribble whatever might come out of this. Which, after a few tries, doesn’t, but might become more if I hand it over to my brothers later. At last, my dry spell, writers block, and inspiration constipation is gone.

  Pushing all of it aside in my mind, I grab the guitar again. It isn’t Breezy, but I can connect with it. Automatically, I start playing one of Papi’s old songs. One he composed for Dad long ago. I’ve been inside my small world for a while, and within a few strums, another guitar joins. JC is standing next to me and tilts his head toward the piano. Leaving him to take over, I walk to the piano, and the drums join in.

  Papi, Matt, and Jacob are playing along. The entire song goes without a glitch and Papi transitions it to “Under Pressure” with JC taking the lead guitar. My part in the song is minimal instrument wise, but I’m in charge of the lyrics. JC transitions it to Eleanor Rigby, and I have plenty of time to snatch a violin. None of us miss a note, and Papi finally makes the last transition to the first song he ever wrote for Dad. As we finish, I conclude that I have the most amazing family in the world. No matter how high, fast, strong or long the waves are that crash against us, as long as the five of us are together, nothing will break us.

  “That was wicked,” I announce. “Mattie you’re dripping sweat. Nice solo, by the way.”

  “Better than the noise you played earlier,” MJ states, and I cringe, looking at him sternly. “Yeah, we heard you and have been watching you.” He points at the thick glass that’s a mirror or a regular window depending on the switch. “I have a few ideas for the new song. JC and I will finish it for you.”

  I look at JC and he shrugs. “Sorry, but you sounded bitchy, and we wanted to know what you were up to. Everything okay?”

  I nod. Still sad, Mason didn’t give a shit about me. His visit gave me some hope, but I know I shouldn’t hold my breath.

  Papi sits next to me on the bench and puts his arm around me. “On the plus side, my husband is going to love what I’m going to bring home—the recording of an impromptu session with our babies. Oh, the things we’ll do tonight.”

  The three of us stick our fingers in our mouth while we make gagging sounds. My father has zero filters.

  At that moment, Roy, one of the sound techs, enters the studio, handing Chris the USB stick containing the recording of the music we just played. “The four songs are on here and on the master server. Great music. You four should start a band. At least put these songs up on iTunes, and you’ll make a fortune.”

  JC nods. “Decker and his amazing children.”

  “You makes us sound like circus freaks,” I point out.

  “Decker and freaks.” MJ taps his drumsticks together as he laughs at his stupid comment.

  “Decker’s LeFreaks,” JC ups him.

  “Two freaks, Decker, and the genius,” I fix it, and both my brothers roll their eyes.

  “Pretty lame, evil one. Bet you have a better one but won’t say it cause the parent is here,” JC tells me, and he’s right.

  Papi takes the USB stick and places it in his pocket. “This is for us. It’s not often that we can play together and record. This one escapes too often.” He points at me.

  I smirk and say nothing. My brothers’ phones buzz instantaneously, they look at each other and then at us.

  “We have to go,” JC declares. “Isn’t your husband waiting for you at home, Pops?”

  Pops. That’s a new one.

  “As a matter of fact, yes.” He kisses my forehead. “Call if you want to come over for dinner, baby girl. You two busy tonight?”

  “Depends,” MJ answers. “We’ll let you know, Pop. Tell Dad to enjoy our special gig.” They disappear without glancing back.

  It surprises me that my own father left without offering to give me a ride. Family, gotta love them. And with that thought, I head home, knowing that if I feel like it, I can walk a few steps and visit my parents. Or ask my brothers to come over, and I can feed them.

  Mason who?

  A few days have passed without any texts or visits from Mason. It hurts my heart that he wasn’t as serious as I hoped he was with his declarations the other day. I was able to get back into the groove of life, keeping myself busy with the music school. After a particularly long day, it’s comforting to be pulling into my driveway. When I reach the house, two things grab my attention: the lights at my parents’ home are off, and there are five plastic containers on the porch. The first one has an envelope taped to it that says:

  To Nine

  I open it, and it’s a postcard and a letter. A postcard of a sunset in the background. I read the back of it.

  Ainse:

  This is my favorite of all the ones I collected since I was eight.

  Always,

  Mason.

  He didn’t collect postcards. That was me.

  Now, I have five boxes here. Five. Before I open them, I unfold the letter. There is a yellowish old paper inside the letter. I read the newest letter first.

  Nine:

  When I was eight, I stopped catchi
ng bugs and killing them. Instead, I asked everyone I knew to help me collect postcards for my friend. The letter I sent has a lot of nonsense for the cynic I became.

  The cynic who feared to let you into his world. The asshole who jumped out of his skin when he realized he had made a home-with you. I feared that nothing great would happen after you, that we'd get bored with each other, and after, I'd suffer without you in my life.

  Mom gave me a copy of the note, along with the boxes when I went to her house to pick them up from the attic. That's why I haven't looked for you since that morning in your garage. I took a couple of days off to do a few things, including heading to Toronto for them, and apologizing to my mother for being an ass and not letting the two of you bond.

  She told me the story about the postcards. I remembered I had them for you, but not how I collected them. I wrote a letter, then we made copies and mailed them to everyone we knew. Dad helped. One of the few family activities we did together. How could I forget we did it as a team?

  One day, during my teenage years, I woke up thinking that I'd never had it-a family. And I hated my parents for that. I've since learned that we were a family-I had a family. Just in a different way than other children did. It's taken me years to understand that not one person is like the other. I wish I hadn't wasted so much time hoping for what I didn't have and ignoring what I did.

  That includes you, my beautiful heroine. I had you. I tried to enjoy you, and yet I missed my freedom and craved to have it back.

  I hate that freedom. It's lonely out there.

  I believe in you, in us.

  Enjoy your postcards.

  Always,

  Mase.

  My hands unfold the last paper with anticipation.

  Everyone:

  I'm collecting postcards from around the world. If you travel, or if you see any in your local stores that are pretty, please send them to me. Ainse, my best friend and the girl I'll marry one day, collects them. She likes pretty ones. One day I want to give her the biggest collection of postcards from all over the world.