Broken Lullabies

by Nicole Simone

  My thumb tenderly swiped a strand of hair off his forehead.

  What are you hiding, Matthew?

  Why won’t you let me in?

  Although I ached for the answers to those questions, I also feared them. Some skeletons were better left in the closet under lock and key. I wanted us to both move on from our nightmares and start a new life together where we would have a real fighting chance. The way things were right now though I didn’t see that happening. We were treading water.

  Matthew thrashed in his seat, whimpering. Sweat beaded on his hairline. I went to grab his forearm to shake him awake when my blood froze.

  “Beauty in the red dress,” he muttered.

  My ear bent toward his lips, thinking I’d misheard him. He said it again along with a plea of an apology. I jerked away and stared at Matthew, my mind racing. That night in the alleyway, I’d worn a red, strapless dress. My friends had convinced me to buy it earlier that week, even though it wasn’t suited to my taste. At twenty years old, my style was boho glam, which meant a lot of long skirts and glittery eye shadow. The dress was later thrown in the trash because I couldn’t stand looking at it without wanting to throw up. Nonetheless, a lot of women wore red dresses.

  Right?

  My subconscious screamed at me to remove my head from the sand and face the possibility that my Prince Charming was actually the villain, but my affection for Matthew ran deeper than I thought. What was the saying? Love makes you blind.

  Matthew jerked awake, kicking the seat in front of him. The passenger twisted around, about to give Matthew hell, when he saw the condition he was in.

  Concern wrinkled the older gentleman’s brows. “Are you okay?”

  Matthew waved him off and cradled his head in his hands.

  “Here,” I twisted the lid off my water bottle. “You should hydrate.”

  He grabbed the bottle and finished it in five swallows. The color to his complexion slowly began to trickle back. Sticking the empty container in the seat pocket, he nodded his appreciation.

  “Do you normally have night terrors when you drink?” I asked.

  I didn’t expect him to answer, but Matthew was anything but predictable. “Yea.”

  “Mine happen when I get stressed, which is pretty often, considering I’m in grad school.”

  His grey eyes landed on mine. They were foggy with the remnants of his dream. “What

  do you do?”

  “To get rid of them?

  “When you wake up, what do you do?”

  “Oh,” I chewed my bottom lip thoughtfully. “I can’t go back to sleep, so I study, read, watch TV until the sun rises and then I try to catch another few hours of shut eye.”

  “Next time, call me.”

  “It’s not a big deal. Besides, it’s like three or four a.m. when this happens.”

  “I don’t care what time it is. Call me. We can watch TV together over the phone.”

  His offer reminded me of the scene in When Harry Met Sally where the two characters did exactly that. A smile crossed my lips.

  “All right, but usually it’s a lot of infomercials at that hour.”

  “Awesome. We can buy a vacuum cleaner we don’t need.”

  “You never can have too many vacuum cleaners,” I quipped.

  Chuckling, he reached across the divide and gathered my hand in his. “I can always count on you to chase away the clouds.”

  I squeezed his palm as my heart expanded. “You make it easy.”

  Matthew’s parents’ ranch-style home was situated in a charming neighborhood with old oak trees lining the street. As Matthew navigated the rental car into the driveway, I pressed my face against the glass. An impressive edible garden took up the right half of the lawn. People who knew how to grow fruit and vegetables impressed the hell out of me. My black thumb couldn’t even keep a cactus alive. The engine switched off but Matthew made no move to get out.

  Glancing across at him, I saw him warily eyeing his childhood home. “I should have faked an illness.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. This weekend will be fun.”

  “I admire your positivity, but fun and the Lees don’t go hand in hand. We are a loud and unruly group. We are a walking headache is what we are.”

  Compared to the quietness of my own home, as a child I longed for what Matthew was describing. I patted his forearm. “It’s only for three days.”

  He snorted. “Three days too many. My mom will try to convince me to stay and lay on the guilt thick because my sister is now abandoning her.”

  “I see where you get your flair for the dramatic,” I muttered under my breath.

  “What?”

  “Nothing. We can’t stay in this car forever.”

  As if on cue, who I presumed to be Matthew’s mother, stepped onto the front porch. She shielded her eyes from the blinding glare of the sun and waved. Stout in stature, she had a thick mane of blonde hair that framed her cherub face.

  “I think your mom spotted us,” I said.

  We exited the vehicle into the biting cold. Wrapping my meager coat around my body, I shivered. Matthew’s mom met us halfway up the walkway, her face alight with excitement.

  “You’re here!” she exclaimed

  Matthew wrapped his mom in a hug. “We’re here.”

  I stood awkwardly off to the side, not wanting to encroach on their moment. When they broke apart, Matthew’s mom cradled his face in her hands.

  “You look hungover.” Her nose scrunched. “And you smell like a distillery. Were you drinking?”

  Ignoring her inquiry, Matthew glanced back at me. “Mom, this is Camille. Camille, this is my mom, Crystal.”

  Unsure what to do, I settled for a wave. “Hi.”

  Crystal’s oceanic blue eyes warmed as they met mine. “In this household, we’re huggers.”

  To prove her point, she walked around Matthew and crushed me in a hug that squeezed the life out of my lungs. For a petite woman, Crystal had strength in spades. Matthew watched us with amusement, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

  “Mom, I think you’re killing Camille,” he said.

  She released me, her musical laughter floating in the air. “Sorry, doll, but I’m so happy that Matthew finally brought a girl home.” Lowering her voice, she stage whispered. “I was starting to think he was gay.”

  “You’ve never brought a girl home?” I asked Matthew, taken aback.

  He shrugged as it wasn’t a big deal when it was quite the opposite. “Nope. Nobody has caught or maintained my interest.”

  “Until you…” Crystal supplied. “And I can see why. You are as pretty as a penny.”

  She looped her arm through mine, dragging me toward the house while she continued to chat into my ear. Matthew stayed behind to grab our bags.

  My mind was stuck on the fact that I was the first girl that Matthew deemed fit to meet his parents. I didn’t want to analyze it to pieces, but that meant something. It had to. Right?

  The front door led into a cozy living room outfitted with beige carpet and floral wallpapered walls. It was as if it had gotten stuck in the 1970s.

  “Would you mind taking off your shoes?” Crystal asked.

  I slipped my heels off my feet and placed them on the shoe rack. I was glad I’d thought to get a pedicure before leaving. My toes were painted a demure pale pink to exude class and sophistication.

  “You have a lovely fireplace,” I complimented. “I bet you use it a lot in the winter.”

  “And spring and summer. It’s our only source of heat in the house.”

  “You don’t have a furnace?”

  She shook her head. “God, no. Why use that when you can use naturally good wood?”

  The worlds Matthew and I grew up in were eons apart. My parents wouldn’t know what to make of this lifestyle, nor did I. I felt as if I’d walked into a foreign country without knowing the native language.

  “Matthew’s sisters should be here soon.” Crystal clucked her tongue. “I hop
e I have enough food. There never seems to be an adequate supply when you have four kids and five grandchildren.”

  “I can imagine.”

  “Do you want kids?”

  “Um…”

  She slapped her hand over chest and laughed. “Ignore me. Sometimes I forget not everybody is an open book like I am.”

  “It’s fine. I have just never really thought about it.”

  It was a variation of the truth. I have thought about kids, but at this stage of my twenties, I would make a terrible mother. I had to heal myself before I brought a screaming baby into the fold.

  “At your age, I was in the same boat, but God had other plans.”

  Matthew plopped our bags onto the carpet, interrupting our conversation. He stomped his boots onto the mat and unlaced them from his feet.

  “I’m going to put the kettle on. Would you mind building a fire, Matthew?” Crystal asked her son as she exited the living room.

  “Where’s Dad?”

  “He’s in his workshop,” came her faint reply from the kitchen.

  Matthew looked over at me. “My dad lives and breathes his work.”

  “What does he do again?”

  “He’s a master craftsman. In fact, you’re standing in his greatest masterpiece.”

  My eyes widened at what Matthew was implying. “He built this home?”

  “With his bare hands.”

  “Holy crap.”

  I saw the outdated interior with a newfound appreciation. Matthew tugged his fingers through his hair, mussing his golden brown locks. The discoloration of the bruise on his nose had faded to a pale yellow. A slight bump rested on the bridge. I’m astonished his mother didn’t comment on it. Although the sallowness of his complexion distracted the eye from that singular flaw. Matthew looked exhausted, which was justified after his night terror. I burned to ask what secret tortured him so much so that it bled into his dreams, but this weekend my curiosity took a back seat. Our days were numbered before the contract was expired. I wanted to enjoy the little time we had left and pretend as if we were more than two broken people that had found comfort in each other’s arms. A girl could dream, right? And with Matthew, that’s all I did. Dreamt and avoided reality.

  Surrounded by my sisters, Camille didn’t appear overwhelmed in the least. She fielded their questions, laughed at their lame jokes, and showered their children with affection. She looked as if she belonged. The thought came out of left field, causing my beer to get stuck in my windpipe. Coughing, I slapped my chest and inhaled.

  My dad sidled up alongside me. A can of cream soda, his signature drink, clutched in his fist. “Are you okay there, son?”

  I gave him a thumbs up as the coughing dissipated, allowing me to speak. “Peachy. How’s work?”

  “Same old. Tough on the body, but I’m entertaining the idea of retiring soon. Your mother wants us to move with Cindy to India.” He snorted. “Which isn’t happening in a million years, but I’m not opposed to traveling.”

  In my twenty-five years of being alive, I haven’t seen my dad once take a day off. Rain or shine, healthy or ill, he was out in his shed, constructing wood into masterful pieces of artwork. I used to resent it as a child due to the missed ball games and overall quality time we never seemed to get with him, but he’d instilled his hard work ethic in me.

  “It seems like a lot of changes are afoot,” I said.

  “They are, but it’s about time. The Lees are stubborn when it comes to change. We dig in our heels and resist it like hell, but you, my son, are the rebel in the family, forgoing a traditional path and becoming a musician.”

  “Thanks?”

  His deep, throaty laugh radiated from the pit of his stomach. “It’s a compliment. I wish I’d had the balls you have when I was your age.”

  “You started a family and built a business from the ground up. That’s ballsy.”

  “It’s a different set of balls, but I have no regrets. I’m proud of the life I created, but I’m restless to start a new chapter.”

  A horrific notion clutched my heart. “Are you guys selling the house?”

  “Hell no.”

  A three hundred-pound elephant removed itself as I breathed easier knowing that the home where I took my first steps was safe. Even though I didn’t return often, traveling around the world and living out of suitcases made me appreciate the security that came from a place built with memories.

  My dad swallowed the last remnants of his soda and threw it in the trashcan next to us. “This home will be in the family for generations. I didn’t put my blood, sweat, and tears in it for nothing.”

  “How old were you when you bought this land?”

  “Twenty-four. It was an overgrown lot on the outskirts of town. For a month, your mother and I filled trash bags of weeds, used condoms, and other unmentionables before we could even break ground.”

  My dad was a man who loved re-counting stories from his youth. The tale of how this house came to be was one of my favorites. I could hear about it fifty million times, and I have, yet it never gets old.

  “To everybody else in the neighborhood, it was the ugly duckling, but once we laid eyes on the small stream in the backyard, we saw the future we’d always wanted. Armed with instruction books on how to build a house, and a lack of knowledge, we started that winter.” My dad chuckled. “It almost tore apart our marriage, but in the end, I had never been more in love with your mother.”

  His gaze drifted across the room and latched onto her. The affection he held for my mother hadn’t waned. If anything, it had grown. You could tell by the way his expression melted like an ice cream cone in high heat that he was putty in her hands. Exactly how I was with Camille.

  My mother had put her in charge of cutting the vegetables for the salad. Her tongue stuck out of the corner of her mouth as she focused intently on the task. I grinned at the death grip she had on the knife. A stray carrot made a run for it, rolling off the counter to the ground, her brows furrowed in frustration. Jesus, she was adorable and sexy and so fucking kissable it made it hard to concrete on anything but.

  “I like her.”

  I tore my gaze from Camille. “Who?”

  “Camille.”

  Of course, who else would he be referring to? “Yea, I like her too.”

  “She seems to have a good head on her shoulders.”

  “She does and is smart to boot. She is getting her PhD in psychology.”

  My dad slid me a probing sideways glance. “Impressive.”

  “Yea, but her true passion is writing screenplays. I have been trying to make her show them to me, but she’s self-conscious.”

  “I wrote a book once,” my dad said thoughtfully.

  “You did?”

  “Yea. Your mother read the first chapter and said I should stick to woodworking.”

  We laughed because that was my mother to a T. Never withholding her opinions, which has garnered a list of offended individuals, like the postman. Instead of sliding my parents’ mail in the slot, he dumps it on the porch.

  “I’m kinder with my opinions,” I stated. “But even if I weren’t, Camille is a tough cookie. She could handle whatever criticism I dished out.”

  Camille raised her chin, catching me staring at her. She flashed a smile that had my insides doing a dance.

  I returned her smile and mouthed. “You good?”

  Nodding, her attention got diverted by my middle sister asking her a question. They giggled like old school classmates at something. I was ecstatic Camille got along with them. They weren’t the easiest to deal with. Just ask their husbands.

  “You have that look,” my dad said. “The same one I had when your mother and I were dating. It’s as if they are the whole galaxy and you’re in awe of something so beautiful.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I denied, even though I had an inkling because my dad had nailed it on the head. Whenever Camille’s green eyes captured mine, I became enthralled that so
meone as ravishing as Camille had chosen someone as twisted as me.

  After my family dominated her attention for what felt like hours, I finally got a minute alone with Camille.

  “Where’s the bathroom?” she asked.

  My mom pointed toward the hallway. “Straight ahead and to the left.”

  “Thanks.”

  As she excused herself from the kitchen, I silently snuck free from the room as well. I followed her to the restroom where I slipped in behind her and shut the door.

  She squealed. Turning around, her eyes were bright with annoyance. “You have skills like a ninja, which isn’t a compliment.”

  “I’ll take it as one anyways.”

  “Of course you will.” She glanced toward the closed door. “What are you doing in here? Your family is right outside.”

  Camille backed up against the vanity as I caged her in with my hands. Inhaling her sweet scent, my lips brushed her neck. She tilted her head backwards, allowing me access.

  “You’re crazy,” Camille murmured, yet she didn’t stop me as my fingers glided up under her shirt.

  “I’m crazy for you,” I corrected while my teeth nibbled at the sensitive flesh. She tasted like rain soaked nights and everything that was good in this world.

  A moan slipped free as her hand pressed against my thickness. Shooting a pensive glance at the door again, a devilish grin crossed Camille’s lips as she tugged my zipper down and whispered. “I’ve never given someone a blowjob in a bathroom before.”

  I sucked in a lungful of air when her fingers wrapped around my length. “I think I’m going to enjoy it.”

  Stars exploded in my line of sight as she took me in her mouth and teased the head with her tongue. Tangling my fingers into her hair, my head dropped backwards while she lavished me, bringing me closer to the edge with each stroke. Camille acted prim and proper, but I loved when she let out her inner bad girl. It showed there was more to her than met the eye.

  With the taste of Matthew on my tongue, I rocked back on my heels and stood. The reality of what we’d just done and where washed upon me like a bucket of ice water. I hoped to God none of his family members had heard our moans because we weren’t exactly quiet. Well, I was because Matthew’s hard cock occupied my mouth, but he wasn’t. The pleasure I got in that borderlined on criminal.