It's All Relative

by J. M. Snyder

  “I’m going to tell Mom you said that,” I threaten. The last thing I need is love advice from my little sister—sixteen!—of all people. When another urchin reaches into the box of shot glasses, I lift the whole thing up out of reach and start for my car. That’s it—I’ve decided I’m taking these home.

  Unfortunately Caitlin follows me, Trevor trailing behind her like a lost puppy. “You ain’t gonna tell her,” she says, the hint of a challenge in her voice. Then, raising her voice to mimic mine, she squeals, “Momma, Caitlin said a bad word!”

  With a lusty sigh, I juggle the box in one hand as I dig into my pocket for my keys. “Don’t you have someone else to bother?”

  “Nope,” she answers brightly. “Today’s your lucky day.”

  I can’t think of anything to say to that, so I don’t. Instead, I ignore her as I open the trunk of my car and set the box inside, careful not to jostle the glasses. I’m thinking I’ll take the records, too—who else will want them? And the turntable, though there were no needles when I checked, so I can’t actually listen to the records, but at least I’ll have them. Though Dan might ask me why I bothered to take them at all, and I don’t have an answer for that…“Michael,” Caitlin says, interrupting my thoughts. She leans down into the trunk before I can close it and move on. Her eyes are serious, almost severe rimmed in that black eyeliner she favors. “Listen. Okay, so I’m not Dear Abby, but you’re being a real jerk, not to put too fine a point on it, and I really think you should just—”

  “Don’t you ever let up?” I ask, incredulous. Before she can reply, I nod at Trevor and ask, “Where’s the rest of your posse?”

  She frowns at me. “Emily is Trevor’s older sister,” she explains, “and she’s at that age where she can’t stand him. As long as he’s around, she’s not, so he’s my new best friend. Don’t try to change the subject. You’re not listening to me.”

  I take her arm and pull her gently away from the car. “I am listening,” I assure her, slamming the trunk shut. “Emily doesn’t like Trevor so you’re using the kid to keep her away. Human pest repellent.”

  “I’m not talking about that,” she cries, exasperated, as she twists out of my grip. “Michael, you’re an ass and you need to apologize for it.”

  “Your bitching won’t goad me into action,” I say. I start across the yard, heading for the house and the other boxes. Maybe I’ll take the records. Evie said what matters most to us, right? I can’t even begin to count the hours I sat in that back room, listening to the scratchy music on those albums. Maybe that’s what I need to remind me of this place when I’m gone…

  “Michael,” Caitlin tries again. “Dammit the hell! Turn around and listen!”

  Without warning, I do just that, pivot on one heel to face her, and she smacks right into my chest, she’s following that close. “Caitlin,” I sigh. Then, because I want her to listen to me, I amend, “Cat. Look, I appreciate your concern but what Dan and I argue about isn’t any of your business. I’ll talk to him when I’m good and ready to, not because you’re hounding me to death about it. Capeche?”

  Her full lower lip starts to pucker out and her chin crumbles in an effort to fight back sudden tears. “I’m just trying to help,” she murmurs.

  I don’t know if I’ve pissed her off so bad that now she’s going to cry about it, or if I’ve scared her, or what. I’m just not up for this today. Is it too late to go back to bed? I think, but one look around at the fading sunlight assures me that there isn’t much time left in this day. I can make it a few more hours. I’ll be better tomorrow, I tell myself. I have to be.

  “Cat,” I whisper, looking over my shoulder at the house to make sure no one’s watching us. I can just hear my mother now, or my aunts—twenty-five years old and still making my sister cry. The black lines along the bottom rim of her eyes have begun to soften, and when she tries to wipe at them, she gets smudges like coal on her fingers, and black stains the reddened whites of her eyes like ink. “Don’t…” I frown at the makeup and sigh. “Damn, girl, don’t cry. It’s not a pretty sight.”

  “Shut up,” she mutters. She runs a finger beneath each eye, smearing eyeliner out to her hair. Cat eyes. The thought makes me grin, which only makes her pout harder. “I’m not crying.”

  Yeah, right. “Look,” I start, reaching out to touch her arm.

  She shrugs my hand away. “You want to ruin the one good thing you’ve ever had?” she asks me—what, suddenly she knows everything about me, knows Dan’s the best man I’ve ever known? He is, my mind whispers. “You think you can just play the diva and that boy out back will wait around until the final act is over? Grow the fuck up already, Michael. I don’t know what’s crawled up your ass today because you were bitchy before your old friend even stopped by, and I don’t know what he said after I left but the way he was looking at you when I was there gives me a damn good idea of what got you all worked up.” Now one small fist strikes my chest, and Caitlin tries to push me away but she’s not strong enough, and her eyes overflow with more tears. “But he’s gone, Michael,” she tells me, “don’t you get it? Whatever crap he said to you, he turned around and hauled ass out that door and who’s still here? Who came running to comfort you even though you wouldn’t let him? Who wanted to talk about it even though you pushed him the hell away?”

  Dan. She’s right. Stephen said he loved me, true, said he always had, probably always will, but he left. When I needed someone the most, when my emotions threatened to swallow me, when I couldn’t see from the pain in my heart and the tears in my eyes, Stephen left. It was too much for him, I think. He was hurting more than I ever could over losing each other and the friendship we once shared. He couldn’t stay. To touch me again, to meet Dan, to see the way he knows we must be together, that would have been too much for his heart.

  So he left. And Dan came to me, wanted to hold me, wanted to comfort me and I wouldn’t let him. I pushed him away, held him at arm’s length, told him to leave me alone. Just leave me alone…

  And it took a sixteen year old girl to point it out to me.

  I pat her arm and this time she doesn’t shrug away. “We’ll be alright,” I assure her. We will be, this isn’t the end. “We’ll get through this, Caitlin. Cat.” Hoping to make her laugh, I wink and ask, “Whatever doesn’t kill you only makes you stronger, right?”

  Her eyes narrow into thin raccoon slits. “He’s fucking awesome,” she grumbles. “If you lose him because you’re moping about that geek you used to freak back in the day, hell, I’ll kill you.”

  I have to stifle a grin. “Didn’t I say it wasn’t any of your business?” I ask.

  Caitlin glares at me and shoves me away. I stumble back to the house, giggling and giddy for the first time since my dad stole Dan from me this morning.

  Chapter 27: Never Go to Bed Angry

  I could make it easy on us both and apologize now. Sidle up behind Dan, ease my arms around his waist, rest my chin on his shoulder and blow gently on his neck, my breath cooling his sweat. “I’m sorry, baby,” I could say. It would be that simple. He’d turn in my arms and kiss me, and everything would be right again.

  Only it isn’t that simple. From the kitchen door I look out into the back yard, thinking that if Dan is still working on the porch, I’ll see him from here, give him a smile, maybe call him inside with a slight nod. That’s the plan, at least, but he isn’t by the porch any longer, I’ve waited too long. Now he’s at the garden shed with my Uncle Doug, the two of them hefting the full garbage cans into the bed of someone’s pickup truck. I could still call to him—he would know what I want. Given my earlier mood, he would probably even take a quick break, fifteen minutes, could Doug wait that long? Long enough for me to pull him into the back room, close the door, let my lips and my hands show him just how sorry I am. If I called out to him, he’d let me start something that I could promise to finish later tonight. He wouldn’t leave me hanging.

  I step out onto the porch, let the screen door slam shu
t behind me, lean over the railing and watch my lover. His t-shirt has grown damp, a dark V-shaped stain that spreads from his shoulders to taper down into a point at the small of his back. His pants pull taut across his round ass and along his thighs when he squats by the next trashcan. Muscles stand out in his arms and neck as he lifts the can up onto the tailgate of the truck, and Doug takes it from there. Dan moves to the next can, and the next—there are easily a dozen already in the truck, and twice that amount left to go. I can’t interrupt him now.

  Before he can notice me on the porch, I go back inside. This time I don’t let the screen door slam behind me. I go into our room alone, close the door softly, lock it for good measure. This is all my fault, isn’t it? I’ve alienated everyone today. Lucky me.

  Boxes litter the floor of the tiny room, things I haven’t finished going through yet, or odd items I didn’t know what to do with so I just left them here. A bag half-filled with torn magazines and crumpled paper sits in one corner like a deflated balloon. Old costumes and out of date clothes are strewn across the bed, tossed there as I cleaned out the closet just to get them out of my way. The thought of straightening this room up exhausts me—I just want to lie down on top of all those musty clothes and sleep until tomorrow. I want to feel Dan’s arms around me right this second. I want to be anywhere but here, amid the chaos of this house, this family. Is that too much to ask?

  Kicking off my shoes, I shove the clothes to the foot of the bed and curl up at the other end, my pillow crammed under my head. A few minutes, I tell myself. I’ll close my eyes for a few scant minutes, that’s all. Then I’ll be ready to face the onerous task of putting this room back together again. Dust rises from the clothes when I shift into a more comfortable position and I bury my face in the blankets to keep from choking on the stale odor. Hidden deep in the quilt, I find a small spot that still smells like my lover, warm and sexy, his scent first thing in the morning after a long night wrapped up with me. With a deep breath, I draw him in, hold him in me, only releasing him when my lungs start to ache for air, then take another breath, until I swear all the smell is gone, it’s in me now, it’s mine. Another deep breath, again, and somewhere between one breath and the next, I fall asleep enveloped by his musky warmth.

  Low knocking wakes me up sometime later. It’s dark now, the room draped in shade, the boxes phantoms that loom around me. The clock beside the bed reads a little after six, but it’s late in the year, it gets dark early. There’s a slight chill to the air that raises tiny pimples on my bare arms, and I burrow beneath the blanket, trying to snuggle into the warmth I felt earlier. My head is foggy, unclear.

  The knock comes again, and this time the door knob jiggles against the lock. Still groggy with sleep, I reach out with one leg and try to twist the knob with my toes. It doesn’t work. “Michael?” a voice comes from the other side of the door. It’s Dan.

  I sit up, unlock the door, and lie back down as my lover enters the room. The heavenly smell of melted cheese wafts in with him—he carries a pizza box in one hand, two cans of soda in the other, and he doesn’t turn on the light as he eases the door shut behind him. In the darkness, I watch him approach the bed, just another shadow. Softly, as if I’m still sleeping, he whispers, “Did I wake you up?”

  I shake my head, though he can’t see the gesture. Curling the blanket into my fists, I cuddle into it as I scoot back to make room for him to sit beside me. “What’s this?” I ask when he sets the pizza box down on the bed. It’s hot where it touches my knee.

  “Dinner,” he explains. He opens the box and heat pours around my legs like dry ice. “They ordered pizzas for everybody. Are you hungry?”

  Sitting up, I click on the lamp beside the table and a sudden golden glow surrounds us. The pizza looks amazing in this light, a meal fit for a king, and my stomach growls in anticipation—I haven’t eaten all day. “I’m famished,” I tell Dan as he digs into the pie. It’s covered with gooey cheese and pineapples, my favorite, and I feel like a little kid beside himself with excitement, waiting as he pulls apart the first piece. Because I’m the only one I know in my whole family who likes pineapples on my pizza, I ask, “They ordered this just for me?”

  “I did.” He tears one piece off and hands it to me, cheese and grease dripping from the tip. “Lean over, baby,” he says as I take the slice from him. “You’ll get it all over the bed.”

  “No, I won’t,” I promise. The first bite is ambrosia, and grease runnels down my chin. I moan at the next bite, a guttural sound that makes my lover grin. “Amazing,” I sigh.

  We eat in silence. Between the two of us, the pizza is gone in mere minutes, and when we’re finished, I move the empty box to the floor. “This room’s a mess,” Dan says, still speaking low. Neither of us has dared to talk much—I get the feeling that he thinks I’m still angry with him, which I’m not. If I’m mad at anyone, it’s myself. But he doesn’t ask and how can I just come out and tell him that?

  The room, though, that’s a safe topic. I stretch cat-like across the bed and land in his lap, my arms crossed over his legs, my head resting on his thigh. “I’m cleaning it up,” I assure him. Don’t speak, I pray, cuddling up against him. Just keep quiet a little while, baby, let us have this moment without words.

  Dan runs a hand through my hair, his fingers feathering over my ear, down my neck. So soft, that touch, so gentle. I close my eyes again, savoring his hands on me, his warmth beneath my cheek, the sharp scent of his sweat in the dark. “Do you need some help?” he wants to know.

  “I’ve got it,” I say. I do, I’m working on this room, he’s been outside all day. When he starts to say something else, I cut him off. “Dan, baby, I’ll get it straight, I promise. Just let it go.”

  His hand curls over the ends of my hair—did that sound bad? I didn’t mean for it to come off that way, but before I can say anything else, Dan smoothes his fingers down my neck, stroking my skin, relaxing me. I melt beneath his touch. “Your aunts are home,” he murmurs—he must mean Billy and Bobbie, back from Morrison’s. “I know you probably don’t want to talk about that…”

  “I don’t,” I whisper. My hands fist in his jeans, my fingers dangerously close to his crotch as I dig in. Mentally, I make a list of things I don’t want to discuss. The funeral, Aunt Evie’s death, Stephen…I don’t want to have to enumerate them or say them out loud. He’s my lover, the man I sleep with every night, the man I wake up beside in the morning—some part of me thinks he should already know what things are off limits. He should be able to read into my silences and clue in to what I don’t say.

  Maybe he does, because he doesn’t mention the funeral home again. Instead, his hand rubs the base of my neck, slipping into my shirt between my shoulder blades, his skin warm on mine. “Your sister mentioned another powwow tonight,” he says.

  “Powwow?” I get the idea he’s simply trying to make conversation and that saddens me. Why can’t we just be quiet together? Is our relationship that strained right now, that he feels the need to fill the silence around us with idle chatter?

  “In the living room?” Ah yes, one of those, and for all the times I spent wanting to join in while growing up, I’m not up for it again, not after last night. I needed the rum to get through Penny’s story of how she found Evie…in a low whisper, Dan tells me, “I don’t really think you should go. Unless you want to?”

  I press my face against his thigh and shake my head. “I’ve got to clean up in here,” I say—it’s as good an excuse as any. “You go, babe.”

  “Do you want me to?” he asks.

  I shrug. “If you want.” I realize that’s not quite the answer he’s looking for, but what can I say? Don’t go, stay here with me…how needy would that seem?

  I feel his stare and roll onto my back to look up at him, his expression hidden in shadows cast by the lamp. His fingers drift to my face, brush my cheek like cobwebs. “What do you want, Michael?” he asks.

  I kiss his thumb and sigh. Stay with me, I think, but I
don’t say the words. The room has grown darker, it seems, the lamp absorbing light instead of shining on us, is this just me? What’s happening between us? “You can go, Dan,” I say. I touch his hand, press it to my face, then turn away. “Don’t let me stop you. I have to get this place back together again, that’s all.”

  When he doesn’t answer, I sit up and swing my legs over the side of the bed. His touch trails away. I stand, step on the pizza box and stumble over it, almost knock over the canned drinks before I catch myself. “Jesus,” I mutter, flicking on the overhead light. Suddenly the shadows are pushed back, tucked into the corners as neatly as folded laundry. “You want to schmooze with the rest of my family?” I ask brusquely. “That’s fine with me, Dan, I don’t care. We’ve just spent the whole damn day apart, what’s another few hours? Hell, why are you even in here at all?”

  Hot tears burn my eyes—what’s wrong with me? I bend to pick up the smashed box. I don’t want him to see me like this. “You can go,” I sigh.

  “Michael,” he starts. He touches my back, God.

  I hide my face in the crook of my arm and stifle a sob. “Please,” I murmur. “Just go.”

  He takes the empty pizza box from me, one of the soda cans. “I don’t like you like this,” he announces. I fold my arms around my knees and hunker into myself. I don’t like me like this much, either, but I don’t tell him that. I don’t say anything at all, and he must mistake my silence for apathy because he’s pissed now, I can feel his anger. He opens the door and stops—he’s watching me, I feel his gaze on my back, a weight pinning me down. “How long is this shit going to last?” he wants to know. “Because I’m getting sick of it. What the hell am I doing here if you won’t talk to me, babe? Why won’t you let me in?”