Gibson Boys Box Set

by Locke, Adriana

  “Sometimes they make me feel really ugly,” I admit.

  “Because you let them.” It’s the simplest answer she could give and the one that hits the hardest. “When you get to be my age, you start thinking a lot about death. You look back on your life and think of all the people you already lost and know the people you see around this room will start dropping like gnats.”

  “Gretchen!”

  “It’s true,” she shrugs. “But listen to me—life isn’t that complicated. It’s meant to be lived with those we can’t live without.”

  “That sounds pretty complicated.”

  “It’s not.”

  It’s such a simplistic way of looking at things and couldn’t possibly hold true. There’s no room in that philosophy to account for the unknown: other people, or emotions, or the bad things that can happen to us.

  “You live your life and you fill it with all those people who make you feel like getting up in the morning. The ones who give you life. And the rest of them?” She blows a breath. “The rest of them you just let go.”

  “Even if it’s my mother?”

  “Maybe,” she shrugs. “Maybe not. Here’s a rule of thumb for you: treat people how you’d treat them if you knew they’d be dead tomorrow. Because they might be. Sometimes that means forgiving and moving on and sometimes it’s just forgiving. The key to it is finding your joy and what you need to do for you—not them.”

  The events coordinator taps me on the shoulder. “We have a man who just came in from outside and didn’t get a cupcake. He’s very upset. You don’t have any more, do you?”

  “You know I do,” I laugh. “I’ll go grab them.” Before I get up, I look back at Gretchen. “I appreciate you, you know that?”

  “You bring me joy. Great joy, Mariah.”

  I make my way outside. The sun is a bold orange with its promise to dip behind the horizon. Thinking about what Gretchen said and then about baby Betsy and my grandmother, I know what I want to do.

  Unlocking the car, I get into the back seat first. My purse is on the floorboard and I pull it up next to me.

  Grabbing my phone, I flip through the screen until I see the app. Just the green logo with blue letters make me feel like a different person. Stronger. More confident. And it’s not until I swipe my finger over the image and see Lance’s icon, that I realize why.

  This is why it was so easy for me to open up to him. He doesn’t just make me feel good in general. He makes me feel good about me.

  With each tap of my fingers on the screen, some of my confidence gets wiped out by nerves. I hit ‘send’ in a flurry before I can talk myself out of it.

  Me: Any chance you’d reconsider that date?

  The little bubbles appear almost instantly and I hold my breath until the words he typed appear on the screen.

  History Hunk: Oh, probably. My schedule is pretty open at the moment.

  What does he mean by that? Am I bothering him by asking? Maybe he’s over this. Maybe he has a date.

  Chewing my bottom, lip, I type out the fastest answer in the history of texting.

  Me: Well, if you’re busy …

  History Hunk: STOP. I’m free. Tell me when and where.

  My fingers are swift over the keys, falling right back into the groove.

  Me: My mom’s house. Saturday afternoon? *bites nails*

  History Hunk: I’ll bring Mace.

  Me: You’re the best.

  History Hunk: You haven’t seen the start of it. ;)

  Me: Gotta go.

  History Hunk: Chocolate cupcakes tomorrow? Peanut butter icing?

  Me: Bye.

  Seventeen

  Mariah

  “My, you look beautiful today.” Lance starts the engine and pulls out onto the street. “Did you do something new to your hair?”

  “Why are you being weird?” I laugh, fastening my seatbelt. I have no idea how we can fall into such an easy rhythm, like this is what we do and nothing awkward ever happened, but we do and I’m more grateful for it today than ever.

  He looks at me over his shoulder. “I read a book on manners. It said I should compliment you when I see you.”

  “I believe the first thing you said to me was, ‘I knew you’d cave,” I say, yawning.

  “I tried.” He wrinkles his forehead. “Sleepy?”

  “A little. It hit me around two this morning what I was up against today. Makes it hard to sleep.”

  The car pulls onto the highway toward Lancaster and the address I gave Lance earlier. The traffic is light, the sun bright. Now that we’re in the car and on the way, a sharp, almost bitter sensation has its claws in my gut.

  Instead of focusing on that, I focus on Lance.

  He’s wearing a collared shirt the color of jade with a pair of dark jeans. He’s chosen to don the pair of black glasses I love which he wears on occasion. It’s the confidence, I think, that his glasses portray that makes me swoon when I see them on his face. There’s a fraction of stubble along his jaw that lends a casual vibe to his ensemble It’s glorious.

  Tucking my hands under my thighs just so I don’t touch him, I try to refocus my attention on the road ahead.

  “What’s the game plan today?” he asks.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, are we going eye-for-an-eye or playing nice? I can do either, but I’d like to have some operational direction before we go in.”

  Pulling my bottom lip between my teeth, I worry it back and forth.

  There’s no telling how this is going to go. I haven’t seen Chrissy in forever except for an accidental run-in at the pharmacy during Easter. Every interaction between us is heated, the result of a lifetime of competition that I didn’t sign up for.

  It hurts. When I was a little girl and Mom and Chrissy would take off to do a pageant or go for a girl’s day at the spa and I was left home alone, I would get angry. Not that I wanted to do those things; I just wanted to be included. Then, in my early twenties, I switched. Numbing myself from it was easier. I didn’t need them. When I met Eric I was sure I’d met the man I was going to start my own family with—and then he leaves me for them. It was like he conspired with the enemy and they all laughed in my face. The pain, the anger, wasn’t just from losing Eric. It was from losing him to them, losing him to the same people he was supposed to protect me from.

  “I don’t know what the plan is,” I admit. “Maybe we should just go back home?”

  Expecting a witty retort, I hold my breath and wait. Lance surprises me instead.

  “I think we should go,” he states.

  “Why?”

  He mulls over my question, tapping out the song on the radio against his thigh. We speed around a car and he takes a drink of coffee from a to-go cup before turning to me.

  “I think we should go because I’d give anything to celebrate a birthday with my Mom,” he says.

  My heart pulls at his expression. He looks so lonely, even though I’m right here, so I pull his hand off his thigh and hold it gently in mine. The contact isn’t the bolt of lightning it usually is. It’s a soft, gentle buzz that I feel in every cell of my body. In return, he gives me the slightest upturn of his lips, but that’s all.

  “I’m sorry your parents passed away,” I say. His hand is warm and firm, sturdy just like he is, as I roll it over in my palm. His fingers move against mine in a lazy dance that feels entirely too good.

  He squeezes my fingers, holding them tight for a long second, before pulling his hand away. He uses the now-freed palm to turn the steering wheel leading us off the highway and into downtown Lancaster.

  “My family isn’t like yours though,” I say. A bubble of anxiety hits me as we stop at the first light in town. “It’s almost like they aren’t my family. I’m just an attachment. I got thrown in at the last second like those apple pies at fast-food joints that you add for ninety-nine cents and then never eat. That’s me.”

  “Come on,” he jokes. “You’re at least the chocolate pie.”
>
  “I don’t know …” I say, the end of my words tinged with a laugh.

  “You want to leave? We leave. You want to be the last person there? We stay. I’m here for you.” He looks me dead in the eye and I fight hard not to let him see me melt into a puddle. “If things get rough, just climb on my back and I’ll haul your ass out.” His head goes side-to-side like he’s thinking. “I might grab your ass on the way out though. Just warning you.”

  “You’d hate that, wouldn’t you?”

  “Hell no,” he grins. “I might do it just to show your ex what he’s missing.”

  My face twists up as I come to terms with seeing Eric. There’s a question dangling in the air but Lance doesn’t ask it. I wait until we hit the next stoplight and then just ask him what’s on his mind.

  “This Eric, that’s his name right?” He asks as I nod. “How serious were you?”

  I think back on the day he broke things off with me. How he called me at work and asked me to come right to his apartment because he wanted to talk. How that day I thought maybe, just maybe, this was the talk I was waiting for—the one that came dotted with a simple ring and a promise of a lifetime.

  This is not something I want to discuss with Lance. It’s somewhat embarrassing, even though I know it’s not necessarily a reflection of me. It took me a long, long time to even semi-believe that and I’m not to the point where I can rock that attitude like it’s my job. Yet.

  “I thought I’d marry him,” I admit. “I knew he’d been looking at rings because he left a browser open on the computer. I was really just waiting on him to pop the question,” I say, refusing to look at Lance. “Then he breaks up with me out of nowhere, so I figure he’s getting cold feet. It happens. But then six weeks or something later, I’m asked to come to lunch at Mom’s and there he sits with Chrissy.”

  “Your mom just let this happen?” he asks in disbelief.

  “Oh, yeah,” I nod enthusiastically. “It was my fault I was boring and didn’t fix myself up or stay exciting. What’s a man to do?”

  Lance’s knuckles turn white as they grip the steering wheel. The tires bark a little as we take the final turn. I watch him in awe as he physically reacts to this story. That he cares enough, in any respect, to even react at all is both a little shocking and mind-blowing at once.

  As the house comes into view, my breathing becomes ragged. I blow out a measured breath as the car climbs the hill up to the driveway.

  “Here we are,” he says, parking behind a giant white SUV. “If I need bail, call Walker. You’d think Machlan because he owns a bar and this is more his speed, but he’d just find Eric and go at him for round two.”

  Swatting his shoulder, I giggle. “You won’t need bail. They aren’t fighting people. Just assholes.”

  “Yeah,” he says as he pops open his door. “But I am fighting people and I have a thing against assholes.”

  He shakes his head, warning me not to open my door as he rounds the corner of the car. I sit like a princess, waiting for my door to be opened. It’s amusing and endearing at the same time because, although he’s done this a few times, something is slightly different about it now. And I’m okay with that.

  “Listen,” I say as we start up the long sidewalk lined with rose bushes. “They are different from me.”

  “I met your mother, remember?” he groans.

  “Yes, but today will be different. Today she has Chrissy and the baby.” My throat is tight as I force a swallow. “They’re her pride and joy. I’m used to it. I know what it’s going to be like. But—”

  He whirls me around to face him. Startled, I gasp but the breath falls slowly away as my eyes catch up with his.

  He peers down at me, his green eyes sparkling. “You’re here because you’re the bigger person. I’m here because I’m with you. If they try to make you feel any less than you are—less smart or beautiful or talented—it’s because they’re insecure.”

  There are hundreds of responses to that, but I can’t seem to utter a single one. His compassionate words have incapacitated mine.

  My heart pounds as his hands cup my cheeks. “If I even think you’re starting to let them get to you, we’re gone.” He presses a sweet, simple kiss to the center of my cheek. It’s the most unloaded kiss I’ve ever received from him, but maybe my favorite one too.

  Like a fool, I just nod, unable to come up with a coherent reply.

  Lacing our fingers together, ignoring my sweaty palms, he leads me to the door. He presses the doorbell, still holding onto my hand.

  Each second that passes feels like a lifetime and I want to turn around and go. I have no idea what to expect other than knowing I’ll be leaving with the understanding of how much I fail to make the cut in my mom’s eyes. That’s a given.

  As we wait on her, the good ol’ script that always runs through my head starts playing. It reminds me that her mother died when she was ten and her grandmother passed away before that. It’s not totally her fault she doesn’t know how to behave in this role; she’s never been shown. It’s an excuse, I know, but one that does make her inadequacy a little easier to swallow.

  The door opens. Mom is standing on the other side, a baby nestled in a soft pink blanket in her arms. “Good morning, Mariah,” she says. “I’m so happy you could make it.”

  The sight of her with the baby startles me. I knew Chrissy’s daughter would be here and it’s really the main reason I agreed to this idiotic idea. But seeing the little button nose sticking out of the top of the blankets is enough to sock the wind right out of me.

  Lance swoops in for the save. “Happy birthday, Taylor,” he says, squeezing my hand. “It was nice of you to invite us.”

  “What a wonderful surprise,” she coos. “I was sure you wouldn’t come.”

  “Why wouldn’t I?” he asks.

  She looks at me out of the corner of her eye. “I’m sure you have more interesting things you could be doing today than accompany my daughter.”

  My initial reaction is to turn away and head to the car. Her jab coupled with the sight of the baby is a bit much for the first twenty seconds, but Lance’s hand grips down on mine. “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”

  “How sweet,” she purrs. “Come in. Your sister and her husband are already in the living room. I was going to invite some friends to brunch with us, but thought we could have a family get together instead.”

  It crosses my mind that she might intentionally be trying to drive me crazy as we head through the foyer. The house is nothing like I remember it. It’s nearly all-white now with lots of gold mirrors. Oversized vases sit here and there with sprays of fake flowers jutting out the top. There’s nothing comfortable or home-like about any of it, not that it felt like a home when I lived here.

  We go through a newly-rounded doorway where the crystals from a chandelier send sparkles of light throughout the room. We turn a corner and I stop in my tracks.

  Chrissy and Eric are standing along a wall of windows. They’re clearly awaiting our arrival. Lance takes a step closer to me as I try to maintain my composure.

  My brain is muddled trying to decide what I should say or need to say or whether or not I should say anything at all.

  Chrissy looks older than the last time I saw her. Her hair is now a reddish brown and her cheeks fuller than before. She reminds me of our father, in a way, and I wonder if she’s seen him lately.

  Eric sports a beer belly that sticks out over the buckle of his belt. His hairline is receding slightly, even earlier than I predicted. There’s no twinkle in his eye, no joke on the tip of his tongue, and I wonder what I ever saw in him to begin with.

  “Hello,” Lance says, breaking the ice. “How’s everyone doing?”

  Eric darts across the room. “Hi. I’m Eric.” He offers Lance a hand, pointedly ignoring me. Lance bites back a smile as he shakes Eric’s hand.

  “I’m Lance. Nice to meet you.”

  “You too.” He looks at me and then right back to La
nce. “That’s my wife, Chrissy, and our daughter, Betsy.”

  Lance forces a swallow. “This is my girlfriend Mariah, but I think you already know that.”

  My elbow finds his side and I can feel his body shifting with a silent chuckle.

  “Nice to see you, Mariah.” Eric nods in my direction before rejoining my sister a few feet away.

  I don’t want to look at any of them. It’s safe tucked against Lance’s side, depending on his predictable way of taking the reins when I need him to. I just wish we were some place else together.

  “How are you, Mariah?” It’s Chrissy’s voice, soft and careful, that breaks the awkward silence.

  “I’m good.” I pull my gaze away from Lance and settle it on my sister. “How are you, Chrissy?”

  “I’m good.” She tries to give me a smile, but seems to be unsure whether it’s the right thing to do.

  “Mariah,” Mom calls out. “There are appetizers in the dining room. I know how hungry you get and it’ll be a few minutes before brunch is ready.”

  It’s a dig. It’s a dig as deep as the Mariana Trench. My teeth grind together knowing it’ll likely be the first of many.

  Lance crooks his head so he can look me in the eye. It’s like he pulls me in, reminding me of who I am and who I’m not. “You okay?”

  “Yeah.” Giving him a quick smile, I turn to my family. Mom is still snuggling the baby on the sofa. Since she’s the real reason I agreed to this, I make a play. “Can I hold Betsy?”

  Mom seems thrown by my question. My sister looks at me, slightly less thrown than our mother.

  I don’t say anything and neither does she, but we quietly agree. Heading to the sofa, I wait as my mom lays the baby still swaddled in pink in my arms.

  “Oh,” I say softly, pressing the blankets down so I can see her face. My eyes fill with tears as I take her in. Chrissy’s long, dark eyelashes and Eric’s full lips are present. I gasp when I see her tiny birthmark just above her upper lip like mine. “Hey, you,” I whisper, my voice shaky. “I’m your Aunt Mariah.”