by H. J. Bellus
“So who’s Annie?”
“She’s my niece. Cree’s daughter. My best friend and the only reason I show up to family dinners. She may be younger than nine, but probably understands me more than those fools.”
Silence.
Taking a long pull from his beer, Miles sits down in the wooden Adirondack chair next me, and we sit in silence and drink. Miles occasionally receives a text, smiles at his phone, and texts back. I’m tempted to ask if that’s his boyfriend, but I don’t.
Breaking the silence, Miles asks, “Where do you fit in all this, Willow?”
“I don’t,” I whisper, and become instantly pissed at myself for answering him.
“I’m…” Miles starts.
“Just shut up. It’s none of your business,” I snarl.
We both notice Milly waving us in through the large picture window. I put out my last cigarette and stand to go in. My sandal catches the slight lifted edge of the sidewalk and I lunge forward. Miles instantly grabs for me and pulls me in to him.
He whispers down into my hair before letting me go, “You know smoking is bad for your health.”
“You know I don’t give a fuck, right?” I say as I pull away from him.
“So, you’re not even willing to hold a friendly conversation? Message is loud and clear,” he responds.
"Fuck off, Miles," I mumble very quietly to myself. He was right, I didn’t want friends, nor did I need friends in my life. We make our way in dead silence back to the table. When we finally arrive back to the family, I notice a couple leaving our table. Greyson. It’s Greyson and his pregnant wife. Can this night get any worse? Apparently it can, because Greyson and his beaming, blossoming wife settle in just a few tables from us.
Everyone looks like they’ve seen a ghost as I take my seat. Miles follows suit, but he begins to devour his meal. The whole table, besides Miles, who’s now stuffing chicken strips in his mouth, are waiting patiently for my reaction.
Do they really think I’m that big of a ticking time bomb? Do they think seeing the man who destroyed me can really knock me down any further? Do they think I’m weak? Well, watch this, fuckers.
“Cree, how’s Greyson? His wife looks absolutely fantastic. You know she’s going to be one of those gorgeous pregnant women. You know, the kind the rest hate. Did you happen to ask a due date? I just can’t wait to find out what they’re having. I hope soon they can join us for a family dinner.”
“Willow,” Tripp warns.
“Mmm. Look at this fantastic Cobb salad, my favorite. Greyson used to order this all the time for me. My life is just peachy,” I continue on in my fake it til you make it voice.
The table falls into silence and begins to eat. My whiskeys are all gone, so I snag Miles’ beer and down it. He looks at me over his food, but doesn’t have the balls to comment back. Good boy. He might be trained already.
“Can I get you guys anything else?” the waitress asks, resting one hand on Miles’ shoulder and leaning down to see baby Rose.
What a motherfucking coincidence when she leans down her tits almost pop out of her shirt! I wonder if she notices this small fact. I also wonder if I should point out that her nipple is about to play peekaboo with Miles. As if Tripp could read my mind, he stomps on my foot under the table, causing me to jerk upwards and yelp in pain.
“Everything okay, hon?” She purrs in her sweet sickening voice.
“Um, your nip—”
Tripp elbows me hard in the ribs, and takes over the conversation. “She’s fine. Suffers from Tourette’s from time to time. Everything is great. Could you please get him another Corona, and I’ll take the check.”
“No prob. I’ll be back in a sec,” she says as she slips a blank paper to Miles.
Smooth. Real smooth, bimbo. With another elbow to the ribs, I know that I’m done for the night. I try to finish my salad in silence.
“So, Miles, where are you from and why did you pick this town, of all places?” asks Milly.
“I’m from California, and you could say I’m a bit of a roamer. I like to visit new places, and experience life. I threw a dart at a map and it landed here. Looked up the mechanic in town, called him, and got a job.”
“So, you’re a grease monkey?” Cree asks.
“That and other things. My heart is really in mechanics and restoring old cars.”
“Milly said you have a fancy hunky car. Her words, not mine,” Cree says.
“1967 Chevy Impala.”
“Nice,” Cree and Tripp reply in unison.
It is at odd moments like these that make it so clear they’re brothers. Tripp shoves the remainder of his cheesy fries in front of me, hinting that I should eat and keep my mouth shut. I take the clue and stuff my face while I listen to this stranger interact with my family. Just like everyone else seems to do, he fits in perfectly with them, picking up on small jokes and jabbing back when appropriate. He even gives Lacey a run for her money with her mouth and banter.
“All The Single Ladies” begins to play from my purse, indicating a text. I pull it form my hobo bag to see Annie’s little face plastered across the screen. Cree and Milly bought her an iPod for her birthday and the first thing she downloaded was the texting app. It was cute at first, but then came the texts every five minutes.
Annie: Hi.
Me: Hi.
Annie: How’s din?
Me: Just okay…miss u.
Annie: Miss u 2.
Me: Are you having fun?
Annie: A blast. Got 2 run gonna paint our toes.
Me: I love you grande little girl.
Annie: Love you grande.
When I finish texting Annie, I notice that everyone has stood up and is talking. Cree is busy explaining away my behavior to Miles.
“I’m sorry. She’s going through a rough time.”
“Dude. No worries. She doesn’t owe me anything. I’m just grateful for a place to rent,” Miles responds.
“This Saturday, my house. Come on out, man, for a barbecue” Tripp suggests.
“Will do, man.”
“Miles, I’ll give you a ride back to The Shop. I need to grab some papers,” Milly says.
Miles walks away with Milly. As I watch, they’re both happy and not burdened down by life. I feel my heart ask for the chance to try. I could try. Try to be happy. Have friends, go out again, shop, laugh, and learn to live.
Then I hear it. I hear his voice. His booming laughter. And I’m drawn back to reality as I watch Greyson’s new wife sit on his lap with his arm stretched out with a cell phone to take a pic. The slutty ass waitress sees him fumbling with the phone and races to his rescue. With both hands free, he wraps his arms around the woman’s belly, holding her tightly to him with love and adoration plastered across his face. The waitress takes one snapshot and he bends down to place a kiss on her cheek.
Just like that reality slaps me in the face. I feel my stomach lurch and the contents slosh around with the alcohol I just consumed. The back of my throat burns and my tears of loss well up in my eyes. Tripp and Lacey see me first and then the couple. I sprint from the table to the bathroom.
Seconds go by, then minutes before I’m completely empty of all guilt, hatred, and hurt. I made an ass of myself tonight because of Greyson. I treated a complete stranger like dogshit, told Cree to fuck off in public, and got wasted all because of him, when he’s clearly as happy as can be. This realization only makes it hurt worse.
“Wils, are you okay?” comes a strong deep voice.
“Just leave me alone. I’ll walk home.”
Tripp laughs. “You’re going to walk your drunk ass four miles home in the dark on a now, I presume, empty stomach.”
“Yeah, so what?” I say back. I know I’ve lost this fight, but I’m never willing to give in.
I think the never willing to give in or back down is definitely a Fitzpatrick trait that creates quite the shit storm between us three siblings. Thanks, Daddy.
The door opens to the stall as I’m still bent over
the toilet looking down into it. Tripp kneels down and places his hand on my back. His comfort has been the closest thing to having my daddy back. He carries so many of Daddy’s traits without even knowing it. He just knows how to say things to me. I keep my eyes closed this time and picture Daddy comforting me.
“I can’t pretend to begin to imagine what Greyson put you through. I know he has hurt you deeply.” Tripp pauses as his voice cracks.
I can’t help but look up at him this time.
“Willow, I’m so scared that he took away my only sister before I even had the chance to know the real her. I’m afraid he has broken you forever, and that my Rose will never know the loving and carefree Willow. And I’m fucking devastated that I can’t help you heal.”
Tripp now has streams of tears running down his face. I have no words for him, and can only shake my head, agreeing.
“I try, but then get knocked back down. I’m trying,” I whisper.
“That’s the hardest part, Willow. I see you trying and I see you getting knocked back down on your ass. Then I see you turn to alcohol and being a bitch. I see it all. I’ve lived it. I’ve been there, and I want you back so bad.”
No more words are said. Lacey finally comes into the bathroom and plops down on Tripp’s one knee, wedging herself between us. The girl really has no boundaries.
“I paid and they’re gone. I want ice cream. Willow needs another meal by the smell of it,” she says, as she wraps her arms around my back.
“Sounds good,” I say.
Then we all turn our heads when we hear a high pitched squeal. Rose is sitting right outside the stall in her car seat.
“I told you she knows the word ice cream, Tripp. I swear every time I say ice cream she squeals.”
Tripp rolls his eyes. “Yeah, probably because you ate it every damn day while you were carrying the poor girl.”
Lacey jumps up and grabs Rose’s car seat, bouncing her around and cooing to her. Tripp and I follow her lead.
Chapter 3
Tampons, Really?
My head. My body. My heart. As Lacey promised, we went for ice cream. She had Rose squealing and smiling the whole time. It was definitely what we needed. We came home, I said my goodnights, and drank the night away in my room.
The throbbing in my head reminds me I drank too much. I keep promising myself that I will one day be able to function without it.
I make my way downstairs to find Tripp sprawled out on the ground talking to Rose. He’s adamant about her belly time and making sure she hits every milestone on the dot. He’s the perfect father. Lacey is singing very off tune to P!NK in the kitchen while fixing breakfast.
“Smoothie or pancake, Wils?” she asks between songs.
“I’ll take pancakes. Do you need any help?”
“Nope. You know I like my time in the kitchen.”
She extends my cup of coffee to me over the bar and I gladly accept it. I don’t have the balls to tell Lacey that her coffee tastes like shit. Deep down, I’m pretty sure she knows it, but Lacey is very determined to make everything normal in her life, and making coffee is just one of those things normal people do. Tripp drinks it with no complaints.
I sit cross-legged on the floor on the edge of Rose’s plaid blanket.
“Morning, baby,” I coo.
She tries her hardest to lift herself up to see me. I continue to talk to her and encourage her. Tripp’s timer goes off on his cell phone, indicating that Rose’s tummy time is over. Without asking, I snatch her up from the blanket. Holding her up nose to nose, I praise her endlessly for making it through Boot Camp Daddy, then I place my rapid fire kisses on her cheeks.
“Breakfast is ready,” Lacey yells.
“Go ahead, Tripp. I want to hold her awhile.”
Tripp rolls up to his feet and ruffles my hair as he goes into the kitchen. I swivel around to face the kitchen and put Rose in my lap facing the kitchen, too. I watch as the couple dances around with each other to the music playing while preparing their plates. When a new song comes on, Tripp grabs Lacey and they start to slow dance in the kitchen. They’ve been through it all, and stand perfectly happy in their kitchen dancing together like their lives have always been perfect. When the song ends, Tripp slaps Lacey on the ass, grabs his pancakes, and heads for the dining room table.
I place Rose in her Bumbo in the center of the table while I fix my plate. Lacey is already firmly planted in Tripp’s lap, eating. This habit of theirs drives me absolutely nuts. With all my bitching and protesting, I still haven’t been able to break their nasty habit. I finish my breakfast while texting Annie and making goofy faces at Rose.
“Thank you for breakfast, Lacey. I’ll clean up and then head to work.”
I snag my plate and Rose in the Bumbo and walk the short fifteen steps to the kitchen. Tripp and Lacey’s kitchen, living, and dining room is a wide open space. There’s an L-shaped bar that divides the three rooms. I put Rose on the center of the bar and change the tunes. My mood calls for a little Pistol Annies this morning.
Tripp and Lacey are an entangled mess. I finally tell them to get a room and they listen. I clean up to the beat of the Annies and little Rose’s smiles. The kitchen is finally cleaned up and Rose is fussy, so I grab a bag of breast milk from the fridge and prepare it for her. We make our way to her nursery, change and feed her. I love dressing the little doll, so I not only change her diaper but her whole outfit. I rock her until she’s finished eating, has burped, and is fast asleep.
Ready for a new day at work with fresh clothes, light makeup and a major need for good coffee, I set out to see if the two lovebirds are finished mating. The two haven’t emerged from their room, so I text both of them.
Rose is fed and in her crib. Off to work. Love you.
The bakery is just as I left it. Literally, just as I had left it. Thank the Lord that I have some frozen sheet cakes I can pull and slap some icing on them to complete the order I was working on yesterday. First thing on today’s to do list is coffee. As I make my way over to the coffee part of The Shop I notice a fortune cookie sitting on the edge of the counter. What the hell? There isn’t even a Chinese restaurant in twenty miles. Strange. Underneath it was an orange sticky note with my name on it. Clearly, someone wanted me to have this.
Fortune cookie, coffee, and a pancake breakfast—this day might just be all right. I snag my iPad, coffee, fortune cookie, and a bar stool. This truly is one of my favorite places in life—the center of my part of The Shop. It’s a simple stainless steel island. It is my work station. I love to work and relax in this very spot, but this morning I need to look over inventory and upcoming orders while I enjoy my coffee. Cracking open the fortune cookie, I close my eyes and scrunch up my nose. This is something I have done since I was old enough to remember.
Today my fortune reads, “Succeed in all you believe and dream in.” I toss the fortune into one of the drawers at workstation. Believing that I can succeed just for the day. Lots of cakes and lots of ordering, I will definitely be needing another cup of joe to tackle this day.
A little after five o’clock my phone starts singing that obnoxious song.
Milly: What are your plans tonight?
Me: Working late.
Milly: Any chance you want to come over for a movie night?
Me: Sorry…too busy. Will be over Wed tho.
Milly: K…love you Wils.
After I finish up my last order, I clean up the work area and head for the grocery store. Lacey texted me a list of things she needed earlier in the day. Getting a shopping list from Lacey is like working with a five-year-old. She hides hidden messages within the lists. The list I got today:
3-6 month diapers
Salsa
Paper Towels
Crack
Sliced Pepper Jack
Grapes
2 Whores
Bow Tie Pasta
Stuff for a salad
Cock N’ Balls
Watermelon
Dishwas
her tablets
Ice Cream
Chicken broth
Just like every other time when I read crack, whores, or cock n’ balls, I blush as if the whole store can see my list. That damn Lacey. Little tasks like these make me feel helpful. It sounds silly, but I enjoy being able to give back. Another thing that would help is if Lacey put her lists into categories, but nope—they’re just as scatterbrained as she is.
I round the corner on a mission to find the last two items on my list and collide into another cart.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” I say, as I look up and see Miles.
Of course I’d crash into Captain McDreamboat here, unprepared to battle and caught completely off guard.
“In a hurry there, Willow?”
Breathe in, breathe out. Try to be nice. Try to act friendly. Fake it til you make it kinda shit. Channel Milly and her easy going attitude. You got this.
“Oh, kinda. Just picking stuff up for Lacey. Bye now.”
I mentally pat myself on the back while I untangle our carts and go in search of the last couple items. On a scale of nicey nice good person, I think I just nailed a six out of ten. Not bad.
Home stretch, baby! In the checkout line and going over my list twice. The only thing now is that I’m in Hilda’s line. She’s known in town as “Hurry Your Slow Ass Up, Hilda” because she loves to talk and inspect every item you buy. You know the kind of checker you want to prod with a metal pipe to quicken their pace. I was so excited to be done shopping that I didn’t realize whose line I picked until it was too late. Wouldn’t you know Miles came in hot on my tail.
Minding my own business, concentrating hard on how my ass looks in these jeans. I wonder if I pooch my ass just a bit, if it would look good or slutty.
“Hey, Sexy,” comes a sweet, sexy voice.
I turn to see the slutty waitress from last night snake her way up the line to talk to Miles, who, yes, is standing directly behind me. Miles catches me looking and I take a moment to mentally berate myself for caving in to him again. So, pooching my ass back out towards them, I listen.