Delayed

by Nathan Kingsly

  “Sorry, that's what I meant.” Even if she had a place of her own, there wouldn’t be much to put in it. There wasn’t money to keep the house and pay for her medical bills at the same time. Thankfully, I’d been here for that and was able to pack and store most of her personal effects, though she no longer has furniture or a home to call her own. Depending on what she wants, I might find her someplace close to me. “Where is it?”

  “In her office.”

  Following her up the stairs and down one of the hallways, she comes to a plain white room: a computer and a simple writing desk, the center point. I sit down in the chair in front of the desk. The computer screen lights up with a touch of the mouse, and I have to remind myself to reprimand Mia for not having a passcode to get in.

  When I look back to thank my mom, she's gone. Shrugging, I turn back to the screen and pull up an internet browser.

  First work; second a place to live, then school.

  I'm not sure how long I stay in this position, hunched over, shoulders tight, and my hand about to get carpal tunnel from the repetitive motion of going from the mouse to the keyboard every few minutes. My eyes sting, and my back aches when I jump in the seat. Turning around, I find my sister fuming at the door.

  “What are you doing in here? I didn't say you could use my stuff. I'm barely allowing you in the house.”

  “As if you would have said yes, and I needed it.” Get us in a room together, and we turn back into bickering teenagers.

  She starts to open her mouth, but I let out a whole-body sigh. “Look, I know you're not happy with me, and I know you don't want me here. Believe me; you have made that abundantly clear. However, part of finding my way out of this house is to allow me to find a place to live.”

  “A place to live? What do you mean?”

  “You know, a place to hang your hat.” Her mouth twists at my sarcasm. “If I haven't already made this clear, I'm here to stay. Maybe not in this house, maybe not even in this neighborhood, but close enough to where I can walk from there to here.”

  Her shoulders come away from her ears, and one of her eyebrows lifts. “Are you serious?”

  “That's what I've been trying to tell you.” When it's clear after a minute that she's not going to say anything else, I continue. “So Mia, may I please use your computer and live in your house until I can get things established to move out?” I force myself not to roll my eyes and do my best to sound sincere.

  She squints at me, scanning, and then crosses her arms over her chest. “Fine, but you buy your own groceries, and you're going to pay some rent.”

  It's not like I spend money on anything that I don't need. I have plenty of money in my bank account. “Fine.”

  She gives me a weird look and then flips her hair over her shoulder before stomping out of the room.

  Alright then. Turning back around to the computer, I continue my search.

  I’d already sent my resume to several job listings nearby. With any luck, I will hear back in the next few days. The call I made to Brian last night set things in motion, and my heart speeds up thinking about how far I’ve come even since then. During my internet search, I called Charles to let him know that I won’t be coming back. He didn’t ask for an explanation, just enough to fill out the paperwork and for an address to send my last check. My bank doesn’t have a branch here, and I will need to transfer funds when I can.

  As for finding a place to live, there are no apartment complexes anywhere nearby. In a way, I’m lucky to have been a recluse, and I have plenty of money to invest in finding a place to live with the potential to grow roots. The only problem as I look through the listings is I don’t know where Emma has taken root and if she’d be willing to take a shovel to transport them, to co-mingle with mine. My chest tightens. If I commit here, and after I find her, she doesn’t want the same thing, what will I do then?

  Leaning back in the chair, I decided to stop for the night. Locking the computer and pushing away from the desk, I head downstairs for the bag I left outside. When I open the screen door and find it’s no longer there, I go hunting. I find it lying by the couch, a pillow and blanket folded on one side. It’s only then that I decide to check the time. I’d spent all day up there, and my stomach growls at the neglect as it realizes it too.

  Recalling what Mia said earlier about groceries, I will face her wrath in the morning for making myself something, but when I come to her kitchen, I find a sandwich on the counter already waiting. When I see the crusts cut off, I know it’s mom’s doing. As a kid, I refused to eat ‘the burnt pieces,’ I grew out of it years ago, but she still continues to do it. Moms never forget.

  Heading back to the couch, sandwich in hand, I unzip my bag and grab the one pair of pajama pants I own. Finishing up my sandwich, I find the first-floor bathroom and take a quick shower before slipping on the pants.

  As I put my makeshift bed in order, a piece of paper drifts to the floor.

  I snort as I place the note on the coffee table. I have no doubt she would. Definitely finding the nearest Walmart tomorrow and buying some lounge shorts to last me a month.

  "What the fuck are these?" My anger feels too large to fit in the doorway of my sister’s office.

  "I don't know, what are they?" Mia doesn't bother looking away from the screen. Her blasé tone makes my skin feel tight.

  I shove the letters in front of her face, blocking her view. Seconds later, she's yanking them from me and swivels in her chair. "I told you to stay out of my shit."

  "How was I to know you would stash them with the superglue?" I stand straighter and cross my arms over my chest.

  "What did you need that for anyway?"

  "Your cup...we broke."

  She snorts, "You mean you."

  Rolling my eyes, I point to the letters to focus that I wasn’t the one on trial here. "Why didn't you tell me Ger is sending letters to mom?" The knowledge scorches my tongue as I say the words.

  "Keep it down," she hisses, and her eyes flit to the door. So mom doesn't know, good!

  "Why, Mia, am I only finding out now?"

  She waves her hand, dismissing my words. "Didn't think you'd care."

  "I'm calling bullshit on that one," I snap.

  We stare off, but I'm not giving in. She should have told me. "Fine," she spits. "I knew you'd insist on reading them. If you had, you would have tried to put her in a maximum-security psychiatric facility. When they started coming in, she was starting to do better. I didn't want anything to happen to that progress."

  "What I don't understand is why you knew, and I didn't."

  "May I remind you, I was also a guardian. I had plenty of say in if she would see them, and I decided she shouldn't. As far as the facility's concerned, you didn't need to be told."

  "I still call it bullshit that I'm only finding out now. Does he still write?"

  She shakes her head. "It's been a few years since she got one."

  "Good. Did you read any?"

  Her face grows pale. "I wish I hadn't. I only got halfway before I knew I made the right decision."

  "None have come here?"

  She shakes her head, and I nod. That, unfortunately, doesn't mean he doesn't know about this place.

  "Why didn't you get rid of them then?"

  "It felt wrong." Her brows pinch. "They aren't mine to dispose of."

  "They were the moment you made the decision to keep them secret. Get rid of them before she goes looking for glue."

  "Fine," she snaps again.

  "Your cup's fixed and in the kitchen."

  She chews on her bottom lip, and I swear I hear a thank you before my first foot leads me downstairs.

  It’s been two weeks since I’ve shown up at my sister’s.

  We’ve created a routine. My mom wakes up at six am, never getting out of the schedule the hospital had her on, and makes my sister and me breakfast. I make the coffee, and my sister comes downstairs from waking up on the wrong side of the bed.

  She’s sti
ll hostile but lessens every day. I think she is starting to realize that I’m following through.

  Brian called yesterday. He will start driving with the moving truck in the next few days. He's already grabbed my car from the airport. I will owe him taking time off to bring me my stuff.

  In a few days, I start my new job as a night stocker. I’m reluctant to accept that I won’t be able to check all the doors and windows or the streets for any suspicious cars before heading to bed. So far, nothing stood out, but every day and night, I watch to make sure.

  I have registered for some online classes to get the credits I need to finish school. It’s been six years, but it turns out I need another twelve to get my degree.

  Soon, I can be a mechanical engineer, and the company that hired me has the most advanced packaging system on this side of the states. If I finish my degree and continue with the company, I’m guaranteed a position since I’ll have first-hand knowledge of machines I’ll be maintaining. I couldn’t have asked for a better lineup.

  The only thing left is finding a place to live. I’m reluctant about leaving my sister’s house. But, the fact of the matter is, it might be better for everyone if I do. Her long-time boyfriend showed up at the house the other night and got the wrong idea about me. Granted, I was in only a towel and gave him no indication that I wasn’t who he thought I was. We nearly had a fight in the entryway before Mia showed up to break the stare-off.

  This morning, I went to the kitchen to make coffee. Mom’s at the table giving me ‘the look’. Oh shit. Giving her my back, I start to make coffee, thinking of what I could have done. Whatever this is about, coffee will need to be involved. Turning around, I lean against the counter.

  “What did I do?”

  Her mouth twists like she’s sucking on a lemon. “It’s not what you did...I did something I shouldn’t have.”

  That takes me aback. “What did you do?”

  “Went through your things. I --”

  “Why would you do that?” I bite out. I’m twenty-six years old. I can take care of my own shit.

  Her eyes flicker to the table. “I … Well… ” She starts and looks back at me. “I wanted you to feel more at home. So I unpacked your bag ...”

  Running my hand through my hair, I twist and grip onto the counter. The only thing making a sound in the kitchen is the coffee maker. The smell is usually comforting but now causes my stomach to turn, leaving a bad taste in my mouth.

  It’s only after the coffee alerts us that it’s done that she speaks again. “I know I shouldn’t have gone through your bag, but would you have told me about Emma otherwise?”

  “Eventually.”

  “When? Years from now, when it’s too late?”

  I sigh, and reach in the cabinet and bring down two cups. Pouring each of us a cup, “I’m not there yet.” Picking up the cups, I walk to the table and take a seat.

  “What do you mean?” Mom asks. I hand her a cup as I take a sip of mine.

  “My life is not in order yet.”

  “You’ve made so much stride already. From what I read, she’s not asking for perfection, but for effort.” With weariness in her gaze, she pulls the paper from where she had it in her lap. She smooths the edges of the letter with her hands. My hands clench my cup as it crinkles, the wear of my reading it over and over again still evident with every fold and wrinkle in the paper.

  “I haven’t gotten a place to live yet.”

  “Who’s to say that she wants to even live here? There are likely compromises to make when you do find her if she is what you want.”

  “There are things I’m not willing to compromise anymore, but there’s no question that I want her.”

  She smiles and places a hand over mine that’s still gripping the cup a bit too tight. Releasing it, I squeeze her hand back. “I want to see you happy. If moving away from us again is how you do that, then that’s what I want.”

  “It’s not what I want.”

  “What’s not what you want?” My sister walks into the kitchen towards the coffee pot, her hair knotted and sticking up in places—her scowl in place.

  “To leave,” I say, straightening in my chair.

  “That’s what you keep saying.” Even with her back turned, I know she’s rolling her eyes. She turns, leaning her hip against the counter. After her first sip, her expression relaxes, and her lips turn up into the closest thing I’ve seen to a smile in a while. Then she looks between us and narrows her eyes. “What aren’t you two telling me?”

  “Nothing,” I say quickly, from how her scowl deepens, too quickly.

  “Your brother ...”

  I shoot mom a look, which she ignores.

  “... has a dilemma.”

  “Tell me something I don’t know.” She snorts and takes another drink of her coffee.

  My mother sighs. “I think he could use our help.”

  “No.” I shake my head. “Not a chance. It’s bad enough you went through my shit.”

  “This is my way of making up for it.” She smiles encouragingly, I continue to shake my head, and my arms go over my chest.

  “You went through his stuff?” Mia asks, sounding suspiciously excited about the fact.

  “Yes, but to try and make him feel welcome,” Mom defends, twisting her hand in the air as if that would brush it away.

  “He’s not welcome!” Mia shrugs and takes another sip of her coffee. “He’s not a guest; he’s an unwanted pest that pays rent.”

  “He’s doing what?” Mom’s eyebrows spring up her forehead. “Mia Louise!”

  “What?” She whines back, and I struggle to keep my smirk hidden from these two, or I’d become a target.

  “I’ve taught you better hosting than that.” Mom abandons her cup as she strides across the kitchen. "Liam is your brother, but you're treating him like a stranger."

  Mia spits a cuss under her breath when the coffee spills over the side onto her hand when the cup hits the counter. She should be paying attention to what she’s doing. I don’t know why she’s glaring at me like it’s my fault. Placing the cup successfully on the counter this time, she shakes out her hand and says. “He is a stranger, mom, and not only to me. I can't be the only one pissed here." She seems to plead her case with mom.

  “Even so, that doesn’t stop him from being family. He’s here! He’s doing his best.” Damn, that stings.

  "That doesn't give back the time we lost." She snaps.

  "You'll never get it back. Why are you wasting the present on the past?”

  “Let’s say you're right, and I’m still not ready to forgive him.” Mia’s arms wrap around herself; she looks away, fixing her gaze out the window.

  “Fine, then don’t,” I say, breaking their conversation.

  Their heads spin towards me.

  I shrug. “I mean it, doesn’t mean I’m going to stop trying to deserve it.” I turn my gaze to my mom. “Stay out of my stuff! Drop it. I’ll figure it out when I’m ready.”

  “But--” Her mouth agape.

  Shaking my head, I stand with my coffee, the letter from Emma, and start out of the room. “It’s not only her that I need to prove worth to.” I’m not sure I will ever reach that point. The hand holding the letter tightens.

  “You are worthy.” Mom whispers.

  “What?” Mia’s voice is low. “What don’t I know?”

  “I’m a stranger, right? What do you care?” I don’t bother turning around. I have to do another search for houses in the area. Saying it aloud made me realize how much I meant it. I’m not going anywhere, and I won’t compromise that.

  “Hey, man,” I say before I get a brief one-armed hug from Brian.

  “Hey. So, this it?” He points at the house.

  I nod, “Yeah, you wanna see inside?”

  “Need to stretch my legs anyway.”

  I purchased it while keeping in mind the future I wanted, but if it never happens, it’s enough just for me too. It’s a simple layout, one story, and has three b
edrooms with two full baths. Fastest closing I’ve ever heard of, and it’s about half a mile from Mia’s.

  “You moved back home for your family or for a girl?”

  “How can it be for the girl if I don't know where she lives?”

  He shakes his head. “Here you’re falling in love, and I’m lucky not to get bored with a woman before the end of a week.”

  “Who says I’m in love?”

  He ignores my question. “Variety is the spice of life, my friend, and you’re willing to live with the bland, predictable taste of love instead. What a sap you turned out to be.” He flashes a grin and runs a finger across his mustache.

  “Yeah, I don’t know why we’re friends.”

  He barks a laugh. “Neither do I.” He shakes his head as he starts to head towards the front door. “Let’s get you moved in.”

  In this space, even with my stuff brought in, it feels empty. The next night I have off, I’ll find a few things to fill out the place, make it mine.

  “Dude, this is sad,” Brian says, seeing the same thing as me.

  “It’s called square footage, douchebag.”

  He opens his mouth, but I cut him off. “If you want pizza and beer before crashing on my couch tonight, you won’t say what you’re thinking.”

  Shrugging, he walks off into my living room and plops on my couch.

  The front door slams and I swear, under my feet, the foundation of my house shakes.

  “What the hell Liam!” Mia shouts into the house. I roll my eyes and shake my head as I find her pacing in the entryway. Ever since I moved out, I get a visit from her at least every few days. She comes over to pick fights over things that don’t matter, but I think it’s so that she can see for herself that I’m still here.

  “What is it this time, Mia?”

  “You’re getting mom her own place?” Her face is flush, the same shade of red creeping up her throat. “What’s wrong with her living with me?”

  Crossing my arms over my chest, I lean into the archway between the entry and the kitchen. “You came over just the other day complaining that you and your boyfriend ...”

  “Daniel.”