Ties

by Campbell, Steph

  I twirl the dial on the combination lock that I set using my birthday--like a dillhole--and the little door swings open. There’s a lot of crap in there. Baseball cards I was sure would appreciate in value until they paid for the big, fancy mansion I was going to buy. Weird rocks and possible arrowheads I picked up with my grandpa on our miles-long hikes. My YMCA ID and my science fair honorable mention ribbon. Tucked in the back of all this weird shit is a silver necklace with an oval pendant.

  I pull it out, still surprised after all these years that it’s not hanging around my father’s neck, the pendant lost in this chest hair. Sometimes the fact that he’s dead is a dull idea that never really leaves my conscious mind. It’s like every thought processes through a fog, and that fog is my dad’s death.

  Other times I forget he’s gone. It happens most when I’m home, around the armchair he used to read the paper in in the living room or using the church key he always kept in his tackle box to open my beer. When I remember he’s gone--dead--it’s like getting punched off the top of a ten story building. It’s the worst fucking feeling I can imagine.

  Mom gave this necklace to me and expected me to wear it, but that felt too damn real. Then I’d be admitting he didn’t need it. That there was no chance he’d come up to my room and knock on the frame, saying, “Ry, did you see my St. Jude? The one grandpa gave me?”

  Not that he’d ever say that. He always knew where the necklace was because he never took it off.

  I put the chain over my head and press my thumb to the front. The engraving of St. Jude has been worn down by years of wear and tear. And my father’s habit of rubbing it with his thumb when he was thinking.

  I feel like a damn idiot, but I hold it in my fingers. “St. Jude. Pray for me. Please. I’ve been a lost cause long enough. Amen.”

  I tuck the chain under my t-shirt and head downstairs, nodding to the Mary in the hall alcove as I go. I’m not taking any chances before this catastrophe of a dinner.

  12 HATTIE

  What’s the point of making rules if no one is going to follow them?

  I’m thinking this, but I’m brushing my hair out and putting on an extra coat of mascara. I also consider stopping at one of the local markets to pick up flowers or a Bundt or something. I may be against the idea of having some wholesome family dinner with Mrs. Byrne, but I’m not a boorish ass.

  I refuse to show up without a hostess gift.

  Marigold catches me as I’m grabbing my keys and purse.

  “Hello, sweetie.” She looks slightly disheveled, and I hear Rocko whistling in the kitchen as he prepares a sandwich. These two are not my parents, but I know when I see evidence of domestic sexy time.

  She’s glowing.

  The thing is, I’m not remotely grossed out or horrified like I guess people are when they catch parents engaging in hanky panky (I wouldn’t know firsthand...my mother kept all her romantic extracurriculars very secretive): I’m jealous.

  It’s bad enough to watch Deo and Whit look at each other with absolute love and adoration all over their faces every second of the day. Now it just feels like everyone should have animated birds singing over their heads.

  Except for me.

  Not that I want all those pulsing hearts and swelling violins. But some fun? A nice, long, satisfying make out session? Maybe with a guy who just has to take off his shirt to get me completely, totally hot and bothered.

  One gorgeously muscled back, and I’m throwing all my rules out the window. This is like the beginning of a Russian romantic tragedy. Note to self: no hanging around any train stations when this all goes to shit.

  “Hey Marigold. I was just going to run out for a few. Do you need me to grab anything while I’m gone?” I’m asking to be polite, and I know Marigold will tell me that she’s fine, and I should go and enjoy myself.

  She’s halfway through that exact speech when Deo bursts through the side door.

  “Hey girls!” He gathers Marigold and me into a bone-popping bear hug, shaking us back and forth. “Hattie, I see you’re all ready to go. Good. Cohen and Maren are having some kind of bonfire, you’re invited, but you might want to change your dress real quick.” He tugs on my hair like I’m a little girl. “This is California, kid. Laid back. Look at you. So serious. What?”

  “Thank you. For inviting me,” I begin as Deo waves my thanks off. “But I already made plans.”

  Which I could easily cancel. Deo is actually handing me a perfect reason to cancel. So why don’t I?

  “Plans where?” My brother drops all attempts at appearing civil, like he knows, somehow, where I’m headed.

  “A friend invited me over for dinner. I’m actually going out to get a hostess gift.” I say it evenly, though I’m feeling some sibling annoyance rise up in me.

  I spent the entire festival dancing with him and Grandpa, talking to Whit about amusement parks and beaches we’d both visited when we were young, and rubbing shoulders with various Rodriguezes. Sure, I bowed out of the big family dinner after, but he’s got to understand that I’m not used to being surrounded by so many people all the time. And I don’t really like being told what to do with every minute of my day.

  “Oh! I baked some flaxseed and raisin cookies! Let me make you a plate to take,” Marigold cried, rushing to the kitchen.

  Deo grabs my shoulders. “Whatever you do, do not feed those cookies to anyone. I had to taste test one the other day, and I think it’s still scouring my colon. They’re rough.”

  “Okay.” I nod.

  “How about a plant? Mom got a shipment from the store, and there’s always a million extra pots out back.” He nods towards the glass doors.

  “That sounds great.”

  Deo hollers that Marigold and Rocko should enjoy the cookies. I hear Rocko cough hard, probably to stifle a groan.

  Outside, I close my eyes and tilt my head back, enjoying the sun. “Damn, the sun is always out here, isn’t it?”

  “That’s why we’re the sunshine state,” Deo says, grabbing a pretty ceramic pot and stuffing some random, good-smelling plant into it.

  “That would be Florida,” I correct.

  “You’re kinda a know-it-all. Egghead.” He holds the pot out and I take it.

  “You know, it’s not easy being so right all the time, but I manage as best I can.” I smell the plant. Some kind of herb, definitely. “Thank you.”

  “Hattie?” Deo’s voice is so low, it’s almost inaudible.

  “Yes?” I don’t want to press the plant to my chest and get myself all dirty, so I’m holding my arms stiffly in front of me.

  “Can I talk to you about something?” He eyes the plant in my hands, takes it, and sets it down on a low table on the patio next to us.

  “Okay.” I have a feeling I know what’s coming, and I’m not thrilled.

  “Sit.” He points to one of the little wire chairs next to the table. I don’t really have time to sit, but I don’t want to be a jerk to Deo. I sit, he sits, and he looks down at the mosaic tiles on the tabletop instead of at me. “So. It’s probably none of my business--”

  I hold a hand up and he stops. “If you’re going to start that way, just stop while you’re ahead.”

  He rubs his hands over his face and groans. He lets his head flop back, staring up at the sky as he talks. “You know I’d kick anyone’s ass for you?”

  “Unnecessary, but thank you.” I kick at his shoe under the table. “Look, I appreciate your concern. I do. This is a big learning curve for me, and I’m trying to just let you do the big brother thing if that’s what you need to do. But I’m all grown up, Deo. And I make my own decisions.”

  He sits forward suddenly, his elbows balanced on his knees. “All grown up, huh? Hattie, what the hell does that even mean? I’m married, and I don’t always feel like an adult.”

  “You should probably watch less Cartoon Network,” I say. His smile is weak at best.

  “Look. I did lots of stupid shit. So did Whit. And I’m not holding it against
Ryan in general. I hope he meets a nice girl who can excuse the fact that he has zero moral fortitude and doesn’t value relationships at all. But I’m not cool with that girl being you.”

  Deo’s eyes--a match for my own--beg me to change my mind.

  I grab the plant and smack a quick kiss on his forehead. “One? I’m not looking for a relationship with anyone, especially not Ryan Byrne. Two? I know you’re coming from a good place with this, and I love for that. I do. But it’s not for you to be cool with or not, Deo. I’ll be back later. Say hello to everyone for me and have fun at the bonfire.”

  I walk back to my car, feeling stupid and a little pissed. I love my brother. I do. But he needs to let up.

  The thing is, Ryan is only someone to hang out with while I’m in California. I’ll only be here a few weeks before we both move on. Deo will be my brother forever. So why not just walk away from the whole Ryan conundrum?

  These questions nibble at my brain the entire drive over. I pull up to a cute bungalow with a huge grotto in the front yard. The Virgin Mary holds her hands out in benediction, and I feel welcomed. My grandmother has a Mary just like that one in her garden. Ryan is leaned against the porch railing, those blue-green eyes drinking me in.

  “You came.” He walks down to me, and there’s a split second where it feels like I should kiss him hello.

  I don’t.

  “I said I would.” I nod to the front door. “You ready to have your mother compare every other girl you ever date to me?”

  His laugh a deep, loose sound that comes right from his gut. “Wow. You’ve got crazy confidence in yourself, don’t you?”

  “You wait and see.” I wink at him, and he pulls me close, fast, and I think that kiss might just happen.

  A motorcycle crunches down the driveway and cuts our attempt short. The biker looks badass, all in tight leather and a gleaming helmet, but when she jumps off the bike, I realize she’s not much taller than I am. She slides the helmet off, and I see a familiar shock of bright red hair, cut in a cute pixie and framing a delicate oval face splattered with freckles.

  “Hattie, this is my sister, Caroline,” Ryan says.

  Caroline pulls off her glove and holds out a hand. She has a business CEO grip. “Caro. So you’re the girl Ma called all excited about?”

  “Caro,” Ryan growls, but I’m not an idiot. I could see this coming from far, far away.

  Hence the whole ‘bad idea’ warning.

  “You look so familiar.” I stare at her, knowing there would be no way I could forget cheekbones like those. You could cut glass with them.

  “I am an actor.” She takes a bow and Ryan makes a gagging noise. “I was Linda Loman in Oxnard Community Theater’s production of Death of a Salesman. Maybe you caught a performance?”

  “She was Naomi,” Ryan says, and his proclamation makes Caroline’s mouth fall into a frown.

  “I was. But I don’t know if I did the role justice.” She shrugs. “Who can shine when Cece Rodriguez is on stage? She’s a local theater legend.”

  “Cece?” My head spins. “Oh! Oh, you were at the synagogue today.” I glance at Ryan, wondering why he didn’t mention why he was there. I’d stupidly thought it was just a coincidence, or that he did a little digging and somehow found out I’d be there.

  And then it dawns on me that he might have tried to introduce me, but I was kind of an ass about the whole ‘being in the same place together’ thing. Also, I never asked. With good reason.

  People participating in a fling don’t need to get all involved with each other’s family.

  That’s so obvious, it doesn’t even need to be outlined in the rules.

  So, why am I standing in the Byrnes’ driveway, waiting to go have a sit-down dinner?

  I’m a second away from bolting, but Caro links her arm through mine and leads me into a house rich with the smells of things that have been simmering all day.

  Elemental.

  A woman with hair and cheekbones to match Caro’s flings herself at me, wrapping me in her arms. “You must be Hattie!” she says into my hair.

  I try to breathe, but my body is going corpse-stiff. I can’t help it. Too much random touching makes me batty.

  I pull back, keeping my hands on her forearms so I don’t seem like a total glacier, and notice my empty hands. “I’m so happy to meet you, Mrs. Byrne. I brought you a small gift, but, I’m sorry. I forgot it in the car. I’ll just go--”

  Mrs. Byrne glares at Ryan, who holds a hand out. “Toss me your keys. I’ll grab it.”

  My instinct is to say ‘no.’ Not that it’s such a huge deal, but it is my car and my gift, and something about Ryan going to get it like he’s gone back and grabbed things I forgot from my car a million times before makes me feel dizzy.

  But I toss my keys to him and quake a little when he smiles my way.

  A giant, lanky red-headed guy with Ryan’s cocky grin comes from out back and whistles low and long. I can tell he thinks he’s completely charming. I’m two seconds away from letting him know just how much he’s overestimating his adorableness.

  “I was totally thinking Ryan was going to do that whole, ‘My girlfriend is so cool, but she lives in Canada, so I only see her when I ice-fish’ bit. But here you are. Clearly not a Canadian figment of his imagination.” He sticks a long arm out and we shake. “I’m Tommy.”

  “Hattie. Nice to meet you.”

  “Oh, trust me, the pleasure is all mine,” he says, pulling my hand up to him lips so he can kiss my knuckles. “So, where did you meet my lame as hell brother?”

  The words slip out before I think them through.

  “I was walking on a pier, and I stopped because he looked so sexy scrubbing his boat.” I watch Tommy’s jaw unhinge. “I decided to ask him out and that I wouldn’t take ‘no’ for an answer.”

  His entire family is staring. Caro chokes out a long, full laugh. “Holy crap...she’s no Megan,” I hear her murmur to Tommy.

  Ryan comes through the door a second later, the plant in his hand, and he hurries over, panicked at the way we’re all gaping at each other.

  “Uh, everything okay here?” he asks, looking right at me. I give him my sweetest smile and hook my arm through his.

  “I was just telling Tommy how I couldn’t keep my eyes off you when we met.” If I’m going to do this whole crazy family dinner, I’m going to have fun with it.

  Luckily, Ryan is game. “Like a barnacle, this one. A gorgeous barnacle.”

  I take the plant out of his hands and hold it out to his mother. “Thank you for having me.”

  Mrs. Byrne’s face is sort of frozen, and she looks like she’s trying to decide if she should laugh or frown. Instead she leans forward and inhales deeply.

  “What kind of basil is this?”

  “I don’t know for sure. My brother’s mom grows it. She’s got this incredible green thumb.”

  Ryan’s face goes sour at this second-hand mention of Deo, and Tommy eyes the both of us like he knows we’re playing him. I suddenly wish dinner was over, and it didn’t even start.

  “Thank you very much, dear. I can’t wait to try this out in the sauce I make next week. You should come by and try it out,” Mrs. Byrne says in this artificially breezy way.

  “Mom,” Ryan grits out.

  “I’m staying with family right now,” I explain. “So I’m not sure what they may have planned for me. But I’d love to if I’m free.”

  It’s a safe enough response that leaves me wiggle room...or Ryan wiggle room. Because I’m definitely passing the buck on this one and having him cancel on my behalf.

  I offer to help in the kitchen, but Mrs. Byrne ushers Ryan and me into the dining room where there’s a huge, shiny table set with fancy Waterford dishes. She grabs Tommy by the scruff of his neck and yanks him into the kitchen just as he was about to pour himself some Jameson from the little bar in the corner.

  Ryan walks over and picks up his brother’s neglected tumbler. “You need one yet?”
<
br />   “Whiskey? Geez, Byrne, I told you I’m an old hand at the family meet and greet. How ‘bout you? Never had a girl over before? Because you definitely look like you could use some liquid courage.” I watch him pour two glasses of whiskey and accept mine when he brings it over. “Thanks.”

  “Was my brother being an ass?” he asks, low enough so his family members--who are clearly attempting to eavesdrop--can’t hear.

  “I took care of it.” I toss back my drink and put the empty glass on the table. Ryan follows my example. “You look tense.” I reach out, half-thinking, and rub his neck. “You okay?”

  He meets my eyes and puts a hand on my wrist, his touch as gentle as his voice is fierce. “What is this?” he asks, his words still so low, no one else could possibly hear them.

  I jerk my hand away. “You just looked tense. Don’t read into it. Don’t read into any of this.”

  “I don’t want to lie,” he says, his voice calmer. “If this is a fling, fine, but I don’t think we should--”

  “What? Have me come to your mother’s house on the pretense that I’m your girlfriend?” I hiss. “This is unbelievable. You’re unbelievable. Don’t you dare pin all the awkwardness on me. I said this was a bad idea, but I did it for you.”

  “Hattie, it’s not that--”

  Whatever Ryan is about to say gets cut short because his mother and siblings come into the room carrying huge trays of food. Delicious, carefully prepared food presented on their finest china for me.

  So, as furious as I feel, as aggravated as I am at Ryan, there’s no way on God’s green earth I’m walking out on this dinner.

  Even if it kills me.

  Worse than having to sit through this dinner is the fact that the only thing they “know” about me and Ryan is the lame joke I made with his brother. The “lie” that apparently irritated Ryan so much, even though he went along with it. So now we have no choice but to keep going with the whole pretense.

  I paste on my best “fake it” smile. I try to let go of my anger when we bow our heads and Ryan’s mother says a beautiful prayer about family and friends and communion around a table full of lovingly made food. This is exactly the kind of homemade meal I most enjoy.