Reft

by Libby Austin

  Once we were playing again, I couldn’t help but tease her about being so bad. “You’re supposed to follow the pattern, you know.” I laughed as I played without missing a note.

  She huffed and said, “This is impossible. Nobody could make this many movements at one time. It’s like trying to pat your head and rub your stomach at the same time as jumping up and down while chewing bubblegum and singing the ABCs.” Her eyes never left the TV screen. It was like she thought the more intently she stared, the better she would become.

  I couldn’t help but laugh at her crazy observation.

  “And damn, this is a workout. My arms are going to hate me in the morning.”

  Nodding my head in agreement, I said, “Yeah, it’s pretty tiring. People don’t realize how much it takes out of you. And it’s hot as fucking hell under the lights.”

  “What? You’re complaining,” she scoffed. “All you do is stand up there and strum a few strings and look pretty.”

  Being a gentleman, or at least striving to be one, I let her aspersions on my contribution to my band’s live shows go and focused on the part I knew I could turn back on her. “You think I’m pretty,” I said teasingly.

  Her eyes flickered over to me before focusing on the screen again. “Well, yeah, in the maybe-if-you-had-a-decontamination-shower kind of way.”

  My mouth hung open and I stopped playing to stare at her. I couldn’t believe she called me contaminated. There were a fair number of ladies, although I used the term lady loosely, in the Brand Carmichael Fan Club. Just about the time I came up with a retort to her putdown, she interrupted me.

  “What are you doing?” she shouted and continued before I could reply. “Keep playing. I want to unlock the next stop on the tour. You’re tankin’ our rankings.”

  Seriously? I was tanking our rankings? I was starting to believe she was delusional, but I started pushing the keys again; otherwise, I was afraid she’d whack me with one of her flailing drumsticks.

  We played for a few more hours and exchanged some lighthearted banter until Layna couldn’t keep from yawning and she was assured we would make it to the next part of the game. It was cute how into being a Band Jam ‘musician’ she’d become. Over the course of the time we played, I’d learned she was very driven and determined to master the task at hand.

  I never thought to ask her why she would assume I had video games in the first place.

  BARRETT HADN’T RESPONDED TO ANY of my attempts to reach out to him since the night of my sushi dinner and rock fest with Layna. I found myself retreating within once again. The fear of losing contact with Barrett after finding him again so many years later was soul crushing, even more so than losing my band. The thought made me more depressed. I had to figure out a way to keep him in contact with me, no matter what it took. Barrett always had a way of making things better. I needed things to be better.

  He hadn’t responded to my first message.

  Me: I’m sorry for being an asshole. I know you have your reasons.

  Or my second.

  Me: I said I was sorry. What more do you want?

  Or my third.

  Me: Come on. Don’t shut me out again.

  The fourth got Barrett’s attention.

  Me: I can’t believe this is going to happen again. I’m sorry. I won’t say anything else about Mom and Dad. Just don’t cut me off again. I need you. I need my best friend. I need my brother. Please.

  Barrett: Stop being so fucking melodramatic. I know you don’t mean the stupid shit you say. Sometimes I have to deal with my own shit before I can worry about yours.

  Me: I know. I get wound up when you don’t answer. I’m afraid you’re going to disappear again.

  Barrett: I promised I would be here if you ever needed me, and I won’t break that promise. I won’t just disappear again. You’ll always know how to reach me.

  That message was quickly followed by another.

  Barrett: You have to promise me you won’t do anything stupid, though. I can’t come back there, no matter what, and you can’t come here. You can’t force it, so don’t attempt it. You have to accept what I can give.

  Me: I promise I won’t do anything stupid. Just don’t go away. I know you have your limits. It’s hard not to hope for more. I’ve missed you all these years.

  Barrett: Brand, you can’t hope for more. There won’t be any “more.” This is it.

  Me: Can we at least talk again? I won’t push. I’m happy to have you back in any way I can.

  Barrett: Yeah, man, we’ll talk again soon.

  Once I felt reassured Barrett wasn’t going to vanish on me, my mind cleared enough to think about something other than reaching Barrett, and I noticed the date and realized three days had passed since my sushi dinner with Layna. There were several missed calls, voicemails, emails, and text messages. A couple were from Layna’s number, which she’d programmed into my phone when she informed me she would be back over to continue our band’s ‘tour.’ Fuck! This wasn’t good. I fired off a text message to her.

  Me: Sorry. I got caught up in some writing. How about we catch up tonight when you get home?

  Scrolling through the other texts, I counted seven messages from the guys in the band wanting to meet up for various reasons.

  Touch: Wanna come shoot pool with us? Everybody will be over about 6:30. We’re throwing some steaks on too.

  Ruff: We’re heading over to Touch’s to play some pool. You coming?

  Bow: Get your ass over to Touch’s.

  Those texts had come in two days ago. When I hadn’t responded, the messages escalated in anger and frustration until they concluded with a final text.

  Joker: All right, you wanna be this way? You leave us no choice. We’ll be there in an hour. You better open the fucking door.

  Checking the time on the text against the clock, there were only fifteen minutes before my band would be showing up on my doorstep. Shit! Maybe I had time to call downstairs and take them off the approved list. Not that doing so would stop them from coming up.

  I hurried into the master bathroom to take a quick shower and throw on clean shorts and a T-shirt. I’d just shoved my toothbrush in my mouth when the doorbell rang. Continuing to brush my teeth, I went to answer it. No use putting off the inevitable.

  The person on the other side of the door wasn’t the one I’d been expecting. “Layna,” I said, as if she didn’t know who she was, except Layna sounded more like “Waywa” around the toothbrush and mouthful of toothpaste.

  “Hey,” she said with a cheerful smile, “I was getting worried you’d bailed on the band.”

  I jerked as if she’d slapped me. “What?”

  “Our Band Jam band. You haven’t answered your door or phone in days. I thought maybe you were blowin’ off the rest of the tour.”

  “Oh,” I said, then shook my head no and held up a finger to tell her to hold on. “I’ll be right back.” Then I turned around to go back to the bathroom. The need to get her out of my place before my real band got here was urgent. Those paths did not need to intersect. Maybe I could send her for food. Yeah, that would work. I rushed to rinse my mouth and get back out to the door.

  I hadn’t been gone more than two minutes, but Layna was already in the kitchen pulling stuff out. “Umm, what are you doing?” I asked as she continued moving and opening cabinets. She was using one crutch and the counter for occasional support as she hopped on one foot.

  “Making food. We need something to fuel us. I’m not giving up until we unlock the next stop on the tour.” She paused to look back at me. “Plus, you look like you need to eat. Are you always this focused when you write?”

  “Write?” Layna continued to pull random things out of the cabinets. “Don’t you need to know where stuff is in order to cook? We can just order out.” Layna—in my kitchen, cooking—was not what I needed the guys to see when they showed up.

  “It’s a kitchen. Finding shit isn’t that hard; you just open a cabinet and look.” She moved b
ack to the stove and turned it on before placing a pan on it, then she began to butter a piece of bread. I stood there dumbfounded. Who just walks into someone’s place and starts cooking? I could’ve had plans or something. “So were you writing, or composing, or whatever it is you call it?”

  Oh, she thought I had been on a writing binge. Good, I could deal with that. “Yeah, like I said, I get really focused and don’t pay attention to much else.” Maybe I could head the guys off downstairs and get them to go to a bar or something. But that would leave Layna up here alone. Shit! This wasn’t good. This was going to bring up way too many questions from everyone. Maybe … Or what about … No, that wouldn’t work either.

  A loud pounding on the door informed me it was too late to worry; the time was at hand. Layna turned from whatever it was she was making and said, “I thought people couldn’t just come up to this floor.”

  “They, umm, they can’t unless they have permission. It’s my friends. I just found out they were coming over not long before you knocked on the door,” I explained, unsure why I was nervous, not like I had barged into her place and took over the kitchen. I’d left my cell phone in the bathroom in the rush to get in here, and the ringer on the phone in the kitchen had been turned off weeks ago, so I didn’t get the call from security that the guys were headed up.

  Then realization filled her eyes. “Oh. Why didn’t you say you had plans?”

  What? When did I have a chance to tell her I had plans? I came out of the bathroom and she was in the kitchen. “I don’t really have plans. They’re just coming over for whatever reason.” Another loud pounding on my door interrupted my explanation. “I better go let them in before they break down the damn door. I’ll be right back,” I told her then made my way to the door.

  “ABOUT FUCKING TIME, ASSHOLE,” BOW yelled when I opened the door.

  “Keep it down, would you,” I said. “I have neighbors.” I gestured across the hall.

  “Since fucking when do you have neighbors?” Bow asked as they all began to file past me into the condo.

  If it hadn’t been one great big clusterfuck in the making, I would have found it comical the way they all ran into each other and stumbled when Bow suddenly stopped at the sight of Layna.

  “Who the hell are you?” Bow asked in shock. People said I didn’t have a brain-to-mouth filter. Well, Bow had one; it just didn’t work on profanity or anything else he felt like saying. He had a way of working cuss words into everything he said. And, for the most part, he just didn’t give a shit what anyone thought about what he said or did.

  Without missing a beat, Layna leaned against the doorjamb, as relaxed as could be, and replied, “I’m Layna, Brandon’s new neighbor. Who the hell are you?”

  “Oh, I see how it is,” Bow said as he turned to me. “Is this what you’ve been too busy doing to answer your phone?”

  Before I could say anything, Layna’s voice filled the space. “I’m a person, not a ‘this,’ nor has Brandon been too busy ‘doing me,’ as you so eloquently put it, to answer his phone.” Bow began to respond, but she cut him off. “But if he had, I would hope he would have the manners not to say so to the likes of you.”

  Ruff knocked Bow upside the head with his free hand and said, “Ignore the idiot. We’ve been trying to find out what village he’s missing from, but so far, none will claim him. I’m Ruff, and this is Patsy,” he said, introducing himself and the dog he carried. Patsy accompanied Ruff everywhere, much to Joker’s annoyance. Damn dog.

  Joker chimed in, “He’s just upset ‘cause Danelle cut him off while her parents are in town.”

  “They’ve been here a fucking week already and aren’t leaving for another. My nuts are going to fucking explode at this rate, but at least I’m not getting cock-blocked by a mangy damn dog,” Bow informed everyone without batting an eye at his vulgar description. He walked into the living room and collapsed on a chair as if his life were utterly depressing. His embarrassment, if there ever was any, over any faux pas never lasted long.

  “The Holy Ghost is not mangy. The bitch has a collar from Tiffany’s for fuck’s sake,” Joker defended Patsy’s honor. Everybody knew he was the only one who could bitch about Patsy. The two of them had a longstanding love/hate relationship. Joker loved to hate Patsy, but he’d been caught on more than one occasion scratching her ears or sneaking her table scraps. Damn dog.

  “Since when is Patsy the holy anything, let alone a part of The Holy Trinity?” I asked as I closed the door and followed the guys into the living room, and Layna turned to retreat into the kitchen. This situation was sure to make Layna run—or hobble as fast as her crutches would let her go—for the front door.

  “So, the other day we’re lying in bed, just cuddling and relaxing, ya know.” Joker and Ruff cuddling in bed was not something I wanted to think about, but I didn’t want to think about any of my bandmates in bed with anyone. Those were just not thoughts I wanted to entertain. “All of a sudden, Patsy jumps on us and starts worming her head under our arms until she has herself completely wedged between us, then to top it off, she licks me and goes to sleep. Then, when I go to move, jackass over there tells me not to because she might wake up.” Joker glared over to where Ruff sat with Patsy perched in his lap. Damn dog. Truth be told, Joker loved Patsy as much as Ruff did, but bitching about her was like wearing an old sweater; it was a comfortable habit he couldn’t bring himself to get rid of no matter how much it irritated him.

  Touch and Bow laughed at Joker’s discomfort. “What the hell are you laughing at, jerkoff? I’m still getting laid,” Joker taunted Bow, who stopped laughing and flipped him off.

  I laughed at their antics. This was what I missed the most about not getting to hang out with them like we had for all the years I’d known them. My laughter faded as my mouth turned down into a frown, and I picked at a thread hanging from the hem of my shorts. A plate being sat on the counter disrupted my thoughts. I glanced up to meet Layna’s gaze. “What’s that?”

  “It’s a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and some fruit. You need to eat something. I doubt you’ve eaten anything since the other night.” She pointed at the plate and commanded, “Eat.”

  I looked at the plate and then back at her no-nonsense expression. There was no doubt she would force-feed me if necessary, so I got up to grab the plate. The bread was browned, like a grilled cheese. “You cooked it?”

  “Yeah, it’s the way my dad always made them.” After that, she just stood there.

  It dawned on me she was waiting for me to start eating, so I took a small bite. “Mmm, it’s pretty good,” I said around another bite of crunchy bread and warm peanut butter and jelly mixture.

  “I told you so,” she bragged.

  “You got any more of those?” Bow asked, causing me to look up. I’d forgotten the guys were there for a brief moment. When I glanced over my shoulder, all of the guys were eyeing my plate with heightened interest.

  “Didn’t y’all eat at home?” I chided them.

  “Yeah,” Touch, who’d been unusually quiet, answered, “but that won’t stop us from eating your food, too.”

  “Sure. Do all of you want one?” Layna offered.

  Before I could tell her she didn’t have to make food for the numbskulls, they all spoke up, saying yes. Anybody who didn’t know them would think they were on the verge of starvation.

  “Can I have two?” Bow asked, and I rolled my eyes.

  “Sure,” Layna said again as she made her was back to the stove, using the counter for support.

  I turned to tell her I could help, but the words stuck in my throat as my brain registered how much I liked the sight of her in my kitchen, piddling around and humming to herself. When I turned my head back to face the guys, they were all staring at me like I had grown two heads.

  “What?” I asked and glanced back over my shoulder, but there was nothing there other than Layna at the stove, making the other sandwiches.

  “You are human,” Bow declared like i
t was a revelation of epic proportions.

  “What the hell are you talking about?” I carried my plate, dropped back into my chair, and resumed consuming the best peanut butter and jelly ever.

  “It’s just we’ve never seen you interested in—well, anyone.” Ruff had a tinge of awe in his voice. Surprise lit his features.

  “Who? Layna? No, I’m not …” I began to deny any interest in Layna, but then I realized Layna would be a perfect excuse not to hang out with them in their Brady Bunch-esque, Leave It To Beaver, everyone-is-happily-paired-up lives. “I mean, she just moved in—”

  “Layna can hear all of you, in case you were wondering. The kitchen isn’t sealed off by an invisible soundproofing.”

  A few of the guys had the decency to be embarrassed at being called out on talking about Layna like she wasn’t there, but not Bow, who spoke up. “I wonder if that’s the problem at my house; our bedroom doesn’t have invisible soundproofing. You think I could get that installed today, Layna?”

  “Not if you open your mouth and talk to anyone,” Layna retorted, never missing a beat.

  To that, the idiot smiled and said, “I think she likes me.”

  “I think you should be glad you have a skill that doesn’t require the use of a brain,” Joker told him.

  “What the hell are you talking about? I made great grades.”

  “Yeah, most of your professors probably did it to shut you up—”

  “You two need a room, or can we discuss something someone actually gives a shit about?” Touch asked to stop what was going to become a full-blown argument.

  “We’re just making conversation so we can lull Brand into a false sense of security, making him believe he’s distracted us from the reason we came to call him out.”

  Fuck. I needed to head this shit off at the pass, or I’d have to sit through another round of them telling me how much a part of the band I was and how their decisions to take time off didn’t mean they were giving up, yada yada fucking yada.