Open House

by TC Matson

  “Are moms?” he shoots back playfully. His eyes scan me, from my wavy chestnut brown hair all the way to my nude pumps. “You look good.”

  Heat spreads over my cheeks. “Thanks.”

  “Hey!” April says stepping up beside us and eyeing me suspiciously. “Mr. B, I didn’t know teachers got out to drink.”

  I raise my brows and smile victoriously. “See. I’m not the only one who thought that.”

  He chuckles. “Yes, ma’am. We’re allowed to have lives, just quieter ones.”

  She steps between us and slams her finger into his chest. “You call me ma’am one more time and I’ll cut off your nipples with a spork.”

  I burst out laughing, pulling her hand away.

  Trenton clears his throat. “What would you prefer me to call you?”

  She sticks her hand out. “I’m April.”

  He shakes it.

  She flicks her eyes between him and me. “I’m going to purr my way over here. I’ll be back in a few.”

  Before I can protest, before I belt out to not leave me alone, she’s gone, sucked into the crowd without a trace of her existence.

  Nervously, I glance back to Trenton. “She refuses to believe that ma’am is a term of endearment, not disrespect.” My voice quivers a bit and I try hiding it with an awkward breathy laugh.

  “I was raised to call everyone ma’am and sir. I have a strong suspicion my nipples may be cut off more than once. And why a spork? That’s kind of sadistic.”

  “She doesn’t get out much,” I jest.

  “Now I see where Josh gets his sense of humor.”

  “I’m sure you haven’t seen the best of it yet. Wait until he gets really comfortable around you.”

  “Lucas is quite the jokester. I can’t wait to see what he brings to the table in the middle of the year.”

  “If he gets out of hand, you let me know,” I reply more seriously.

  He shakes his head following a pull from his beer. “Nothing I can’t handle. I was the class clown when I has his age. I haven’t met my match yet.”

  “Don’t wish for it too hard,” I say.

  “Care to dance?” he asks with a gleam of hope in his eyes.

  I shake my head and scrunch my nose. “No, thank you. I’m not very good at it.”

  He tips his head to the dance floor. “It’s a slower song. I’ll keep my distance like a middle school boy.” He exhibits by holding his arms stick-straight out in front of him.

  This makes me laugh.

  He scans the room. “April is out there. We’ll slide in right beside her.” He places his beer on the low table beside us. Again, I shake my head. “Come on,” he says with a sweet grin.

  I give in.

  He tucks his hand under my elbow and leads us to the dance floor. Just as promised, he stops beside April, who has taken up with a man in his early forties with black hair, a plaid shirt and jeans. He’s got a hell of a grip on her waist as they dance, but she seems to be comfortable as she laughs and smiles up to him. When April finally notices us, her face lights up and if possible, her smile grows wider.

  I laugh when Trenton does exactly as promised and keeps me at arm’s length with his arms straight and his hands on my waist. I slap him in the arm, dropping my head back as I laugh. He wraps an arm around my waist and pulls me closer, leaving enough room where our bodies aren’t touching.

  I haven’t danced with another man in years. For that matter, I haven’t danced since prom. Brian doesn’t do much dancing. He isn’t the romantic type even though he used to be. Everything used to be.

  “This okay?” Trenton’s eyes question me.

  I bite my lip, suddenly feeling more shy, and nod. I feel like I’m doing something wrong even though I know I’m not. But I’m in the arms of another man, and I know if the tables were turned I’d be irate. But for some reason, in this very moment, I don’t care.

  We dance at a distance, to a song that isn’t too slow but not fast enough to twerk around the dance floor. It feels awkward because we’re not doing much talking as we sway from side to side, and once the song begins to end, relief cascades around me.

  April’s man pulls her tighter and whispers something in her ear that causes her to giggle that flirty, breathy laugh she’s practiced for many years. The next song is slower than this one.

  “You realize you’re stuck with me until this song ends?” Trenton says blithely.

  I offer a polite and nervous smile. “Okay.”

  I feel so out of my element. I don’t know what to say or what do to. I’m stuck, moving side to side with his hands resting just above my ass. I feel brittle, like one step, one slight rush of breeze and I’m going to shatter with pieces of me getting lost under everyone’s feet.

  “Why do I get the feeling you’re uncomfortable?” he asks.

  “I’m nervous,” I admit truthfully.

  “Your nervousness is killing my confidence. I’m at a loss for words.”

  “I’m really sorry. It’s just been a long time since I’ve danced.”

  “You couldn’t tell it. You’re doing well.” He grins. “What do you do for a living, Riley?”

  “I’m a stay-at-home mom,” I tell him.

  His shoulders tighten below my hands. “I…I didn’t know you were married.”

  I roll my eyes. “I’m not. He doesn’t believe in marriage.”

  His hazel eyes swirl with questions. “How long have you been together?”

  “Eleven years.”

  His eyes widen. “That’s a long time to commit to someone and not marry them.”

  Hello, embarrassment…

  “I think he’s crazy not to,” he murmurs.

  “Can we get off this sour subject?” I ask.

  He looks me dead in the eyes with an alarming shimmer of hopefulness. “Not really. This subject decides my next subject.”

  I open my mouth to say something, but I have nothing. I blush maddeningly. I drop my view to the black fabric of his shirt…speechless and unsure what to say.

  “That was pretty direct. I’m sorry.” He leans closer to my ear when I don’t look up. “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s fine,” I tell the shirt, melting at his breath on my ear.

  “Can I be honest with you?”

  I nod.

  “I’m a little heartbroken now.”

  I flick my eyes to his.

  “Someone who looks as exceptionally great as you within my arms reach and I find out you’re taken,” he answers my unasked question. “I never see you with him.”

  I want to groan. “Yeah, well, me neither.” My tone is way more hateful than I mean for it to be.

  “Why’s that?”

  I stop dancing, removing my hands from him. “Thanks for the dance. But I need a drink.”

  His demeanor changes. His eyes are frantic. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  “You didn’t,” I tell him and then turn walking away.

  He strides in step beside me. “At least let me buy you another beer for ruining your night.”

  He motions for the bartender and orders us two beers. I grab mine and immediately take a long swallow from it. I’m humiliated by Brian and he isn’t here. “Thanks,” I say. I’m hollow.

  “I’m not really good at this,” he says leaning his elbow against the side of the bar.

  “Now you understand why I’m not either,” I say with a dry attitude. He physically flinches and I feel badly. “I’m sorry. It’s just…” I shrug. “I’m disappointed I’ve been with the same man for eleven years and no one knows it. I have nothing to show for it except an exceptional child. He doesn’t care to spend time with Lucas or me.” I shake my head. “It’s frustrating I’m always alone.”

  “How long has it been this way?” He looks genuinely concerned.

  “Years,” I answer flatly. “I’m sorry. I’ll quit.” I just unloaded a ton of unhappy troubles into Trenton’s lap, and this pity party has shown me just how dispirited I truly am.
>
  He tightens his lips. “Apparently, you needed it.”

  “Yeah,” I sigh into the open. “I need to get April. I’m ready to leave. Thank you for the dance and the beer.”

  I stride away as he sits back and watches me. I’m ready to end the awkwardness and brace for the inevitable I’ll see when I get home.

  “Where the fuck have you been?” Brian springs out of the recliner toward me.

  Inside, I smile. “Out with April.”

  “You didn’t let me know.”

  I set my clutch beside my purse on the island. “Was I supposed to?”

  “I tried calling you,” he grits.

  “Yeah?” I open my clutch and pull out my phone. “I didn’t know. I wasn’t paying attention.”

  His expression darkens, creating angry creases across his forehead. “So what the fuck were you doing that you couldn’t answer my calls?”

  I smirk, devilishly. “Last I was told, I could do whatever I wanted without worrying so much about you. I don’t see what the problem is.”

  He zeros in on me with an evil hostile glare. “What a childish act. How fucking old are you?”

  I don’t answer, reaching into the fridge for a bottle of water.

  “You went out of your way to make me eat my words. Are we back in high school, Riley?”

  “I didn’t go out of my way. April asked if I could go to a wine tasting with her. So, I did.” Technically, that wasn’t a lie. “I don’t see what the problem is,” I repeat.

  He slams his hand down on the counter causing me to jump. “My working is much different than partying,” he growls.

  “I didn’t party. Why are you so mad?”

  He narrows his glare without blinking.

  That’s when I feel the immaturity seep into my bones—the realness of his words and the truth behind them. I feel like sinking into the floor, disappearing beneath the slatted hardwoods. The whole plan sounded perfect when I devised it, even sounded great as I told myself in the mirror what I was going to do. One thing’s for sure—it’s lit a fire under his ass.

  “I’m sorry,” I say quietly. “I didn’t think you’d mind.”

  “You didn’t fucking think.”

  “That’s enough,” I say flatly. “I get it. I messed up. Bad choices and all that stuff.” I wave my hand dismissively.

  His chest is heaving with wild eyes gripping me.

  My imperfection shamefully turns into anger. “It doesn’t feel good, does it? Sitting there wondering and worrying. Unsure what you should do or not. I might have gone about it wrong, but hopefully you’ll understand where I come from now.”

  “You know where I’m at. Work. It’s where I stay. It’s where I sweat and bleed. I’m surrounded by employees, contractors, sweaty, pissy men. When I said you shouldn’t worry about me it’s because I’m at fucking work,” he spits out.

  “I try hard to include you in the family every night. I try holding off dinners, making sure your breakfast is made, texting you game times or anything that deals with Lucas. You come home after having a bad day and I always try making you happy, but instead you’d rather berate me to lift yourself out of your miserable hole by burying me in it. Day in and day out, I make sure you’re respected as the man of the house whether we see you or not.”

  I hadn’t noticed the tears until they run down my cheek.

  “Have you forgotten it’s me who keeps you up? I pay your bills and everything else around you that keeps you home even though our son has been in school for years. I’m the one working my ass off. Not you.”

  “I beg to fucking differ,” I snap. “I may not work as hard as you physically, but I have a pretty hard job.”

  He throws his head back and sneers a laugh. “Sitting on your ass in the air conditioning can be pretty damn draining, I’m sure.”

  I wipe the tears off my cheek. “No. Having a busy child can be pretty draining, but you wouldn’t know anything about it.”

  He glowers at me, but my words are stabbing him right where I knew it would hurt.

  “I offered to get a job. You won’t let me,” I cry out. “Do you think I enjoy never seeing you? We never get to spend time with you. Do you think I like that? I fucking miss you more than I see you.”

  “Stop it!” Lucas screams, shifting his eyes from Brian to me. “Stop. All you ever do is fight. Why can’t you get along?” He squeaks, fighting off the emotions.

  “Lucas?” I take a step toward him, but he steps backward, madder than hell.

  “Don’t walk away from your mother,” Brian growls.

  “Why? You do!” Lucas retorts.

  It leaves us speechless, burning sorrow into our skin like a lit cigarette. I glance to Brian whose eyes are narrowed and glued on Lucas.

  “It’s bedtime,” Brian states trying to sound levelheaded.

  “How can I sleep with you two arguing?” Lucas snaps back.

  “We’ll stop,” I tell him. “I promise. I’m sorry.”

  Lucas leaves the kitchen, stomping all the way up the stairs and into his bedroom. He slams the door behind him, causing me to jump.

  “He’s got your attitude,” Brian says smartassed and still pissed off.

  I huff a mad laugh and pull my heels off. “I’m going to bed,” I say over my shoulder, leaving him in the kitchen.

  “This conversation isn’t over,” Brian’s quietly calls out.

  It stops me and I turn on the ball of my right foot. “Yeah, Brian, it is.”

  We share a vicious stare before I turn back and make my way to the bedroom. I wash my face, change my clothes and crawl into the bed. I don’t care to read, honestly. I’m mentally exhausted. I nuzzle into my pillow feeling a mixture of proud to have proven a point and foolish to have done so in such an immature way. I never thought of it from the angle Brian slapped me with. I was so enthralled with the idea, I forgot the consequences. Although, at the time, I couldn’t have cared less.

  I’m asleep holding on to my pillow tightly when Brian finally comes to bed. And even though he’s woken me up, I pretend not to be. He clambers under the covers and lies there for several long minutes before exhaling and turning over. I shut my eyes, screwing them tightly to keep my tears at bay.

  I hate this…

  Chapter 9

  I didn’t sleep well at all last night. I woke up every time I moved in fear I was touching Brian. Yeah. That’s how disgusted and mad I was at him. I didn’t even want to touch the skin on his body in my sleep.

  I woke up before him, came downstairs and started coffee. Thankfully, I don’t have to watch the dark liquid gold fill the pot for too long before pouring myself a cup.

  I’m at the table when Brian strolls into the kitchen fully dressed and pours himself coffee in his travel mug.

  “I’ll be back later,” he announces as he strides back out.

  “What?” I jerk to my feet.

  But he never responds, only quietly shutting the front door. Confusion rattles my soul. He didn’t grab his hard hat or any of his normal items he takes to work. I call him but am quickly shoved to his voicemail. I try again with the same result.

  I drop back into my chair.

  Emptiness sinks into my soul as I feel alone in the home we’ve created. My soul is an endless pit and my heart aches. It’s pretty bad when it aches for itself. I’ve always heard there’s a difference between being alone and being lonely, but I never truly understood it until recently. I’m lonely. Miserably lonely. Even with Brian in the same room, there isn’t a connection. There isn’t a spark. Our friendship is lost at sea—our intimacy somewhere in a blurred line.

  It was all subtle in the beginning. I could feel everything slipping away—the “us” I knew—but I held on tight, hoping and praying it would pass. It didn’t. Slowly, the little sweet things we would do for each other slithered away and instead of the loving talks, our words became sharp and bitter. It seemed like we both were out to draw blood from our words, to see who could hurt worse. It was a blo
od bath of words but I ended up stopping. Hurting him always destroyed me more. I gripped tighter to our long-lost dream—us together, forever, happy and a family. He let loose of his grip, settling comfortably into a heartless soul I didn’t recognize.

  Everything came unglued and somewhere we lost our happiness. It never mattered what I did—cooked his favorite meal, pleased him in the bedroom, kept my feelings to myself and smiled as if there were nothing wrong—he turned cold, using me for his own greedy needs. I became an object. He became a ghost.

  I take the last sip of my coffee and rinse the cup out in the sink before heading up to wake Lucas. He’s going to be heartbroken when he finds out Brian is going to miss yet another first game.

  I tap on his door before opening it. “Rise and shine. Game day. Need to get you up and fed so you can show your superpowers out in the field.”

  “I’m up,” he grumbles, pulling the covers over his head.

  “Looks like you’re lying in a horizontal direction,” I tease knowing I’m riling him up.

  “Ugh!” he groans.

  I laugh. “What would you like for breakfast?”

  “Cereal.”

  “Better get up soon or it’ll be soggy when you get to it.”

  “Mean trap, Mom. Unfair.”

  I can’t help but laugh. I’m overdramatic with it as I head down the stairs, allowing it to echo off the walls. When I enter the kitchen and grab the cereal box, I’m still laughing as loudly as I can.

  He comes sliding into the kitchen. “Why do you laugh? Your evil laugh is horrible.”

  I feign hurt. “What are you saying?”

  “You can’t be the villain in a movie. Don’t try out for one,” he says stoic as hell.

  “So, can I be the princess?”

  He shakes his head. “Superheroes don’t have princesses.” He huffs like it was important and I shouldn’t be joking about it.

  “Then what can I be?”

  “Mom. Just be mom,” he states dryly and then shoves a bite of cereal into his mouth.

  I smile. “That I can do. I’ll be superhero mom.”

  He rolls his eyes and deserts the conversation.