by Mariah Dietz
“People are assholes,” he says.
“People are assholes,” I agree. My eyes are lowered, my smile too wide. I’m flirting! With Tommy!
“There’s a hot tub in that house with my name on it. I can’t feel my toes anymore.” Lo shivers as she brushes against my other side.
Grateful for her presence, I sling an arm around her shoulder even though I have to reach several inches above me to accommodate our difference in height.
“That’s because your blood has a lot farther to go to get there,” I tease.
“Yes, of course. It has absolutely nothing to do with it being eleven freaking degrees outside.” Her steel eyes glance down at me, filled with a mocking joy.
“I’m surprised you have any feeling left in your fingers. I barely took any shots there at the end because mine were turning an unnatural shade of purple.”
“I barely outlined the images. My fingers were too stiff.” She buries her hands deeper into her pockets, as though seeking additional warmth.
When I walk through the front door, the heat hits my cheeks like a slap. They sting, my ears burn, and my chest begins to sweat though my legs have barely registered the increased temperature.
King nor Lo say anything, making their way to the back of the house in search of their bedroom. Watching them reminds me that my things are in the same room as Kash’s, and it makes me wonder what’s going on.
We’ve bunked together before, and there is a shortage of rooms here, but with things so strained between us this seems like a terrible idea. Then I wonder if maybe giving Kash a dose of his own medicine and ignoring him for the past ten days was actually beneficial. Maybe now he will tell me what lodged that stick up his ass, and finally get over it.
I don’t wait for Kash to come inside, knowing he will likely dry off his bike and store it before worrying about himself. Instead, I make my way up to our shared space. The room is beautiful with ceilings that stretch at least nine feet. We’re cocooned in honey-tinted wood from all sides, even the ceiling, and the four-poster bed is covered in an expansive cranberry-red duvet. Paired with the snow and carved bear figurines, the duvet makes it feel as though Christmas, rather than Thanksgiving, is lurking around the corner.
Taking in the room with a final sweep, I notice my phone lighting up from atop the dresser. I’ve never made a habit of keeping my phone on me at all times. I’ve never had to. I’m usually always with the people I care to speak to. It stops before I grab it, and I see three missed calls from Mercedes, which causes my heart to jump-start. That’s the only way I know how to explain the feeling whenever something breaches that crevice inside me that keeps my fears and sensibility locked up. It’s as though my heart physically stops and then begins again at a faster pace. Sometimes, it’s nearly painful. It’s always distracting.
I press redial.
“Summer,” Mercedes cries, answering after a single ring.
She sniffles, and the small hairs on my arms rise as my shoulders become rigid.
“Is my dad with you?”
I’m already halfway down the stairs from hearing the urgency in her tone. “I’m getting him right now. What’s going on? Are you okay?”
Several people from the photo shoot are milling around the house, laughing and pouring drinks, relieved from such a successful first day.
“Grandpa had a heart attack.”
The news is like falling: I can’t stop it, only try my best not to let it obliterate me. I have known Mercedes’ Grandpa Robert for as long as I’ve known Kash. Father of Arianna, he’s made valiant efforts to remain a large part of the family’s life after his daughter’s untimely passing.
“Where are you?” My words are garbled and strained, an ugly mixture that makes my voice sound raspy.
“A hospital.”
My vision blurs as her cries increase. “Kash!” I feel a familiar pain shoot down my spine and left leg. I often debate its intensity when it isn’t present, convincing myself it can’t possibly be as extreme as it seemed at moments like this. The snow might have brought it on, or I possibly twisted it from running down the stairs so quickly. I’m not sure, but it burns, and just like that, I feel like I’m once again in the middle of a pool of cement, tears, and blood, knowing a tragic change is unwelcomingly occurring.
“What’s wrong?” Tommy’s hand wraps around my elbow that’s still covered in too many layers.
But I don’t feel so warm anymore. I don’t feel anything but hurt and fear.
“Summer?” Kash appears in front of me, his broad shoulders edging Tommy to the side. His umber eyes scan over my face at a rapid speed, and then his hands grasp my shoulders, erasing the memory of Tommy’s touch. “What is it? Is everything okay?”
He doesn’t release my shoulders when I reach my hand still holding my phone from my ear and extend it to him. I can tell he’s not convinced he wants to hear whatever the news is. Searching my eyes once more, he drops his right hand to accept the phone, and kneads his fingers into my shoulder with the other when I tell him Robert’s had a heart attack.
“Mercedes, where are you, baby?”
My hands settle on either side of his waist, and I lean into him, feeling him respond by shifting his weight forward so we’re holding each other up. It’s moments like this when I know for a fact we are two halves of the same whole, needing each other when the effects of life become too much to bear.
“What happened? Is it Mercedes?”
King emerges into my vision with Lo tightly grasping his hand as she follows close behind. I realize the entire house has fallen silent, their attention trained on Kash and me.
“Robert had a heart attack,” I whisper.
King’s free hand rises to his face where he pinches the bridge of his nose while shaking his head, refusing this reality. “Is he okay?”
“I don’t know.” I shake my head.
King nods twice and then wraps his hand holding Lo’s around her shoulder so she’s huddled close to his chest, and with one step forward, he closes the gap between us a little more. I know he wants to comfort me, attempt to ease this pain settling on all of us, but I can’t move to accept his assurance. I’m already leaning on my pillar of strength, feeding Kash exactly what he is to me—hope.
“ARE YOU SURE about this?” Kash asks as I zip my snow clothes into my bag.
“Of course I’m sure,” I repeat.
“I can get out of this. I’m sure I can.”
“Kash, they’ll sue you. You saw their reaction to you leaving. Robert’s going to be fine, and Mercedes is okay. This won’t qualify as a family emergency in their eyes.”
“Let them sue me. See if I give a fuck!” His voice rises just enough that I nudge the door closed with my foot.
Telling him to be quiet would be futile.
He brushes his fingers through his short hair that’s sticking up from wearing a beanie under his helmet all day.
“Lo and I will be there, and we’ll make sure everything is taken care of, I promise.”
Slowly, his shoulders lower from their defensive pose, and he nods. “I know. I do. I can’t believe the timing of this shit. And their reaction to me leaving pisses me off! I want to go just to show them I don’t give a shit about what they threaten me with.”
Unfortunately, I don’t believe their threats are idle, but I refrain from telling him so, knowing it will only incite his anger.
“Will you call me when you get there?”
Even if I weren’t going to help Mercedes and Robert, I would. Kash has always been sensitive to people traveling, and with his past, I don’t question it. Instead, we abide by an unspoken agreement that entails calling each other when the other is traveling. Even when I go the short distance from his house to mine, I often send a text. Though I’m careful to never say anything like, I’m home safe, or anything else that would serve as a cruel reminder of his previous loss and the paranoia that haunts him like a shadow.
Kash runs his fingers along his ja
wline, over the roughness of his short scruff, to his chin, and then down his neck. He’s struggling with reason and responsibility.
“If anything happens, we’ll let you know, but you heard what the nurse said. They expect a full recovery and for him to be released soon.”
“Your flights are going to suck ass,” he says before pursing his lips with displeasure.
Guilt is compounding for him, and all I want to do is take the entirety of it away. So few people in my life affect me. I can hear sob stories from people all day long, and the cynic in me impatiently waits for them to stop talking, so I can leave. I can see people get gruesome bacon while riding, and their injuries rarely even leave me flinching. Some might say that I’m coldhearted, but really, I’m just a realist who knows everyone has to deal with too much shit. I say, you get to decide if you want to allow that shit to be the weight tied to your ankle in the pool or be the motivation to keep you swimming.
Kash’s phone chirps, and we both know it’s King, the planner of the family. After the shock wore off and we discussed the little information we knew, Kash turned to the producers of the shoot and explained he had to go, which was met with a resounding no. King echoed his brother’s reasons for going, scowling and listing off his own threats about them never participating in another event or shoot with them. The producers only answer was the same as it’d begun with—contracts. Kash and King were both furious. When I realized there was no chance of them going, I insisted Lo and I go. I’m fairly certain King hated that option more than dealing with being sued, but eventually, he succumbed and disappeared to look up flight information.
Kash grabs his coat and my suitcase from the bed and tips his head toward the doorway with silent resignation. I pull my dark hair with varying shades of purple highlighting my longest layer from my parka and feel my chest sink with the departure coming so soon. I don’t feel animosity toward Mercedes or Robert for this tragedy, but I can’t stop feeling disappointed that Kash and I were going to spend some time together—in a room with one bed—and now, we’re going to be on opposite sides of the continent. As we share a long stare, I’m certain my green eyes are telling Kash as much before he sighs heavily and heads out into the hallway.
“You coming too?” King asks before we hit the wide foyer.
“Yeah,” is Kash’s only response.
The four of us pile into an awaiting taxi van, sighing with universal frustrations.
“You should take my debit card.” King digs in his pocket to retrieve his wallet.
“No.” Lo firmly shakes her head.
“You guys are going for us,” he argues.
“We’re going for Mercedes and Robert,” she says.
Slowly King pulls his hand free from his pocket, sans his wallet, much to my surprise.
“Want anything cool from Florida?” I ask, watching as we pass the endless piles of snow that appeared so magnificent and promising just hours ago. Now, they reflect loss.
“A pet alligator,” Kash says. “I’ll name him Bartholomew, and we can call him Bart for short.”
“Where’s Bart going to live?” I ask, playing along.
Kash’s lips fall south with a shrug. “The bathtub.”
“Think we can pet him?”
“Of course. He’ll become our mascot. We’ll bring him to all the competitions and do shoots with him,” Kash answers my question with more enthusiasm. “If someone starts acting like an asshole, we’ll unleash him.”
Laughter bubbles in my chest, lessening the bitterness of leaving.
“Maybe we should get a dog for Mercedes. Do you think she’d like that?” Kash asks randomly.
“Are you kidding? She would love a dog,” I answer honestly. “But you guys are going to have to get back to cleaning more regularly. A dog would eat stuff that was left out and chew things up.”
Kash’s face puckers. “I don’t want to deal with that.”
“Maybe it would be good motivation. Mercedes told me she’s tired of things getting messy again,” I tell him, wishing Lo and King would stop whispering and join in, especially since I’m certain King would agree with these grounds since he’s a borderline neat freak.
“What are you talking about?” Kash sounds exhausted as he leans his head back against the seat.
“The house is kind of becoming a disaster zone again.”
“It’s not that bad,” he argues.
“It’s pretty bad.”
Kash’s head snaps forward. “Good thing you don’t have to spend any time over there then, isn’t it?”
“You’re right. It is,” I lie.
“Good thing Tommy is so anxious for you to go visit him in California to do a shoot. Maybe you can make plans to see if he keeps his house up to your standards.”
My jaw flexes as his words replay through my head. “You could have been on that show for hoarders before you hired Lo, and she cleaned everything up because she couldn’t handle all the filth. Anyone’s house is cleaner than yours. Anyone’s.”
“Why are you guys acting like assholes? Are things not bad enough that you need to make them enter turmoil?” King’s words make my next retaliation falter.
Kash’s shoulders slump and his eyes grow wide with sorrow and regret. Unfortunately, I’m able to make out his features so clearly because we’ve arrived at the airport, and the lights are flooding the van, masking the comfort of the snow and beautiful terrain that held so much hope.
“You guys are going to have a layover in Salt Lake for the night,” King explains, turning his attention back to Lo. “I made reservations at a hotel that’s right next to the airport, which normally would blow, but you guys are on an early flight out, so hopefully, it doesn’t totally suck.”
The door of the taxi is opened, allowing snowflakes slowly drifting down from the sky in a lazy dance to settle on the bag at my feet. Lo and King untangle from the seat ahead of us. He slows his movements, and grabs her bag with reluctance.
“If you need anything, call. I’ll be sure to have my phone on all day tomorrow, even during the shoot. And use your business card for everything you and Lo do. I know this is your idea and that you care deeply for Mercedes, but this is for me.” Kash’s voice is remorseful, deep and quiet.
I nod once and reach down for my backpack, only to have Kash’s hand encompass my own, drawing my attention to his face.
“Don’t be mad at me. I know I’m being an asshole, but I can’t have you upset with me.”
This is a Knight apology at its finest. Rarely do they ever admit fault. I blame it on their mother—hell, if we look carefully enough, we all can probably blame our parents for most things, which is why me being such a vital person in Mercedes’ life is one of the reasons that caring so deeply for Kash scares the living daylights out of me.
His brown eyes examine me closely, searching for any signs of forgiveness.
“Mercedes really is upset that the house has gotten so messy. You can ask King. He was there.” I’m equally as bad at accepting apologies.
“I wish you didn’t have to go.”
My heart pounds with his admission, making my face flush, even with the cold winds blowing inside the car.
“I do too,” I say softly.
His lips curve into a smile that punches me squarely in the stomach. It’s so perfect. Not a flirty one, like the one he gave the other woman earlier today when wrapping up. No, this one is so wide I can see his bottom teeth and the slight lines that are starting to carve into his handsome face. Lines that weren’t there when we first met, but with time, practices, loss, hard work, and a million laughs have begun to form. I feel like I’m a part of him when I look at them, as though they’re a road map of our history.
My boot sinks into a few inches of freshly fallen snow, and the cold breeze stings my cheeks, but my heart is so warm and full right now, I hardly notice and care even less.
The flight is fully booked, requiring those hidden talents of mine, bestowed upon me by my past, to convinc
e an older man to switch spots with Lo so we can make the trip back into the States beside one another.
I’m still wearing my coat because every single one of the damn overhead air vents is on, and it feels like they’re pointed right at me. Snow continues to fall outside, but the flakes are so small it requires looking out at a light on the terminal to make them out. I’m certain King and Kash are nearly back to the house by now, if they aren’t already, but it feels like they’re still right outside the security checkpoint. Lo’s attention is on her phone, replying to an email that I’m not sure I should ask about since I saw it was from the art gallery in New York she went to see a few weeks ago. But I can’t consider it fully right now because I’m enjoying the afterglow of Kash’s words too much to think of anything else.
I insert a single earbud and lean back, hoping we’ll take off soon.
“What’s going on with you and Kash?” Lo asks, storing her phone in her bag before kicking it farther beneath the seat.
Her knees nearly touch the seats in front of us, reminding me of her saying how uncomfortable her flight home from Italy was this last summer. That trip that was eerily similar to this one, as it’d begun with a call about a hospitalization and ended with a long flight. That trip was due to King after he had fallen during a competition and severely bruised his hip, fractured two ribs, and dislocated his shoulder. When you fall against cement, it always prevails.
Her words make a cloud appear in front of the rays I was still basking in. “I think he’s just upset. Worried about Mercedes and Robert.”
She eyes me, clearly not believing my explanation. “Things seem a little…”
I know exactly what she means. There isn’t a single word that seems appropriate for it, either. Different, strange, unsettled, forced—they all need to be used. Then, there are times like earlier today where everything feels right. We’re on the same level, hearing the same beat, and moving together with perfect fluidity, like we have for so many years.
“Maybe Kash needs something more black and white? I’m not saying give him a full-out ultimatum, but maybe he needs a kick in the ass,” she suggests.