by Mariah Dietz
“I know,” I finally admit. “But you’ve been gone. I haven’t heard from you barely at all since everything happened.”
“Since we had sex, you mean.” His brown eyes are brightly intense, reminding me of his brother.
“Yes,” I snap. “Since we had sex.”
“That’s because you gave me some bullshit line about not knowing who you are, and I was pissed off.” Kash hangs his head and then shakes it, making me wonder what he’s thinking.
“You don’t get to be mad at me for my feelings being hurt.”
“No, but I do get to be mad at you for choosing to ignore that I know you.”
His eyes bore into mine, and it feels as though every secret, thought, wish, hope, fear, pain, and regret is visibly written across my skin.
“I know you as well as you know me, and we both know you know things about me that even I don’t. That’s how well I know you,” he says.
“Then, why did you disappear if you know me so well?”
He wouldn’t have if he knew me as well as he’s claiming to. As much as I want him to. As much as I fear he might.
“Because lately, everything I do pisses you off, and like I said,” he looks at me through widened eyes that are exposing so many emotions, I wish I could select the only ones I want present and discard the others. “I was mad. Now, after this…” He clenches his jaw and the pain and anger become more apparent in his stare. “Now, I’m trying really hard not to just say I’m over it. I’m over all of it.” Kash’s fingers are plunged deeply into his mess of hair with both shoulders raised.
I don’t know how to make things stop being weird between us, and I hate it. The admission is on my tongue, waiting for me to just open my mouth.
“I’m out of here.”
My eyes blink rapidly, trying to catch up with his sudden change in demeanor.
Kash doesn’t give me a chance to verbalize my admission because he’s already clearing my front door.
TURNING OFF THE shower, I fight the plethora of excuses not to go into work today. I need to be an adult and attempt to separate work and my personal feelings. It feels nearly impossible though when I work not only with Kash, but for him.
And his words from last night kept me awake until I saw single digits on my alarm clock, making me feel even more disgruntled about going in. He had the opportunity to tell me I was wrong, to prove that he knows who I am, but instead, he resulted to pulling back and having ridiculous gifts delivered. It’s contradicting and confusing, and it makes my brain hurt as badly as my back is this morning.
I deserve to be angry with him. Eleven years give me that right, and I am not going to keep trying to placate Kash with each issue, and I’m over pretending everything is okay. I am done waiting. I am done being his friend and possibly something more whenever he’s ready. Coworkers, I can do—at least for now.
My convictions aren’t nearly as strong as I pull up to the Knights, but I remember the ease between Tommy and me last night before Kash’s bizarre messages that derailed everything, and for the first time in years, I’m questioning if Kash really is the right person for me.
As I walk into the house, Mercedes runs by with her backpack in hand. She’s yelling about how she can’t find something. Kash shouts from upstairs for her to look on the kitchen table, and I watch her turn direction and race to the left, muttering about being late.
“It’s not there!” she screams, looking around with bright feral eyes as her neck jerks in each direction that has the overhead lights shining off her hair that is a mess of loose hairs and frizz from the ponytail she clearly slept in.
“Mercedes, I have to get ready! Check your room again!” Kash yells from upstairs.
“What are you looking for?” I ask, startling Mercedes.
She whips around, her eyes wide and frazzled. She’s on the brink of tears. “My homework.”
“Papers or a book?”
“Both.”
“Subject?”
“Math.”
I begin wandering through the living room, lifting the cushions of the couch, checking underneath it, and crawling to the next couch to do the same. “Where’d you do your homework last night?”
“Everywhere.”
“Were you in your room? The kitchen?” I ask, dismissing her generalized response.
“Both.”
“Did you check the shop?”
“The shop!” She slaps a palm to her forehead. “I had to get King’s help because Dad went out! It’s in the shop!”
My familiar acquaintance, guilt, clutches my sides. Kash left last night to find me. To confront me about making bad decisions, ones that plagued my thoughts and dreams last night.
Mercedes bolts toward the door as Kash appears in the living room.
“Hey.” I watch him closely, searching for familiarity.
“Hey.” He rubs a hand over his thigh covered in a pair of charcoal shorts even though Thanksgiving is in three days and the woods are glistening with white frost this morning. “You’re early.”
Prior to everything going south, I have always been early to everything. I assumed I might as well be early again in an attempt to resume our normal work routine.
“Want to go pick up some bagels with me?”
“Sure.” My answer comes faster than reasonable thoughts about whether this is the right decision. I do want to go. Being around him is something I’ve missed deeply, and I know Kash will always hold an important role in my life, but at the same time, I feel like this is just another way to placate our issues and go back to pretending.
I pull my jacket back on, and Kash shoves on some shoes, sans a coat, leaving only his black hoodie with the logo Lo created painted on the back.
The door flies open, and Mercedes appears with a smile of relief. “You saved my butt!” She throws her arms around me, making me smile.
“Do you have everything else?” Kash asks.
“Yeah.” Mercedes nods, pulling away so she can look at her dad.
“Is this your pajama shirt?” I ask.
She and Kash both look. Mercedes drops her bag and resumes her speed of racing to her room as she growls.
“If you’re worried about time, you can go, Kash. I’ll help her.” I follow after her, finding her tearing through her closet.
“Here, here!” I say, pulling a folded shirt off her bed. I know it’s cute, and will fit her. I bought it for her only a month ago when I saw it while shopping for some new winter clothes for myself.
She tugs her shirt off, leaving a camisole on and further messing her hair up. Tears roll down her cheeks.
“What’s wrong?” I panic, unsure of what is transpiring when it seems we should be celebrating these easy wins.
“Everything.”
Mercedes was born melodramatic. I don’t know how her teenage years could possibly get worse, but moments like these make me fear it.
“Okay, well, you have your homework, and you’re dressed. Come here, and I’ll do your hair really fast.”
I sit on her bed with her between my feet. Carefully, I run my fingers through the strands, gently separating the tangles, and then quickly braid it down her back. “Are you worried about going to school?”
“I’m worried you’re going to leave.”
I’m pretty sure she just lacerated my heart with that confession and sniffle. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“You’re gone all the time.”
“You will always have me. Always.”
She shakes her head. “Do you not like being around me?”
“What?”
“Is that why you don’t love my dad? Because of me?”
Taking her shoulders, I spin her around to face me. “What are you talking about? You’re the best quality of your dad.”
“Then, why?” Her cry is turning ugly. Snot is running, and she has pink blotches and squinted eyes that I’m certain she can’t see through based upon how fast they’re filling with tears.
; I don’t know how to explain that, sometimes, loving someone isn’t enough. “It’s complicated.”
She cries harder, hanging her head. I slide to the floor, leaning my back against the bed, so I can hold her against me.
I run my fingers over her hair and down her back. “I am going to be here forever. I promise.”
Attempting to calm down, she begins taking deep breaths, leaving her face pressed against my neck.
“Mercedes! Carpool is going to be here in ten!” Kash calls.
Placing my hands on either side of her head, I pull her face back to look at me. I wipe the remaining tears from her cheeks with my thumbs. “No matter what, I will never, ever leave you.”
She sniffles, managing a weak nod.
“Did you get any breakfast?”
“No.”
I check my watch. “All right, let’s go see if there’s anything in the kitchen.”
Kash’s eyes grow wide with confusion, seeing his daughter’s tear-stained and discolored face when we step into the kitchen. I pull open the fridge door, asking Kash to check the pantry for granola bars.
“Oh, yogurt!” I hold out two containers for her to choose a flavor and smile when she accepts the offer without an argument.
The front door closes with a slam and Parker appears, his hair disheveled and eyes bleary. “Where’s the coffee?” He lifts the empty carafe.
“Did you just roll out of bed?” I ask, watching him with amusement.
“You know I’m not a morning person.” He trades places with me, rifling through the refrigerator.
“You aren’t a day person,” Kash says, pulling coffee grounds from the freezer.
“That’s not true. I’m golden once three rolls around.” He pushes a hand through his hair, making it stick up even more because he didn’t bother washing it.
Laughter has me holding my stomach.
“Monkey, did you get enough food?” Kash asks.
Her face is becoming less red, but her lips are still tilted into a frown. She nods and grabs a wrapped granola bar.
“I can take you, if you want?” I offer.
She turns to face me, walking backward toward the door. “You and Dad were supposed to get bagels. I’m fine.” She salutes me and then spins back around before disappearing to wait on the front porch.
When I turn, Parker is sitting on a tall chair with both elbows resting on the counter as he blinks heavily. Kash moves, drawing my attention. His eyebrows are raised, silently asking me if everything is okay with Mercedes. This is going to be a hundred times more difficult to discuss than that stupid car accident.
Nodding, I indicate we can discuss it later.
He reads me as easily as I read him, something that I missed desperately last night when sitting across from Tommy.
Maybe Kash does know me.
“There’s our other morning beauty,” Kash says with a smile.
King appears, still dressed in sweats and a baggy hoodie that has me thinking of curling up on the couch for an entire weekend and doing nothing but watching movies. Once again, I see him years ago, wearing something similar but swimming in the clothes. Now, he fills them out. His broad shoulders elongate as he reaches for two coffee mugs.
“Where’s your prettier half?” Parker asks, looking toward the doorway leading up from the basement.
King slaps the back of Parker’s head, light enough to be friendly, and then pounds the space in front of Parker hard enough to be a warning. “In my bed.”
“Wow. You grew up to be a caveman.” I rinse Mercedes’ yogurt cup and spoon. “Aren’t we supposed to continue evolving?”
“Basic instinct,” King says with a grin as he stirs the half-and-half into Lo’s coffee.
Smiling, I shut the dishwasher.
“No, but really, she has those shorts with the American flag across the ass,” Parker continues, standing up because he knows how many buttons he’s pushing before King’s glare fixes on him.
“When are you going to learn not to poke the bear?” Kash asks.
“I just like to see that look of pure, focused rage. Maybe I will try this every time you compete.” Parker chuckles.
I throw the cleaned yogurt container at Parker, hitting him squarely in the forehead. “Lo’s off-limits, asshole.”
I know Parker’s only trying to make digs at King—partly because we know how serious King feels about her—but, that is only another reason I feel it necessary to intervene, along with caring for and respecting her.
“Feed me, or I will keep being an asshole. I can’t help it.” Parker stands up and staggers into the living room where he collapses on the couch, and kicks both his feet up.
“We’re going to grab some bagels. You want to get things set up for the meeting?” Kash asks King.
“Yeah, no problem.” King opens the fridge, taking a quick inventory. “Will you grab a cheddar jalapeno bagel for Lo?”
“Yeah, I’ve already got it.” Kash points to his temple.
“She might have to fight me for it!” Parker declares. “The backyard is nice and muddy. Perfect condition for a good wrestling match.”
Moving my attention from the back of the couch to the Knight brothers, I catch King release a trying breath, his shoulders falling.
“Sorry, it’s the hunger,” Parker says.
“Remind me, why do we let him keep coming back?” I ask.
King snickers, turning to disappear down to his room, armed with steaming mugs of coffee.
Kash grabs his keys from the table and gently swipes a hand across my back, motioning for me to lead the way.
I don’t know how many times I’ve made this short walk with Kash at my side, probably thousands, but this time, it feels different as I notice every detail—from how far apart we walk to the warmth coming off him as his body deflects the morning breeze. I consider suggesting he drive my truck or that I drive because it feels like it will be more comfortable to be in my own environment, but in all reality, I’ve probably spent more time in his truck than my own.
When Kash closes his door, he doesn’t immediately start the engine. Instead, he hangs his head, both of his hands gripping the steering wheel. “Was Mercedes okay?”
“She will be,” I say.
“They aren’t teasing her again, are they?”
“No.”
“Was it something I did?”
That laceration in my heart grows. “No!” I cry. “No, it had nothing to do with you. It was my fault. She’s upset because I haven’t been around as much lately.”
Kash nods a couple of times but doesn’t say anything. He starts the truck, allowing it to warm up a few minutes before we make the short drive into town with so many unsaid words dancing around the space of the cab that it’s hard to breathe.
I SIT AT Uncle Toby’s shop, going through a box of old newspaper clippings he left on the front desk with my name scrawled across a sticky note. My class begins in twenty minutes. I should have waited until afterward to dig through this mess, but my curiosity got the best of me, and I planted myself in front of it, carefully lifting the first article.
The image warms me, all of me, making me smile broadly, as I see a picture of myself with Uncle Toby’s arm slung around my shoulder, a first prize medal hanging from my eighteen-year-old neck. I scan over the article that paints the picture of me being the next big thing. As a local, they loved me, making me sound like a celebrity rather than a girl sleeping on her uncle’s couch, no college applications submitted or even filled out, dreaming to be a pro BMX rider.
“If only they knew,” I murmur.
“If only who knew what?”
“Why are you giving all this old crap to me?” I ask Uncle Toby as he steps into view from behind me.
“’Cause it’s your crap.” He sits in his office chair. “So, what do they not know?”
“Oh, nothing.” I drop the papers back into the box. “I was just thinking about how little I’ve accomplished when they made me sound
like such a star.”
Uncle Toby raises his eyebrows and cocks his head, so one ear faces me. “Say again?”
“They made me sound so glorified. I didn’t even go to college.”
His eyes are closed as he vigorously shakes his head. “Kid, you’ve been killing me lately.” He leans back in his chair, making the springs protest. “College doesn’t make you a better person. College can’t teach a lot of shit. And not having gone to college doesn’t make you any less than anyone else. Come on, what if Mercedes chooses not to go to college? Are you going to tell her she can’t follow her dreams if one arises when she’s sixteen?”
“She should go to college. She’s smart,” I say.
“So are you!” he exclaims. “You’ve always been smart. Just because you might not be the person to cure cancer doesn’t mean you aren’t making this world a better place.”
I laugh humorlessly. “By taking pictures?”
“You moved in with me when you were sixteen and helped out, learned how to ride like a boss, and then owned every competition you entered. Your skill set is unreal, Summer. You’ve done things people only ever dream of!”
“But that’s not helping anyone.”
“Except helping raise Mercedes, helping Kash and King with riding, life, anything they need, realizing you were in a bad situation and getting yourself out.” He shrugs. “Maybe I’m just a simple thinker, but personally, I believe anyone who isn’t hurting others is helping, especially these days when you see the shit that happens on the news. You’re giving, helping, teaching…” His head tilts to the side. “I doubt Mercedes would be who she is without you.”
The front door bangs open, and he stands up to yell at a student to watch the wall, our moment gone. I’m grateful for having had it though, because lately, I feel like all I have been focusing on is what I haven’t accomplished and should have done.
GETTING BACK ON a bike for the first time in several days makes me realize I should have come to ride sooner. It’s such a release.
“Lisa, you’re a star!” My language is improving with each week.
Growing up, if I had made that same move, someone likely would have said, “Fuck yes, that was awesome,” but I’m realizing Uncle Toby is right, and that while I possess a lot of skills and knowledge I want to pass on, there are other things I don’t need to teach a twelve-year-old.