by Sunniva Dee
Crap.
“That’s awesome. Are those the only two possible jobs up there?”
His eyebrows shoot up, hiding beneath scraggly bangs in surprise. “Oh no, there are many! Do you want me to send you some links? I just hate to turn people down, and I’m already worried I’ll get both I’ve applied for.”
Oh man.
“Right.” What can I do? Burst his bubble and tell him he’s received automatic responses? “That’s cool.”
“Give me your email address, and I’ll send you a few leads. You should apply too—we’ll get rich up there. You can get a hundred thousand a year just for gutting fish on an assembly line.” His eyes widen with delight.
“Do you have a girlfriend?” he adds.
“I do.”
He shrugs. “Well, I’ll get one with all my money, while you can impress your girlfriend and give her everything she wants. See?”
I close my eyes for a second. “Kick ass.”
Back in the store, the need to hit something is a living entity. It taunts, octopus arms in the air and river-dancing in front of me. “Hey, Jenny. Any new timber in?”
Al buys smaller logs that we cut into firewood on premise because it’s cheaper. It’s Outdoors & Garden that’s in charge of the modifications, aka Ron, but if I don’t do something physical right now, I’ll lose my mind.
“Hey, Cugs.” The cashier peeks up. Not for the first time, I think that Al should hire adults who need jobs instead of middle-schoolers. “Yeah, they dropped off some firewood material in the back this morning.”
“Okay, I’ll take care of it.”
“Really? Because Ron’s coming in.”
I just stare, and she nods. “I’ll let him know.”
I start out by measuring the length of the pieces we’ve already got—god knows who buys firewood in the summer—and then I use the chainsaw to cut it into the right sizes. That’s when the good time comes, the time I need so badly right now. I grab the axe. Big, heavy, wooden handle smooth in my hand. I ram it into the first log.
Instantly, it splinters in three separate pieces. I hoist the biggest piece up and cleave it again. Already huffing, I secure it in my fist and bear down. It flies off the bench, hitting a flower pot, which tips over and shatters.
“Are you all right?” Al appears in the doorway, eyeing me cautiously.
“Yeah, I just…” Morning humidity mixed with sweat drenches my shirt. “Needed something to do.”
“Take it out of Gardening. There’s a tree stump yonder,” he hikes a thumb toward where I found the logs. “You’ll get a better cut than on the bench.”
I bob my head. Dry my brow and realize that my eyes are wet too. He plods off, not commenting. I hope he didn’t notice.
The torrents have started again. Florida summers lunge rain showers at you out of the blue. In Rigita, we didn’t have these kinds of torrents. It makes sense. Being so far north, I remember snowflakes flurrying up storms and causing me to shiver until my mother came to haul me inside.
“Baby boy, your snowman will be there tomorrow too. Paislee will help you finish it,” Mom said back when I was four.
“But I need a carrot!” I waved in the direction of the kitchen, mittens impeding my precision when I pointed.
“Carrot tomorrow. It’s late.”
“Mom, be honest. It’s because of the weather. It’s not about how late it is. It’s Christmas vacation, and you let him be up past eight,” Paislee said.
I didn’t care about Mom’s reasons. For me, the main issue was that I wasn’t allowed to finish my snowman. “Kayla’s still there.”
“No, she’s leaving too. Look.” Mom took me to the window, my thick winter suit making me walk like a penguin.
I frowned, which made the hood of my suit sink lower over my eyes. She was right though. Kayla’s father had a firm grip around her lower arm as he pulled her with him indoors—crying.
“He’ll be alone then.”
“Who?”
“The snowman.” My lip quivered.
“Shh, no, he won’t,” Paislee’s voice was sweeter than usual.
“Yes, he will!” The storm and the night would take him, and he’d be a scared snowman out there, nose or not.
“No, trust me. Just watch.”
“What are you doing?” Mom folded her arms, an eye on Paislee.
She didn’t answer. Instead she hopped into her own snowsuit, toed into winter-foddered boots, and pulled a hat down over her eyes. She fished Dad’s shovel off the porch and stepped out into the storm.
I extended my arms and let Mom drag my suit off limb by limb while I watched Paislee work. Once my sister was finished, she met my gaze through the glass pane. The snow flew around her, a hurricane of white, but she stood there, proud and broad-legged with the shovel in her hand.
“Well, I guess we need some carrots now anyway,” Mom said.
“I’ll take them to her!”
Mom shook her head. “You’re too little. I’m not taking any chances.”
“I’m not little!”
“Right, but the wind is strong tonight. You stay here and get the hot chocolate ready for us. We’ll be needing it.” She put three steaming cups on the window sill. Then she went to the fridge for the bottle of whipped cream too. I grinned because I was rarely allowed to perform my whipped-cream magic.
And that’s how I got to see my snowman get a nose during the eve of a Christmas storm. As did his mother. And his sister. And his father. They stood in a tight ring of four blobs, leaning inward with their heads just shy of touching.
“A tent,” I suggested when Mom and Paislee came back in again. Paislee rolled her eyes.
“They don’t need it, baby boy, because they’re made of winter storms. For them to be out there together is the same as for us to sit here in our kitchen. You know how snow melts indoors?”
“Yees…”
“They’d be too warm in a tent. We wouldn’t want them to wake up in a puddle tomorrow.”
Liza’s voice brings me back. “You look mighty thoughtful. Enjoying the weather from your dry little spot, there?” She hops the last step over the threshold to the hardware store, water drizzling off her.
“Yeah. What’s up, L? I think you forgot your umbrella.”
“Oh nothing. Just need shock for the pool. It’s all green. You’ve got a text or something.” She points at my phone.
I feel it buzz in the silly little breast pocket of my uniform. “Nadine, probably.” It’s not a text. “You know what that was?”
“No?” She stares, intrigued as only girls can be.
“That was Keyon Arias wanting to become Facebook friends with me.”
“Whoa, seriously? Have you talked to him since the time when you didn’t tell him your name?”
“Hey, I did tell him my name.”
“Not Cugs, you didn’t.”
“You realize Cugs isn’t my real name, right?”
She sets her hands on her hips. “Well, that’s a matter of opinion. As far as I’m concerned, I haven’t heard a single person call you Charles George ever.”
“Teachers.”
“Right, on their first roll call of the entire year. Anyways: so Keyon Arias, huh?”
“Keyon Arias.”
The rain doesn’t stop pelting, so Liza gives me a lift home from work. In the car, Keyon messages me. Hey, Cugs. Thanks for accepting.
“What’s he saying?” asks Curious Liza.
“‘Hey, thanks for accepting.’” I roll my eyes. “You want a play-by-play?”
“Sure. My life’s boring with Bear out of town. Say something back.”
Hey, Keyon, is all I say. In my profile pic, I’m giving Nadine a noogie, grinning at the camera with my blue, white, and red mohawk filling half the image. No doubt he’s aware I�
��m the same dude that claimed the nickname Chuck at his fight.
I’ll ask you later why you never fessed up to being you, he cuts straight to the chase. You have a free moment this weekend?
Do I? Have a free moment? What for?
“What’s he saying?” Liza nags, stretching her neck on the only traffic light in town. It’s red, and there’s not a car in sight. Typical.
“He wants to buy a lap dance from me.”
“Be serious.” How does Bear deal with her whining again? “Tell meeeee.”
Oh right, he kisses her quiet. I won’t be doing that.
“One sec, let me type, woman,” I say, which makes her giggle.
Gotta check my calendar. Dad’s calendar, goddammit. What about?
I’d rather say in person. You don’t pick up your phone much, do you? he tacks on.
That was you? Man, I sound bright. “That was you.” Geez.
That was me.
“What does he want from you? I’m dying here! Do you think he gives autographs?” Liza asks.
I face her and point at the green light in front of us. “Did you see him give autographs at the fights?”
“Yeah.”
“Right, so yes.”
“So snippy. I’m going to tell Bear.”
“That I’m snippy?” I scroll down again, reading his next message.
Lunch in Tampa on Sunday.
Tampa! Do you have any idea how far away that is?
Okay, Orlando.
Disney lunch, I joke. Keyon agrees, but once we’re confirmed, we’re meeting at the Hard Rock Café at Universal. Close enough.
Liza parks outside the prefab, her mouth pulling down in a displeased grimace. She shifts the car into park like she’s not planning to leave.
“So,” I start. She’s staring off into the distance, the very near distance, because we’re in my driveway which is short and the prefab is right in front of us.
I’m pretty sure she’s offended. I feel like I should make an effort because of Bear—who’s incidentally always invigorated by drama. “So he wants to have lunch with me this Sunday.”
“Omigod!” she squeals, and there comes that giggle again. “Seriously? You’re having lunch with Keyon freaking Arias of Alliance Cage Warriors?”
I nod slowly. I’ve seen it on many occasions, Liza transforming from upset to content in seconds flat. Could be why Bear and she are the only couple I know my age that’s been together for years and years. He’s quick to apologize, and she’s quick to move on.
“Do you get to bring your best friends?” She drags the “n” out, and then the “s.”
“That’d be for the banquet he’s planning the weekend after.”
“What?” She slams her hands together with excitement.
“No! No, I was kidding. Sorry, Liza.” I shake my head. Seriously, Bear’s planning the rest of his life around this girl.
My phone keeps lighting up with Facebook messages. Keyon’s, but there are more too. Paislee, I’m sure. She’s clockwork, once, sometimes two times a day. I still don’t answer. Then there’s my girl, the one I’ll be seeing twice a year if I’m lucky from now on. I get out of the car, feeling a familiar twinge in my chest.
“Thanks, Liza. I really appreciate the ride.”
Last night wasn’t good. Dad’s getting more eager. He wants to accomplish so much on his shopping sprees, blaming a more expensive life now that Step-Cynth’s with us. I’m not in a place to meddle, but it seems six-packs of aprons aren’t the only things she buys on his bill.
My father’s becoming sloppy. Yesterday, we returned in the early morning after hitting almost a dozen houses. The owners of four of them were still at home. Yeah. He isn’t doing his homework the way he used to.
Thing is I’m tired. I don’t see a change in sight. Now, I try to keep my eyes open as I drive the wreck to Orlando to meet up with Keyon. Which is going to come back and bite me in the ass. What other option did I have though, come off as a coward to, in the words of Liza, “freaking Keyon Arias of Alliance Cage Warriors?”
Keyon is already there when I enter the Hard Rock Café. He fills out his side of the booth with fighter shoulders and wide thighs. Elbows on the table and bent over a glass of water, he lifts a hand in greeting as soon as he sees me. My chance to chicken out just dissipated.
“Cugs,” he says, voice husky like it is after a fight. Maybe that’s his voice now. I remember it light, prepubescent, I guess, from back when my own had the pitch of a little kid.
“Keyon.” I tip my head, acknowledging him without a smile, and then I sit down in front of him.
“Soda?”
I think of the possibility of going to Gainesville for the tryouts. “Ice water.”
Keyon doesn’t need to do much to get the waitress over. Half-turned to our table, she’s hovering with a watchful eye. When he glances up, she meets his stare immediately and hurries over.
“How are you?” From his expression, he’s not just being polite. He wants to know. “It’s been so long since we’ve talked.”
“I’m good,” I lie.
“What have you been up to? Your sister has been trying to get a hold of you.”
I’ve steeled myself for questions, assuming they would come. I didn’t think he’d start with them right away though.
“Oh you know, living it up in Newbark.” I do a long, purposely fake nod hoping it will make him laugh. Instead, he studies me, starting with my eyes then traveling over my face.
“You liking it there? How’s your old man?”
I shrug, unable to lie about him. “Married again. To a girl Paislee’s age.”
His eyes widen a little. “Is that so?”
“Yeah, as of a few months ago.”
“Geez.” He blows air out his nose. “New stepmother, huh?”
“Yeah, she isn’t exactly Mom.” And there, I said it. I hope he doesn’t notice. I open my mouth to add something, whatever, to get us off the subject, but he jumps in before me.
“You miss your mother?”
Silence.
Snowmen. Hot chocolate. Cold summer lakes. Blue lips.
“She isn’t my mother.”
“Mm-no. Paislee’s mom is your mom too, I’m pretty sure.” He nods to convince me. The burgers arrive, the sound of the plates against the wood jarring. Here I am, five minutes into my lunch with Keyon Arias, and we’re freaking talking about Mom. I need this to be over.
“No, she’s not. My father had an affair. I was the product of that affair. Paislee’s mother took him back, and when the girl—another young one he picked up somewhere—didn’t want me, his wife accepted me into their family. Get it? That’s why I had to leave with my father when they got divorced.”
I stare hard, expecting him to let me win this stare-down, maybe cringe with compassion, say, “I don’t know what to say,” or “Man, I’m so sorry.” But he doesn’t look away. Keyon’s gaze is undaunted, less surprised than when I told him of my father’s new wife.
“Did it change things for you?”
“Of course it did. I thought I had a mother, and then it turned out I don’t.” For a second, I relive the sensation of learning that home was an illusion.
“That depends on the definition of ‘mother.’ If you mean someone who never stops thinking about you, talking about you, trying to get in contact with you, and loving you—caring to the point of making herself sick over you, then you do have a mother.”
My heart is an inflamed muscle. It throbs too hard, and I can’t stop it from pushing against my ribcage. Ah I think my chest is about to explode.
“What the hell do you know?” My fork clangs to the floor. I need the back of my hand to swipe my face clean of grief before it invades my eyes.
“She’s been looking for you ever since you left. You’re impossibl
e to track down. It’s like you guys hid on purpose. The only way I got your number was by first tracking down your girlfriend’s. Thankfully, there weren’t many Nadine Paganellis in South Beach.”
“I’m on Facebook.”
“No phone number there,” he fires back. “And your mom doesn’t do computers.”
“No? Paislee could have—”
“—given your mom false hope when you’re not giving her the time of day?”
I clench my jaw shut, the pain jetting up to my temples. “Well, congrats on the detective work. You got me. Well done,” I say bitterly.
“What’s the deal with Paislee?” he continues, not giving me a break and ignoring my response. “Do you agree that she’s your sister, or do you have some excuse as to why you can’t be in contact with her either?”
I glance up, snatch a napkin, and mash it against an eye socket. Goddamn tear ducts. “I don’t know what to do about her.”
“Just answer her. It’s all she needs.”
“No, I— What good would it do? We did fine without each other for over a decade, and now suddenly, she insists hard. She makes me think about Rigita, about our childhoods, about, about— Shit!”
I duck into my hands. I have no pride left. “She’s making me think about Mom, and I don’t think I can take it anymore.”
I jump when his hand lands on me. He rubs my shoulder from across the table, not letting go. Pity. I hate pity.
I pull in wet air through my nostrils. “Paislee’s better off without me, man. She’s all the way up there in Rigita anyway, and I’ll never be able to return. Even if I wanted to, plane tickets are too expensive.”
“I’m seeing her,” he murmurs softly.
“Seeing Paislee? As in…?” I look up from my burger, and by his small smile, I see that I am right. “Yeah. You always were good friends.”
“Not always. It was only after I’d moved away from home and started college down here in Florida that Paislee and I ran into each other again.”