Round racks of clothing, shoes falling over one another haphazardly on shelves, and an odd smell. Not terrible but slightly musty. A multitude of smells mixing together to make a blasé scent, like too many colors added together make brown.
“Welcome to Zee’s.” The voice reaches me before the person. It has a soft, Southern lilt. He comes from an open door at the back of the small place, his purple velvet blazer shiny under the overhead lights. From his forehead to his neck, his brown hair is spiked in intricate rows.
“Hello,” I say, unable to take my eyes off his hair.
“I’m getting ready to shave it all off,” he says, continuing behind the counter. There’s a stool there, but he doesn’t sit.
“Okay,” I respond, not sure what I’m supposed to say.
Turning his head, he glances out the window and then back at me. “Did you come from Friendly Little Place?”
I look down at my uniform and laugh. “What gave it away?”
The guy steps back out from behind the counter. “Can I help you find anything?”
“Oh…umm.” I look around. “Probably not. I was just… I don’t really know.” I laugh, embarrassed. “I wound up here.”
The guy walks closer, and I gaze at his blazer. It looks soft. He extends a hand.
“Dayton Mann,” he says, grinning. One of his front teeth turns in slightly, and it makes me feel like I can trust him.
“Ember Dane.” I return the smile, my first in weeks that wasn’t immediately followed by What can I get you, and my face stretches with the effort.
“What do you think about me putting the ‘closed’ sign up and taking you for a drink?”
“Are bars open in the middle of the day?” Never mind that I’m not twenty-one.
He sends me a derisive look, but it’s playful. “Honey, bars would stay open during an apocalypse.” Dayton laughs at his own joke and wanders to the front door. He flips the open sign and reaches over the counter, coming away with a set of keys.
“Let’s go,” he says.
I don’t quite know what just happened, but I’m not going to question it. We walk out and I wait for him to lock up. He leads the way and I fall into step beside him. He tells me about his teacup Chihuahua until we reach the door of a little bar on the corner.
My new friend slips into the booth across from me. Very different from the booth at Friendly Little Place. This one has a high wooden back, creating the notion of privacy.
He sets down the amber colored beers we ordered from the bartender before claiming our spot. I wasn’t carded, thank god. Maybe it was the uniform.
“Are you going to get in trouble for closing the shop like that? It’s the middle of the day.” I reach for the beer and take a small sip.
Dayton shakes his head. “I own Zee’s.”
I raise my eyebrows. He looks too young to own a store.
“Where are you from?” I ask.
“Did my accent give it away?” He laughs, twisting a light-blue corded bracelet around on his wrist. “I followed love here, all the way from Alabama.” He raises his eyes to the ceiling. “Lord help me, I was dumb for that man. And blind, because I couldn’t see how confused he was. My momma would’ve said he didn’t know whether to check his ass or scratch his watch.”
“I take it things didn’t work out?”
“He decided he didn’t want what I have, if you catch my drift.”
“Ah.” I nod. “Drift caught.”
“And you? Why do you look like your grandma just died?” His eyes grow wide. “Oh, shit. Please tell me she did not just die?”
“She did not.” I laugh softly. “Why did you close the shop in the middle of the day? Don’t you want to make money?”
He shrugs. “Nobody else was in there and I was bored. Why did you wander into a store when you didn’t know what it sold?”
I bite my lip and look away. I don’t want to talk about Noah. “My mind was occupied. I wasn’t paying attention.”
“What did he do?”
“What makes you think someone did something to me?”
“Because looking at you is like looking at a mirror image of myself at this time last year. You look sad.”
“I feel sad,” I whisper, the emotion coming to the surface because it was named, like Dayton called roll and it stood up to announce its presence.
“Tell me all about it,” Dayton coaxes, making a come on gesture with his hands. “It’d be nice to hear someone else’s shit right now. This time of year makes me think of Diego.” He scrunches his face and shakes his head quickly. “I don’t want to think of him, or his new wife. So come on. Talk to me.”
I start talking. Dayton nods often, interrupting me twice to ask questions.
“It was probably just puppy love.” I tuck my hands between my thighs and lift my shoulders, then drop them slowly. If I attribute our feelings to being young, maybe it’ll make me feel better.
“That’s possible,” Dayton says, drawing out the second word. “No matter the age, real love is intense. You drown in it, and if it goes away, it hurts. But not any less just because you’re young.”
“How old are you?” I remove my hands from the warmth of my legs, wrap them around the beer glass, and take a long drink.
Dayton smirks. “Twenty-six. And based on your story, I’m aware I supplied alcohol to a minor.”
I glance at the bar, fearful the bartender heard Dayton, but he’s watching the TV in the corner and paying no attention to us.
“I should go,” I say, looking back at Dayton. “I have to work at my other job this afternoon.”
“You have two jobs?”
I nod.
“Are you in school?”
“I’m starting classes at the community college in January.” Pride fills me. I’m late to the party, but at least I got there.
“When is your next day off?”
“Wednesday.”
“I think you need yoga. Take a class with me? There’s a good studio a few streets over.”
“I’ve never done yoga before,” I murmur, standing and grabbing my jacket.
Dayton stands also. “First of all, you don’t do yoga. You practice yoga. And second, I can feel the stress rolling off you in waves.” He leans in to me and sniffs. “I can even smell it, and it’s not pleasant.”
Laughter tumbles from my lips. Real, no holds barred, unadulterated laughter.
He grins, proud of his joke, and hands me his phone. “Put your number in,” he tells me.
I do as he says and hand the phone back to him. “I’ll give it a try.”
“You won’t regret yoga,” he promises. “Nobody does.”
“Can I bring my sister? Isn’t yoga supposed to calm you down and stuff?”
Dayton eyes me. “Is your sister hyper?”
“She has severe anxiety. Struggles to be in public sometimes. If she can learn some ways to manage it, she might have a happier life.”
“That’s the beauty of yoga.” He spreads his arms wide. “It’s for everybody.”
We step from the bar and say goodbye, then go in opposite directions.
“I’m calling you tomorrow,” he yells behind me.
I turn around, raising a hand above my head and waving it his way, then keep walking.
My heart feels just a little lighter, my step a tad bouncier. For a short while, my new friend made me forget about my aching heart.
And about my aching feet.
18
Noah
Two and a half years later
I was raised in Northmount, but for the past four years, I’ve stayed the hell away. Mostly, anyway. I came for Christmas morning, to appease my mother. My parents understood why I spent my summers traveling, and visiting friends at their family homes. I couldn’t come back and face Ember. She’d tried to tell me from the very beginning, and I was stupid and stubborn, believing we were stronger than we were. Sincere, but naïve, an eighteen-year-old who didn’t yet know the external dangers
a relationship can fall prey to.
This is my first time being back for more than a day since I started college, and nothing feels quite right. Not even my old room, with its charcoal gray bedspread, and framed and signed Lionel Messi jersey. As soon as I walked in yesterday I looked at the desk, seeking out that picture of Ember. It wasn’t there. Probably my mom’s doing. I didn’t know whether to thank her or ask for it back. This room is a snapshot of a period of time in my life, and now it looks like Ember was never a part of that.
It feels just as weird to wake up here as it did to walk in yesterday. I never thought I’d miss Tripp’s music that he plays at all hours of the day. Waking up to the quiet of this big house feels loud. By the time I make it downstairs, the sun hangs high in the sky. I squint and rub my eyes, as if I can somehow rub out the pain from the hangover.
Tripp and all his goodbye shots.
He’s headed to South America, to see the Peruvian girl he met on Spring Break. I told him Cancun would only lead to trouble, but Tripp gave me a one finger salute, then told me not to forget my denture ointment while he was gone.
Thanks to multiple rounds of shots with weird names, I now want to put a mask over my face to protect it from the laser beam focus of the sunshine streaming into my parents’ house.
All the windows are thrown open, and that means my mother is in a good mood. That shouldn’t surprise me. Tomorrow is kind of a big deal.
Through the large dining room window, I see my brother. He’s standing on the back porch, his back to me. Alyssa stands beside him, gazing up at him like he’s made of puppies. Or diamonds. Or whatever she would like enough to make her look blindingly devoted.
I’m about to pull open the door to say hello when Brody’s arm winds around Alyssa’s waist. He pulls her against him and leans down. Quickly I back up, moving away from the door and their tender moment.
They’re getting married tomorrow. Maybe that’s why they’re being so loving and vomit-inducing. Maybe I’m being the love-Grinch because I’m back in town and as much as I want to track down Ember, I also don’t want to see her. I don’t know if she’s dating someone else, and I don’t think I can handle the answer to that question.
I shouldn’t want her, but I don’t want anyone else to have her either. The thought of her giving someone else those feisty, cute looks… My fists ball at my sides. She’s no longer mine, and she hasn’t been for a long time, but that doesn't stop me from despising the idea of her being anybody else’s.
Leaving my brother and Alyssa to their sweet nothings, I stomp to the kitchen and head straight for the coffee maker. After I’ve shoved a k-cup into the machine and hit go, I search the contents of the fridge, hoping somehow there will be breakfast leftovers even though it’s so late I should be eating lunch.
“Do soccer stars normally shove their noses into fridges as if they've never seen food before?”
My smile springs up instantly. I back out, letting the door fall shut as I go to Gretchen.
Her arms are open, waiting for me to step inside. Her eyes are full of pride, and happiness shines from her wide grin. Like a child, I bury myself into her embrace. I’m older now, and much bigger, but the warmth of her hug still permeates my chest. It’s the physical equivalent of being told everything will be all right.
“I wouldn't call myself a star,” I argue, stepping back. I was ecstatic when I was invited to play at the MLS Combine. The four-day showcase led to an invite to try out for the Atlanta MLS team. Try-outs were a few weeks ago, and I thought I did well, but I haven’t heard back from them yet.
Nothing.
Nada.
Not even a phone call. Every day I tell myself to chill out, but it’s getting hard as each day passes.
She gives me a knowing look and makes a tsk sound. “Play humble with someone who doesn't know you like I do.”
All I can do is laugh. She’s right. I’m kind of a stud on the field. I played well in college. I worked harder than ever, trained harder than ever, gave up everything from alcohol to girls. Despite what I’ve accomplished, I try hard to be humble. Nobody like’s an arrogant prick. A part of me wonders if I keep my ego in check because Ember would hate an inflated head. All these years later, and her grip on me is still firm.
“Any chance there’s some breakfast left over?” I ask, changing the subject. It’s easiest.
“There would be if you’d gotten your ass out of bed at the time of day when people eat breakfast.”
I turn toward my big brother’s voice. Beneath a big beard is a smile, his teeth being the only thing to let me know he’s grinning.
We hug, clapping each other on the back. “I thought you were getting rid of the face pubes?” I deliver a couple of thwacks to his cheeks with open palms. Last weekend, at dinner after my graduation ceremony, he told me he was going to cut off his beard for his big day.
He bats my hand away, grumbling. “Not you too.”
Alyssa stands beside him, rocking back on her heels. She hugs me and whispers thank you into my ear. I’m confused, and when we pull back she points at Brody’s face and pretends to gag herself.
“I’ll shave him tonight when he’s asleep,” I promise.
“I’ll supply the razor.” Alyssa pokes Brody in the side until he laughs.
He walks to the pantry and grabs a bag of tortilla chips. “Breakfast,” he says, pushing them to my chest. “Mom wants us to run an errand for her.”
I’m not buying it. “She said I need to go with you?”
“Yep.”
Liar.
I open the bag and toss a chip in my mouth. “Let’s go.”
Brody pecks Alyssa on the cheek. I wave to her and Gretchen on my way out.
“What’s the errand?” I ask as soon as we’re driving. I crack my window and let the warm May air filter in.
“Mom’s kind of embarrassed about it, so don’t say anything.” Brody uses a button on the steering wheel to turn down the volume of the music. Reaching over, he sticks his hand in the chip bag and takes out an overflowing handful. A few spill onto the floor and into the cup holders in the center console, but the majority of his haul makes it into a pile on his lap.
After shoving three into his mouth, he crunches and says, “Mom needed me to grab her prescriptions. She’s going through menopause.”
Brody makes a face as he says the final word. It’s probably the same face twisting my features right now. Remembering your parents are human is uncomfortable.
“What prescription?” I don’t know why I asked that question, but I can’t think of what else to say.
Brody shrugs, using the back of his thumb to wipe his upper lip. “I don’t know. I’m not a doctor.”
I roll my eyes. Brody is a day trader. He has a degree in accounting, but said he’s more successful sitting in his underwear in front of the computer. Alyssa swears he wears shorts, but the shirt is fifty/fifty.
“Okay, then. To the pharmacy we go.” I toss the bag of chips into the backseat and try to calm my racing heart.
Who says my mother even uses the same pharmacy? Even if she does, surely Ember doesn't still work there. What if she does?
What if she got stuck under the fluorescent lights, unpacking box after box of random children’s toys and hair products? Guilt consumes me because now I’m convinced she still has her high school job and never got to experience life, and the worst part is that I didn’t know.
I didn’t know because I never checked.
“What’s your deal, Noah? You look like your dog was just run over.” Brody crunches the last of his chips.
“Nothing,” I mutter, staring at the crumbs stuck in his beard.
It’s all too much. The chewing, each crunch like Brody is tearing through bones. The chip fragments caught in his tangled facial hair. The manifested reality that I’m about to see Ember wearing a yellow vest better suited for a canary, like the past four years never happened.
I roll down the window a few more inches and let t
he air whip my face.
That fucking beard is living on borrowed time.
My freak-out was for nothing. Ember doesn’t work here. I discreetly asked an employee while my brother stood in the pharmacy pick-up line at the back of the store. I’m so relieved I want to shout and run through the aisles. Of course, now that I know at least one thing she’s not doing, I’m wondering what she is doing.
I text my brother and tell him I’ll be waiting outside in the car. Curiosity took me in the store, and now there’s nothing keeping me there. Eyes on the ground, I’m reaching for the door handle of my brother’s car when an explosion of laughter breaks into my thoughts.
Picking my head up, I follow the sound. Across the street and a few doors down, a group of women have their heads thrown back. They’re dressed in tight leggings and tank tops, something that resembles a quiver strapped to each of them. If it weren’t for the red hair cascading down from a thrown back head, I’d continue getting into the car.
I can’t help it. I’m not the one telling my legs to move. Right now, they have a mind of their own. After a break in the cars, I hurry across the street. By now the group has moved on, and the redhead walks with her arm wound around the waist of a man. I didn’t see him in the group, but he must have been there too.
The same curiosity that took me into the pharmacy pulls me to the store they were all standing in front of. Mind + Body. Beneath the words is a lotus flower. I pull open the door and get blasted by heat. It smells earthy and salty, but also like eucalyptus.
“Hi,” chirps a girl behind the counter. “We don’t have another class until four.”
“Class?” I ask, unsure of what this place is. I’m not even certain that was Ember. Redheads are uncommon, but she’s not the only one in the world.
Even if she is the only one who’s made me crazy.
My phones buzzes in my pocket, but I ignore it. Brody can wait for a minute.
“Yes.” The girl draws out the word. Her eager smile has turned wary. “This is a yoga studio.”
“Right, right,” I smile and raise my eyes to the ceiling, as though even I can’t believe how unobservant I am. “Sorry. May I see a schedule?”
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