In the Absence of You

by Sunniva Dee

Nadia hushes him. “What about… it’s going to be horrible for…”

  Bo gets up and shuts the door, literally in my face. What the fuck? Now I have to turn the light on in the bunk area. I was relying on daylight from the lounge to see what I’m throwing into my dirty laundry bag. While eavesdropping.

  “Zoe,” I hear from in there. “Dot, dot, something-something, dot.”

  Goddammit! I slam the door back open and glare at the two of them. “Zee’s flying out?”

  There’s that silence again. Bo veils himself in studious unresponsiveness, but Nadia’s got deer-in-headlights eyes. She opens and closes her mouth. Then she opts for grabbing her frilly little home-crocheted blanket and pulling it tighter around her.

  “Bo. Nadia. If Zoe’s coming out—” I can’t finish what I’m thinking. I want it so damn bad. “Is she? Because I want her to.”

  “No, she isn’t,” Nadia murmurs, dark eyes concerned beneath her lashes.

  Bo sends her an apologetic glance before returning to me. “Yeah. She is. I’m buying her a ticket.”

  Nadia draws in a deep breath, irises floating in moisture. “Babe, it’s better that I head back home. I could hang out with Zoe during her off-weekend. It’d be the same price since you’re paying either way. Plus I’d water our plants.”

  And then I’m witness to them staring deeply into each other’s eyes, both wanting and needing the best for the other. It’s so fucking—

  Okay, I am glad for them. I love them both like siblings, but sometimes it’s hard to take in when someone flaunts so readily what you lack in your own life.

  “I want her to come out,” I repeat. There’s some tiny animal in my throat talking for me. I sound… not like myself.

  “Shit,” Nadia says, which isn’t her at all. “See what you’re doing, Bo?” Her expression tightens as she meets my stare, braver than she was a moment ago.

  “Emil, if she ends up coming out this weekend, it’s because she wants to keep me company.”

  She shakes her head, more concerned for me than I can muster. All I see is opportunity. I can talk to Zoe, tell her—explain what happened, why and how what happened will never happen again.

  Zoe can trust me with the rest of her life.

  I’ll get a ring.

  It’s premature, crazy, a beautiful thought. I won’t do it. I’m too smart for that, but ah, to tie her to me forever sounds so perfect. I let my fantasy go before it rises higher than homemade bread.

  The front door of the bus slides open to Aishe and Troy chattering quietly between themselves. Faintly, I remember them talking about a shopping spree this morning. Me, after my outing with Elias, I went by our shower room at the hotel and got myself washed up. Besides agonizing over Zoe, it’s all I’ve done over the last few hours.

  I turn to the door—and suck in a breath at the sight of Aishe. I’ve never told her about my early memories of Gypsies passing through Skala once a year. She doesn’t know I have a crush on long, flowing skirts in bright colors. They really do look like they were created with the sole intention of being lifted to the level of a woman’s hips.

  She’s wearing one of those now. Her hair is a freaking mane, long and shiny with tons of red stuff streaked through it and with squaw-style feathers and large hoops, and it’s a hell of a lot to take in now that I’m raw from the possibility of Zoe coming.

  “Geez. Got your hair done?” I ask, pitch deeper than it usually is.

  “Mm-hmm. You like it?” she quips, irises glinting with Gypsy fire. They were confident back in Skala too; those women held their chins higher and their bodies straighter. It’s like Aishe is tapping into that stuff, tall despite her short stature and with a queen’s arrogance painted in her eyes.

  “I do. That looks damn good on you. New everything, huh?” I ask as Bo quietly shuts the door between us. Asshole.

  “Not the boots,” she sort of purrs out, which is too sexy for words. She lifts the smooth fabric of her skirt enough to show black combat boots I’ve seen before.

  It’s a strange thing to focus on a single woman for hours on end, unable to snap free of your spiraling thoughts. And then someone simply walks in, piercing your sphere, and suddenly your instincts take over.

  “Don’t move,” I say. Troy closes his eyes for a second before he turns for the kitchen nook. Rummages for food in the cabinet and switches on the TV. Not that I’d stop any stage of flirting for a band bud, but it’s nice when his captain’s chair swings, showing just a few dreads over the backrest.

  I lower my voice so she’s the only one hearing me. “Lift higher? I couldn’t see the top of your boots.”

  Her posture relaxes, eyes soft and playful as her hands wriggle the skirt higher up. I see a smooth, smooth calf starting right above the boot. “Like this?”

  “Hmm, better.” I reach for the door to the main lounge and clench a fist around it, staring. “What if you scrunched it a tad higher?”

  “What, you want a strip show or something?” she asks, reminding me of feisty, bitchy girls I love until death. “Not gonna happen in plain daylight with all of your…” She flicks a gaze in Troy’s direction and lets her whisper all but dissipate. “… friends around.”

  “Ooh,” I say, smirking and moving in closer. “Well, you look so nice I’d do anything to see more of those legs. You want me to toss everyone out?”

  That makes her smile big. She flips super-shiny lengths of hair over her shoulders, and I realize they’re so long they reach her ass. Holy shit, that’s hot, especially with an ass like hers.

  “No, you’ve got me wrong, sir. I’m not one of your groupies.”

  Oh hell yeah, this is turning interesting. I’m right in front of her now. Seems she’s moved into my space as much as I have into hers. We meet at the threshold between the bunk area and the main room.

  “I think you’re dirty,” I say. It’s not the flirty hot thing to say, and I’m confusing her. Aishe’s brows sink deep as she tries to figure out my game. I’m making it easy. “We still have that shower room at the hotel, if you need me to scrub your back?”

  Her expression clears. I love it when those lips curve in a sweet smile the way they do now. Aishe is awesome. She can make a dude forget. With the feistiness she’s shown, could I get over Zoe?

  I guide her off the bus.

  We have another few hours before we leave. It’d be time well spent to lift that Gypsy skirt the way I dreamed of in my teenaged years. It’s finally happening.

  Why don’t girls sleep after sex? We only have an hour left. She should shut her eyes instead of lying sideways on her arm, big eyes peering at me with eyeliner smeared like she’s been thoroughly fucked. Which she has.

  “What happened with Zoe?”

  She asks me this?

  Zoe. We started out so beautifully. She came trotting into our dressing room, not even caring that the others were there to see her turn her seduction on full blaze. The girl radiated smug sexiness and self-confidence, and I clamped on, hook, line, and sinker. She never even looked at the other guys. It was me she wanted, and boy did she get me.

  Turns out it’s hilarious when someone that little likes to boss you around, tell you what to do, and you have to explain yourself like she’s your mother. Who the hell knew?

  Zoe started as a fan. What are the odds that a fan turns into the love of your life, you say? As big as for any girl: damn slim.

  Oh Zoe. Everyone’s so cagey with me. I’m the singer they tread carefully around. They fulfill wishes. Want to keep me happy. But you’re who made me happy.

  My not-at-all lax girl. Her crazy humor. Those little outfits I loved to disturb. I’m not a public sex guy, but if I could wind my girl up and make her cuss me out only to surrender moments later? I wouldn’t be me if I let an opportunity slip away.

  Behind the restroom corner at the boardwalk; just off the path in the park, half-hidden by some scrawny bushes; in a lingerie dressing room. Unfortunately, she banned me from panty shopping after that. She cla
imed I sullied her new stuff before she even paid for it. I told her she did a damn good job herself of that, what with removing her own underwear while trying on lingerie. Her reply was a hard twist of my nipple.

  But that jealousy. It’s a part of her bossiness though, and I enjoyed it. In my profession, dolled-up chicks trying to get your attention comes with the territory, and you need to work with them. They’re your fans, and they want a piece of you. You gotta give—an inch, at least.

  Zoe used to glare daggers into the girls while I signed their stomachs or a tit they all but squeezed over their tops. Afterward, in our hotel room, she’d shift those daggers to me and tighten her mouth into a line. I’d bite my lip to keep from smiling, because really, what did she have to worry about? There was no one like Zoe.

  “So was it awesome to sign those big jugs today? I betcha they were full of milk. I’m telling you—that slut had a baby waiting at home, and there she was wanting you to freaking grope her. And plus, why the hell did you offer to sign both of them when she only offered up one?”

  I burst out laughing, which caused Zoe to shove against me, madder. She pushed me toward the bed though, so I moved willingly. “Babe, it’s not what you think. I just do my best to make them remember us and always buy CDs and tickets to our shows.”

  “Right, so you have to whore yourself out?”

  “My Sharpie.”

  “What?” She was a cloud of angry. God, her response was funny. Why would she react this way? It was just me, Emil, and I loved her so hard.

  “I whore out my Sharpie, not my penis.”

  “Ha!” She said, grabbing a hold of my hips. I had no complaints though I couldn’t tell if she wanted to shake me or hug me. Fucking adorable. “Betcha if you could write with your penis, you’d have totally whipped it out tonight. ‘Oh look at me! I’m Emil the almighty singer of Clown Irruption, and Imma gonna write on your breast with my penis!’”

  Just. Impossible not to fold over laughing. She was so upset saying all this, such a typical Zoe situation: she’d be too mad to think and blurted out utter bullshit until I couldn’t stop cracking up.

  She thrust her hands into me again, letting out a frustrated little grunt.

  “I should’ve thought of that,” I said, writing my own obituary. “I could’ve peed my name on her.”

  When her stare met mine, her eyes arched huge over my idiotic suggestion. Then her lips started trembling. Oh damn, that moment when she struggled to hold on to her ire was precious. She wanted to prolong the fight so bad.

  “Are you okay? Your mouth’s twitching,” I said.

  She crossed her arms and turned away. Of course I wouldn’t let her off the hook. I poked a finger under her chin and swung her toward me. “Zee-Zee?”

  Zoe, she’d keep it together as long as she didn’t meet my gaze. Back then she aimed at the ceiling, desperately suppressing her amusement.

  “Babe? Look at me. You know you want to.” In my quietest rendition of Seal, I hummed out, “You know you want to. You know you want to.”

  I cocked my head playfully, waiting, and sure enough… as soon as she surrendered and stared back at me, she launched into a giggle fit.

  Oh my girl, my girl.

  I threw her on the bed and prowled up over her, grabbing her arms and sucking on her throat. “You drive me crazy. You’re such a weirdo, Sweets—love. I love you so much.”

  She whimpered. Lifted her head from the pillow to meet my mouth, sucking and loving me back. “You’re an asshole is why. I love you so much—it’s hard to be with you. You make it tough. They make it tough.”

  “I know, babe, but you’re who I want. I don’t care about anyone else. They’re just bleak nothings compared to wild you. Love you, love you. What have you done to me?”

  She’d smile when I asked her that. Eyes softer, eyes the way they were when she trusted me.

  “Sorry if that was intrusive, Emil. I have no right to ask about her,” Aishe whispers. Her apology cracks through my memories, and it doesn’t take me long to return to the now. It’s how my life’s been since Zoe left me. I bow in and out of memories and those goddamn fucking regrets.

  Why? How did I let that shit happen?

  “Nope,” I croak, my voice sounding unused. “The answer’s easy and no secret. You must not have researched me much, because it’s all over the Internet. Some girl who wasn’t Zoe gave me a blowjob.”

  “You cheated on your girlfriend?”

  “No…

  “Yeah.” I sigh. “It’s complicated. Too fucking complicated to get over.”

  AISHE

  Shandor’s gaze contains the simmer of importance I know so well. We’re back at the bus. It’s a quiet agreement that the rest of the crew doesn’t enter the band bus. Even so, Shandor is there when Emil and I return. He’s sitting with Troy, a beer in his hand and eyes on the door, ready when I step in.

  My heart does one of those leaps people talk about. It’s big and worried, knowing he’s there for a reason I won’t like.

  “Wanna take a walk?” Shandor asks.

  “Aren’t we about to leave?”

  “We’ve got a half-hour,” Troll says on the way past.

  And that’s it; there’s nothing stopping me from learning Shandor’s news.

  As we exit and trail over the one-lane road to a small lake, I think about our family. They’re constantly on my mind, despite how messed up and dysfunctional they are. I’m not a part of their thing anymore. Mom was the last one to stop realizing I wasn’t going to pick up the phone. We communicate via email, because it’s easier to keep them at a distance that way. In the beginning when she asked why I didn’t pick up her calls, I blamed time zones and cell phone bills. Used to traveling, she didn’t fight me on it.

  “Chavali called,” Shandor says, and with it, the world stops turning.

  “Chavali.” I see a rock by the water. It’s big and grey and what I need, something to plop my butt on before I topple over on my own.

  “She’s been trying to get a hold of you.”

  I roll my eyes, because this isn’t new. She’s tried to get a hold of me ever since she left. “I don’t understand. Why would she call you all of a sudden?”

  “Because I answer my phone. She wants you back.”

  “It’s not that easy!”

  “You don’t think it’s time? You know where they are right now?”

  I shake my head; I haven’t opened the last email from my mother. They’re usually full of updates, and though she doesn’t speak with Chavali, she usually knows where she is. “I don’t want to know.”

  “What does ‘ostracized’ mean, Aishe?”

  “What’s with all the righteous questions? Will you stop—”

  “—taking stabs at your conscience?” he finishes quietly, and I turn and grab his shirt hard, etching warnings into him with my eyes.

  Shandor curves his fingers around my fist. He stares back, unapologetic and waiting for me to wind down enough to listen. I want to scratch him. This isn’t new to him, so he’s calm but on the alert. When I have nothing to say, he loosens my grip on his shirt. Then he settles a cautious grip on my shoulder and guides me away from the water.

  “All these years,” he murmurs. “Remember how close you two were? Your sister and you are so alike. Your stubborn minds, how you took your own paths.”

  “Yes, but our paths are polar opposites. Me, I didn’t grab a goddamn rope and run into the woods to hang myself. I didn’t let my sister find me and struggle so hard to get me down that I had blue roses in my cheeks for three days after I narrowly survived. See, I’m not a callous, self-centered bitch.”

  “Aishe. You don’t mean that about her.”

  I start crying, what always happens if I think back to fateful nights. My only sister. How could she do such a thing?

  “She turns twenty-one today, and no one has called her,” Shandor continues. “Her husband is the only one celebrating with her.”

  “Ha!” I say th
rough the tears. “She’s twenty-one, and she’s been married for six years. She beat the plague, didn’t she?”

  “At the cost of her family, yes. You, at least— We,” Shandor corrects. “We chose to leave the community, but your sister didn’t even have the urge to break away from the clan, did she? And they never want to see her again.”

  “I’m aware.” I turn abruptly and see Shandor’s windblown hair dance beneath his bandanna. “You know who Mom is grieving today? Not the loss of Chavali. You know what she’ll write in the email she’ll send me as soon as she wakes up?”

  Shandor nods, sadness in his eyes. His pupils are so wide they almost eclipse the yellow of his irises. “She’ll say, ‘Today, your brother would have been twenty-one years old. He would have looked like your father.’”

  A lump grows thick in my throat again, just when I’d stopped crying. It’s odd that you can be sad over a person who was never born. I guess it’s what happens when someone invents stories about him all the time. You form a picture of what he would have been like.

  “It wasn’t easy to be the surviving twin when your mother wanted her boy more than another girl. Your mother used to cry in my mother’s lap, cursing God for taking Camlo from her and asking why Chavali was the one who survived.”

  “Yeah. Well.” I cross my arms and keep walking, kicking pebbles on my way.

  “Even newborns catch vibes. Can you imagine being the unwanted one?”

  “Why are we talking about this? Jesus, Shandor.”

  “Because Chavali isn’t in Europe. She’s in Oregon. We haven’t been closer to them since we left the family. They’ve got their camper parked at a campground in Linemell, less than a half-hour from our next show.”

  I can’t speak anymore. I loved that child so much, my mini-me who toddled after me from the moment she could walk, imitating everything I did. She relished each moment I spent dressing her up in jewelry and silk, each caress and smooch. Chavali always looked beautiful, always clean and glowing with hair brushed shiny with my silver brush. Our father loved us both the same, but to Mom she never became more than a reminder of a son lost.

  Mom was the one who insisted on the arranged marriage. It’s a common occurrence, but because of the plague, it’s not always executed. What is a girl to do when old traditions still live? My sister wasn’t a rebel, but her unhappiness over her young fiancé, Kaven, from three campers behind us, was bigger than even I, the other half of her heart, could have guessed.