When We Break

by Piper Lennox

  “Shit,” he breathes, when we get to his car. “I can’t unlock it without setting her down. And trust me, waking her up is not an option.”

  “I’ll do it. Where are the keys?”

  “That’s the thing...they’re in my pocket.”

  “This one?” I point to his front pocket, under London’s leg. He nods.

  At first, I think my only obstacle is slipping my hand into Orion’s jeans without making him lose his grip on London. Wrong.

  The fabric of his pocket lining is what I’ll both blame and pathetically praise later, when I’m alone in my apartment: it’s so thin, I feel every ounce of the heat from his upper thigh against the back of my hand. I’ll also wince and revel at the depth of these particular pockets, because I quickly realize I have to dig all the way to the bottom for the keys.

  “Got ’em.” I fish them out, choosing to ignore, for now, whatever I think my fingers might have brushed against. I unlock the car, open London’s door, and step aside so he can put her in her seat.

  “Thank you,” he blushes, when I hand the keys back.

  “Don’t mention it.”

  The drive back to Myrtle Grove reminds me of the nocturnal exhibit: not awkward in its silence, but designed. I can’t speak for him, but I’m relieved to have a break from ultra-filtering myself all day, yet still getting to be near him.

  I see Orion differently, now that I know what happened to London’s mother. Like his past illness, it makes him seem more broken, but resilient. I can see the wounds—but I can also see his scars, the healed sections so imperfect, but stronger for it.

  When we pull into the complex, he takes a parking space in front of my building, not his.

  “Thank you for coming with us,” he whispers, eyeing the backseat. London is literally snoring, head thrown back against the side of her booster seat. There’s no way she’ll wake up.

  “Thank you for inviting me. I had a lot of fun.” I find myself hoping, praying I’ll get the chance to feel Orion’s mouth on mine again. Completely, this time. “And thank you for the job.”

  He waves this off. “Stop, it’s totally for my benefit. I haven’t been able to find a single babysitter willing to travel for just two hours a day.”

  “I do have a much shorter commute than most.”

  Orion laughs, a breathy noise in his chest. He traces the steering wheel with his fingers and looks out at the sunset over the trees, just beginning.

  “Guess I’ll...see you Monday, then,” I add. It’s actually a challenge, me daring him to shorten that window. Maybe not inviting me back to his place tonight—I mean, a girl can dream—but Sunday brunch wouldn’t be out of line, right?

  “Yeah,” he says quickly, pushing back his hair. “Have a good night, Colby.”

  The sinking heat of the day paints chills up and down my arms as I slide out of his car, grab the stair railing with one hand, and lift the other to wave.

  All right, so it wasn’t a date. But at least it was something.

  “Oh, hang on.”

  I wish I could say I turn gracefully, or that I channel the perfect Hepburn-esque pause on the stairs, poised with the slightest look of boredom, forcing him to come to me. But that would be a lie.

  “Hmm?” I walk back down, all the way to the concrete block at the end of his parking space. Hard to get, I apparently am not.

  By the long overdue grace of the universe, Orion doesn’t notice. He’s digging through the gift shop bag.

  “I, uh...I don’t know if you’ve already got one....” He holds out a newspaper ball. I take it from him and unwrap it like fine jewelry.

  It’s the plastic snow globe he bought his daughter. The miniature Mission Street Zoo inside stands in its toy-like stillness, mid-action: a balloon vendor by the gates; the simulated outback, winding in a ribbon through the middle; and the tiger enclosure at the far end of the property, not yet updated to include Kerouac and his siblings. A lone tigress stretches across the rocks, basking in an imaginary sun.

  “I thought you got this for London?”

  “I got two.” He holds up the other one, halfway out of the newspaper bundle. “I noticed you looking at it, and you said you collect them....” If it weren’t for the tangerine glow pouring down the building like honey, I’d swear I see a blush rise into his face.

  “Thank you.” I smile and shake it. Together, we watch the silver glitter and fluffy fake snow swirl manically to the top of the dome, then flutter down to the painted people below.

  I kiss his cheek before I leave this time. Quick, so he can’t stop me—not that I think he would.

  I’ve learned a lot about Orion Walker today. He’s practically a widower, for one thing. He knows jack shit about most animals outside the barnyard. Strict on his daughter’s behavior and academics, but apt to spoiling her, when she tugs at his heartstrings just right.

  Gun-shy about women. But lonely, like me. Definitely not the type to reject a friendly kiss on the cheek.

  Also not the type, however, to blindside a girl by turning his head during said friendly kiss, turning it into something more. No matter how much I wish he would, or how many milliseconds I linger there afterwards, giving him the chance.

  I’m not upset, though. It’s been a good day, and I’ve got a reason to see him again—both of them. I tell him to pass my goodbye wave onto London; he agrees.

  He gets in his car before I’m at the stairs again, but doesn’t pull away until I’m at my door, safe and sound. His hand lifts into a wave. I use the snow globe to wave back.

  Orion

  “I see my plan worked perfectly.”

  “And what plan is that?” I ask, distracted by the arsenal of Lego Friends I just discovered under the couch, half of which is currently inside the vacuum cleaner. I take out the canister and pick my way through the dust and crumbs on a rescue mission.

  Walt extends his hand. I drop the plastic people into it, one by one, so he can rinse them off. His face is unbearably smug. “To fix up you and Colby.”

  “We’re not ‘fixed up.’ I’m employing her.”

  “Which is the beauty of my plan: my part is over. It’s completely passive. Now you’ll get to know her, see how she is with London—”

  “It’s convenience,” I say flatly, when the vacuum is finally toy-free. I lock the canister back into place and finish the stretch of carpet under the couch, shouting over the noise. “My current babysitter decided to take more A.M. shifts at his restaurant without even warning me, so he can go out every evening with his new boyfriend.”

  “Mark and your current babysitter are entering the slope of a relationship. It’s a delicate stage that requires spending more time together. Not that I’d expect you to understand.”

  “Do I even want to know what ‘the slope’ is?”

  “The place right between casual and serious. Dating and official.” He raises his eyebrows, like he really did expect me to understand this, and is shocked I didn’t.

  “Well, I’m happy for you.” I groan as I get to my feet; I’ve cleaned every inch of this apartment since sunrise, and my back is starting to feel it. “And look, I really don’t mind about the babysitting thing. I didn’t expect you to be my built-in summertime nanny forever.”

  “Once again, requesting we dub the position ‘manny.’”

  “And, once again, denied.” I hit his shoulder. “Seriously. This Colby thing, it’s just a common sense arrangement. It helps me get enough hours so I don’t lose clients like last summer, and it gives her some extra money towards vet school.”

  Walt disappears down the hall. I hear him in the half-bath, cleaning the Lego pieces. “But you do like her, yeah?”

  “Yes,” I call, following. I lean against the doorway and hold a towel while he piles each plastic girl inside, then fold it up and shake. “But just because I like her doesn’t mean things will go anywhere.”

  “I know, I know. The ‘mom material’ thing.” Walt washes his hands far too thoroughly before t
aking the toys back. I hear London thank him in an explosion of laughter when he goes into her room and hands them back. Or, knowing Walt—and judging from the sound effects I can hear—makes it rain overtop her bed.

  “It’s a big thing,” I whisper, when he comes back.

  “I know. Never said it wasn’t.” We both check our watches: 8:58. Colby is due to arrive at nine. “What I am saying is, just because you like her doesn’t mean she wouldn’t be a good mom for London. Like, honestly? That’s the feeling I get from you, man: that you think you can’t possibly have both.”

  I start to roll my eyes and refute this, though I can’t, for the life of me, think of anything that will. Thank God for the doorbell.

  “Hi,” Colby says drowsily. She rubs her eyes and waits until I invite her in before stepping past the threshold.

  “Hi,” I laugh. “Not a morning person?”

  “No, I am. Just not this morning.” She yawns, apologizing. “Clara and Georgia came home at, like, three. They went to dinner with a makeup rep or something? I don’t know. But let’s just say they have no idea how to make a quiet entrance. Or at least, not Georgia.”

  I look directly at Walt. “I can relate.”

  “Speaking of entrances, I won’t be making one tonight—I think I’m staying over at Mark’s. We’re going to dinner and that French film festival as soon as Gwen deigns to cut me, so you’ll be roommate-free tonight.” He’s lucky Colby doesn’t catch the exaggerated wink he gives me.

  “Besides London,” I point out, giving him the best glare I can manage with a smile.

  As soon as he’s left, waving his apron and server notebook over his head, Colby asks, “Walt is gay?”

  I laugh. When she doesn’t, instead smiling awkwardly, I quiet down. “Oh, you were serious.”

  “I thought he might be,” she explains, stepping into the kitchen, “but I didn’t know for sure. Coffee?” She points to the pot, still half-full; I nod and hand her a mug. “How long have you guys known each other?”

  “Oh, God, forever.” I pass her the creamer from the fridge. “Best friends since kindergarten.”

  “When did he come out?”

  I think back. “Freshman year of high school, maybe sophomore? It was more of a slow reveal, actually. He’d hint at it, trying to feel out my reaction.”

  “Which was...?”

  “Horrible,” I admit, laughing. “I automatically assumed he had a crush on me, which of course made me go all macho, no-homo about everything. When he found out that’s why I was avoiding him, he punched me. Like a real punch, okay, not a friendly one. Bloody nose and everything.”

  Colby bursts into laughter, her coffee sloshing on the counter. She wipes it up with the hem of her shirt. “I don’t blame him. Pretty egotistical assumption.”

  “Trust me, I learned my lesson real fast.” Gradually, my laughter fades. “The rest of our friends didn’t really come around, though. They kept saying shit like, ‘Oh, he’s gonna try and turn us,’ calling him names.” I lean back on the counter and brace my hands on the edge. “It was hard on him, seeing so many people abandon him over it. Him just...being himself.”

  Colby takes a long drink of coffee, both hands wrapped around the mug. “At least you stuck around.”

  “Yeah.” My eyes drift to the hallway, a framed photo of Walt and London, the day the hospital let me take her home. In it, he’s squinting into the flash while baby London’s face disappears behind his sunglasses. “But that was nothing. Like, that was literally just doing the right thing. What Walt’s done for me since then—helping me raise London? That was above-and-beyond type stuff.”

  Colby follows my gaze to the photo. “I bet he thinks of that as just doing the right thing, too.”

  “Maybe,” I say, after a beat. I’ve never considered that before.

  “Best friends since kindergarten,” she remarks. “I can’t even imagine knowing someone that long and not driving each other crazy.”

  “I didn’t say he hasn’t driven me crazy. He’s very good at that.”

  “I meant more like, growing apart. Turning into such different people from when you started, you just...can’t even recognize each other anymore.”

  “Sounds like you’re speaking from experience,” I say, tilting my chin. When her smile dims, I regret it.

  “It’s rare,” she says, after some silence. “That’s all. Meeting someone as kids and having that connection last forever.”

  “Well, we kind of got forced into best-friendship, initially,” I admit. “His aunt was my foster mom.”

  Colby glances at me. Her hair, slicked back in a high ponytail, glows like pale amber in the morning sun from the window. “You were in foster care?”

  I clear my throat. Why I told her that, I can’t even begin to figure out. “For a few years, yeah.” Just as she opens her mouth to ask more, her newly-resolved filtering skills probably ready to drop, I call, “London! Colby’s here.”

  Never in my life have I been so grateful for kids’ innate ability to interrupt anything and everything. While London drags Colby back to her bedroom, already listing every toy and game she’s got, I top off my coffee and ignore the way she looks back at me over her shoulder.

  It’s only when I’m in my bedroom, staring at the blank digital canvas, my productivity timer counting down to another deadline, that I let myself listen. Through the air vents, I hear London’s high-pitched pretending voice. Colby, I notice, doesn’t have one: even in character, reciting lines for plastic princesses and personified teacups, her voice sounds exactly like her own. Level, clear, and honest.

  Thirteen

  Colby

  Nannying London quickly becomes the highlight of my days. By the third week, when I punch in at the vet’s office and take my post at check-in, I find myself wishing I was back at the complex, doing anything but this. It’s hard to focus on forms and paperwork when you’ve just spent two solid hours being half of a magic superhero-princess duo.

  “Colby, can you come back here a second?”

  I pivot in the chair; Dr. Aurora is standing at the doors to the examination rooms, arching her back and wincing.

  “Sure.” I put my “Please Wait For Receptionist” sign up and follow her through the doors. “Are you okay?”

  “Fine, fine.” She waves her hand. Her pregnancy’s in the final trimester, and though uncomplicated, it’s causing her more than a little discomfort. “I wanted to talk about your receptionist shifts.”

  “Oh.” My stomach sinks. It’s been over a year since she stuck me on receptionist duty, with only a handful of hours actually assisting anymore. Aidan’s been promoted from intern to assistant since Christmas; I’m positive Dr. Aurora’s decided to steal what few hands-on hours I’ve got and give them all to her.

  “Relax,” she smiles, reading my face, “it’s good news. I think you’re ready to get away from the front desk more, don’t you? You’ve improved your people skills a lot since last year.”

  “Really?” I grin.

  “Absolutely. Don’t think I haven’t noticed—your communication is getting much better.” Her expression turns grave. “Remember, though, that’s even more important when you’re back here. You talk to clients less, but you’re handling their pets—so what you say gets weighed so much more heavily than someone working the front desk.”

  “I know.” It feels like I’m being chided, even though it’s more of a pre-emptive reminder of the last time I got chided. I shouldn’t feel bad: I have gotten better. Especially in the last three weeks. Orion and I haven’t bickered at all, not even once, which I take to mean I’m doing this “filter more, blurt less” thing right. Honesty is fine in small doses, I’m learning, but delivery is everything.

  Granted, Orion stays in his bedroom most of the time, but we’ve had plenty of conversations since I started working for him, and I’ve handled all of them with way more tact than usual. Like whether or not London should be allowed a second bowl of cereal, or how loud is too
loud when it comes to the television. Then there was the awkward but glorious moment I arrived too early and caught him on his way out of the shower, nothing but a towel around his waist, and managed to casually and quickly turn away before he could read every dirty thought racing through my head.

  Point is, if I can avoid stepping on his toes, I’m confident I can tackle even the toughest pet owners.

  “Anyway,” Dr. Aurora goes on, pulling my attention back as she slips next week’s schedule from a folder, “I’m taking on a new intern for the front desk. You’ll be there Mondays, Aidan on Saturdays, with the intern in-between. The rest of the time, you’ll be back here.”

  “Thank you,” I whisper, afraid I’ll somehow ruin this if I talk any louder. “So, so much.”

  She puts her hand on my shoulder. “You don’t have to thank me, Colby. You’ve worked really hard for this.”

  I wish I could bottle this feeling, all her praise and the swell of pride in my chest, and send it back to Kona to finally shut up my parents.

  Five o’clock flies at me that day. I’ve never been so content to sit behind the desk and force politeness. Maybe because I know the end is in sight, it’s easier.

  “Colby!” Aidan catches me in the parking lot. “Saw the new schedule. You must be stoked.”

  I try to reel in my smile, but can’t. “Yeah. About time. I was starting to think she’d keep me on reception forever.”

  “Well,” she drawls, laughing under her breath, “you did take a while to catch on.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” I mirror her smile, but warily, feeling my brow crease.

  “Nothing,” she shrugs, jamming her hands in her lab coat pockets. I notice, suddenly, that it isn’t one of the stock white ones. It’s got her name embroidered over the pocket. “Just that, you know...you took a long time to fix what pissed Dr. Aurora off in the first place. Talking to clients the right way, and all.”

  They say self-discipline is a muscle. The more you use it, the stronger it gets.