Friend (With Benefits) Zone

by Laura Brown

  He rose and walked over to a row of pictures, fingers brushing a faded one in black and white of a young woman with long, wavy hair and a big smile. I searched the other photos but saw none that looked like her.

  I wanted to ask who she was, but the pain on Charlie’s face was unmistakable. I didn’t know if she was alive or not, though it was clear he loved someone long gone.

  He wore no wedding band, and I didn’t see his face in any of the photos. They all appeared to be friends rather than family. This guy was alone.

  I didn’t want that. I wanted pictures of Jas and me, children with her, long hours spent at whatever bar she eventually owned. I wanted a crazy and full life, where one day some young guy would visit me and have to listen to stories of my kids and grandkids and what my wife was up to.

  Charlie had a story to tell, but it wasn’t a happy one.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Jasmine

  I WANDERED AIMLESSLY around Dev and Blake’s living room with nothing to do and nowhere to go. Stupid life. The only thing I had left to lose was Dev, and I feared that would be my ultimate rock bottom.

  I needed a good week of wallowing, at least. I knew I was being melodramatic as shit, but life hadn’t shown me anything better. I wanted a parent to go to, a shoulder to lean on. A part of me knew I had that right here with Dev, but it was too complicated, too new.

  I wanted my mother.

  Not the mother I knew now, the mother I’d had once upon a time. Whose lap I’d sat on as she struggled to sign me a story, who’d tucked me in at night while Dad worked. I wanted that woman back. The woman who’d died with Dad.

  I knew all this yet pulled out my phone, ready to send her a text, only to find she had sent me one and my damn phone hadn’t notified me.

  Mom: Being moved to Burrows Rehab.

  Burrows, where the hell was that? I did a quick search, then responded.

  Me: Sorry, my phone didn’t notify me. You OK? Can I visit?

  Mom: Lot of pain. Can’t move. Yes.

  Well, it gave me something to do. An hour and a half later, I entered the rehab facility. Or, rather, nursing home. I cringed at the thought. Didn’t they have rehab centers for younger people? Or was that some weird age phobia society had?

  I wasn’t in the mood to attempt communication, so I slipped past the main area, doing my best to look like I knew where I was headed. The place was separated into wings. The first wing had the wrong numbers. The second wing took a few trips up and down, but I found Mom near the end. Her hair was pulled back into a messy ponytail, and she wore a hospital gown. Shit. Did she need her belongings?

  She put down the magazine in her hands, her face almost relieved to see me. “Did you need stuff from home? I should have asked.”

  A small smile crossed her face. “Yes. Maybe next time?”

  Wow, did she actually want to get along? “Text me what you need.”

  She nodded. The room was warm, but I kept my trench on, not wanting her to latch onto my tattoo again. I took in the floral wallpaper and old tube television, at a loss for what to say.

  Mom waved. “What’s wrong?”

  I stared at her. The last time she asked me a question like that was . . . “Nothing.”

  “Don’t lie to me.” Her hands moved more fluidly than they had in a long time, even if her transitions were still choppy.

  Was I nine again? Did this place come with a time warp? “You know the bar I work at? They closed down.”

  She sucked in a breath, and I nearly rubbed my eyes in disbelief when she signed, “I’m sorry.”

  “Really? You hate everything to do with bars.”

  “The bar situation with Dad was complicated.”

  I settled into the large green chair next to her bed. “I’ve got nothing to do.”

  Mom placed her hands beside her, shifted, and winced. “I wanted to go back to school. Art history. But we needed the money for Dad to open the bar. The goal was that once the bar was up and running, and finances stabilized, then I’d go back to school. We got close—I even began to apply—but I got pregnant with you.”

  I squirmed, and Mom waved. “Unexpected, but wonderful. Only now I couldn’t go to school in the evenings, because Dad worked. I needed to stay home with you. So my dream got delayed. You’d start school eventually, and then I could go to classes at the same time.”

  “What happened when I started school?”

  Mom shook her head. “The timing of classes didn’t work. Dad couldn’t shift the hours to accommodate what I needed. I found a few that worked, but then it was too expensive, or the car needed repairs, or wouldn’t it be better to fit you with hearing aids. Always one thing after another.

  “I hit my breaking point. We fought. Every day he went and did his dream, and every day I stayed at home deprived of mine. I hated him for it.”

  Mom’s strong words took me off guard. These were not words from a woman who still mourned the loss of her husband. “I never knew this.”

  A wry smile came out. “Perk of having a deaf child: as long as you were out of the room, we could keep you in the dark. I suspect we did a lot of that. I don’t know if it was for good or not.”

  “So you were upset with Dad?”

  She turned to the window, looked out at the blue skies. “I loved him. He drove me crazy, but I loved him. He kept all the financial struggles of the bar to himself, and it wore on both of us. I wouldn’t have demanded to go to college if I knew. I could have helped him. But instead . . . ” She leveled me with her blue eyes. “We fought that morning, after you left for school. Fought long and hard. I mentioned divorce. He thought it would be better for me. I told him I hated him. He left.” A tear trailed down her cheek. “And he never came back. Those were the last words I said to him. Not that I loved him. Not that I never wanted a divorce. Hate was how our marriage ended.”

  Tears clogged my throat. I got out of my chair and wrapped my mother in a hug. Foreign, so foreign, and yet she held me back. We cried together, like we should have done right after Dad died.

  Mom pulled back. She grabbed a tissue and held the box out for me. “I’m sorry I’m not more supportive of you wanting to follow Dad’s footsteps. Bars come with a lot of baggage for me. That’s not your fault.”

  “I understand.” And for the first time, I did. “Doesn’t matter anyways. I can’t afford to live and still save money.”

  Mom blew her nose. “I’m sorry. Life is not easy. I wish you didn’t know that so well.”

  I STAYED AWHILE longer, until Mom grew sleepy, then I left. My feet moved slowly as I traveled down the hall, my mind still processing all the new information. Something caught my peripheral, and I turned to see a nurse looking at me, her mouth moving and a not-so-pleasant expression on her face. I pointed to my ear and shook my head.

  Her expression lifted, and she held up a finger. She grabbed some paper and appeared at my side. I’m sorry, you must be Jasmine, Connie’s daughter.

  Mom told them about me? I nodded and read over the nurse’s shoulder as she wrote.

  I’m Barb, her nurse. I know she hasn’t been here long, but she’s on pain medication for her hip, and her new antidepressant medication seems to be helping.

  I stared at the words after she handed them to me. My hand almost shook when I took the pen.

  I don’t know if Mom’s ever had depression meds before. She always refused.

  Come to think of it, she looked like she had more color to her face than I’d seen in a long time.

  Her transfer papers from the hospital said it was a new diagnosis. Without these meds, her recovery would be much harder.

  I thanked her and answered a few questions before heading back to my car. I had let the hospital know about her depression. I had no idea if the new medication would really work. Mom hadn’t been in a good place for years, but even this brief window of having her back meant the world to me.

  THE AFTERNOON FOUND me in a coffee shop, nursing a simple black coffee in
exchange for free Wi-Fi. I searched for any bar jobs available, but the pickings were slim, and I knew even fewer would accept someone deaf.

  Dammit, I wanted my old job back. It wasn’t ideal, but it worked for the time being. If I could take control and make it my own, I could turn it into something special. I did a mental tally of my savings. It wouldn’t be enough, but perhaps I could strike a deal. I set up a text to Len.

  Me: If you won’t let me run the bar, sell it to me.

  I held my breath. He’d have to sell it to me for dirt cheap, and I’d probably inherit a huge amount of debt. But the bar was stocked; no way would I find another deal this good.

  Len: You can’t afford it.

  Me: Try me.

  Len: Kid, it’s over. You want it? Talk to the bank.

  I banged my head into the table. Of course the bar couldn’t be sold to me, no matter how much begging I did. It really was over.

  Time for a new plan. My waitress skills had to be good for something. I broadened my search to restaurants and sent out a few more feelers, including one call with the interpreter video relay service. The call didn’t go so well, as I suspected this whole job search thing wouldn’t.

  I sent a text message to Pete.

  Me: How did you find a job that hires deaf?

  Dev and Nikki were students. Pete and I were the workers.

  Pete: As long as I lift boxes, they don’t care. What happened?

  Huh, Dev didn’t share like he usually did.

  Me: Bar closed.

  Pete: Shit. You don’t want to lift boxes.

  Me: Want and need are different.

  Pete: Those thin arms strong enough?

  Me: How much do you think beer weighs?

  Pete: Good point. Think about it. I can set you up, but this isn’t for you.

  Me: Then what is?

  Pete: Serving me beer after I lift boxes.

  Me: Can’t do that without money.

  Pete: Maybe Dev can support you.

  Me: Sexist. I support myself.

  Pete: Poor Dev, he wants to help, and you won’t let him.

  Me: Poor me, I have to put up with Dev.

  Pete: LOL.

  Sure, that was a little mean, and I didn’t mean it, not completely. But there were certain things I had to do on my own.

  I tossed my long-empty coffee cup into the trash. At the time of day when I usually began getting dressed for work, I headed back to the apartment. Time on my hands wasn’t good for me. I was itchy and twitchy and needed to work.

  And according to my gas gauge, I also needed gas. This no-income thing was going to get old real quick. I fueled up, then grabbed an overpriced cookies and cream ice cream from the convenience store. Because I had my priorities straight.

  For the first time since I moved in with Dev, I wished I hadn’t. Then I could be alone with my ice cream carton without anyone to interfere, a complete world shutout. Instead I had two roommates to deal with, one of whom was my overbearing boyfriend.

  I took a deep breath and tried to shake some sense into myself. What an ungrateful bitch I had turned into. What did it matter if Dev was overbearing? His heart was always in the right place.

  I scanned the parking lot, hoping for a few more hours of peace. No such luck. With my ice cream clutched to my chest, I made my way inside the building and into the apartment, where a small crowd waited—Dev, Blake, and Shawn.

  I turned to Blake. “I’m not used to seeing you. The sun’s still out. I’m confused.”

  “I have to prove I’m not a vampire, otherwise I might change.”

  I laughed. Maybe company wasn’t so bad.

  Dev took the ice cream from me and checked the label. “Great minds think alike.” Then he showed me the other two he bought—raspberry chip and caramel fudge.

  “That’s too much! I’ll eat them all,” I signed, worried I really would. And also fighting the urge to throw my arms around him for being my personal ice cream fairy.

  “We’ll help,” Shawn signed.

  All three men stared at me, questions written across their faces. They waited me out, and I had no intentions of playing along. I held up my hands. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  Blake rubbed his hands together. “OK. Game time. Pick your preference.”

  Shawn bent and picked up four boxes, placing them on the coffee table. Trivial Pursuit, Scattergories, Apples to Apples, and Monopoly.

  “Do you want to work as a team or beat the shit out of the rest of us?” Blake asked.

  A small smile fought its way to my face. I reached forward and tapped the Monopoly box, not missing the visual groan on the guys’ faces. I was ruthless with the game, and not because I usually made drinks for the others as we played.

  Blake and Shawn cleared the table and set up the game. I moved to sit on the floor, but Dev stopped me. “You OK?” He ran one hand down my arm and laced our fingers together.

  “For now.” I held his eyes, begged him to leave it at that. I wanted a few days of ignoring being a burden to anyone but myself.

  He squeezed my hand—message received. The delay should have been a relief; it wasn’t.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Devon

  JAS PULLED AWAY. Slow, invisible steps as she retreated into herself. I knew it. I’d anticipated it, part of the reason why I’d begged Blake and Shawn to hang out with us. Distraction. Anything to keep Jas out of her head for a while.

  Because once Jas got to thinking, the game was over. Not that her life was a game, but she’d been put through so much shit, her reactions had grown predictable. And each shit storm meant she retreated faster and stronger.

  I’d always known one day she’d react so quickly that no one could help her. And I was deathly afraid that day was now. So I’d pull anything out of my ass to give myself a few extra minutes to problem solve an answer.

  It hurt to see her this way, to know one wrong move could take her away from me, to feel the utter helplessness of not being able to help the woman I loved. I was right not to share how I felt about her—she proved it—but holding it in didn’t change what I knew in my heart. I did so much for so many people, and the main person who mattered blocked me.

  Unless I found an answer.

  Until then, I gave her space. Jas was used to me knocking down her door and harassing her with text messages, not living with me. Messages and calls were irrelevant when I saw her face every day and held her at night. All the more reason to be extra cautious, because she’d been known to avoid me when things got rough. The more room I gave her, the better.

  My phone vibrated in my back pocket as I made my way off campus for the day. I stopped walking when I found a text from Mom.

  Mom: Visit before you go to work.

  It said a lot that I was grateful for the reprieve, even if I should be worried about Mom’s true intentions. I drove to the small school I had attended, where Mom still worked. Small white buildings dotted the campus. I never realized how small it was until I attended a hearing college and had lecture halls with over a hundred students in attendance.

  I parked outside the middle-school building. Classes were over for the day, but I was used to being here at odd hours. I would stay and go home with Mom, and sometimes we would drop Jas off on our way.

  Inside, the halls looked the same as when I’d been a student, only smaller. I didn’t know if it was my size or the comparison with my college, but the building felt quaint, and if I signed that to Mom, she’d whap me on the head.

  Her room was as I remembered it, a handful of desks in a semicircle so everyone could see each other and participate. Mom sat at her desk, discussing something with a student. I didn’t want to eavesdrop, so I let her chat with the brunette until they caught my attention, and I realized the brunette wasn’t a student at all, but the new math teacher, Carli, only a few years older than myself.

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to delay you,” Carli signed to both of us, two spots of color dotting her cheeks.r />
  Mom brushed her off. “Don’t worry. It’s fine. I didn’t know when he’d arrive.”

  I rolled my eyes. No skin off my back. The more time I stayed here, the less I had at work.

  “Thank you for your help. I had no clue how to express that in ASL.” Carli gathered her papers, holding them with one hand. “I should go collect my husband from his classroom, anyways. If not, he’ll stay until the sun sets. Have a good night.”

  I waved as she left and took a seat close to Mom. “What’s up?”

  “That,” she signed in the direction of my left wrist. “I thought your father was going crazy, tax-induced hallucinations, but there it is, ink on my son.”

  “It’s only half of a yin-yang symbol.”

  “That you will have for the rest of your life. You weren’t a rebellious kid—you understand the ramifications, don’t you?”

  I hadn’t thought it through, but it didn’t change that I wanted it. “Yes.”

  She gestured for me to come over, and I held out my wrist to her. She rubbed her thumb around the symbol. “And Jasmine has the other half?”

  “Yes.”

  She gazed at her door. “You know, those two,” she signed, indicating Carli and her husband, Reed, “remind me of you and Jasmine. Reed jumped on the job opening for her when it became available last year. There are some people you can just tell truly care for each other and will do anything for one another.”

  She turned to me and laced her fingers on her desk. Done with her part, she waited for me to fill in the pieces.

  “What’s your point?”

  A smile crossed her face. “You’re restless, about to graduate, and now dating your best friend. I smell trouble.”

  I rubbed the back of my neck. Mom did have a nose for trouble. “You don’t like us dating?”

  “You kidding me? I love it, been wanting it for years. Though thank you for waiting until you were adults. Those teen years, I did not sleep well.” She laughed. “Blake informs me her bar closed down?”