Absinthe

by Winter Renshaw

  “I’m so sorry,” Melissa manages to say a moment later, extending her free hand. “I didn’t know …”

  I can only hope Melissa’s too in shock to notice our uncanny resemblance, right down to the dimples in our chins.

  “Well, I should be on my way.” Melissa hands over the hot dish and Nicolette thanks her before closing the door.

  “Completely unnecessary,” I say.

  “Bullshit, Ford. That girl was a stage five clinger situation waiting to happen. You should be thanking me.”

  “Should I also thank you when she discovers I’m your brother and starts spreading rumors around the neighborhood?”

  “She’s not going to know. Women like that aren’t bright enough to put those kinds of things together.” Nicolette takes the casserole to the kitchen, where my five-year-old nephew, Arlo, is hard at work on a page in his Transformers coloring book. “Anyway.”

  Nicolette ruffles Arlo’s curly blond hair before leaning to kiss his forehead.

  “You going to miss me, buddy?” she asks.

  “Yep.” He doesn’t look up.

  “I’m going to miss you,” she says.

  “I know.” He reaches for a blue crayon, inspecting the tip to ensure it’s sharp enough.

  We laugh.

  “He’ll be fine,” I say. “It’s just a week. We’ve got fun stuff planned.”

  “Like what?” she asks.

  “Guy stuff. Super secret guys stuff that only guys can do,” I say, smirking at my nephew, whose face is lit like Christmas.

  “Thanks for doing this for me,” she says, ruffling his silky curls again. “You’re the only person I trust with my baby.”

  Nicolette hugs him one last time, tickling his ribcage until he giggles. Her annual girls’ trip begins tonight with a flight from O’Hare International to Miami, where she’ll meet up with some old friends from college. I don’t even want to think about what they’re going to do from there.

  Being a single mom with zero help from Arlo’s dad, she needs this time to herself, and I’m happy to help.

  “You’re cool with me getting a babysitter for a few hours a day?” I ask. “It’d only be in the morning.”

  “Let me guess. Gym?” She rolls her eyes.

  “And work.”

  “Thought you had the summer off?” she asks.

  “Prep work. Boring stuff. Just a couple hours a day.”

  “Whatever,” she says. “That’s fine. I trust you.”

  Nicolette grabs her suitcase from the bottom of the stairs as her cab pulls into the driveway, and I can only hope Melissa’s not standing outside watching me walk my sister to the car and send her off with a friendly wave instead of a romantic embrace.

  “Be right back, bud,” I say to Arlo. “Don’t move a muscle.”

  He freezes, his lips fighting a giggle.

  “I want you just like that when I get back.” I point my finger at him before heading out the front door and helping Nic into her car. And just as I’m turning to get back inside, I spot Victor Abbott in his driveway, waxing his car.

  He waves. I wave. At this point it would be rude to walk away, especially considering the fact that he’s my new boss.

  “Victor,” I say, striding between our driveways.

  “Ford,” he says.

  “Have a question for you.”

  “Shoot.” He stands, his hand resting on his lower back. Why he doesn’t just pay someone to wax his car is beyond me, but I suspect a man like Victor Abbott does things himself if he wants them done right.

  “My nephew’s in town for a week. Looking for a babysitter. Just a few hours a day, Monday through Friday. You know anyone in the neighborhood? Looking for someone reliable and responsible.”

  His face lights up, something I wasn’t sure was possible. “Matter of fact, my daughter, Bree, was just saying she wanted to get into babysitting. You want to meet her?”

  That was easy.

  “Sure.” I glance toward the house, waiting as Victor heads in and returns with a bobble-headed cheerleader type—of the studious variety, not the slutty—complete with a tied bow in her ponytail. Victor’s daughter looks like she walked off the set of a Taylor Swift music video, but she comes from good stock, and I’m not exactly in a position to say no.

  “Bree, this is Ford,” her father says, clearing his throat. “Principal Hawthorne come August twenty-third.”

  “So you’re the new principal!” Bree extends her hand, her blue eyes wide and smiling. “It’s so wonderful to meet you. You’re going to love Rosefield. We’re one of the top high schools in the state.”

  “That’s what I’ve been told,” I say. She’s still holding my hand, almost refusing to let go. I give a gentle tug and sever the tie. “Very honored to lead the charge this fall.”

  “Dad says you need a babysitter?” She bounces on her tennis shoe-covered toes.

  I nod. “My five-year-old nephew’s in town for a week. Are you available in the mornings? Eight to eleven or so?”

  “I am.” She smiles. “When would you like me to start?”

  “Tomorrow?”

  “See you then, Principal Hawthorne.” Bree tugs on the hem of her scoop neck top once she’s out of her father’s periphery. If she’s trying to give me a show, she’s wasting her time.

  There’s nothing there.

  And I don’t fuck my students.

  Chapter 11

  Ford

  “Tell me about Grandma and Grandpa.” Arlo shoves a spoonful of Lucky Charms into his mouth.

  I do the same.

  “What has your mom told you about them?” I ask.

  He shrugs. “Just that they were nice. And they would’ve loved me.”

  “They would’ve adored you,” I say. “They would’ve been obsessed with you.”

  “What does that mean? Obsessed?”

  “It means they think about you all the time. They can’t stop thinking about you.” Eh, good enough. “It’s a grown-up thing.”

  Arlo takes another bite. “What happened to them?”

  I almost choke on my cereal. “What’d your mom say happened to them?”

  “She won’t tell me.”

  Sucking in a deep breath, I mull it over. “It’s kind of a long story.”

  “I’m not going anywhere, Uncle Ford.” His big blue eyes blink. “I want to know. Will you tell me?”

  Checking my watch, I calculate that Bree’s going to be here in about five minutes, so I’ll give him the condensed, Grimm’s fairy tale version.

  “All right.” I rise, taking my dish to the sink and rinsing it out. “Once upon a time, there was a king and queen who ruled a kingdom. The kingdom was known for pioneering wind energy, which I don’t expect you to know anything about, but just know that it was a very wealthy and very successful kingdom. The king and queen had a prince and princess, and they were living happily ever after until the queen got sick. The king didn’t want to lose his beloved queen, so he hired one of the best nurses in the kingdom to take care of her day in and day out so she would never be alone and never be in pain. Months and months passed, then years. The queen was still sick, unable to get out of bed most days. The king became lonely and sad. The nurse and the king began a friendship because the king was so lonely, and when the queen eventually passed away, the king married the nurse, making her his new queen and her son a new prince.”

  Arlo yawns. I think I’m losing him. I should’ve told the story in the context of Transformers using Autobots and Decepticons.

  “Anyway, the new queen didn’t like the first prince and princess. She sent them away to school while she ruled the kingdom with her son and her king by her side. Eventually, the king got very ill and passed away, and the evil queen and her evil son inherited the entire kingdom, banishing the prince and princess forever. The end.”

  My nephew’s nose wrinkles. “That’s it?”

  “Pretty intense, right?”

  “I guess.”

  “Wer
e you even paying attention?” I ask.

  “You lost me at ‘princess.’”

  The doorbell chimes. Bree. And I go to let her in.

  “Good morning, Principal Hawthorne.” Her hands clasp together in front of her hips, her arms pressing against her flat chest. She wears yet another low-cut top, and skintight shorts hug her non-existent curves. A hint of pink gloss covers her thin lips, and she can’t stop grinning in my presence.

  She’s crushing. Hard.

  Happened all the time back in New York. I guess I have that effect on young ladies. Good thing I couldn’t care less.

  “Thanks for coming, Bree.” I point down the hall, toward the kitchen. “Arlo’s finishing up his breakfast.”

  She follows me, walking too close for comfort, and when I stop in the kitchen, she nearly bumps into me.

  “Sorry.” She giggles, brushing hair out of her face. “Oh, my goodness. You must be Arlo. Look at you! You’re the cutest little thing.”

  Her voice is whiny as she gushes, and I can tell Arlo’s getting annoyed.

  “I’ll be back in a few hours, buddy,” I say. “We’ll go see that new Minions movie this afternoon, okay? Extra butter on the popcorn. I won’t tell your mom if you won’t?”

  Arlo grins, marshmallows stuck in his teeth, and I grab my keys from the counter.

  “Numbers are on the fridge,” I say. “Feel free to play outside, just stick around here, okay?”

  “Yes, Principal Hawthorne.” She takes a seat next to Arlo, giving me a dainty wave. I almost tell her the formal addressment isn’t necessary in my home, but I don’t want to give her the wrong impression.

  “Be good, bud.” I tap Arlo on the shoulder as I pass, exiting through the back door and heading to my car.

  A moment later, I’m backing out of the driveway, and I happen to catch Bree peeking out from behind a curtain in the living room window, watching me leave.

  Shuddering, I shake my head.

  I’m going to have to keep a close eye on that one.

  Chapter 12

  Halston

  From: Absinthe@karma.com

  To: Kerouac@karma.com

  Subject: Re: re: re: Where for art thou?

  Time: 9:05 AM

  Message: Tell me it gets better than this.

  From: Absinthe@karma.com

  To: Kerouac@karma.com

  Subject: Re: re: re: re: Where for art thou?

  Time: 9:08 AM

  Message: Oh. You probably need context. I’m feeling sorry for myself because I hate my job. And I miss having you at my instant disposal. Some guy hit on me at work yesterday, and then he tried to follow me to the bus station. I told him off. Now I’m worried I’m going to get fired. It happened outside of work, but he could still complain to my boss. Going to be a long week for me, Kerouac.

  From: Kerouac@karma.com

  To: Absinthe@karma.com

  Subject: Re: re: re: re: re: Where for art thou?

  Time: 9:16 AM

  Message: I wish I could tell you it gets better, but I don’t think it ever does. Most men are assholes who will break your heart when they’re not fucking your brains out (present company unfortunately not excluded). Most jobs will steal your soul if you’re not careful. And love is only temporary, at least it has been in my experience. But you weren’t asking about love, were you? I digress. Keep your chin up, Absinthe. Have yourself a glass of wine, a hot bath, and a good, old-fashioned orgasm when you get home tonight (make sure you’re thinking about me). I promise you’ll feel better.

  From: Absinthe@karma.com

  To: Kerouac@karma.com

  Subject: Kerouac sucks. The author. Not you.

  Time: 9:20 AM

  Message: I changed the subject line. It was getting annoying. But thank you for enlightening me. And for not making me wait too long for another Kerouac fix. What are you doing today? What do normal families do together? I wouldn’t know. Story for another time, as you would say.

  From: Kerouac@karma.com

  To: Absinthe@karma.com

  Subject: Re: Kerouac sucks. The author. Not you.

  Time: 9:24 AM

  Message: I’m at the gym right now, running on the treadmill. If I fall off and bust my lip, I’m blaming you. Not sure what we’re doing today. And not sure what your definition of a “normal” family consists of, but I doubt that entails having your sister pretend to be your wife to fend off stage five clingers. Yeah, that happened. I’m not proud. But it worked.

  I smirk, laughing through my nose.

  I like him.

  Leaning against my headboard, I forget the fact that he might be some Quasimodo basement dweller who uses a stock photo and I imagine him at the gym, his shirtless runner’s body, his shorts slung low on his hips. Women passing by, checking him out. Him smiling at them …

  The fact that he’s a real person living a real life outside of this weird little bubble we’ve created is something I haven’t given much thought to, until now.

  Kerouac is real. Kerouac exists. And we’ll never have more than what we have right now.

  I picture him with another woman for reasons I can’t explain. Someone else will know what it feels like to touch him, to feel him. But it will never be me.

  Heat blooms through me. My stomach turns.

  Is this … is this what jealousy feels like?

  “I never see you anymore.” Emily lies on her bed that night, her head in her hands as I flip through a stale issue of Seventeen on her floor.

  “Trust me, I wish I didn’t have to work, but I need a car.” I turn the page to an article on clearing up acne using all natural remedies.

  My feet hurt from working all day, and my hair smells like mozzarella sticks and fried pickles, but I didn’t feel like hanging out at home after dinner tonight, so I came over here to bother Emily.

  “You going to tell me where you’re working?” Emily asks.

  I wince. “It’s not that exciting. Just a seedy bar and grill kind of place.”

  “What’s it called?” Her eyes widen. “You can trust me. I’m not going to tell anyone.”

  And it’s true. She wouldn’t tell anyone because I’m her only friend and she doesn’t want to jeopardize that.

  “Big Boulders,” I say, exhaling.

  Her jaw falls. She says nothing. Doesn’t even blink.

  “Come on.” I toss the magazine aside. It bores me. “You act like I just told you I became a stripper or something.”

  “Do you have to wear those little skimpy outfits?”

  “How do you know about those little skimpy outfits?” I cock a brow.

  “I might be a little sheltered, but I know what places like that are like.” She seems offended by my question. “Do they know you’re in high school?”

  “What they won’t know won’t hurt them, right?” I chuckle. “They didn’t ask. They just made me check a box saying I was over eighteen and then prove it with a copy of my social security card.”

  It probably helped that I don’t look like I’m in high school. Growing up, I’ve always been mature for my age, both physically and mentally. I got my period in third grade and by fourth grade I was filling out a full C-cup. By sixth grade I was the tallest girl in my class and by junior high, at least when I was attending, I’d catch teachers checking me out when they thought I wasn’t looking.

  I’d have reported them, but school lunch was my only hot meal of the day, and I didn’t want to risk being accused of making shit up for attention, which is what the administration liked to say anytime a student pointed out an issue.

  “Do you like it?” Emily asks. “Working there?”

  “Hate it.” I exhale, brushing hair out of my eyes. “I’m treated like a piece of meat.”

  Something I should be used to by now.

  “I get hit on at least once every shift. I’ve seen men purposely spill their drinks on other servers to try to see through their shirts. Last shift, someone grabbed my friend’s ass.” I shake my head. It ma
kes me sick to think about going back there. “But the money’s good.”

  Chapter 13

  Ford

  Bree and Arlo are working on a jigsaw puzzle at the kitchen table when I get home.

  “Oh, hey, Principal Hawthorne.” Bree lights. “Found this in one of your closets. Hope that’s okay.”

  “It’s fine.” It’s a thousand-piece puzzle of a lighthouse, a white elephant gift from many Christmas parties ago. Forgot I even had it.

  “Arlo was an angel today,” she says, rising and slipping her hands into the back pockets of her shorts, pressing her chest forward. I keep my eyes on hers. “I was going to tell you, I was junior class president last year, and I know all the ins and outs at Rosefield. I know pretty much everyone too. If you ever need anyone on the inside, I’m your girl.”

  “Thank you, Bree.”

  “I do cheerleading in the fall,” she continues. “For football. And also in the winter. For basketball. I’m in madrigal choir and art club, too. Dad says it’s good to stay busy. Looks good on college applications.”

  “It’s true.”

  “Dad wants me to go to Northwestern next year,” she says. “His alma mater.”

  “Good school.”

  “Where’d you go?” she asks, lashes batting.

  “Rutgers,” I say, swallowing the hard ball in my throat.

  “Never heard of it.” She shrugs. “I’m sure it was a good school though. Oh, hey. I was going to tell you, I think I want to go into higher education administration, like you and my dad. Would it be okay if you mentored me for a bit? I’d stay out of the way. I just want to maybe shadow you for a while? See if it’s really the job for me?”

  “Of course.” Like I can say ‘no’ to my boss’ daughter.

  Her mouth pulls wide at the corners. “Really? Thank you so much!”

  Retrieving some cash from my wallet, I pay her for her time and walk her to the door before she squeezes any more favors out of me.

  Chapter 14