by Audrey Bell
“Is he your boyfriend?”
“Ugh. Not anymore,” she said. "He's my ex-fiancé."
That sounded complicated. I growled, I think. I made some kind of noise that scared her. I was exhausted. My leg felt like it was being shredded by a fucking meat grinder, there was a chance my parents would be waiting up for me, and as gorgeous as January was, her personality was a real fucking killjoy. “Look, I’m happy to drop you off.”
"Look, buddy, I'm not trying to hit on you. I swear. I just need a couch to stay on. I'm super clean and I'm not on drugs or anything."
“Well, I don’t think it’s the best idea for you to stay with me.”
“I have nowhere else to go,” she said pathetically. "And Tyler's gone." She looked at me like that was my fault. Okay, maybe it was a little bit my fault, but she did not look homeless. How was I to know she needed to stay with him?
I looked at her.
“I’ll sleep on your couch,” she said decisively.
“I don’t have a couch,” I said. It wasn’t exactly a lie. My parents had a couch, but as of right now, I did not.
“I’ll sleep on the floor,” she offered. “I’ll sleep in the car. I just, it’s been a rough few days, okay?”
I took a breath.
“You seriously have nowhere to go?” I asked, trying not to sound like an asshole.
Her eyes—which were violently blue—filled. Just a tiny bit and I swallowed thickly. If she started to cry, I’d have to take her home.
“No,” she whispered. “I don’t.”
“Can you think of anyone to call?” I asked gently.
She bit her lip and blinked. Using the flat of her hand, she wiped a single tear that rolled down her cheek. I pretended not to see it and swore silently to myself.
She cleared her throat while I studied my steering wheel.
"Sure. Um. Yeah," she said. Her voice caught. "Here, just let me out here. I'll...call someone." She reached for the door.
“Well, I’ll drive you there,” I said. “I’m not going to leave you out here.”
“No, it’s fine,” she said. “Seriously.”
She took out her cell phone. I glanced at the screen and watched her tap out a message to a girl named Olivia.
Hey, I’m really sorry, but is there any chance I can stay with you tonight. I’m locked out of my apartment.
Her phone vibrated back immediately. I saw the message:
Your cell phone plan has been deactivated. Please contact AT&T to activate a plan.
She looked up, tossing her glossy blond hair from her shoulders. The tears had vanished, and she was smiling so brightly I’d have believed she’d just won the lottery. "I'm all set. My friend's coming." She jumped out of the car and flashed another monumentally fake smile in my direction.
She might be a pain in the ass, but I couldn’t let her out of the car, drunk and without anywhere to go and without a working cell phone. "Hey. Just, come on. Get back in. You can stay with me."
“I said my friend was coming,” she rolled her eyes. “Don’t be a creep.”
I watched her uneasiness though, as she closed the door.
I rolled down the window as she walked away from me. "January!”
She turned and stopped.
“Get in the car. I saw your phone," I said. "Nobody is coming.”
She shook her head, but she didn’t deny it. I tried again.
“You can stay with me. Just get in the car, okay?"
She hesitated. I saw a flicker of shame cross her face and she pulled the door shut behind her.
She nodded tightly, and I could tell she was trying not to cry. “Thank you,” she said in a tight, distant voice.
“Yeah, no problem.”
I pulled out of the parking lot. I turned on the radio to fill the awkward silence between us. Without asking, she reached for my iPod and searched for a track she liked. She selected the National and leaned back against her seat and looked out the window.
“You like the National?” I asked cautiously. They were my favorite band, the last thing I’d expect her to pick.
For a moment, it didn’t seem like she planned to ignore me. But she cleared her throat. “Yeah,” she said, finally—just a step from a whisper.
I nodded, tapping my fingers against my steering wheel as I traced the familiar path to my parents’ house. “You want to talk about it?”
“About what?”
“Whatever it is that’s got you so upset.”
She exhaled roughly, and I could hear her breath catch. “My life has gone to shit." She managed to say this like she thought it was funny. "Plus, this car is terrifying."
I smiled. “And you have nowhere to stay,” I added.
“That’s right. Thanks for pointing that out,” she shot back.
“Well, it could be worse.”
“I don’t know,” she said.
“It could be. It could always be worse,” I repeated. “I’m sure everything will look better tomorrow.”
“Yeah, I’ll believe it when I see it.” She exhaled. She shifted on the seat and moved the bottle of Jack. I watched her study the ribbon and Kevin’s slanted handwriting, Happy Birthday, Christian?
“It’s your birthday?”
“Yeah.”
“How old are you now?” she asked.
“Twenty-two.”
“That’s it?”
I laughed. “What, are you in your thirties?”
“No. You just seem older.” She smiled, and shook out her hair. “Well, happy birthday,” she said. “So, where’s your place?”
“Well,” I said. “It’s not exactly my place. It’s my parents’ place.”
“You live with your parents?”
“I do,” I said. I looked at her.
“Am I going to have to meet them?”
I ignored her look of abject horror. Beggars really couldn't afford to be choosers and it wasn't going to be nearly as horrifying for her as it would be for me. “I don’t know. My dad might be up. He was on duty tonight.”
“What does he do?”
“Ah, he’s a cop,” I said.
“Jesus. What kind of twenty-two year old voluntarily lives with his father, the cop?” she asked.
“The kind whose apartment was flooded.”
“Oh.” She exhaled. “Sorry.”
“What? Would it have been an okay thing to say if I couldn’t afford to live on my own?” I asked.
“No. I don’t know. I’m drunk and I’m in a shitty mood. You shouldn’t listen to me,” she said. “I didn’t mean…never mind.”
I didn’t bother asking what she didn’t mean. I turned down the blue collar residential road where I grew up, pretending I couldn’t read the judgment on her face. I parked outside our garage and got out of the car, not bothering to lock it.
January’s high, high heels clattered on the driveway and up to the front door. It was quieter to go through the front door instead of using the rusted out garage door, but I worried she’d wake my parents up anyways.
“Take off your heels,” I told her.
She made a face at me. “They’re Christian Lo—”
“They’re loud,” I said shortly. “My parents are asleep.”
She took them off, putting a warm hand on my shoulder and picking each one up in her delicate hands.
She looked around the small hallway as I tried to close the door inaudibly. A light snapped on.
Shit.
“Christian, that you?” my father asked. I heard his feet in the kitchen.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
“Hey, Dad,” I said. I cleared my throat.
“Oh God, he’s going to think I’m sleeping with you,” January said way too loud.
“Are you serious right now?” I hissed.
“What? He is.”
My father appeared, taking one look at January, “Are you kidding me, Christian?”
I met his eyes. “She just needs a place to crash for the night,” I
said automatically. “It’s—”
“You’ve got to be kidding,” he muttered.
“Sorry,” I mumbled.
He nodded once. “Well, your mother wants to sing to you.”
I cringed. “Maybe I could get a rain…”
“She stayed up to sing for you, so we’re going to sing. Get in the kitchen.” He was using what Sam used to call his pissed-off cop voice I hadn’t heard since I’d last broken my curfew in high school, but it still kind of scared the shit out of me.
“He’s got a girl with him,” my dad announced as we followed him into the kitchen. I rolled my eyes and hugged my mother.
She hid her surprise much better than my dad did. “Oh, Christian, you brought a friend! How nice!”
“This is January," I said neutrally, avoiding my father's furious glare.
“January,” my mother said. “What an unusual name.”
“It’s really nice to meet you!” January said smoothly, like she didn’t find the situation horrendously uncomfortable. She accepted my mother’s hand warmly and kissed her cheek, and I knew that, even though this girl was effectively homeless, she had gone to some fancy parties before.
“It’s very nice that you’re here.”
January glanced at me and back at my mother. Her eyes settled on the homemade cake on the counter. “Twenty-two,” she said, beaming, like we were old friends. “It’s a big deal. You know how Christian is about his birthday.”
I gnawed on my tongue. Yes, I was an asshole about my birthday. No, I didn’t think people could tell that about me right away. And no, I wouldn’t have guessed January, who was so self-absorbed, it seemed like she might be at risk of consuming herself, would have picked up on it during a fifteen-minute car ride.
My mom smiled. My father didn’t. “Well, it’ll be nice to have someone else to sing, because Ben never will,” she said, looking at him meaningfully.
January smiled. “I doubt you want to hear me sing.”
I definitely wanted to hear this girl sing. Definitely.
“Here, sit down, Christian.” My mom put her hands on my shoulders and pressed me over to my chair.
“Can I help with anything?” January offered, which surprised me.
“Oh, honey, if you wouldn’t mind getting the milk…”
“Ma,” I said, “I can do—”
“I’ve got it,” January said ably.
“So, how do you two know each other?” my mother asked.
“We don…” I started to say.
“We work together,” January interrupted. She laughed throatily. She had a great laugh. "I just started. Luckily, beer seems to be the most popular drink so I haven't totally screwed anything up yet." She flashed me a convincing grin. "My apartment building just actually had a flood so Christian offered me the floor."
My father raised his eyebrows. "Your apartment just had a flood?"
January nodded. "Yeah."
"That's funny," he pointed his glass of water at me, "Christian's apartment just had a flood."
"I heard," she said.
"You guys live in the same building or something?"
"Nope," I said.
"Weird little coincidence right there, though. Don't you think?" my dad asked, with raised eyebrows and a knowing look. Both were directed at me.
"Weird,” I agreed, with a nod.
My dad started to laugh. "Unbelievable."
"Ben, be nice. It’s his birthday,” my mom said. “I’m sorry about your apartment, January. That’s terrible and I know Christian was not planning on making you sleep on the floor. You are completely welcome to our guest room.”
January smiled. “Thank you.” She pushed a strand of hair behind her ear and looked my mother in the eye. “Truly, I’m so grateful.”
She looked so sincere and so vulnerable and so fucking angelic for a second that I even saw my father fall for the act.
I rolled my eyes.
She managed to get four glasses and the milk without breaking anything. She poured a glass and handed it to me. Her fingernails were painted light blue, like Easter eggs.
“Are you at Boston University too, January?” my mother asked.
January shook her head. "No, I go to Harvard."
I choked on my milk, spluttered, and started to cough.
My father grinned and slapped me on the back, much harder than was necessary.
January smiled. “I thought you knew that, Christian?”
My father kept thumping my back. "I'm good," I said. He hit me again, just to make a point and I caught his wrist and pushed him away.
“Good school,” my father piped up, still obviously annoyed. "Decent hockey team."
"Yeah," January said. "We beat BU my sophomore year." She grinned broadly. This wasn't going anywhere good. "They were ranked number one when we beat them. It was crazy."
"I remember that game. Christian, you remember that game, don't you?"
All too well. I'd scored three times. It wasn't enough. They managed to win in some freakish overtime breakaway.
After the game, I'd punched the shower wall and sprained my wrist. Taylor chewed me out for about three consecutive days when the trainer told him I'd be out for a week because I punched an inanimate object. "Yeah, I remember that game."
I saw the look in January's eyes: You go to BU?
I nodded just slightly enough for her to see. It had been one of the last times I'd really played.
"Christian almost got thrown out of that game."
I shook my head. "That was Yale,” I hadn't come close to getting thrown out of the Harvard game. I had been so sure I'd score and we'd win.
January cocked her head, examining me. She smiled. "You play hockey?"
"Not anymore," I said quickly, before my dad could get in on it.
"He was drafted in the first round his freshman year."
"Dad."
"Wow," January said.
I shook my head slightly at her. Please, don’t ask any more questions about hockey.
"I don't play anymore."
"Everyone said he should go pro. Everyone. But he wanted to do another year of college. Win a championship.”
I looked at January. She was nice to look at. It made it a lot easier to ignore my father. And she looked at me like she knew I was about to lose it.
“Anyways, they got a championship, but not before he shattered his leg.”
And killed his brother, I added silently. Don’t leave out the best part.
“Ben,” my mother admonished.
My father shook his head while I seethed. “First round draft pick.”
“Ben, this is a dead end conversation and you know it,” my mother said firmly.
“And now he’s quitting,” my dad said, telling all of this to January for God knows what fucking reason. “Throwing it away.”
There wasn’t ever much point in arguing with him. He didn’t listen. He had never heard the doctors when they said it’d take a miracle—an actual miracle—for me to play again. He never could look the truth in the eye and accept it. My leg was shattered and my brother was dead and he thought the problem was my lack of effort.
I sipped my glass of milk, just to have something to do. I set it down, cracked a knuckle. Looked out the window—or pretended to—all I could see was the glow of our lights against the black evening.
“You don’t have anything to say?” he asked.
“I feel like I’ve apologized enough,” I said shortly. “Not much I can do about it now. You were right. I shouldn’t have stayed. I’m an idiot. Sorry.”
“Yeah, that sounds real sincere.”
“Well, if you stopped beating me over the head with it, maybe I’d have the energy for sincerity,” I shot back.
“You’re—”
“Enough!” my mother snapped. “It is Christian’s birthday. We are going to sing to him and if you can’t be nice to each other, you can both shut up!”
She took a deep breath and smiled. “
So, January, do you play any sports?”
She nodded. “Yes, actually. I’m an equestrian.”
Of course, she was an equestrian.
“Horses. How fun!”
She smiled. “Yeah, they’re great.”
“Do you compete?” my mother asked her.
“Yeah,” she said. “Well, I had been trying to qualify for the Olympic trials this fall, but that’s over now.”
I raised my eyebrows, surprised.
January saw. “Why do you look so speechless?"
I smiled. “My mom said I wasn’t allowed to talk.”
My mom cuffed the back of my head lightly.
“I didn’t know that,” I said to January, letting my mother kiss the top of my head as she set the cake before me. “Is it hard to qualify?”
She shrugged, suddenly frozen and very far away. “It doesn’t matter. It’s not going to happen for me.”
“Let’s sing,” my mom said, lighting the candles.
I met my father’s eye. The anger had disappeared. Even the habitual disappointment was gone. He looked at the candles—all twenty-two—and even though he wouldn't flinch or crack or seem to feel much of anything, I could see him traveling outside of the room to whatever place he went when he was pretending he didn't have a dead kid.
I couldn't watch him.
I’d been able to avoid this the past two years because I hadn’t lived at home.
Mom turned off the lights, and the twenty-two candles glowed white and orange, flickering gently while January and my mother sang and my father hummed along.
The candles reminded me of the blue and red flashing lights that long night on that cold highway.
Happy birthday to you
They reminded me of the weight of the truck on my leg. I couldn’t remember the pain, but I could remember the fear.
Happy birthday to you
January’s voice was husky and sweet at the same time, like a half-whisper when she sang. I couldn’t imagine why she didn’t want people to hear her sing.
Happy birthday, dear Christian
I remember shouting out to him. I could feel the flames from the totaled car. I couldn’t move. I screamed myself hoarse.
Happy birthday to you.
I blew out the candles in one breath, wishing Sam was alive. Maybe it was better to wish for things that you couldn’t ever get. At least then you wouldn’t hold out hope that your wishes would ever come true.