by Xavier Neal
“Why’d she do it, Kennedy?” The tremble in his voice tugs at my heart. “Why’d she just…give up?”
Silence begins to suffocate the room.
It’s the very same question I’ve asked myself repeatedly since he called last week to tell me she took her own life. I’ll never forget that conversation. I was making myself a cup of macaroni in the microwave, having forgotten to eat again, but that was normal when I was immersed in a project. He called, his voice shaky and softer than I had ever heard. He described to me how he went to check on Emma after she hadn’t answered his call for two days only to find her sprawled out on the sofa. He thought the horrific smell was from old unwashed dishes or rotten takeout. He recalled how he thought she was just passed out because of the empty bottle on the coffee table. But then he saw the empty pill bottle on the floor and knew he was too late. That’s when his tears joined the conversation and my lunch hit the ground. The rest of that day was a blur. I’m not even sure how I responded when he told me. I’m not even a hundred percent sure when I told my parents, how I wrapped up the project and how I got into town for the funeral. It’s as if I was on autopilot up until the very moment her funeral started.
Thomas wipes away the escaped tears, clears his throat, and states, “I should probably get back downstairs. Tami’s gonna be pissed if she’s stuck doing all the dishes on her own.”
He stands and straightens his shirt at the same time I ask, “Want me to come down and help before I head to my parents?”
Quickly he denies, “Nah. You’ve done enough today by just by being here.”
Hurt by the comment probably more than I should be, I say, “Of course I would be here.”
Thomas nods slowly and places the bear back on her bed. Afterwards, he looks back down at me and sighs, “Make me a promise, Kennedy?”
I lift my eyebrows.
“You’ll come around more often? I just lost one sister….I don’t think I could survive losing two.”
His words land heavily on my shoulders. “Yeah…I promise.”
Thomas gives me a curt nod and strolls out of the room, still sniffling away the last of his emotions.
Once he’s gone, my face falls forward with my eyes shut.
It’s not like I planned for a wedge to come between us. It’s not like I woke up one morning and decided my best friend from childhood didn’t matter anymore. Life just…happened. And I know Emma reached out. I know she tried so hard to hold on while my own grip was flimsy. I just…I guess I never mastered the art of building a future without completely letting go of my past.
Unexpectedly, there’s a knock on the open door and my head shoots back up. Bailey offers me a strained grin. “You okay?”
I give him a small nod. “Yeah. Just um…thought I’d give the room one final goodbye too.”
“I woke up next to you many mornings in here.” He slides a hand in his pocket. “Approximately where you’re sitting.”
How did I not even think about that? “Emma wasn’t very good at sharing her bed.”
“Not complaining. Trying to squeeze next to you that way would’ve been much more difficult.”
“You would’ve found a way,” I tease.
“To wake up next to you? Absolutely.”
His sweet tone and passionate promise soothes a portion of the pain tumbling around inside.
He kindly offers, “Want me to walk you home?”
I rise to my feet. “Like old times?”
The sight of his bright smile lifts more of the agony. “Something like that…”
We make our way back downstairs and give the McCaws hugs and kisses as well as promises to see them soon before heading for my parent’s home across the road.
With the sun starting to settle behind the clouds, the unusual spring heat finally seems to have subsided. However, with Bailey’s body so close to mine I can barely tell the difference. I do my best to concentrate on crossing the street rather than how comforting it feels to have him so close to me again. Helplessly, my attention drifts to his golden coated skin. His sharp jawline and solid frame that appears to be more defined than it was at Thomas’ wedding. While his dark brown hair is a neat short cut, the way I always preferred, his face is lightly covered in stubble as if in between deciding on a beard or to shave. Then there’s the way he speaks. His accent is practically nonexistent now. He’s changed so much since I was twelve. I wonder, have I?
He tries not to smile when he notices I’m staring. “We’re um…We’re here.”
Completely unaware we’ve arrived outside my parent’s front door, I shake away the small haze of fascination I had slipped into. “Right. Um. Thanks for walking me home.”
“Always,” he gently informs. His blue eyes dive into mine and for a moment it seems impossible to breathe. “Do you have some time? Maybe we could…” The nervousness in his speech is surprising. “I don’t know, grab a drink? Catch up?” When my mouth twitches to deny he pleads, “Please? Come on, Kenny. I haven’t seen you in three years.”
In the back of my mind, Emma’s voice hums the haunting reminder of people needing me and of me needing them. Even now she’s right. I’ve become so wrapped up in work I rarely go out any more. I can’t recall the last actual romantic relationship I had or even the last date I went on. I rarely go out with friends to dinner. Damn sure don’t talk to anyone I went to college with any more. My entire life seems to be confounded to deadlines, conference calls, and ridding photos of flaws as opposed to ridding them from myself. When did my world become nothing more than a cycle of working and readymade salads?
“Okay,” I quietly cave.
As if certain he misheard me, he questions, “Okay? Okay like we can have a drink?”
“One drink,” I state firmly. “Just one.”
Any more than that and I don’t doubt I’ll be begging for us to relive the good old times in a more physical form.
“My place alright?”
I pin him with a skeptical expression.
He instantly lifts his hands in innocence. “Hey, just an offer. If we’re going out, can we at least swing by my place, so I can change? Purple isn’t really my color,” Bailey points to his shirt, “and these long sleeves are miserable.”
Having everyone wear shades of her favorite color at her funeral was Thomas’ idea. In a weird way it brought so much life to her death. While I didn’t have anything purple in my wardrobe, my mom went out of her way to find me something to help support my friend’s wishes. The dark purple sleeveless pleated dress with a ribbon middle section to accent my chest fit better than I expected it to. So good that if I hadn’t worn it to my best friend’s funeral, I’d probably turn it into a date dress.
“Your place is fine,” I state, trying to let my guard down.
“Wanna follow me?”
After receiving a nod from me, he pulls out his keys and I do the same, heading for my car that’s parked in my parent’s driveway. The drive from their neighborhood to his is short. Much like the one we grew up in it’s filled with children playing in the street, but the houses are newer models, including his.
I park my car next to the curb and stare at the large two story house in a bit of awe. Instantly, my mind begins to wonder if this was the house he shared when he was married. If this is the house he wanted to raise their kids in. Disgust overwhelms my senses. Why does it feel like I’m home wrecking even though there’s no longer a home to wreck?
Seeing Bailey waiting for me beside his truck, I make haste to get out of my vehicle.
As soon as I am, he states, “You could’ve parked in the driveway. It’s just me who lives here.”
I lock my car and make my way towards him. “Did you get the house in the divorce?”
He flinches at the question. “We didn’t have a house.” The two of us approach his front door. “I bought this almost a year ago. It was foreclosing, so I got a great price.”
Undeserved relief spreads through my chest.
“Wha
t about you? You live in a house?”
“An apartment,” I answer while he unlocks the door. “A tiny one in the middle of the city I’m tired of living in.”
He gives me a look of question over his shoulder.
Realizing I’ve confessed more than intended, I let the cat completely out of the bag. “I’m moving back here.”
His body seems to tense. “Because of Emma’s death?”
“Because I’m tired of being alone.”
Bailey doesn’t move an inch as if waiting for me to continue.
“I don’t have any reason to stay in Highland. I don’t have any friends. I don’t have a boyfriend…”
He tries to not to let his expression change but the flash of excitement in his eyes is unmistakable.
“Plus my rent is outrageous for the one bedroom I live in. I can basically work from anywhere, so I figure, why not move back here? Be closer to my parents. They’re not exactly getting any younger, you know?”
A smile spreads across his lips. “None of us are.”
He opens the door and waves a hand to usher me inside. Once we’re there, I watch him stroll past what I assume is meant to be a formal dining room straight for the huge living room to turn on a lamp. I slowly stroll behind him, eyes scanning the unopened brown boxes that are overcrowding the area.
Teasingly, I ask, “I thought you said you moved in almost a year ago?”
Bailey heads for the open kitchen behind the living room space. “I did.”
“And you just don’t feel like unpacking?”
There’s a small chuckle. “Those are boxes for work.”
“What do you do?” I ask still scanning the area that lacks any sort of proof the room is used to entertain. “Help rob UPS trucks or something?”
He lightly laughs again. “I run my own custom furniture business.” Before I can ask more questions or express how amazing it is to see he followed through with the plans he had in college, he offers, “I’ve got beer. A bit of tequila. Bottled water…” A wave of shame covers his face. “Sorry…I honestly don’t know what I was thinking. I don’t keep much alcohol here anymore.” His hand scratches the back of his head. “We can still go out and grab a drink if you want. There’s a bar just a few minutes down the road. I really do want to catch up.”
The desperation in his voice causes my lips to move without my consent. “We can stay here…”
Bailey appears as if my words aren’t registering. “You sure?”
I nod slowly.
“Want something to drink?”
“A bottle of water would be nice.” When he approaches with the drink, I ask at the same time I take it, “You run your own business?”
“Yeah. I do a bit of everything. Bookshelves. Bed frames. Coffee tables. Kitchen pieces. Living room pieces. Pretty much if I can build it, I will. The painting and staining portion took a little longer to master and occasionally I still have to hit up outside sources, but for the most part, I do that too.” He tips the beer bottle to his lips and has a sip. “I’ve got some finished pieces in my workspace. Wanna see?”
I give him a thrilled nod.
He smirks, tilts his head to follow him, and walks off to the opposite side of the living room. While he opens the door to the left, my eyes steal a glance at the barren bedroom to the right. Spotting nothing more than an old mattress and a flat screen television, I’m tempted to clarify that that’s a guestroom and not where he spends every night.
Bailey hits the light and illuminates the three car garage. Unlike the rest of his house that’s crowded with unorganized, unopened boxes, this area has flow. Direction. Purpose. From left to right you can see how it’s stationed in the different phases something has to travel through from carving to assembling to sanding and staining. On the far right there are three finished projects, I assume waiting for delivery or pick up.
He walks in and flops down on the old futon that’s immediately to our right.
Unable to resist the urge to smirk, I ask, “Is that the same futon you guys had in your apartment in college?”
After lightly chuckling, he confesses, “Sure is. A little more worn in now than then, but same old girl.”
I lean against the door frame still smiling. “You’ve really kept that old thing all these years?”
“Why would I get rid of it?” He shrugs. “Just because something’s old doesn’t mean it’s broken.”
The implication feels directed at our practically nonexistent relationship. To say that there isn’t anything left would be wrong. Sure, I haven’t spoken to him in years, but that doesn’t mean my curiosity hasn’t occasionally gotten the better of me with a late night Facebook stalking. I’m willing to bet that’s a two way search.
“Tell me about the business.”
He seems shocked by the demand. “Really?”
“Yeah.” I tilt my head at him. “Why wouldn’t I wanna hear about your dream coming true?”
There’s a brief pause in which he swallows an emotion I can’t read. Afterward he proceeds to explain how he started part time, but eventually got the courage to quit after he got a divorce. With every passing sentence of the story, his enthusiasm grows and his passion runs rampant. It’s almost as if no one in the entire world has ever stopped to listen to something that matters so deeply to him. Once he’s passed the basic details including a brief overview of the hassle it is to sell licensed materials such as the Pokemon shaped book shelf waiting for pick up in the corner, he proceeds to humor me with outrageous requests and over the top customers. During the entire conversation I stay planted in the doorway, knowing if I get any closer to the tempting flame that is Bailey Cooper, I’ll be more than willing to let myself get burned. Again.
His laugh fades and he asks, “What about you? Still in graphic design?”
“Yeah. I actually do work for a popular television show and independent contract work for Indie films.”
“What show?”
“Saved by the Fangz.”
He finishes the last of his beer. “You mean the one about the vampire brothers that are cursed to save the world or some shit?”
“Yeah!”
“That show’s awful.”
I glower.
Bailey snickers and tosses a hand in the air. “Sorry. It is. It’s pretty much a chick show. They’re constantly shirtless or pantless or getting wet. It’s like right on the verge of Network television approved porn.”
Between giggles, I command, “Shut up! It’s a good show.”
He cringes. “It’s really not.” Sweetly he adds, “But I bet it’s a pretty good job. What exactly do you do?”
“Their promotional teasers. The promotional posters. Sometimes t-shirt designs.”
“And you don’t have to work from their main office or anything?”
“When I took the job, I negotiated the right to work from home by agreeing to video conference calls weekly, face to face meetings quarterly, and a slightly smaller salary. It was worth it to me to not have to move a brand new state a million miles away.”
“And they must’ve really wanted you to be willing to make that happen.”
Proudly, I agree, “They did.”
“Can’t blame them,” he says, rising to his feet. “I’d do whatever it took to make you mine too.” Instead of allowing me a moment to reflect on that, he offers, “Want more water? I’m gonna grab another beer.”
“Sure.”
Bailey starts to move through the doorway where I’m standing when he stops to reach for my trash. Our hands brush and the jolt that shocks my system buckles my knees. He immediately notices the reaction. His body lightly presses against mine causing a hitch in my breath. I watch as his eyes slowly drag up to dominate mine. The moment his free hand caresses my cheek my eyes fall shut bracing myself for the inevitable. It’s gonna burn and bruise all over again, but I would rather deal with the scorch marks left behind on my soul than the ceaseless emptiness I’m spiraling around in.
With his voice barely above a whisper, he asks, “You sure about this?” His thumb lightly grazes my bottom lip. “I’m not stoppin’ at one kiss, Kenny.”
The declaration of his words elicits a whimper. Swiftly, he swallows the noise; the hand that was feathering my face now anchored to my neck. The sound of glass shattering steals a gasp from me and Bailey slips his tongue against mine, demanding its attention. Its submission. With his newly freed hand, he tugs me closer to him by the hip, guiding me away from the mess on the floor towards the couch he just abandoned. Together we fall onto it, mouths barely breaking apart to breathe. My fingers relentlessly explore every hard edge of his muscular body they can reach while his do the same. Before we have time to second guess the decision, to contemplate whether we’re strangers having a one night stand or lost lovers being given a second chance, the two of us are eagerly pulling off one another’s clothes.