by Mj Fields
“It’s okay.”
I turn and take a step.
“Hey, Lala,” he stops me again. “Natasha and Oliver are still here.”
“I’ll go with her.” Natasha walks toward me.
“Fuck,” Aaron whispers then sighs.
At the top of the stairs, I freeze, looking down at the flooring.
“Everything okay?” Natasha asks, standing beside me now.
I force a smile. “Just moving fast.”
She nods then takes one of the candles. “Not all change is bad. But I remember it being hard when Mom and I moved out of the house when she and Dad got divorced. And I remember it being just as hard when she sold the Brooklyn apartment when I was in London at school. I know it’s not the same.”
“It actually is. I mean, it’s a part of life. Neither Bruno nor I want the house, and Mom and her husband have been paying the taxes and maintenance on it for four years now. It’s not fair to keep doing that. And who knows? Maybe we’ll get a good price on it, and I’ll be able to use the money for a down payment on an apartment in Chelsea or somewhere closer to de la Porte.”
She wraps an arm around my shoulders. “You sure you don’t want to keep it?”
I nod. “If Bruno was here, it would be different. It’s just not home anymore. I guess I’m just shocked. I didn’t think I’d ever walk in and it never feel like it was home.”
We walk toward my bedroom where Natasha pushes down on the door handle that turned four hours ago. Even that is new. “Ready?”
I nod. “Sure am.”
She opens the door, and I turn on the light.
I look down to see the bamboo floors. Obviously, I saw them take out the carpet, but still … And the once pale-yellow room has all been painted white except …
I smile and shake my head.
“What is that?” Natasha laughs as she walks toward the far wall.
On it is a painting, very much like the ones Aaron had me paint in every room before painting over them. It’s of a bed with a blanket tent and two kids underneath it with a flashlight, drawing. The girl—me—has crazy curly hair with a bow on top of her head. Her tongue is sticking out and rests on her big, puffy lower lip while she draws on a sketchpad. The boy—Aaron—has an arm covered in flowers and hearts. The opposite hand has a tube of Chapstick in it.
“You know Mom ran a daycare?” I walk over and smile at it. “Well, even in, like, middle school, when Aaron’s and Elijah’s parents went away, they’d come here.”
“I’m going to assume this is Aaron?”
I laugh. “Of course it is. Who else could it be?”
“Well, last I knew, Aaron didn’t have tattoos.”
“I always colored outside the lines.” I shrug. “And sometimes on walls and, a lot of times, on Aaron.”
“Oh my God, that is so adorable.”
I set the candle on the floor next to the paint can and roller brush. “He’ll want to take a picture of it before painting over it, leaving behind the memory.”
“Really?”
I nod. “That’s what we did in every room downstairs.”
“No wonder I hired you to be my assistant. Genius idea.”
“That was actually Aaron’s idea.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
“Nope.”
“Oh, Stella, there is no way that he—”
“Please don’t.”
She draws her fingers across her lips like she’s zipping them.
We walk to Bruno’s room next. Same new door handle, same new flooring and, yes, a painting on the wall.
I smile as I walk closer. “Bruno and Aaron playing GI Joe?”
She laughs. “And you with a Barbie.”
I see the painted pile of fabric next to stick figure Stella with the crazy hair, topped with a bow, big puffy chapped lips, and—
“Are those braces on your teeth?” Natasha laughs.
“Yeah.” I nod. “Historically accurate.” I half laugh. “And the fabric pile.”
“Oh my God, yes! That’s so cool.”
“I had the best-dressed Barbies on the island.”
“No doubt you did.” Natasha sighs.
We walk out and into the bathroom. Same thing. New door hardware, new flooring, and—
“Holy shit!” Natasha gasps. “Is that a showerhead?”
I palm my face. “I want to die.”
“What is stick figure Stella doing?”
“Oh my God, Natasha, really?”
“Oh.” She leans in as if she needs a closer look. “Oh, wow. I mean …” She stops, covering her mouth. “That’s kind of thinking inside the box. And that must be peeping Aaron, watching through the doorway?”
“Oh, shut up,” I say, trying to act annoyed, but then both of us start laughing.
“Well, I suppose we should get rid of this old shower curtain and …” She stops when she pulls it aside, revealing more of Aaron’s … artwork on the shower wall. But this “piece” isn’t of stick figures. It’s more like caricatures that a sidewalk artist would draw for twenty bucks outside of an adult toy store.
“I’m going to kill him.”
Natasha tries not to laugh as she asks, “Historically accurate?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Like, recent history?”
I close my eyes and shake my head.
“Spill it.”
I open my eyes and silently plead for her not to ask questions before I tell her, “I can’t.”
“Did you and he …?” She leaves the question unasked while clearly still asking.
“No.”
“But he …” She points at the X-rated cartoon.
I nod then hang my head in shame.
“If I didn’t think it would embarrass the hell out of you, I’d call Oliver up here to see this. It’s really”—she pauses—“interesting.”
I turn on the water and grab the showerhead.
“Do you want me to give you and the showerhead a moment?”
“You did not just say that to me.”
When she laughs, I turn the damn thing on her and soak her like Aaron did me with the garden hose.
“Oh my God!” she screams.
“Natasha?” Oliver yells up the stairs.
She grins. “I’m in the bath—”
“Don’t you dare!”
I jump into the bathtub, hurriedly spraying down the wall as I use my other hand to wipe the paint away as best I can.
When Oliver runs into the bathroom, I pull the shower curtain shut, to which Natasha starts giggling like we did when we were younger.
“You good?” Oliver asks.
“Uh-huh.”
Hearing the smirk in her voice, I pop my head out of the shower, keeping the curtain drawn as best as I can, while I scowl at her.
She busts up laughing.
“Get out, or I soak him, too.”
I see Oliver looking at the painting of stick figure Stella with the shower-head aimed between her stick legs while stick figure Aaron is peeking through the door.
“Now!”
Natasha laughs as she puts her hands on his chest and they walk toward the bathroom door.
I see Aaron biting back a smile.
“You, too, troublemaker.”
He smirks, shrugs, then steps back.
15
Stella
I keep Natasha and Oliver here as long as I possibly can without making it obvious that I’m doing it on purpose.
Aaron stands beside me as we wave to them as they pull out of the driveway. I’m still waving when they are well out of sight.
Aaron reaches up and grabs my hand, snickering. “Okay, Captain Obvious.”
“Huh?” I ask as he releases my hand. I look down at it.
“Things got a little”—he pauses—“intense last night.”
And it’s awkward right now, I think.
“I’m going to give you some space—”
“Are you leaving?” I ask, panicked
.
He cocks his head to the side and eyes me as if he’s trying to read me. Okay, he is reading me.
After a moment, he simply replies, “No.” Then he turns and walks into the house, holding the door open as I walk in behind him.
I keep my eyes on the new flooring as I take the first step toward the stairs … and hit a wall of heat, hard muscles, and … I inhale. “You smell—”
“I’m going to head up and shower.”
I was going to say good, but now I don’t dare.
I sigh. “You don’t have to.”
“Right.”
I look at him as he blows a breath upward.
“Hey,” I start, and he looks at me. “I’m grateful … overwhelmingly so.” I place my hand on my chest. “So, so—”
He pulls me into a hug, and I love and hate that it feels … incredible.
“I just need to figure out my life because, somehow, everything got all mixed up and sideways.”
He kisses the top of my head. It’s endearing, comforting, and something else I can’t seem to put words to.
“I don’t want you to feel overwhelmed, Stella. I want you to feel unburdened so you can be you—astonishing.”
I look up at him, shocked … stunned … and he looks down at me, confident and sincere.
I’m two seconds from kissing him when my phone buzzes in my pocket.
I step back as I reach into my pocket and pull out my phone.
Elijah.
I look up, and Aaron looks away from the screen, squeezes and releases my hip, then rolls his eyes, his jaw tightening as he walks away.
“He’s my boyfriend,” I whisper.
“And that’s a situation you need to unburden by yourself.”
I give him a questioning look.
He shakes his head then shrugs. “If I could go back and make it different, I would.”
“What does that even mean?” I throw my hand up in the air.
“He’s Elijah, Stella. He’s a manipulative, controlling narcissist who plays whatever card he has to get his way.”
“Why are you being so cryptic?”
“I don’t ever want you to feel like I’m doing that to you. You have to see it, Stella. Just like I had to. And you have to walk away, knowing you’ll never look back because I want your whole heart, not part of it.”
“Well, there goes the whole reverse harem scenarios I had been mulling over all day.”
He stops dead in his track and spins around, his eyes narrowed at me. He’s angry.
“Joking.” I shrug then turn my back on him.
After a few minutes of texting back and forth with Elijah, he tells me that he has a charity event tomorrow evening that has ruined his plan to surprise me by coming over here Friday evening. That we will have to stick to the original plan of meeting Saturday afternoon.
Me: I would love to go with you.
Elijah: It’s going to be boring.
Me: I’m okay with boring.
Elijah: Let’s just stick with Saturday. Spend tomorrow getting things done there so you can move to the city and we can see each other more.
Me: Okay.
Elijah: Chat Saturday then.
Me: Can’t wait.
I toss the phone on the counter then walk upstairs. In my bedroom, Aaron is dumping white paint into a paint tray.
He looks over his shoulder. “That was quick.”
“Yeah, well …” I shrug.
He points at the wall. “Picture first?”
“How about I take yours? It’s your memory.”
“Ours, Stella.”
“Well, unfortunately, there are only two of us here, so only one can take the picture.”
He stands up and wipes his hands on a cloth. “Selfie then.”
I try to hide my smile, but he sees right through me.
“Get that ass over here.”
We move through the upstairs, taking selfies and because he insists on individual ones of me, I insist the same. All awkwardness seems to dissolve as we paint over our—I mean his—memories.
As he showers, I take a few moments to wander around the house, silently making peace with the inevitable.
When I hear him come down the stairs, I’m looking out the kitchen window at the backyard.
“Probably should have done more with that, huh?”
I tense when he rests his hands on my hips, and then his chin on top of my head.
“Relax, Stella. I’m not trying to put the moves on you.”
I’m not sure if I am glad or unhappy by this, but I relax nonetheless.
“The swing set and the tire swing.”
I smile.
“The sandbox.”
I laugh. “I hate that thing.”
With his chin still on my head, his silent chuckle vibrates against me.
“There was always raccoon crap in it.”
“Not after your dad, Bruno, and I built the cover.”
“Hey, we helped.”
“You and Elijah?” he asks.
“Yes.”
He trails one of his fingers down my arm to my fingertip. Then he takes my hand and lifts it. “If I remember correctly, you tried to help, but smashed your finger.” He kisses my finger.
“Aaron …” I whisper.
He sighs. “Elijah passed out. Miss Ginny had to deal with him.” He chuckles. “Bruno cried as he ran into the house for paper towels, and when he returned, I held it on your finger.” He lowers my hand and steps away from me. “After Elijah’s nanny picked him up, your mom took you to the ER for stitches and your dad, Bruno, and I finished the cover. Well, your dad and I did. Bruno cried until you got back.”
“And I never played in the stupid thing again.”
He laughs. “No, you didn’t.”
I turn and mock-glower at him. “You did.”
“I secretly wished you’d sit down and take off those little canvas sneakers in whatever color you chose that day and peel your socks off just so I could see your naked little toes.”
I laugh abruptly, then stop and cross my arms in front of me. I do my best to get it together, yet I’m still highly amused.
I roll my eyes in dramatic fashion. “You have issues.”
“Is that so?” His smile is … magnetic, infectious.
I grin as I nod. “Foot fetish.”
“That’s a kink, not a problem.” He licks his lips slowly, sexily.
My body heats at the unspoken dare, the titillation. His statement threatens and promises.
He sees it. Sees me.
“Unburden yourself, Stella, and I will share every one of them with you.” He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath as he composes himself. Then he turns, putting his back to me as he steps toward the living room then stops. “I’d start with your toes and end with your goddamn perfect mouth.”
Needing a break from the heat, from the sexual tension inside the walls of the house, I walk out the side door, around to the front of the house, and up the freshly painted white steps.
As I sit on the rocking chair, I smile as I picture a new mom rocking her child here as the father pulls up the driveway and visibly relaxes when he sees them.
This will be someone’s haven.
I close my eyes and picture them—the mom, the dad, and the baby boy. He’s looking up at his mom, smiling. And she is looking down at him, doing the same. The man touches her shoulder, looking down on them adoringly.
I feel arms beneath me, lifting me up. I inhale home and embrace warmth.
I open my eyes to darkness and light hits mine.
“It’s late and getting cold.”
I start to sit up in his arms so that I can walk.
He whispers, “Just let me have this tonight, Stella.”
I look up to see his eyes aren’t as confident. They are swimming in concern and emotion.
“Okay.”
With no bed in the house, he lays us on the couch, pulling my back to his front.
No word
s are exchanged as I drift to sleep easily.
I wake stiffly to the sound of Aaron’s voice coming from a different room, almost whispering.
“I really don’t give a fuck what claim you lay.”
He’s pissed.
“You’ve pissed on me long enough. You fucked up, and I’m stepping back in the game.”
I wonder if he’s talking to his father.
“Motherfucker, you haven’t a clue as to who I am. But you gravely underestimated me.”
I hear a low grumble followed by … a laugh? A sneer?
“Everything you held over my head is now over yours. You can’t see it because you’ve got this problem with looking down at everyone around you.” Pause. “Game. Fucking. On.”
I hear him pace back and forth, sputtering obscenities underneath his breath. Honestly, it makes me nervous.
When I hear his steps moving closer, I close my eyes and pretend to still be asleep.
He walks out of the room, and then I hear him in the kitchen.
I hear my phone chime with a text from somewhere nearby. I don’t remember bringing it in here, yet I find it on the floor close to me. I sit up and grab it from next to the couch.
Elijah.
Elijah: Good morning. This weekend will be challenging, so how about you come stay with me?
Me: Open house Sunday, so I’ll have to be back. Should I come Friday instead?
Elijah: You have a realtor, correct? And no, Friday’s anarchy.
Well, I guess he’s right. And I have no idea why I want to be here for the open house, but I do.
I look up at Aaron, who’s carrying two cups: one with coffee and one tea.
“Morning.” He walks over and hands me the tea.
“Good morning. Thank you.” I smile.
He narrows his eyes as I pull my knees up to my chest, giving him room to sit.
“Plans for today?” He takes a drink of his coffee after asking.
“I think I’ll clean up here and—”
“Your realtor has a crew that’s doing that tomorrow.”
“Then maybe mow the lawn.” I shrug.
“And that.” He visibly relaxes.
“Well then, I guess—”
“Come check out my new place?”
“Where?”
“Chelsea.” He bites his lower lip, forcing himself not to smile.