[2014] Ten Below Zero

by Whitney Barbetti

  I watched them quietly from the couch until Jasmine rolled onto her stomach and pushed the hair from her face when she spotted me. She squinted at me and propped herself up on her elbows. “What’s wrong with you?” she slurred. She looked like a drunk princess, with the tiara crooked on her head and her makeup smeared.

  I wrinkled my forehead in confusion. I was lying on the couch like a normal person while she looked like she’d been dumpster diving, and there was something wrong with me?

  Before I could answer, Carly turned her attention towards me and cocked her head to the side. “Are you okay?” she asked, walking closer to me. It was then that I remembered the tears that had come on so suddenly. Self-consciously I turned my face away from her scrutiny.

  “I bet she stayed up all night studying instead of partying with us, Car,” Jasmine said, dismissing me instantly. I’d never been more thankful for her incorrect assumptions. Jasmine groaned and placed her hands on the ground as she pushed herself to standing. She wobbled a bit before grasping the column that separated the dining area from the kitchen and pulled her shoes off. “I’m surprised I didn’t ruin these,” she said loudly.

  Carly collapsed on the end of the couch, just next to my feet and let her head fall back against the cushion. “That was so fun,” she said, eyes closed. I watched her lips tilt up in a small smile. She sighed.

  Jasmine wobbled into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. “Here, Car,” she said, grabbing a bottle of orange juice. “Drink this.”

  It was my bottle of orange juice. And instead of pouring the juice into glasses like a civilized human, Jasmine lifted the bottle as if she was going to drink directly from the opening.

  “Hey,” I barked, relaxing into the annoyance I felt. I embraced the annoyance. “That’s mine. If you want some, ask. And if I say yes, use a glass.”

  There was complete silence. I looked at Carly who was staring at me like I had multiple heads attached to my body.

  “You grew some balls, Park?” Jasmine asked, holding the jug of orange juice halfway to her mouth.

  I was normally closed off, avoiding confrontation like the plague. And yet, I’d just told Jasmine off for the first time since I’d met her.

  I stared at her, glaring. It was too early in the morning and I was far too sleep-deprived to deal with this. I didn’t want to think about the fact that I was also a mess of confusing emotions. “Use a glass, Jasmine.”

  She narrowed her eyes at me, a small smile playing on her lips. Jasmine often looked at me like this, as if I was a toy she liked playing with. Except there was nothing innocent about it. She was going to test me, I knew it. A moment later, she lifted the jug towards her mouth, eyeing me defiantly.

  Before I knew what I was doing, I stood up and walked towards her. I raised my hand, causing Jasmine to flinch. And then I smacked the orange juice out of her hand. It fell to the tile and exploded, spraying orange juice spectacularly all over the cabinets and floor.

  Shock registered in an instant. Had I really just done that? Judging by the look on her face, Jasmine was just as shocked as I was. She looked to Carly and my eyes followed. Carly sat on the end of the couch, hand over her mouth, her eyes as wide as saucers.

  I walked away then, towards my bedroom, leaving them with the mess. It was immature, sure. But I didn’t want to face them, to hear their questions – unspoken or otherwise.

  I slammed my door, hard enough that it rattled it on its hinges, and collapsed on my bed.

  When I awoke around noon, I had a text on my phone. It was a picture of my car.

  Everett: Want this back?

  I chewed on my lip for only a moment, my finger hovering over the reply button. Instead, I hit the button I knew I should: Delete.

  I logged into my email and registered for fall semester classes at the local college before shooting Mira a quick email. Mira and I, though different in appearance and attitude, shared the same thought about phone calls: no thanks. The only way we communicated was via email.

  Mira,

  I’m starting fall classes in two months. Do you want to meet for lunch at Paulie’s sometime?

  Parker

  Clearly, I was as loquacious via email as I was in person.

  While I pulled my hair into a ponytail, Mira’s reply came through.

  Mouse,

  No can do. I’m out of state. I’ll let you know when I’m back in California.

  M

  Mira was the closest thing I had to a friend, though we never connected the way two women engaged in a normal female friendship did. We didn’t go to the movies or to dinner. We played with knives and tried kicking each other’s asses. But it’d been a long time since we’d done either.

  So I couldn’t help the tiny drop of disappointment. Instead, I embraced the annoyance. It furrowed my brown, straightened my lips. I wore annoyance really well.

  I closed my email and stood, walking to the window to look out. My car was missing from its usual parking spot. I’d have to figure out what to do about that. Call a tow, probably. I sat on the bed, facing the window and fell into memories from the night before.

  While I stared out the window, I heard a knock on my door. Before I could call out, the door opened and Carly stepped into my bedroom. “Hey, Parker. Can I come in?”

  “You already are,” I replied, matter-of-factly.

  Carly looked at me confused, so I rolled my eyes and gestured with my hand for her to come all the way in. “What?” I asked.

  Carly shut the door behind her and approached my bed, wringing her hands together over and over. “Are you okay?” she asked, hesitantly sitting on the corner of my bed.

  I shrugged. “Yeah.”

  Carly tucked a lock of her dark hair behind her ear and looked at me. She looked unique. Her mother was Swedish and her father was Chinese, lending her a really different look. Asian features mixed with green eyes and freckles on her nose.

  “I feel really bad about earlier. Jasmine was drunk.”

  I rolled my eyes again and stood up, crossing my arms in front of my chest. “If you’re excusing her from her behavior because she was drunk then she must be drunk all the time. That wasn’t anything unusual for her, Carly. She’s a selfish bitch. She sees me as toy.” I suddenly felt like I’d said too much. And judging by the look on Carly’s face, she agreed.

  She slowly stood up from my bed and looked down at the ground. “Well, I’m still sorry.”

  “Don’t be. I made the mess.”

  “I cleaned it up,” she offered, looking at me hopefully. Sometimes she looked at me like she was a puppy desperate for attention or affection. I think that’s why Jasmine had such a hold over her. Jasmine was a leader, and Carly was very much a follower.

  “Well then I’m the one who’s sorry,” I replied.

  “Jasmine refused.”

  “That’s shocking,” I deadpanned.

  Carly threw back her head, sending curls in every direction as she laughed. “I know, right?” she said between laughs. She smiled at me and left my room a moment later.

  Chapter Seven

  I went for a run before stopping sooner than usual and heading back to my apartment. I couldn’t turn my brain off, so I wallowed in my room the rest of the day. I alternated sitting on my balcony, but found no enjoyment in my usual activities. My thoughts kept drifting to Everett, but I kept my phone off, so I could avoid the temptation of seeing if he texted.

  The following morning, I was working my shift at the restaurant. Doris was especially grumpy, so I did my best to stay out of her way. I ducked behind the counter, behind the cooks, anything to avoid her wrath.

  There was something about me that deeply bothered Doris. Her husband had interviewed and hired me himself and ever since she’d made my cheap nametag with her label maker, Doris had made it her mission to watch me. Waiting for me to slip up.

  I was ringing up a customer’s check when Misty, the hostess for that day, walked up to me.

  “Who’s th
e babe at table ten?”

  “What?” I asked, not really paying attention. I had to apply a discount to a portion of the customer’s bill and the computer didn’t seem to have the option I was looking for.

  “He asked to be seated in your section. Tall, dark, scarily handsome? Ring any bells?”

  I whipped my head up so fast that I felt a pop in my neck. My eyes scanned the tables until they landed on him, sitting at table ten and staring at me with his icy eyes. His journal was sitting on the table in front of him and he was wearing his trademark black clothing.

  I couldn’t help the heat that warmed my core at the sight of Everett. Knowing what had happened when I’d last seen him, my heart skipped a couple beats and my mouth went dry.

  “Boyfriend?” Misty’s voice pulled me from my inappropriate thoughts and I shook my head, tearing my eyes from Everett’s.

  “He’s no one,” I answered, and focused my attention on the computer again.

  “The way he’s looking at you makes that hard to believe,” Misty said, in her annoying little sing song voice. It was as if anytime I felt a foreign emotion, I reached out, desperately, looking for something to be annoyed about. Annoyance was safer, comfortable. Thanks to Misty, my heart rate was slowing and my brow was now furrowing.

  “Yeah, well he’s a guy. They all look at us like we’re a piece of meat.”

  Misty’s gum popped in my ear. Keep it up, Misty, I thought. I enjoyed being annoyed.

  “Oh my God, he’s coming over here!”

  There went my heart again. I kept my eyes focused on the computer, though out of my peripheral vision, I saw him approaching, a tall force of black clothing.

  “Parker,” he said. I bit my lip and tried to ignore him. His voice was like his drink: smooth, warm like whiskey. I could get drunk off his words.

  He was so, so bad for me.

  “Parker,” he repeated. “Do you make a habit of ignoring your paying customers? That’s...” he didn’t finish his sentence because he knew he didn’t need to.

  Hell. My lip twitched. Without moving my head, I glanced up through my lashes.

  “I’ll get your drink order in a minute,” I said, trying to seem like my attention was on the computer, when it was actually completely on Everett.

  He leaned forward, bringing his hands up to clasp on either side of the computer table. “You already know what I want, Parker.”

  I heard Misty squeal a little next to me before I shot her a look. She winked at me and then scampered away. I finally looked up at Everett.

  He looked tired. He always did. But the lines around his eyes were deeper, the shadows under them more pronounced. His hair was in its usual messy, glorious state and his lips were in a firm line. He looked more than a little impatient.

  It annoyed me that he dared look impatiently at me. He was the one who’d kicked me out, and then let me back in. Then he’d helped himself to the pieces of my soul I unwillingly gave.

  And plus, he’d reminded me that I had a conscience and made me feel things that were uncomfortable. The feelings he’d instilled in me were like wearing a wool sweater that had been washed and dried hot; they were itchy and they didn’t fit.

  “What?” I asked, mirroring his impatience.

  “We need to talk.”

  I felt my jaw tick. “Nope.”

  “Yeah, actually we do.” A second later he gripped my forearm in his hand and all but dragged me outside of the restaurant.

  “You’re going to get me fired.”

  “Do I look like I care?” he asked, exasperated. We stumbled together off the concrete stoop, onto the sidewalk. The air was annoyingly crisp and the street was mostly deserted. I finally turned my eyes to Everett.

  “I don’t know why you would care,” I said, crossing my arms over my chest.

  “Don’t be a brat, Parker. What the hell was that last night?”

  I looked away, to the right, showing him the side of my face that was scarred. And then I shrugged, feigning indifference. “I need to get back inside before I lose my job.”

  “Fuck your job. You don’t care about it. Why invest even a second of your life in things that don’t make you happy?”

  I gritted my teeth. “Not all of us have the luxury you do, Everett.” I didn’t speak his name often. Speaking it now felt personal. My stomach rolled.

  “What? The luxury of knowing you’re dying? Some fucking luxury. Sorry for that.” It was the first time he seemed upset about dying and I couldn’t stop the trail of my gaze over him. He stalked away for a second, the sound of jingling coins and the smell of rain swirling around him. And then he turned back and pinned me with his icy eyes before stalking towards me.

  I couldn’t help my body’s reaction. The way he was approaching was thrilling. My heart sped up and my lips opened in protest. But before I could utter a word, his lips were on mine, hungrily devouring them, devouring me. His hands held my face tightly; he held me as if he was afraid I’d run.

  He pulled back and breathed hard. His nose was pressed to mine, our lips still touching. I was terrified to open my eyes, so I just held on to his arms.

  “You are wasting your life,” he whispered. “Why did you fight so hard to live so little?” He drew in a breath and then blew it across my face. I felt his fingers touch my scar and I flinched. “You fought, Parker. You are a fighter. But right now, you’re a coward.” He pulled away. “Open your eyes.” I did. His eyes were hard, his eyebrows drawn together. “What are you afraid of?”

  “Parker,” a voice came from the door. I pulled away from Everett and reluctantly met Doris’ eyes. She stood on the stoop we’d fallen off of, hands on the hips hiding under her greasy apron. “I don’t pay you to lock lips. Get in here.”

  I ran my tongue over my teeth. And then I looked at Everett. There was a challenge in his eyes, to prove him right – to prove I was wasting my life working a job I didn’t enjoy, living a meaningless life. To continue working, to continue breathing in the indifference.

  I looked at Doris again. “I quit.”

  “No you don’t. You’re fired.”

  A smile threatened. I looked at Everett and then at Doris again. “Great.”

  “You sure showed some balls,” Everett said on the walk home. My hands were tucked into my apron as we moved down the sidewalk.

  “Why does everyone think an act of bravery is merely a male trait?” I huffed.

  “Would it be better if I said you showed some ovaries?”

  “Not funny – and no. It would be better if you said nothing.”

  “Ouch.” Everett said, exaggeratingly holding a hand over his heart. “Your Native American name would be She Thinks She Wounds With Words.”

  That annoyed me, as usual. I narrowed my eyes. “Your Native American name would be Man With Unkempt Hair.”

  “You can do better than that,” Everett said, bumping into me from the side. I walked further out of his reach. “You did a number with your words two nights ago.”

  My mind had replayed my words to him over and over, on a continuous loop. “It was the truth. You appreciate the truth.”

  “I do,” he nodded. “But what you said? It didn’t bother me. You’ll have to try harder than that to hurt me.”

  “Why would I want to hurt you? I don’t care about you, one way or another.”

  He clicked his tongue. “Parker, I thought we’d established that I preferred the truth. You’re not very good at the lying thing.”

  This conversation was elevating my annoyance with each one of his comments. “I barely know you,” I protested, careful to keep my voice even. “You’re just some guy who hangs around me like a lost puppy.”

  “And yet, you met me at the bar. And you came to the restaurant the next morning, and you came to me for lunch later that day. And then you came to my house for dinner the next night. Who’s chasing who, Parker?”

  My jaw was clenched so hard I was sure I was going to crack my teeth into tiny bits. I was unused to c
onversation, especially with a man who made me feel. It kept me off balance. Cloaking myself in indifference was impossible around Everett. I stopped suddenly and turned to him. “You’re an asshole,” I said, looking him square in the eye. “Just because you say things that are true, it doesn’t make you an admirable person. Some people need to hear a lie.”

  Everett motioned his hands in a circle. “Tell me more; tell me all of it, Parker.” He looked amused, patronizing. And it only made me angrier.

  “You dare to call me a coward, when you’re the one who is giving up on life. How dare you tell me how to live, when you’re dying?” My voice had raised several octaves, but I wasn’t done. “You’re dying, Everett. Wake up.” I pushed a finger into his chest. “You’re a drunk, you don’t value the women you sleep with, and you stick your nose in business that isn’t yours.”

  Everett walked towards me, invading the few feet that had separated us. “So let me get this straight. You think I’m an asshole. Yep, I am. Get over it, sweetheart.” He took another step towards me. “You say I’m not admirable because I tell the truth even when it hurts. I agree. But,” he said, his voice lowering, “I don’t care. I don’t tell the truth for admiration. I tell the truth because lies hurt more. Lies wrapped up in pretty words don’t benefit anyone in the end.” He stepped closer and I backed up. “And you don’t know a thing about me, to say I am giving up on life. I spent years of my life fighting this disease. I wasn’t living, not really. And now I am living and I’m dying.” He stepped closer and I stepped back once again. “Don’t you dare criticize how I am spending the final days of my life when you’re not even living.” He brought a hand up and pulled on the hair that lay on my chest. “I am a drunk. You’re correct. But Parker? I always value the women I sleep with. Charlotte and I are over. We never even really began. And before you assume how I treated her, maybe you should get both sides of the story.”