The Guys Next Door

by Amber Thielman

  “Cheer up, kid. You look upset. Whatever it is, it won’t happen forever.”

  I got out of the cab and watched him pull away, replaying his words in my head. A part of me wanted to believe that, but an even bigger part of me wondered if it was just a crock of bull. It was easy to believe that everything would be okay when it wasn’t happening to you.

  I opened the front door and kicked off my shoes, relieved to be out of school, far away from the pity-laced stares and whispers of my classmates. As I was hanging my jacket on the coat rack, Audrey came racing down the stairs to meet me. Her face twisted into an expression of utter panic, and for a horrific, fleeting moment, I wondered if Noah had died.

  “Thank God you’re home,” she said, breathless. My breath caught in my throat. “I don’t know what’s wrong with him!” Her tone was horrified. Clearly, the world was ending, and we were on the fast track on the road to hell. “He’s been crying for an hour straight.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Noah!” she snapped, like I should have known. “The school called and said he wasn’t feeling well, so I picked him up. He didn’t say anything the entire ride home, and then he went straight up to his room. Fifteen minutes later I could hear him sobbing from his bedroom, but he won’t tell me what in the hell is going on!”

  “Oh, God.” I pushed past her and climbed the stairs. My feet felt heavy like lead as I stopped in front of Noah’s door.

  I knocked lightly, but there was no answer at first. There was no music playing, either, no heavy metal, bang-your-head sound blaring from the speakers or vibrating the walls. There was merely the sound of Noah’s sobs, devastated and alone. I put my ear to the door, trying to gain my composure. I knew I had no chance of fixing Noah if I couldn’t pull myself together first.

  “Noah?” I called. “It’s Liv. Can I come in?”

  No answer, only sniffles. I looked back at Audrey, who was ringing her hands together.

  “You should go downstairs,” I said to her. “I need to talk to him alone.”

  Audrey hesitated for a second, opened her mouth to argue with me, and then thought better of it and walked away. I knocked again on the door and then twisted the handle. It was open. I stepped in and shut the door behind me, looking around. The bedroom was a mess, as if a tornado had whipped through with no mercy. There were clothes scattered on the carpeting, both clean and dirty. CD cases lay open and empty on the dresser, bed, and floor. It smelled like old socks and stale food, but none of that mattered when I caught sight of my little brother. He was curled up in the fetal position on his messy bed, clutching the photo frame that held a picture of Mom and Dad to his chest. His freckled face was tear-streaked and red, his eyes puffy and swollen from the tears. I could see snot crusting at the base of his nose, saliva at the edge of his lips.

  I had only ever seen him like this once before when his gerbil Hammy had over-indulged himself to death on rodent food. Noah had been devastated. His sniffles had echoed through the house for days, weeks even, after my dad had buried Hammy in the backyard. Since then, Noah had barely shed a tear, even at the funeral of our parents. Tonight, though, he was hysterical. I almost turned around, almost bolted out the door to get away from all the sadness, but I forced myself to stay there. My mother wasn’t there to comfort Noah anymore—and Audrey didn’t know how. It was all on me now—I was all he had left.

  “Noah—” I crossed the room and sat down nearly at the bed slowly, preparing myself if he wanted to get defensive and throw something at me.

  But he didn’t. Instead, he closed his eyes and continued to cry, his grip on the photo frame tightening. I reached over and touched his leg. He didn’t flinch away, but he didn’t look at me, either.

  “Noah,” I said again. “What’s wrong?”

  For a painstaking few minutes, Noah said nothing.

  I sat on his bed, one hand awkwardly resting on his leg, while my brother sobbed and whimpered. Finally, after I was sure he would never speak, he looked at me. The kind of look shattered my heart into a million pieces—the look of a confused, innocent kid whose heart was breaking.

  “I hate them,” he said. His words were choppy, clogged by tears. “I. Hate. Them.”

  “Who?” I asked, thinking of the social worker. Noah sniffed and glared at me, as though I should have known which “who” he was talking about.

  “Them,” he said, and handed me the frame. I took it in my hand and stared at it, stared at the smiling picture of Mom and Dad, sitting together in the sand on the beach, Mom in her floppy straw hat and Dad in his shorts and flip-flops. Mom had a slather of sunscreen on her nose, but it made her look cute and fun loving, which is exactly the person she had been. I stared hard at the picture, feeling my own heart crumble. It didn’t matter how many days, hours, or minutes had passed—it had gotten no less painful.

  “Mom and Dad?” I whispered. My voice cracked, and I fought the urge to cry.

  “I hate them,” he said again. “They left us, Liv. They left us!” He burst into another round of hysterical sobs, and it took everything in my power not to buckle down and cry next to him. I took another deep breath, composing myself, and then set the frame face-down on the bed, swallowing the lump in my throat.

  “You don’t hate them,” I said carefully. “You’re just angry at them, Noah. I am, too, but that’s normal.”

  “No, I do hate them,” he insisted. “Because what kind of parents could do that to their kids?”

  “Do what?”

  “Leave us by ourselves.”

  At that moment, it seemed like it could have been possible to die from a broken heart. I reached for Noah, but this time he pulled away.

  He looked angry now, in no mood to keep talking about it. I hesitated for a second before standing up, debating on whether I should stay and comfort him or give him space. I decided on the latter, and backed out of Noah’s room, closing the door quietly behind me. The sobs had subsided, at least, and only the occasional sniffle remained. I turned and went back down the stairs. Audrey was standing at the bottom step waiting for me, still looking rattled.

  “Well?” she asked. “Is he okay? What was it? Did I freak him out?”

  I passed by her saying nothing and grabbed my jacket from the coat rack near the door. Shrugging it on, I slipped on my boots. My head was swimming, and I could hardly keep my thoughts straight. Audrey watched me, still ringing her hands anxiously.

  “I need some air,” I told her. “I’ll be back.” She opened her mouth to say something, but I closed the door and cut her off. She didn’t follow me.

  I didn’t know where I was going or how I would get there, but once my feet hit the pavement and my lungs filled with air, I walked. I kept my head down, ignoring the people around me—they were faces in the crowd, a big blur of color and commotion. Noises droned in and out. Cars honked, babies cried. I kept walking. After half an hour, the sky darkened, and rain fell, but I didn’t slow my pace, not even then. My thoughts were a jumbled mess. I tried to calm them, to take control, but it was a lost cause. It wasn’t until almost an hour and a half later when I stopped that I realized I had come to a familiar place. A place that almost felt like home.

  For the first time since Noah and I had arrived in Seattle, Audrey’s club was empty. I pushed the code into the keypad, stepped in, and then locked it behind me, sopping wet from the rain and panting to catch my breath. For a moment, I just stood there, leaning back against the door, staring at the layout of the club in front of me. I saw the empty stage, where so often three handsome men danced. I saw the bar where Marisol was usually found, and I imagined her there now, giving me advice in her sweet Latino accent as Ed batted his eyelashes at her. I closed my eyes and listened to the hum of the lights, remembering all the nights we had sat together in this club and laughed and talked—so much like a family around the dinner table. That’s what they were—our family.

  The lights were off aside from a few dim ones near the bar, but that was
all I needed. I walked across the floor, listening to my footsteps echo in the empty room. I kept waiting for someone to come out and catch me, scold me—Avery, maybe, or possibly Ty again. But no one arrived. I was alone.

  The liquor bottles were lined up neatly against the mirrored wall, and I could practically hear them whispering my name. I set the key down and came around the counter, searching for something that might do me well. I needed it tonight. After a few moments, I reached for a nearly full bottle of spiced rum and twisted the cap off. Then I took a swig, wincing as the bitter liquid coated the inside of my mouth and throat. I briefly recalled the night with Emma, when I’d thrown up in the park, and I almost put the bottle away so I wouldn’t risk a hangover. But I didn’t. Instead, I sat down on one of the barstools and stared straight ahead, letting the bottle sit loosely in my open fingers.

  A hush settled around me. Not even the traffic from outside was noticeable. I took another drink from the bottle, grimacing, wondering what my mother would have said to find me in a state like this. I could see it now, the pursing of the lips, folding of the arms. She wouldn’t have been angry. My mother was never angry. She would have been disappointed—and nothing in the world compared to the feeling of someone being disappointed in me, especially when it was my mother.

  With her face in my head, I took another drink, and the image vanished. I gagged, sputtering booze all over the marble countertop in front of me. The alcohol in my mouth burned my throat and eyes, but even then, I couldn’t bring myself to put it away. I was just about to stand up to grab another bottle when a familiar voice startled me from my thoughts.

  “Girl, don’t tell me you get a kick out of drinking alone.”

  I slid around in my seat, surprised, as Avery waltzed in. He was dressed in red leather pants and a white tank top, beaming as he crossed the room. He had a diamond-studded leash wrapped around his right hand. On the end of the leash, trotting after him was a little dog that couldn’t have been over five pounds. The dog, a Yorkie maybe, was wearing a hot pink collar and a matching dog sweater.

  “Olivia,” Avery said, stopping in front of me. “This is Coco Chanel.” My gaze dropped to the animal looking up at me, begging for a treat. It made a funny yipping noise and then sat down, still staring. I stuck my tongue out at it.

  “I thought you were Audrey,” I said to Avery. “She would have my head on a platter.”

  “That’s probably true, Princess,” he said. I was surprised when Avery reached for the bottle of rum and raised it to his lips. He took a dainty sip and then set it back down gently. I stared at it, wondering if my night would end so early. I dreaded the thought of being home with a sobbing Noah and a frightened Audrey. “Where does she think you are, baby doll?” he asked. I shrugged. I had no reason to keep anything from Avery; he was the easiest person in the world to talk to.

  “She probably doesn’t care that I’m gone,” I said, and I felt guilty for even saying it. Still, I was bitter, and Avery was an easy target. “She’s got too much on her mind.”

  Avery looked down at the little dog lying by his feet. Oddly enough, it was still staring at me, and I made another face at it. “Child,” he said gently. “Can you blame her?”

  “No.” I took another long drink from the bottle, relieved when Avery didn’t shoot me a disapproving look. He simply grabbed it himself and took another drink. “It totally sucks, is all,” I said. “Everyone is determined to ruin my life.”

  “Mm-mm,” he said. His tone was sympathetic, but I wasn’t buying it. “I’m sure it feels that way.”

  “It goes beyond just a feeling,” I said, irritated. “The court wants to take us away from her. They want to put us in a foster home with strangers.”

  Avery sipped at the bottle. He was staring straight ahead, thinking about something. I let my head drop to the bar counter and groaned.

  “What is it that will change their mind?” he asked softly. I shrugged, but I knew the answer.

  “They want to make sure that Audrey is a fit guardian. They want to know that she’s taking care of us properly,” I said, lifting my head. Avery looked over at me then, meeting my gaze. Slowly, he picked up the bottle of rum and held it out to me. Inside the glass, the amber liquid sloshed from side to side.

  “Well,” he said, “is she?” The bottle hovered in the air, and it took a second for it to dawn on me. I stared at the booze in Avery’s hand, and then let my fingers drop to the counter, still empty.

  Avery set the bottle down on the bar before capping it, and then he folded his hands in front of him. “It takes two to tango,” he said. “Just remember that, sister.” He stood up, grabbed the bottle of rum, and returned it to the shelf. Then he turned back. One hand propped on his hip, like a mother scolding her child. “You have court on Monday,” he said. “I trust you can figure it out from here.” He looked down at the little dog at his feet and pursed his lips. “Come, come, Coco Chanel,” he crooned. “It’s way past Daddy’s bedtime.” He sashayed to the door, swinging his hips as he walked. He opened the door and stepped through, but not before colliding with someone trying to come in.

  “Um, hi,” a voice mumbled. I recognized that voice! “I’m Jesse.”

  “I bet you are,” Avery purred. Panicking, I jumped off the bar stool and raced to the door, praying Jesse wouldn’t bolt before he’d seen me.

  “Hi, Jesse,” I said, peering around Avery. “What are you doing here?”

  “You two know each other?” Avery asked. He craned out his neck as if sizing Jesse up for a rumble.

  “We’re friends from school,” Jesse said. He grinned at me before looking back at Avery. “Emma told me where this place was, and Noah said you weren’t at home. I figured I’d come by, just to see.”

  I almost melted into the floor.

  “Friends or friends?” Avery asked.

  I flushed and lunged forward, pushing him out into the alleyway.

  The smile still hadn’t melted from Jesse’s handsome face as he burrowed his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “I guess that’s why I’m here,” he said. “That’s what we’re going to determine.” He was still smiling, which only made my heart beat faster.

  I cleared my throat and shot a look at Avery staring Jesse down, scrutinizing him.

  “Yeah, I can talk,” I said quickly. “Come inside.” I yanked on his sleeve, still shooting desperate looks in Avery’s direction.

  “Hold on now,” he said, putting up his hand to stop Jesse.

  I froze, dreading whatever was to come. “Are you telling me that you think you’re good enough for my angel over there?” he asked. Jesse flashed me a puzzled glance, and my face burned.

  “Avery!” I hissed.

  He looked at me, eyebrows straight up.

  “Well, I’m not leaving you alone here with some dick guy,” he said. Then he looked back at Jesse. “Are you that douche-bag fellow?” he asked.

  Blood was roaring in my ears now, and I felt ready to pass out.

  “No!” I hissed. I was ready to hit him. “This is not Elijah. This is Jesse.”

  “Ah!” Avery took Jesse’s hand in his, bent over, and kissed the top. I was both mortified and surprised all at once, dreading what reaction Jesse might have to a gay man kissing his hand. There was none.

  “It’s nice to meet you finally,” Jesse said. That stupidly adorable smile still hadn’t wavered. “I hear about you sometimes.”

  “All good things, I hope,” Avery said, waggling his eyebrows at me.

  “Nothing but the best.” Jesse stepped toward me, and I had the urge to take his arm and make a run for it before Avery could conjure up any more bizarre, awkward moments.

  “Well alright then,” Avery said. He waved a hand at us. “Behave, children.” When Jesse turned his back, Avery shot me his best “I would turn straight for that man” look before I pushed him out the door and closed it behind us. I leaned up against it, panting, both embarrassed and still a little bit surprised.

  “So
this is the famous club, eh?” he asked, and turned back toward me. I pushed myself off the door, trying to look sexy as I walked his way.

  “This is it,” I said. “My aunt’s club. The Guys Next Door.” Jesse smiled again, but it seemed more nervous this time.

  “Listen, Liv,” he said. “We need to talk.” I froze then, a look of what could probably be described best as horror crossed my face.

  “Please don’t say that,” I murmured. “I really can’t handle that right now.”

  “Handle what?” Jesse looked genuinely puzzled, and I was suddenly irritated with him.

  “I can’t handle—this!” I flipped a hand at him, frustrated, ready to kick him out before this train-wreck got any further.

  “Emma told me not to do this,” he said as I paced. “She told me you probably—”

  “Probably what?” I snapped, turning to face him. I imagined Elijah there, too, blowing me off in the school hallways surrounded by classmates and friends. “What did she say?” I said again. “That I’d probably get my heart broken?”

  “—don’t feel the same way that I do.” He finished his sentence and stared at me, looking almost sheepish. I lowered my hands to my side and tried to regain my composure.

  “You—feel things for me?” I asked, wondering if I’d heard him correctly.

  “Yeah,” Jesse admitted. He kicked the ground with the toe of his shoe and stared at the floor. “I’ve liked you since the day I met you.”

  “How come you never said anything?” I asked. “You told Emma, but you never told me.”

  “You were crazy about Elijah.” Jesse shrugged. “I didn’t think I stood a chance.” Even pouting, he still made me want to jump into his arms and kiss him.

  “You know Elijah and I never had a chance,” I said. “Why didn’t you try then?”

  “By then I was sure I’d be the last thing you wanted,” Jesse said. “You had so much going on. I didn’t want to add to that.”

  I stepped forward, allowing a smile to grow on my lips. Jesse met me halfway across the floor, holding each side of my waist. His touch was comforting.