SSFCollection1 Ebook, page 62
Spice?
Yeah, your hair looks cinnamon. What happened to the paprika?
I gasp.
I did not have paprika colored hair! And if I’m a spice, what are you, Mr. Salt and Pepper? My lips curl in a knowing smile. When I was younger, my hair was rust-colored at best. With aging, it’s lightened, and coloring helps. Also, he might have called me gorgeous, but I’ve seen him. He’s aged well—very well.
Ha ha, he replies.
My shoulders relax. I didn’t even realize how tense I’d grown typing to him, but his canned laughter eases me.
So, old BRHS? Wow, what’s it been, twenty years?
Twenty-seven actually. There’s a reunion this fall during the football season.
I don’t know why I tell him this. It’s only a reminder of how long it’s been. I doubt he’d show. Twenty-seven isn’t a milestone, but our twenty-fifth was canceled due to bad weather. Year twenty-six wasn’t necessary with the death of Chris. Everyone returned home, except Denton. A high school reunion doesn’t seem like his thing. I’d like to skip it myself, but I promised Cora I’d go.
A reunion? Whoa. I bet that would be interesting.
Thinking of attending? I don’t know why I ask.
Are you inviting me? My brows twitch. What is he asking? I’ll bite, I decide. He won’t return anyway.
And if I were?
I’d be there.
My mouth falls open. He’s kidding me; he has to be. Denton Chance would not come back to Blue Ridge for a high school reunion, let alone me. He has never returned.
It’s not like it’s a car ride away. I tease.
Stranger things have happened. Cryptic, but I let it go. It’s almost midnight here, and I need to get to bed. I wish I could say get to sleep, but considering I didn’t sleep last night, I’m doubtful peace will visit me tonight. I’m about to type goodnight when the bubbles appear again.
Can I ask you something?
Before I can answer, a second question appears.
Ever think about that kiss? Ever tell Chris?
I stare at the words. Has he been reading my mind? Will he jump through the screen ready to punk me? I look over my shoulder in the dark office as if that’s a possibility.
No, and I’m not discussing Chris with you. I sit back in the seat, crossing my arms defiantly as the words blur on the screen. I can’t talk about Chris with Denton. Not like this.
Can I ask you something else, then?
I shake my head. I don’t want to keep talking with Denton, and I’m about to exit out the chat without a closing when another message pops up.
Are you lonely without him?
My eyes cloud again. I hate Denton, and yet I don’t. He’s hit a nerve I’ve been struggling with, especially as we crossed the one-year mark of Chris’s death. I miss Chris, but I’ve come to terms with the fact he’ll never be back. He’ll never walk through our front door. He’ll never enter our bedroom. He’ll never climb into our bed.
So, yeah, I am lonely.
Yes.
I don’t know why I offer this truth to Denton. Cora’s been telling me I’m lonely for a while, but I brush her off. I don’t want to admit my weakness to anyone. I’m not only lonely; I’m getting restless. I don’t think I can date, but I feel like I need something.
Ever ease the pain?
The question comes as if conjured from my head, and yet I don’t know what he’s asking me.
I don’t know what you mean.
You can’t be that innocent, still, lion cat. My mouth falls open as I stare at the words. He can’t…he couldn’t…he doesn’t mean what I think he means. I type the first thing that comes to mind.
Man, you have balls.
Yes. Yes, I do…and I like to use them.
Oh, my God. How did we get to this point? And, how dare he?
Good to know things haven’t changed for you. If he stood before me, I might smack him. Using his balls is exactly what he did after our kiss, or rather, using his dick. He slept with my nemesis Kristy Moseley after I went out with Chris. It wasn’t a date, I argued with Denton, but then again, it felt like one. We never went to the movies as just two people, unless the third had an excuse not to attend. Chris told me Denton couldn’t make it. Denton told me Chris lied. Denton went out with Kristy three nights later.
Touché.
My lips twist. I don’t like this turn of conversation, nor do I like the memory. Denton and I never discussed the kiss. I assumed it never meant anything to him. Secretly, it meant the world to me. It changed everything—in my heart. As for our friendship, I pretended nothing happened, just like he did. I decided he wasn’t interested in me like that—as a girl. He was my first kiss, though, and I’m positive I was his. It was the only first we shared.
I don’t know how to end this conversation. Strangely, I don’t want to, but it’s just getting too weird, too awkward.
I’ve gotta get to bed.
Alone?
I shake my head, a low chuckle rumbling up my chest. He’s lost his mind.
Yes, alone.
Too bad. Wish I was there.
That’s it. I close the chat by slamming the laptop shut. My mind races back to our youth, when he slept in my bed as a kid, when he snuck into my room as a young teenager. He came to me the next night after he had sex with Kristy—his cheek red and puffy from his dad. I followed through with what I’d done a hundred times. A washcloth. Ice. Tylenol. But that night, I refused to let Denton stay.
“Is it because of Chris?” he snapped. He’d been angry and distant ever since Chris and I went to the movies. Nothing happened. We didn’t even hold hands. We didn’t kiss. But it was still different.
“No,” I argued back. “It’s because of Kristy.”
“Kristy? What does she have to do with anything?”
“You slept with her.”
“So? It didn’t mean anything.”
“Too bad for her, then. She’s telling everyone she’s your girlfriend.”
“She is not,” Denton hissed. “Is Chris your boyfriend?” His voice whined.
“And if he is?” I teased, irritation in my response. He wasn’t, though. I didn’t anticipate Chris being my boyfriend. I’d wanted the kiss with Denton to mean something, but after Kristy, my hopes shattered, and I couldn’t forgive him.
“I’d…”
“What?” My breath hitched. Never had a question held so much.
“Never mind.” Denton threw the washcloth on the floor and slipped back through the window.
He never returned. Chris and I started officially dating a few weeks later.
8
Upset and Whiskey
[Denton]
I’ve upset you. I’m sorry.
I’m still waiting for a response. I’ve crossed another time zone, and I’m an hour behind her. It’s midnight, but she was awake. Now, she’s ignoring me, or she’s closed the chat in anger. I can see her, glaring at the computer, huffing away from it. I remember her spitfire.
Because of Kristy. I didn’t hear it then. The jealousy. The hurt. I’d betrayed our kiss by sleeping with Kristy, but I only did it after they went on a date. She no longer let me come to her as my haven, because of Kristy. The girl I fooled around with too often in high school. The girl who followed me to California and I married when she told me she was pregnant. The girl who lost our baby and then lost me. I didn’t blame her or the baby. I blamed her for using me to get out of Blue Ridge. The wrong girl went with me.
Because I did what Chris asked of me.
Bitter thoughts fill me. If I hadn’t listened to Chris in the first place, if I hadn’t agreed, my life could have been so different. So would Mati’s.
“I took Mati to the movies.”
“Without me?”
“Yeah, you don’t mind, right?”
“Why would I mind?” I lied. I wanted to punch him.
“Just checking.”
“Did you kiss her?” I teased, holding my breath in hopes he hadn’t. Would he tell me? I hadn’t told him.
“No, dude. We aren’t like that.” But he hesitated, and in the awkward pause, I knew everything. Chris liked Mati, just like me. I hadn’t told her yet. I was still freaked out by my reaction to our kiss. Not the boner she gave me, but the fact I wanted to move fast as if I needed to race, or I’d never catch her.
How true it had been. I didn’t get the girl.
When Mati doesn’t respond to my message, I chuck my phone toward the end of the bed and roll to my side. I’m already in my boxer briefs, hoping for another night of self-soothing release with the help of her banter. Instead, I went too far—asking if she was alone, asking if she sought relief, asking if I could be in her bed. I’m losing my mind over her. Again.
I’m also repelling her. I need to be cool, but the closer I get to Georgia the more my heart races, as if I won’t get there fast enough. Again.
+ +
I haven’t thought too much on my mother’s situation, although she’s the purpose for my return. Dolores said this was the end, and I’m torn with how I feel about her impending death. It’s been so long since we’ve spoken. Maybe last Christmas. The one before. I can’t even remember. I check-in with Dolores once a month. Maybe every two. I’m not certain there either. Mati says it’s been twenty-seven years. Where did the time go? What have I been doing?
I can answer the second question, but I can’t say I have anything to show for the years. Grammys. Honors. A great condo on the beach. Superficial things, which is what I think of my life as I reflect on it the closer I get to Georgia. I’m privileged, and I know it, but I sense I’m missing more important things as I wind up the mountains of Georgia—climbing, climbing, climbing—back to the past.
The forest around me is dark, the road illuminated from my headlights. I should be tired, but I’m wired. Sorrow is my companion.
I make a stop just outside of town. The space is spooky, but I know I can’t pass it up. This needs to be my first visit. Death is the whole reason I’m here.
There’s one grave I won’t visit in this cemetery, but I feel its presence. Too soon my mother will lie next to him once again. I shiver with the thought.
Staring at the name etched in granite, I stand over a different tombstone.
Christopher John Rathstone.
Forty-four years old. Gone too young and I’m a year too late.
“I’m sorry, man.” My fingers jiggle change in my pocket. I stopped at the liquor store just before I got here. Olde Benny’s. The man must be a hundred years old by now, I think. Swallowing against the sharp sting, I take a deep pull of the Irish whiskey in a brown bag. Chris and I shared our first drink with this cheap-ass liquor. I wanted a taste of what my old man felt was more important than his wife and children. Chris, being loyal, said he’d share the experience with me.
The alcohol flows bitterly down my throat. I never understood the old man’s love for this flavor, but tonight, I stand at this grave to toast my love for one of my oldest friends, not to recall my hatred for my father.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t here.” A car crash on a mountain road we knew well—a curve we risked a million times in the dark. A deer on the pavement and his life was taken. Poor Mati. At forty-four, she’s too young to be a widow.
I didn’t attend Chris’s funeral. Too busy. The same excuse I used for my father’s, although there was more bittersweet vengeance in my intention than the lie. My absence from my best friend’s burial had to do with his wife. Her tears for him. Her sorrow. Her loss. It would have broken me all over again, just like the first time I gave her up. I’m a selfish man.
“You fucker,” I curse. “You weren’t supposed to die. You promised to take care of her forever.” I pour a heavy dose of whiskey on the grass blanketing his permanent resting place, sharing another drink with him. Chris and I shared everything, especially our feelings for his wife. Only, I loved her first.
9
U-turn
[Mati]
I don’t hear from Denton again, and I hate to admit, I’m disappointed.
Are you lonely without him? While I first thought he meant to insult me, I’ve been thinking more and more about the question, wondering why he asked me. Is he lonely, too? Of course, I quickly blow off the thought. He’s all Hollywood—rockstars, actors, and models. He can’t possibly be lonely.
“Whatcha looking at?” Hollilyn asks me, peering over my shoulder as I stare at the empty chat after Denton’s last comment.
I’ve upset you. I’m sorry.
I can’t tell him I’m not upset, because I am. A smiley face seems trite. I don’t forgive him for what he said. Instead, I’m confused by it all and my reaction to him.
“Nothing,” I say sharply, dipping the phone into my apron. Most girls don’t wear them, but I still do. I’m old, what can I say. I like the short apron with pockets for everything. I can’t pull off sticking my phone in my back pocket as the young things do. They aren’t supposed to have their phones on them while they’re working.
Hollilyn bumps my shoulder, and I look up at her. Blonde hair. Blue eyes. She’s the opposite of Jax with his dark hair and dark eyes. I like my son’s girlfriend, although I didn’t at first. She’s a professional waitress, having worked several of the local establishments before settling at the pub for a time. Now she works for Dolores’s diner as she believed waiting at the pub was a conflict of interest—fraternizing with the staff and such—as Jax works the business side of our craft beer distribution. My son, however, had been rather wayward with the waitstaff, dismissing the no-fraternizing clause, so I wasn’t surprised when he ended up with her. I just didn’t want it to be permanent. I like to think I don’t judge, but I know I did in her case. Hollilyn Abernathy is from the other side of town, and at first, I supposed she saw my son as a means to move up the social ladder.
When she announced she was pregnant, my first thought was not kind, but she’s grown on me. When I see them together, I see how much she worships my son. I wish I saw the same in him. I want him to marry her. The longer he holds off, the more wary I become that he’s not in love with her. She moved in with him, but I’m not convinced that means anything.
Jax also works hard. As the chief salesperson for the Giant Beer brand, he travels often, and I worry the absence will take its toll. I want Jax to be happy. I want Hollilyn to be happy, and most of all, I want a healthy grandbaby.
Hollilyn still peers at me, waiting for an explanation. She doesn’t accept nothing as an answer, and I’m wondering what she’s doing at the pub. She must have met Jax for lunch.
“Just checking my phone for messages,” I say too cheerful for me.
“Since when?”
“Since none of your business,” I snap, but I’m teasing, hoping she’ll let it drop. Her eyes open wide.
“Oh my gosh. Do you have a date? A secret lover? A boyfriend?”
“What? No,” I admonish, blinking at how rapidly this girl’s mind fires off possibilities.
“Who has a boyfriend?” my brother Billy asks as he rounds the bar. Tall, dark, and devilishly handsome, with silver streaks in his hair, hinting at his age. He has a perpetual twinkle to his dark eyes and a smile on his face, but inside, he’s still hurting from lost love. He’s the owner of BRMP, but tonight he’s playing bartender.
“Mati,” Hollilyn offers.
“I do not.” My voice cracks like a teen.
“You bonking someone?” my older brother asks, winking at me like we share a secret. I make a face, scrunching up my nose. Then his expression sobers. “Never mind, don’t answer that.” As if I’d share my sexual goings-on with my brother.
“Bonking? What are you, a hundred? Who even uses such a word?” I chuckle, awkwardly trying to cover the fact I’ve been thinking about bonking for the past twenty-four hours, but no one needs to know such details.
“I was trying to be delicate, seeing as you’re a female and all.” He winks again. My brothers love to tease me about being a woman—the token girl child in the family—the one my parents wanted most, or at least, my mother did. Too bad I turned out to be such a disappointment. I’m not the debutante my mother hoped for. I didn’t even have a coming-out party. I got mono around my sixteenth birthday, and the event was canceled. Thank goodness for semi-contagious diseases.
“Speaking of bonking. What number you up to?” I can’t believe I’m asking this question, but I want to shift the spotlight off me, and there’s nothing my brother likes to talk about more than his sex life. Billy keeps a tally of how many women he’s laid since his divorce. That’s all he’s done, for nearly seventeen years—get laid. Most people say it’s because he can’t get over Rachel, his ex-wife. I think there’s more to the story. In my opinion, he needs to stop bonking and settle down. Not quite as rebellious as our brother James, who disowned the family when his wife left him, but still a wild one, despite being forty-six.
“I can’t even count that high.” This is his new standard answer.
“You know what they say about a man who brags about the bedroom.”
“What?” he asks, wiping some glasses and setting them on the bar.
“He’s overcompensating for what he doesn’t have.”
“Ew…don’t be disrespecting my junk. You’re my sister.”
“Oh my God,” I mutter, walking away from him. Men are too much; brothers are even worse.
Hollilyn’s been listening to our interchange, and she laughs. “Your family is so weird.” Yeah, well, she wants to join it. I hug her and tell her I’ve got to get to coaching, hoping the subject of my lacking sex life is dropped.
+ +
I hold practice and then head to Dolores’s Diner.
She isn’t our competition, I scream in my head at Denton. I hate that I’m thinking of him, but I can’t seem to stop.
Do you touch yourself? He might as well have asked outright.
No, I don’t. Okay. I don’t. I just feel weird, and I also haven’t been interested in…anything…until about three months ago. I suppress any urges, but with Denton’s question, I’m a ball of fire, ready to implode. I want to be touched by somebody. It might have to be myself. Cora swears by the inner goddess.
