Everybody's After Love

Everybody’s After Love

Lyssa Layne

The characters and events in this book are fictitious.  Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, places, or events is coincidental and not intended by the author.

If you purchase this book without a cover you should be aware that this book may have been stolen property and reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the publisher.  In such case the author has not received any payment for this “stripped book.”

Everybody’s After Love

Copyright © 2014 Lyssa Layne

All rights reserved.

This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission.  The copying, scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law.  Please purchase only authorized electronic or print editions, and do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials.  Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

CHAPTER 1

Large, soapy bubbles cover my retro green and white checkered kitchen floor while my dishwasher grumbles and regurgitates more detergent from deep inside. The foam is creeping up my legs as I stand in the middle of the room, panicking, as I have no clue how to make this debacle end.

“No, no, no!” I yell as I slip and slide across the laminate. Grasping the kitchen table, I steady myself and frantically dig through my purse, searching for my phone. I try to slide the bar to unlock it, but of course, my fingers are covered in soap so it won’t move.

Scooting my feet, inch by inch, I make my way to the stove where my dish towels hang. Quickly drying off my hand, I get the phone unlocked and find my
ICE
, In Case of Emergency, contact, and hit send.
Come on, Paulie, pick up…pick up.

It takes three rings, but he finally answers. “J.P. Rossi, how can I help you?”

At the exact moment he speaks, the dishwasher lets out an angry belch and suddenly, the bubbles that were slowly crawling out from the sides are now being shot high into the air. A burst of bubbles spews right in my face, taking me by surprise. Trying to get away from this possessed machine, I jump backwards, only to slip on the watery mess and fall right on my bottom with a loud thud.

Pain sears through my backside as I land on the floor, and bubbles begin to engulf my entire body. I throw my head back in exasperation and feel my eyes burning. Unable to hold back the tears, I begin sobbing.

“Paulie, it’s possessed!” I pause to catch my breath and swallow a sob. “They’re everywhere, and it won’t stop!”

“Julianna? What are you talking about? What’s possessed? What’s everywhere? Are you okay?” Paulie asks with confusion in his voice.

“My—” Sob. “Dishwasher! There’s—soap—and bubbles—everywhere!”

I can hear him trying to stifle his laughter on the other end of the line.

“It’s not funny! Bubbles are taking over the entire kitchen! Why did I let you convince me to buy a house?”

“Because it’s a good investment,” he retorts matter-of-factly, as I can no longer see the bottom half of my kitchen door through the intrusion of foam.

“I’m having a hard time seeing that right now. It’s really more of a pain in the ass!”

He doesn’t even try to hide the laughter any more as he lets out a chuckle. “Okay, Jules. I’m on my way. Get something to start scooping the bubbles into the sink.”

“Thank you,” I mumble as I stand up, rubbing my backside, which is still tingling.

I’m about to hang up when I hear him yell into the phone. “Jules? Jules, you turned the dishwasher off, right?”

“Of course!” I grumble as I end the call and glide to the dishwasher, turning it off.

With the invasion of the bubbles stalled for the moment, I plant my hands on the counter and heft myself up to precariously stand on the countertop. I push up on the tips of my toes, reaching for a glass pitcher that sits above the cabinet. My index finger grazes the handle and I stick my tongue out in concentration, as though that’ll help the pitcher get any closer.

“Come on,” I mumble and balance on one foot, gaining the extra couple of inches I need to pull the container to me.

“Yes!” I shout victoriously, holding the glass piece over my head. Turning to get down, my foot slips and I reach out, flailing for anything to help break my fall. The pitcher shoots from my hand and tumbles to the floor as I move in slow motion, like a cartoon character running in place. Glass particles fly through the air as my rump lands on the counter and I jerk my feet up, trying to avoid the shards of glass.

“Ugh!” I cry out, stomping my feet on the counter like a toddler having a meltdown.
When it rains, it pours.
At that exact moment, a cabinet door comes ajar, and a plastic bowl dances off the shelf, bonking me on the head. Staring at the deep, plastic bowl, I wonder why I didn’t think of using that instead of braving the obstacle course to retrieve the highest item in my kitchen.

Cautiously, I slide off the counter and take a giant leap into my living room. Running down my carpet-lined hallway, leaving soapy footprints in my wake, I head into my bedroom. My neon yellow running shoes scream at me and I slip them on before returning to the war zone.

First things first—the killer bubbles. Grabbing the bowl, I begin scooping… and scooping… and scooping, until finally my kitchen door opens and I see my knight in shining armor, err, business suit.

“‘Bout time you got here!”

Paulie looks around the room with a hint of a smile on his face, and then his eyes land on me. The small smile turns into a full-fledged grin, showing off the set of dimples that we both have inherited from our father. Bending down, he doubles over in laughter and sets a grocery sack on the table. He rolls up the sleeves of his white dress shirt and loosens his tie.

Anger storms through me, and I throw the bowl in his direction as he makes his way to me. “What? Had to stop off for a snack?” I snap, irritated that he didn’t arrive sooner.

“Calm down, sis. I got fabric softener, which should make the bubbles go away, and there’s a mop in my Explorer to help clean up the mess. Consider it a housewarming gift,” my big brother says as he runs his index finger down my nose and gives it a light tap.

I move my arms around his lower torso and give him a tight squeeze. My anger is replaced by relief that he’ll fix this. He always does. He’s the big brother; that’s his job. It always has been, for as long as I can remember.

Paulie takes a handful of bubbles and places them onto my brown hair, just another trait we inherited from our father. “Ta-da! Princess Jules!” he announces with an infectious laugh, and I can’t help but join him. Not only does he make every situation better, but my big brother also always knows how to make me laugh.

***

Grunting, I tug at the last lug nut on the wheel of the Bobcat excavator. Finally in place, I pull my thick Carthart coat around my neck as the wind whips through the shed. Taking a look outside, I can tell by the dark night that it’s well past dinner time. All the other guys left a few hours ago, but as the boss, I have to stick around to make sure everything is ready before we start work tomorrow. I return the wrench to the old toolbox, one that’s been passed down from generation to generation in our family.

Before I flip off the light, I take a look around the building and smile.
This is mine, all mine.
The shovels, wheelbarrows, mowers, excavator… they’re all part of the landscaping business that I’ve bought from my father. I didn’t always want to run it, but after my life took a turn off the course it was headed, I needed something to focus my attention on, and this was the perfect distraction.

As I lock the door to the shed and walk to my truck, I see headlights driving down the usually isolated road. The driveway isn’t long, so it only takes a few seconds for the truck to come into view, and I recognize it as my father’s. He pulls up beside me, not turning off the engine, simply rolling down the window.

“Your mother was starting to get worried, son,” he comments.

I sigh and nod. “Sorry, Dad. I got caught up trying to fix a machine. You know it’s cheaper to do it yourself than take it to the mechanic.”

I’m twenty-nine, and have recently moved back home. Not because I don’t own my own house, I do. But there are too many bad memories lurking there that I prefer not to relive day after day. At the time, moving back in with my parents seemed like a good idea, but late nights like this make me cringe.

“I understand, Bent. Hurry up though, your sister is coming over to see you,” he responds, and drives off without any further explanation.

My baby sister, Brianna, is finishing up college in May.
What could she need?
Maybe she has a job interview she wants to practice for. Or, I think she has a professor that I had back when I was in school; she probably just needs pointers on how to study for the class. Jumping into my truck, I rev the engine and start the drive to my parents’ place. Whatever Bri needs, I’ll take care of it. It’s just what big brothers do.

CHAPTER 2

An hour later and the bubbles have disappeared thanks to the fabric softener. Sweeping up the last of the glass from the broken pitcher, Paulie holds up a large piece that is imprinted with the St. Louis Cardinals’ emblem. Shaking his head, he apologizes as though it’s his fault. “Sorry, Jules, I know this meant a lot to you.”

I shrug, although he’s right. The pitcher was a graduation gift from Smitty, one of my brother’s friends. Suddenly, all the events of the morning hit me and I start to cry again. I hate crying, it makes me feel weak. My brother is the only man I’ve ever cried in front of and he hates it when I cry even more than I do.