For A Good Time, Call... (25 page)

I
dragged myself to the bathroom, grabbing the plastic container of
medical supplies out of the closet and dropping them onto the
counter. I twisted the top off the whiskey and took a long swig
before starting the cleaning up process. This was nothing new. It's
impossible to tell how many times I had stood in this bathroom and
fixed mine or one of my brother's busted faces. That was the
business, the life.

I
took as deep a breath as my ribs would allow and looked into the
mirror. It wasn't pretty. My lip was busted and swollen, one whole
side of my face raised and bruised, my nose was bent slightly out of
shape and I grabbed it and pushed it back where it was supposed to
be. It wasn't my first broken nose and it probably wouldn't be my
last. I grabbed the alcohol and dabbed at the cuts, cleaning the
blood away. I glued the worst of them, swapped antibiotics on the
others. I chugged a fifth of the whiskey, wrapped my ribs, and fell
into my bed.

The
pounding in my head was what eventually woke me up, the sun shining
brightly in through the windows that had the blinds drawn when I had
gone to sleep. I blinked past the pain behind my eyes, turning my
head to the side and seeing my father sitting there on one of the
dining room chairs from the city beside my bed.

“So
what's her name?” he asked leaning forward.

“Fiona,”
I said, trying to rise up off the mattress and falling back with a
curse. “Mom told you?”

“Shane
might have mentioned something about a cactus,” he said,
shrugging a shoulder. “What's the deal there?”
“She
gave it to me... because she's prickly.”

“Prickly,”
he repeated, smiling a little. “Sounds like someone I would
like to meet.”

“Fat
luck with that, Dad,” I said, finally sitting up and nearly
throwing up all over my feet from the pain. “She'll never
forgive me for leaving without a word.”

“I
think you'd be surprised, son, what a woman can forgive a man who
loves her.”

“Speaking
from experience?” I asked, taking the whiskey off my bedside
table and tipping it up for a drink.

“You're
not falling into a bottle over this,” he said, snatching the
bottle from my hands.

“Good
luck stopping me,” I said, shaking my head. “there's an
entire liquor store downstairs.”

“Look,
Hunt,” he said, his voice softer than it usually was. “I
know you think I'm a real dick, but I really do want what is best for
you.”

“Which
is a good solid beating?” I asked.

“Once
in a while, yes,” he said, smirking and I almost laughed. “You
cant just run away, Hunt,” he shrugged. “It's bad for
business and you know it. But if you had come to me and talked about
this like men, we could have figured something out. I don't need you.
I ran this business all by myself while you and your brothers were
still pissing yourselves. I don't need all five of you here. And I
know Ryan and Shane can hold things down. And, what's more, they want
to. If this wasn't the life you wanted...”

“It's
not.”

“Then
you can consider this,” he said, gesturing toward my face.
“your beat out. For lack of a better term. You're out. But
you're still my son and I want you around.”

“What's
the catch here, Dad?” I asked, knowing that when things sound
too good to be true, they usually are.

“I
don't know if you can call it a catch,” he said, shrugging.
“Call it family obligation. I want you to be in touch. Not
sneaking off to some city and not even calling your mother to tell
her you're alright. She was worried sick.”

“Mom
has never worried a day in her life,” I countered.

“She
worries about you boys. Mostly you and Eli. She knew you guys weren't
meant for this life. You had your art thing, Eli has his books. We
were just waiting for you to come to us.”

“Maybe
you should have made it seem like that was an option.”

“Maybe
you should stop acting like a boy and start being a man. Take
responsibility. Running away was a chicken shit move. That's why you
knew I would send for you. Why you knew you needed a beating for it.
I wouldn't have lost respect in this town if I allowed one of my boys
to go off and live a different life. Having one just take off,
however...”

“I
get it, Dad,” I said, feeling guilty. He was good at that. He
was good at guilt. Which, more so than the threat of violence, was
probably what made him such an efficient parent. “So what now?”
I asked, knowing it wasn't going to be as simple as he was making it
out to be. “You're not just going to let me take off back to
the city after all the trouble you went through to get me here.”

“No,”
he agreed, offering me his arm as I tried to stand. “you're
right. You're not going back yet. I need you to show your face around
here for a while. At least until it heals up. Show everyone that
you're back, punished, and starting your own life. Then you can
leave.” he followed me to the kitchen, reaching into the
cabinet to bring the coffee grounds down for me. “Though your
mother and I would really like it if you stayed of course. Go get
your girl and bring her back. You'll be welcome here always.”

I
turned back and looked at him, my father. A man who I had, for the
most part, only seen be ruthless and methodical. The only softness
about him seemed to exist when he looked at my mother. But maybe I
had always been so wrapped up in my own misery and my own anger that
I couldn't see how much he actually cared about his kids.

“You
know,” he said, a strange smile playing with his lips. “We
have been waiting a long, long time for one of you to get your shit
together and give us some grandbabies.”

I
found myself smiling back at him. “Don't push it.”

In
the end, I had to stay three months. I worked at the store. I went to
the bar and drank with my family. I went to Sunday dinners. I rebuilt
the bond I had snapped when I left. Everyone seemed to let bygones be
bygones. My face healed as did my relationships with my brothers,
even Shane.

My
mom met me at the car one morning, her maternal sixth sense somehow
knowing that today was the day. She had a take away coffee in one
hand and a small blue jewelry box in the other. “Go get her,”
she said. “Then bring her here to meet me, you hear?”

I
leaned forward and kissed her cheek. “Yes ma'am,” I said,
climbing in my car and heading back to the city. To Fee.

She
was going to be so pissed.

Twenty-One

There
was a new tenant in the apartment next door. The apartment it had
taken me ten weeks to not call “Hunter's apartment”
anymore. I saw the moving truck yesterday afternoon and a guy about
my age dragging endless boxes inside. I probably should have helped.
That's what neighbors did, right?

I
was really trying. Since I got back. Since I got over my little stint
of half-insanity over Hunter's disappearance. I had blasted raging
chick music. I went out drinking. I flirted with other men. I cried
myself to sleep. I became a stereotype that I hated. For a good two
months before I snapped out of it.

There
were other men. Good men. Men who didn't just fucking take up and
leave out of nowhere. So I was trying. I went out at night, but I
didn't get trashed. I had, for the most part, stopped trying so hard
to self-destruct. I was healing.

I
grabbed the potted plant I had went out to grab yesterday and went
into the hall. As much as I tried to deny it, there was a twisting in
my chest as I raised my hand to knock. But that was stupid and the
past. I needed to get over it.

“Hi,”
the man opened the door, light brown hair, handsome face, big
honey-colored eyes. Friendly. He seemed nice.

“Hey,”
I said, giving what I hoped was a friendly smile, not a creepy serial
killer one. I held out the plant. “I'm Fiona... from sixteen,”
the word was painful to say still. Damn him. “I just wanted to
welcome you to the building.” God, I felt stupid. Every word
felt awkward and forced. “I... ah... stay out most of the night
and run a phone sex line during the day.” There. That felt more
natural.

He
stood there dumbly for a second then threw his head back and laughed.
“Alright, Fiona. I'm Jake. I... work at a hotel and my
boyfriend and I like to have loud sex all night.”

“Well,
that works out nicely,” I laughed.

“Want
to come in for a minute?” he asked. No. Oh, god no. I couldn't.
Even though it was empty for months, I hadn't been able to step foot
inside again after the day I took my cactus back.

“Sure,”
I said, squaring my shoulders and walking through the doorway.

“I
was expecting to have to do a ton of work in a neighborhood like
this. But the last tenant must have done a lot of work...”

“Yeah,”
I agreed, running my hand over the kitchen cabinet. “he did.”

“Oh,
crap,” Jake said, looking at me warily. “He didn't... die
in here did he?”

“No,”
I laughed, shaking my head. “This one just up and left one
day.” Left me one day. “But the guy before him did die in
here. Heroin is a bitch.”

“Oh,
okay. Well... I'll just burn some sage or something,” he
smiled.

“Well,
it looks like you still have a lot of unpacking to do,” I said,
moving my way to the door. “I wont keep you. If you want to
maybe come over for dinner tomorrow, I'd be happy to cook. I know
you'll probably be living on take-out till you get all this sorted
out so maybe...” I should shut up. I was rambling and strange.

“Sure,”
he said, eagerly, saving me from any further embarrassment. “That
sounds great.”

–

Jake
ended up going with me the next afternoon to pick up groceries,
helping me with the bags back to my apartment. I reached for my keys
but the door was slightly open. I rolled my eyes at Jake and pushed
the door open. “Isaiah, you need to stop fucking leaving the
door open. Isaiah,” I called, dropping the groceries on the
counter and walking around my apartment looking for him.

He
had a habit of dropping in without calling, using the keys I had
given him the week he crashed on my couch while he was trying to deal
with losing our father... and then our grandmother within a few
weeks.

“Well,”
I huffed, walking back to the living room where Jake was looking
around. “He's graduated from leaving the door open while he was
here, to forgetting to close it when he leaves.”

“Your
boyfriend?” Jake asked, running a hand over my couch.

“My
brother,” I clarified. “He's not from around here. He
doesn't understand that in the big bad city... we need to lock
the...” I trailed off, looking to the center of my coffee table
with a dropping feeling in my stomach.

“What's
wrong?” Jake asked, eyeing me. “You look like you've seen
a ghost.”

“Nothing,”
I said, shaking my head, looking around the room. “I just...
there is usually a cactus on that table. He must have... moved it.”
But even as I said it, it felt wrong. Why would he move my cactus?

It
was, however, the only logical explanation seeing as nothing else in
my apartment was missing. No one would break in and steal my eight
dollar cactus but leave my five-hundred dollar television.

“Alright,”
I said, shaking off the weird feeling. “How does vegetable
alfredo over pasta sound?”

“Fabulous,”
he said, putting a hand over his heart.

It
was late when we finally decided to call it quits after a bottle of
wine and more pasta than two people should ever eat by themselves. I
walked him to the door, agreeing to let him accompany me to the gym
the next morning.

As
I walked back into the kitchen, there was a knock at the door. “Did
you forget something?” I asked, sliding the chain and pulling
the door open.

I
almost passed out. Literally. Like... I had to grab the doorjamb to
keep myself from falling flat one my face.

Because
there in the hall was fucking Hunter.

“Oh
hell fucking no,” I said, moving back and slamming the door in
his face. My hands fumbled as I tried to get all my locks into place.
No no no no no.

“Open
up, Sixteen,” he called, sounding lazily flirtatious.

How
dare he? How dare he act like I was being unreasonable by closing the
door on him? You don't just disappear one day and then show up three
months later like nothing had happened.

“Go
to hell,” I shot back, moving into my living room, holding a
hand to my chest. My heart felt like it was going to explode in my
chest, the frantic pounding making me feel nauseated.

This
literally could not be happening. I had just finally gotten over it.
Well, not over it. But I was doing better. I was moving on. A lot of
shit had happened since the last time I saw him. I had plenty of
things to focus on beside what he did to me. About what an idiot I
had been about him.

I
was pacing the living room floor when I realized something. I looked
back at the door. I knew he was still there. Don't ask me how I knew,
but I knew. “Give me my goddamn cactus back, asshole,” I
yelled.