Mending Michael (19 page)

MICK

"Oh my God. Oh my...Kenna?" Holly asks, shaking her head in disbelief.

"I don't know. Charity won't have a DNA test done, and she said it could have been any number of guys."

Holly's eyes flash wide for a tenth of a second. I may have missed it had I not been looking into her eyes so deeply. I want to know what Holly
really
thinks of me. Does she judge me? Does she think I'm a horrible person? You know, the usual things one wonders when he's with good people and they find out he's not what they might have thought all along. I can't believe I'm telling her all that I'm telling her right now, but these past couple days I've just wanted to scream. I wanted to die too. But then I thought about Kenna, and if I weren't here to keep an eye on her, who would? Just because Charity is in rehab right now, it's no guarantee she'll be recovered. No. I have to be here for Kenna. Even if the judge thinks I'm unfit. If I'm alive, I'm at least here to fight for her.

"Well I hope that guy went to jail too," Holly states adamantly.

"Yeah. He did. And I only had to serve three months."

"You shouldn't have had to serve time at all. He deserved it."

"Yeah. But...So, you're not
afraid
of me or anything? Now that you know I can get angry enough to nearly kill someone."

"You're kidding right? Why would I be afraid? Because you gave an asshole what he deserved?"

I am so utterly relieved to hear Holly say that, because I had been so worried about what she would think of me. She may be a smart-ass, but she's also refined and quite classy. I wondered if she'd even want a barbaric man like me in her life. But right now, I am so thoroughly grateful that she doesn’t find my actions reproachful, that I reach over, and without thinking, grab her behind her head with both hands and assault her mouth with mine. She opens her mouth and allows me in, sweeping her tongue over mine as I release all my stifled emotions in this one kiss. I kiss her with such fierce intensity I don’t even realize I’d pushed her down on her back and have her restrained beneath me. It isn’t until I feel a punch to my arm that I become conscious of what I’m doing. Holly’s shirt is rumpled above her chest, her navy and white polka-dot bra askew over her breasts.“Get off me, Mick. Now,” she commands.

With my offending hands, I fix her bra and pull her shirt back down. “Oh my God, Holly, I am so,” I lift her up by her hands and brush the soil off her back, “sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

She pulls on the hem of her shirt to fix it and chastises me with her eyes.

“I’m really so sorry,” I say, already starting to cry. “I…oh my, God, Holly, I was just so, I’ve wanted you so badly, and I’m not thinking clearly, and I…”

“I know. Look, I was into it too, but then…what did you think? I’d just let you fuck me out here in the yard?” she asks seriously.

“No. No, of course not. I, you, just, felt so good beneath my hands that I…I was moving too fast, I’m so sorry.”

“I wasn’t even supposed to let you kiss me until…well, until, I don’t know. Just…not out here. Not now…not,…”

“I know. Holly, it won’t happen again. I’ve got like all this alcohol in me,” I say, lifting the empty bottle next to me, “and I wasn’t thinking clearly.”

“No. No, it’s fine. I’m totally sober, and I wanted you to touch me like that, it’s just…you were moving way too fast. I don’t like that. You may not believe this, but I am a fucking virgin for a reason. I don’t like to be in a submissive position. It’s, well, it’s something I’m uncomfortable with, so…I’m sorry if my punch hurt you.”

I laugh, because, though I felt it, it did not come close to hurting.

“You’re laughing at my fucking punch? I’ll punch you again if you’d like,” she jokes.

I hold up my hand, “No, no, I’m good...so…you’re a virgin?”

“Yes,” she says, her tone clipped. “You got a problem with that?”

“Of course not,” I say, feeling my cheeks go warm as I watch hers turn red.

She shakes her head and says, “Drop it.”

“It’s dropped,” I promise.

After an intense and yet another awkward silence, Holly slowly says, "You know, Michael, it's not your fault about your brother. You were, what, eight? Why were you the one in charge anyway?"

I wasn’t expecting her to bring that back up, but I find myself more than willing to talk about it with her. "My parents had
friends
over," I begin, remembering angrily how much I hated my parents’ friends. How my parents would ignore us anytime they had one of their
parties
. They'd make us stay in our rooms, or go outside. We were forbidden to enter the living room when their friends were over. And we were forbidden to bother them. "Friends who drank. Friends who did drugs. Friends who did...other things."

"Other things?" Holly asks innocently.

"Sex things." I cringe at the memory of walking into my living room filled with naked men and women doing awful things to each other.

"Sex things? Oh my God, like swinging?"

"I guess," I say, embarrassed. "Lots of drugs and drinking too."

"And you were told to watch your brother while they partied and
orgied
?"

I nod. "Yup. And I don't think my parents were sober another day in their life after that."

Holly looks at me, questioning me with her warm brown eyes.

"Like me, they blame themselves. That's why the house looks the way it does. After Frankie died, my parents stopped living. Stopped doing things, buying things...except for their drugs and their booze. They bought
that
, of course. My father continued working his screen-printing business, but he just went through the motions after that. Then... T got raped, then pregnant, and they couldn't take it anymore. They sold the business to get the money, left us with the house and all its terrible memories, and moved. We haven't heard from them since, except for a postcard three years ago saying that they found a place and now live in Florida. Nice, right?"

Her eyes are wide, her mouth frozen in awe. When she finally closes her mouth, it opens back up to say, "Oh, Michael."

"I like when you call me that," I decide to tell her. I like that it makes me feel worthy.

"Michael? You have to be starving. Let me get you something to eat."

"Yes, I'm starving. But I need a shower first."

"Have you really been sitting here since Friday night?"

"Pretty much."

"Oh my God, what about sleeping...or going to the bathroom?"

I chuckle beneath my breath. "I'm only in the backyard. I'm not in the woods. My house is right there, and so is my old apartment," I say, pointing to the room above the garage. "I slept in my old room. The one that's supposed to be my new room."

"In the house?"

"Yeah. I moved all my furniture. The apartment above Donny's is empty now."

"So... you weren't sleeping out here all weekend?"

Now I laugh out loud. "No. I'm not that crazy. I slept inside. Shit inside. Grabbed some old booze I found in the basement. But I spent my days out here. I hate that house. I really do."

"It's in your name?"

"Yeah."

"Then sell it. Buy a new house. A house you're proud to live in. A house you'll be proud to raise Kenna in."

Just like that, it's all there in front of me. How stupid have I been? Sell the house. "Yeah. I can buy a two-family, so Charity has a place to live too. I'm such a dumb-ass. I don't know why I hadn't thought of that, Holly."

"Your mind has been quite occupied these days."

"Yeah. Let's go in," I say, standing, stretching my tight muscles. "I desperately need to get out of these clothes."

"Where are your shoes, by the way?" She asks, behind me.

"In the house. I wasn't too...aware this weekend."

I open the door and allow her to step in first.

"I guess not." Holly's eyes survey the kitchen. "You painted. When?"

"Last week. I thought maybe that services lady would come back, and I wanted...never mind. Last week. I painted the house last week."

"I see you have stuff from your apartment." I now follow Holly to the living room.

She blushes. She must be thinking about my parents'
parties
. "It looks...different. I like the cranberry and gray. It's very classy. Looks good with your black leather couch."

"I couldn't stand my mother's furniture. It's all in the apartment out back."

"I'm proud of you, Michael. It must have taken a lot to do this. Not the painting and all. Coming back here...to this place you hate...for your niece. It's self-sacrificing. It's a quality we don't see too often."

I don't know how Holly does it, but she always manages to make me feel good about myself. Even when she's cutting me to pieces. She makes me feel... worthy. "Thank you." I want to say so much more. Do so much more. I've missed her terribly this past week. But I don’t tell her so. "Make yourself comfortable. The remote's on the coffee table. I hung my flat-screen up." I proudly point to it on the wall.

"Go. I'll be fine."

And with a huge smile on my face, I go take a shower.

What a difference a day makes.

What a difference my Holiday makes.

HOLLY

Mick comes back into the living room, holding his white shirt in his hand and smiling. With his hair a black wavy wet mess and his jeans slung just right on his hips, he is gorgeous.

"You look happy," I observe, confused.

"
You
make me happy," he says, smiling, taking a seat next to me and tossing his shirt on the coffee table. "Thank you, Holly. I don't know what it is about you, but...you make me feel like...things are tangible." He takes my hands, both of them, and holds them on his lap. His left knee is touching my right knee, and we're facing each other. "I was so depressed this weekend. I...I actually thought about...I wanted to die. I did. I was in such a low place Friday night," he says almost as a matter of fact, his sadness is hidden. Not gone for good, because I see it in his eyes, but he's less sad than he's been. That I can tell. "I drank a lot. I slept a lot. I drank some more. But as I stared out at that pool, the place where my life all fell apart, I thought, 'if I take my life now, then Kenna's life will fall apart.’ I couldn't let that happen. I
can't
let that happen. So that's when I started to clamber out of that deep hole of pity I dug for myself." He shares a half-smile with me. "I have a
lot
of shit to get together, Holl." His hands tighten around mine. "But between you and Kenna... I
want
to get it together."

Since he's got such a grasp on my hands that I can't turn them around to give him a squeeze, or set them free to give him a hug, I lean in and kiss him right on the mouth. One of those kisses like he gave me that first time. A gratitude kiss. He makes me feel good about being me. When I pull away from the kiss, I whisper, "Thank you."

He's still staring so deeply into my eyes, and I am
not
a fan of deep emotions. No, sir. They make me uncomfortable, and I think I've reached my quota for the weekend, so I gently, yet forcefully, remove my hands from his death grip and declare, "It's time for a burger. I need to eat. And so do you, unless you enjoy your body feeding off of itself."

He stands and grabs his shirt. "You are disgusting."

I watch him cover his lean, muscular chest with the flimsy white t-shirt. "Me? You are. Thank God you finally put a shirt on."

I see him roll his eyes before he turns to go out through the kitchen. "Uh," he stops to turn to me, "I left my bike at...I don't have my bike. I walked home. We can take T's car, it's in the garage, unless you want to drive."

"I'll drive. You're probably still drunk from all that vodka you drank."

"Eh. Maybe. But yeah. You drive. We can go in your fancy car."

"It's not
fancy
."

"It's pearl white, it's a Mercedes, and it's a convertible. In my book, that's fancy."

"Okay," I say with a shrug. "Fancy it is. That's what I'll name her. I always wanted a car with a name."

He shakes his head and laughs quietly, but the smile stays on his face as he gets in the car.

"So where's Fancy taking us?" I start the car, but don't pull out of his driveway.

"Not to Donny's. I'm not in the mood to see people I know." When I look at Mick, I see hints of the man I saw by the pool today.

"Okay. How 'bout pizza? I know a place. It's nice and quiet."

"Sure."

When I pull away from the curb, Mick leans forward, lowering the volume on the already low radio. "Holly?"

I glance quickly at him, saying, "Hmmm?" and return my attention back to the dimly lit roadway in front of us.

"How is your internship going?"

"Eh. I hate it. But...I like my paycheck."

"Yeah? It pays well? I thought internships were usually done for little or no money."

"Not on Wall Street, I guess."

"Why didn't you call or text me?"

"What?" I ask, caught off guard.

"I hadn't heard from you in over a week."

"Oh." I peek over to him, trying to concentrate on the now busy road that we're on, while attempting to gather the seriousness of his question. "I'm sorry, Michael, I...it was an exhausting week, and..."

"It's okay," he says quickly, "Forget I mentioned it."

I nod, but I know it's not okay.

Tout suite, I want that radio back on, because I don't know what to say. I didn't
not
text him because I wasn't thinking about him. On the contrary, I thought about him all the time. Truthfully, I hadn't known
what
to say. His whole ordeal with Kenna and Charity is just so serious, and I had such a terrible week trying to get the hang of the stock market that I thought my problems couldn't compare. My three day a week job turned out to be every day. My father lied.

"Michael," I say after parking the car in the pizza lot and turning off the engine. "I'm really sorry." Turning in my seat so I can face him fully, I explain why I hadn't called or texted him. "I wanted to call you many times last week. I did."

"Holly. It's fine." His hand is on the door handle, ready to pull it open.

Setting my hand on his thigh, I plead, "No, Michael, it's not fine. I need to explain."

His hand drops from the door, and he turns his body towards me. "Okay."

"I was having a bad week, I couldn't grasp my responsibilities at work. The job ended up being
every
day. At first, I was commuting back and forth, and..." I look at his tight expression and realize I'm not really giving him a proper excuse. "Michael, I didn't know what to say to you. I didn't want to burden you with my problems, I'm not used to talking about...well complaining about myself, and I was in a bad mood," and I sigh, "and I didn't want to bother you, and..." I look at Mick's frown, and I realize there is no excuse and I'm just rambling. "I'm sorry, Michael." I pause for a really long time. "The truth is... I didn't know if I should call you. I've never been in... well, in a relationship, and, well, I don't know," I move my finger back and forth between us, "what we are, and sometimes you hate me, and sometimes you don't, and..."

The corner of his lip starts to turn up and his frown disappears.

"I don't have a good reason. I'm sorry. I should have called you. I didn't. But I thought about you every night. Every night," I say quietly.

Mick looks down at my hand on his thigh and picks it up. The next thing I know, the back of my hand is pressed up against his lips.

When his eyes meet mine again, they're genuine and warm. "It's okay, Holly. Really," he insists, smiling and holding my gaze, as well as my hand. "I missed you, that's all." His smile brightens and he says, "You know what? I haven't eaten since sometime Thursday, aside from a few handfuls of Frosted Flakes I shoved in my mouth here and there. I'm starving. Can we..."

"Oh my goodness, Michael, of course." I pull the key out of the ignition and open my door.

"It's a tiny place," he says of the small red modified Cape-Cod style building.

"But it's awesome. Really. Brick oven."

"Mmmm."

The brick oven pizza comes fairly quickly, and after Mick inhales a few slices, I apologize again.

"Holiday. Stop. I'm not mad. I was just wondering why, that's all. But I get it."

"You do?"

"I do. We haven't established anything...it's fine."

"About that..."