Not After Everything (16 page)

Then she takes me down a hall to a small gym, another guest room, and finally her room.

I expected some kind of gothic-themed bedroom with black walls and shit, but her room is surprisingly girly. Her furniture is all white, as are the bedding and curtains, and the walls are a very pale blue that reminds me of the sky just as the sun comes up. The best part of her room might be the little reading nook in the corner with a chair that would probably be comfortable to sleep in, and a lamp that looks like one of the lights in the photo studio. Next to that is a huge desk overflowing with pencils, brushes, drawings and paintings, and a bunch of photos in a heap of disarray. I try to take a closer look, but she steps between me and her work in progress.

“Okay, tour's over. I just heard the door. The cousins are probably here.” She places her hands on my shoulders and pushes me back out of the room. I want to bring up the almost kiss, but then footsteps come pounding down the stairs. Six or seven kids, all boys, bound into the room and head right for the darts and pool table. Jordyn introduces me to everyone, but I'll never remember all their names.

Then we head upstairs to where Kelly's putting the finishing touches on the turkey.

I sit next to Jordyn toward the end of the long formal table where Henry and Kelly are.

“Kelly, this is seriously the best turkey I've ever had in my entire life. Hands down.” I shovel another piece into my mouth not even caring that I'm already almost stuffed.

“Oh, please. I'm sure your mom's a great cook. What's she up to these days anyway?”

Jordyn practically chokes on her roll, erupting into a coughing fit. I slap her on the back and offer her water. “It's okay,” I whisper to her. Looking back to Kelly, who's eagerly awaiting my response, I say, “She, uh, she died.”

“Oh my god! Honey. I'm so sorry to hear that.” She looks genuinely saddened by this. “She was such a great lady. I always meant to keep in touch with her after the move. I feel terrible.”

“Don't worry about it,” I say.

“Was it cancer?” Patricia says from the other side of the table with a hand on her heart.

“Um, no,” I say.

“How's your book coming, Trish?” Henry interrupts. “Patricia's writing a self-help book.”

Patricia brightens at the opportunity to talk about herself and she dominates the rest of the meal. Henry gives me a small nod as if to say “I've got your back.” Jordyn places her hand on my leg and squeezes. I put my hand on hers and then we entwine our fingers and sit like that for the rest of the meal.

After dinner, Henry pulls out a guitar and we all sit around the fireplace drinking wine—the adults insisted, so I obliged, even though I usually avoid any and all alcohol-related beverages for fear I'll turn out like my dad—and everyone sings and tells stories well into the night. I didn't even know families could be like this. I really was dealt a shitty hand.

As the night winds down, the extended family packs up to leave. Soon it's just Jordyn's immediate family and me. Henry sings a love song to Kelly, who mouths all the words along with him because she's heard it a hundred times. Patricia sits on Aslan's lap with his arms wrapped around her, whispering in her ear and kissing her neck. Jordyn sits across from me on the floor with her back against the couch next to Henry's feet, eyes closed, completely lost in the words of Henry's song. Everyone's so damn happy. It's too much. I excuse myself, heading to the basement guest room. Kelly's insisted I stay because she won't have me drinking and driving.

I shut myself into the guest bathroom and stare at my reflection. All I can see right now is my mom. My stupid fucking coward mom. If she loved me as much as all those crazy people upstairs love Jordyn, she never would've killed herself.

I splash some cold water on my face hoping it'll calm me down, and then rest my hand on the doorknob, steadying myself for the goddamn love fest upstairs.

When I finally open the door, Jordyn's standing against the wall, waiting. A drip of water trails down the side of my face, but before I can wipe it away, she's doing it for me. She holds her cool hand against my cheek. Her eyes meet mine. My breathing picks up. Her hand brushes down my face and arm, and she takes my hand. I gently pull her to me. Her eyes momentarily flutter shut as I run my fingers down her cheek and then trace her lips with my thumb. I tip her face up to meet mine. Our noses brush and her lips part. I breathe her in; the heady, sweet smell of red wine on her breath mixes with the flowery scent of her shampoo. The wine didn't affect me nearly as much as the way she's looking at me does. I'm pretty sure we're both floating several inches off the ground. My lips softly brush against hers and my whole body is suddenly on fire.

I run my fingers through her hair, cupping my hand against the back of her neck. And then I pull her closer and kiss her with every last part of me. I need to feel every inch of her. She must feel it too because her hands are under my shirt, gripping my back, pulling me closer still. I run my hands over her clothes and she looks at me in a way that has me sliding my hand under her shirt and unfastening her bra. She moans against my mouth. I pull her legs up and around me, pressing her back into the wall. She moans deeper. My hands find their way back under her shirt and I groan as I cup her breast in my hand, rubbing my thumb over her hard nipple. Our clothes are really getting in the way. I begin to pull her shirt over her head when I hear footsteps on the stairs.

Jordyn stiffens and I quickly set her back down on the ground. She straightens her shirt, adjusting her unfastened bra just before Kelly appears at the bottom of the stairs. It's pretty obvious what we were doing, especially if she were to glance at my crotch for some reason, but Kelly says, “I wanted to make sure Tyler was all set in the guest room, and that you showed him where the towels were and gave him a spare toothbrush.” I think maybe she's too tipsy to put two and two together. Thank god.

Once she's retreated up the stairs, I turn to Jordyn, hoping she'll suggest we pick up where we left off, but she's having a hard time looking at me for more than a second at a time. It's awkward and yet there's still a little bit of a sexual charge in the air. But when I take a step toward her and she backs up, the sexual tension evaporates. I wish her good night and close myself in the guest room.

I lie in the most comfortable bed I've ever felt and can't stop thinking about what would have happened if Kelly hadn't interrupted. And that makes me hard again. I grab the towel Kelly gave me and head to the shower.

I'm awake before the sun is up, acutely aware that there's only a wall between Jordyn and me. I can still feel her hands gripping my back and her legs wrapped around me. Did that really happen? And is there any way to make it happen again? I think she was as into it as I was. But then why did she back away after her mom left?

Only one way to find out.

Opening the door to the hallway, I listen for any sound of life. All's quiet on the western front, so I sneak over to Jordyn's room. The door is unlocked. Had she been waiting for me to come over here last night? Or maybe she just leaves her door unlocked. It's not like she has anyone she needs to keep out.

Her breathing is deep and steady; she's obviously still asleep. I cautiously sit on the edge of the bed memorizing her peaceful face. My fingers want to touch her, so I do, cautiously. Her cheeks are soft. I run my fingers through her hair and she stirs.

“Mmm.”

“Morning,” I whisper.

She adjusts herself so she's looking up at me. Her smile is killing me. I want her more than I've wanted anything. Ever.

But then her smile vanishes and she leaps out of bed, pushing me aside, as she disappears into her giant closet. When she reappears, she's wearing a heavy robe and carrying some clothes. “You should have everything you need in the guest bathroom,” she says as she stalks toward her bathroom, not even bothering to look at me before slamming the door.

What the hell just happened? I don't understand. I replay everything leading up to almost having sex in the hallway and realize . . . oh. I am a fucking idiot. It was out of pity. It had to have been. And . . . what? Now she's annoyed I didn't realize it? I mean, what else could it be?

The shower stops. I hear a hair dryer turn on. As much as I don't want to go home, I'm pretty sure Jordyn doesn't want me here. If I leave now, I can at least get out without another awkward encounter.

When I reach the top of the stairs, Kelly's in the kitchen. There's no way to sneak past her without seeming like a total dick.

“I'm making eggs, Tyler. Come, sit.” She gestures to a stool at the counter. Her brown hair is pulled up into a twist.

I really want to be gone before Jordyn comes up, but I also don't want to be rude to the person who made me the best meal I've eaten since my mom died.

Kelly sets a plate and a fork in front of the stool. “Scrambled okay?”

I eye the front door. God, I want to leave, but the smell of Kelly's cooking is probably
worth
more awkwardness with Jordyn, so I sit. “Absolutely.”

Kelly pushes a glass pitcher of, I'm guessing, freshly squeezed orange juice toward me.

I pour her a glass, then one for myself. “I seriously don't know how to thank you for yesterday. That was by far the best Thanksgiving dinner I've ever had.”

“Oh, you're sweet.” Kelly scoops some eggs onto the plate in front of me. “Hash browns?”

“Yes, please.”

She picks up the pan and scrapes some perfect golden-brown hash browns onto my plate and then onto hers, which she then scoots over to the place next to me.

It's a little awkward, it being just the two of us, and I find myself glancing back at the basement stairs.

“Jordyn's probably still sleeping,” Kelly says.

I almost correct her.

After another few awkward bites, I feel Kelly watching me. I finally steal a glance at her. She turns her head and scratches her eye.

Now I don't care how awkward things are with Jordyn, I just want her to hurry the hell up so I don't have to sit here alone with her mom anymore. I eat faster.

Kelly takes a big gulp of her OJ. I can hear her swallow and for some reason it infuriates me. I set my fork down, my appetite completely gone. I'm pissed off and I don't even know why. All I know is I don't want to be here anymore. My leg has started fidgeting. That's it. I have to go. I wipe my mouth on my napkin, set it down, placing my hands on either side of the plate and ready myself to stand, but then Kelly laughs softly, stopping me.

“Do you remember when Sarah and I took you and Jordyn to Casa Bonita on the last day of third grade?”

It's so out of nowhere that I have absolutely no idea how to respond.

“You broke the piñata on the first swing and that one crazy mother got so mad that her little two-year-old didn't get a turn. And while she yelled at you, Sarah took the little girl and helped her get a ton of Tootsie Rolls. And then the crazy mom didn't even thank her!”

My chest hurts. My hands clench against the counter. I'm going to lose it. Because no, I don't remember, I don't remember that, and who does this woman think she is? Having memories of my own mother? She didn't even bother keeping in touch with her.

It's only when I feel my legs shake that I realize I'm standing. And then it all happens so fast. Kelly's holding me up and I'm sobbing into her hair like a baby. She's crying and rocking and telling me she's sorry, and I hate her and I need her. I hold on to her so hard.

And then I hear footsteps coming up from the basement and I abruptly head for the front door and jump in my car before there's a chance for anyone to follow.

• • •

A bout of exhaustion hits me after driving around for twenty minutes, trying to shake off whatever the hell that was. It's still early when I reach the driveway. Dad should be asleep. He doesn't have work, so I'll have to figure out a way to avoid him. Last night I'd fantasized that Jordyn and I would spend the day together talking and kissing, and when did I turn into such a girl?

Captain barks when I walk through the door. He's probably starving. I shush him unsuccessfully as I pour a scoop of food into his bowl. Then I head down to my room to change into running clothes.

“Where the fuck have you been?” Dad groans from the couch and I practically jump out of my skin. He must've passed out there and Captain woke him with his barking.

“Out,” I say, hoping it doesn't look like I've been crying for the last twenty minutes.

“That's your answer? Show me some goddamn respect. I'm your father, for Christ's sake.”

“If you acted like a father, I
might
respect you, but let's not kid ourselves.” I can't help myself. Today already sucks.

Dad tries to pull himself off the couch, but his hand slips and he falls back. He's still drunk.

I shake my head and open the door to my room. “Pathetic.”

I hear a bottle shatter against the door as I lock it. Then there's some swearing and another bottle crashes. Even drunk, the asshole still has great aim.

I crank my stereo up as high as it goes and I lie on my bed staring at the ceiling.

What kind of fucking life is this?

I bet that's what Mom thought. But she wasn't a minor. She could've left anytime. So what stopped her?

And why now? Why not wait until I graduated? Or why not sooner? Or why at all? I kick my mattress.

She hid what Dad did to her from me as much as she could, but I could usually tell when something had happened. He'd let up on the beating since the time he went off on Mom and I punched him so hard—and he didn't see it coming—that he lost his balance and fell, cracking his head against the kitchen table on the way down. I was almost sixteen. I thought I'd killed him. So did Mom. After he came to, she got mad at me for the whole thing. As much of an asshole as he was, she loved him. I think she held on to the hope that he would change. But I knew better. So what happened to make her realize what I always knew? And how did I miss it?

The book Jordyn bought me about suicide notes creeps into focus next to the football I've been staring at without really seeing. For lack of anything else to do, I start reading. It's interesting how some people leave perfectly coherent notes with instructions for how their loved ones should deal with their bodies and belongings, and others are obviously in so much pain that their brains are unable to properly convey why they can't take it anymore, but it's clear they can't take it, and this is the only solution they can see.

Mom was always insanely organized, so why didn't she leave instructions for me about what to do with her stuff or how to deal with Dad? If she was in such unbearable pain that she felt there was no way out, I wish she would have told me. Why did she hide it? If I'd known she was hurting, I might have helped. If I'd just gotten home five minutes earlier—

I slam the book shut, pick up the football, and hurl it against the wall as hard as I can. Then I pull out that notebook with the goddamn smiley face and a pen and I do something I never thought I'd do: I write. And write and write. About everything. About how pissed I am. About how Jordyn made me feel and then yanked the rug out from under me. About Dad, even, but I rip all those pages out and hide them in the metal box. I don't want Dr. Dave to read that, and if Dad found them, he might kill me.

Once I've purged all the thoughts in my head, I turn on the TV and pass out watching an
X-Men
marathon.

• • •

When I wake up, it's dark. The house is silent.

I venture upstairs to see if Dad's gone. He's not on the couch, but that doesn't mean he's not in his room.

Captain comes bounding through the doggie door. He's been rolling in the snow and now there are snow dreadlocks all along his belly. The sight of him lightens my mood.

“Look at you. Let's get you melted.” I motion for him to head down to my room.

The second I turn on the bath water Captain jumps in, splashing me. He loves water. He starts biting at the faucet, which always cracks me up.

“You crazy dog. You're the best thing I've got,” I say. To which Captain begins to dig at the spot where the running water hits the bottom of the tub.

I manage to shampoo him without completely soaking myself, not that it matters, because in the course of getting rinsed, he shakes violently, sending soapy water flying everywhere. Once he's fully rinsed, I drain the tub, but he refuses to get out until the last of the water is gone, pawing at it as if to say “No! Come back!”

After he's dry, he passes out on my bed. I'd love to be him, to find that kind of pure joy in something as simple as a bath.

I take in the damage left in Captain's wake. Every wall is dripping dog shampoo water. As I wipe things down, I spot something shiny behind the toilet. The razor blade. I thought I'd put it away after . . . It gives me the creeps and I want to
call Jordyn.
But that's not an option. I should have listened
to Dr. Dave.