Torn - Part Three (The Torn Series) (7 page)

Both pies were cooling on the windowsill when he arrived two hours later. Katherine and I had to pretend to be nonchalant about having him there. Too much excitement would set our mother off on a rant about how we loved him more than her, on and on. We knew the drill. We gave him short hugs and resumed our preparations in the kitchen while he sat at the dining room table by himself, away from all three of us.

His sister Dana was the next to arrive. I was basting the turkey when she and her two teenage sons rang the bell. My dad let them in while my mom sipped wine from a coffee mug at the kitchen table. “You missed a spot,” she said to me, refusing to get up to greet the arrivals. They’d have to come in and say hello to her. It was all part of how she’d always operated.

Luckily, there was merely routine tension as we set the table. No one got into a screaming match, the boys were on decent behavior considering they were teenagers. My mother was cold toward everyone but at least she was quiet. She took up her spot at the head of the table with a haughty sigh.

I was just beginning to relax, to think the dinner was going to go okay, to imagine that we’d get through the night without any major fights, but then my uncle arrived.

My mother’s brother, Uncle Rickie, and my father had never gotten along, not even when our parents were still married. Katherine and I exchanged a glance as he strode in through the front door, announcing his arrival with a jolly shout of, “Rickie’s here! Where’s my sister!”

“You made it!” My mom smiled for the first time that day. He circled around the table to hug her before ruffling the hair of the boys and delivering a tray of cookies to the kitchen.

“How are you doing, girls?” he asked. Katherine was adding butter to the carrots and I was scooping the stuffing into a smaller bowl to set on the table.

“We’re good, Uncle Rickie,” Katherine said, and I echoed her. She’d been sort of assuming that he wouldn’t show up until dessert, but here he was, and trouble was sure to follow.

I watched him from the kitchen as he took his seat as far from my father as the table would allow. They eyed each other, like dogs getting ready to fight over scraps. It reminded me of Mallet and his brother. It made me think of the fight that had erupted over breakfast the day that I’d met him.

“Why don’t we have our own Thanksgiving next year,” I said to Katherine, “You and me and one small turkey.”

“Sounds nice,” she said, shaking her head, “No fights. And no carbs.”

“But they’re so good!” I said, popping a pinch of stuffing into my mouth and grinning.

“The worst part is that they’ll all be drinking in there,” Katherine said, her smile turning grim.

“Is it hard?” I asked.

“Yeah. Sometimes. Most times. It’ll get better, but…” she gestured toward the dining room. “They make it harder than it needs to be, that’s for sure.”

“I won’t,” I said, “Drink, I mean.” I looked down at my hands. “You got me thinking. I need to cut back.”

I looked up and caught her eyes glistening again. She wiped them with her shoulder. “Stop!” I exclaimed, “You’ll make me start again!”

That got a laugh out of her. “Okay, okay. Let’s go, the sooner we feed them, the sooner they’ll get the hell out of here.”

○●○●○●○●○

I’d barely dug into my mashed potatoes when they started. I knew my new style would be an issue but I didn't expect it to be the catalyst for this year's shouting match.

"What's up with your daughter, Neil?" Uncle Rickie asked, nodding his head toward me. "She looks like she's got some daddy issues."

Or mother issues
. That was how it always was - I was my father's daughter when I was wrong, my mother's when I was right. Which was rare.

My father looked at me but spoke to my uncle. “At least she moved out before the age of thirty,” he said, referring to Uncle Rickie’s son.

The table fell silent. The boys became very interested in their potatoes, and my mother paused with her wineglass halfway to her lips.

“You didn’t move out much earlier yourself, Rick,” Mom said, smirking. My father chuckled.

“Mind your business, Bev,” Rickie snapped back.

She took a long, slow swallow, glaring at my father as she did so. She’d never challenge Rickie for talking to her like that - she’d only blame Dad for starting the fight in the first place.

“Yeah, Bev,” Dad said, “Don’t you know Rickie’s got issues?” He twisted his mouth with disdain as he said it. “Like father like son, right? Where is he, anyway?”

“Guys,” Aunt Dana said, “Can we not?”

“Come on, guys, the stuffing’s really good,” I said, passing the bowl to Uncle Rickie. “No raisins this year. Promise.”

“It’s only your father who’s got a problem with fucking raisins,” Mom said into her glass.

“All right, all right,” Uncle Rickie said, showing his palms in a display of defeat. We all knew better. “I was just expressing concern. If you’re happy with your daughter becoming a hippie liberal then who am I to criticize?”

“No politics!” Katherine and Aunt Dana’s two boys all shouted.

“I just thought you raised her better than that,” Uncle Rickie shrugged.

“That’s your sister’s daughter you’re talking about,” Dad warned, “Are you implying something about her parenting, too?”

“It’s obviously your influence.”

“Guys, I’m right here, I can hear you,” I said, though I didn’t raise my voice. It wouldn’t matter if I did. This was their fight and their problem, they would only ignore me. The fact that I was the focus this time just chafed. The year before it had been Katherine’s inability to find a job, and before that it had been Mom’s drinking.

“And your son is such a fucking winner?” Dad asked, violently scooping up some mashed potatoes. They splattered in all directions as he flung a spoonful down at his plate. “You’re such a shining example of parenthood? He’s probably off in a brothel or a crack house somewhere, we all know it, Rick.”

“Who even says ‘brothel’ anymore,” I whispered to Katherine, and she snorted.

Chairs scraped the hardwood floor. Uncle Rickie was on his feet, spitting curses, challenging Dad, “Say that again. Come on.”

Dad was on his feet a breath later. “You’re son’s a druggie and he learned it from you. There, I said what we’re all thinking.”

“No, we weren’t,” Katherine and I assured them, but it fell on deaf ears.

I could see Mallet and his brother right then, hissing at each other in the diner over breakfast, pushing and shoving their way to the door while the waitress cursed at them and patrons dodged out of their way.

Some people just couldn’t get along, no matter what, but why did it have to turn so violent? My father and Uncle Rickie pointed and shouted at each other over the table while Aunt Dana’s boys tentatively stood, waiting for their cue to physically restrain the two.

And Mom watched with a satisfied smirk. She always felt like they were fighting over her.

Fists slammed on the table. I pushed my chair back in case any of the food became projectile. “We’re taking this outside!” Uncle Rickie growled.

“Fucking right, I’ll fucking strangle you,” Dad snarled back. They pushed and shoved at each other all the way to the front door.

“Guys, please, come on,” my mother said halfheartedly, rocking herself out of her chair to her feet. She trundled after them, weaving, breathing heavily.

The rest of us remained in our seats. I found myself oddly calm. I knew how this would go - they’d throw a few punches, blow off some steam. One of them would get hit too hard and go down, there’d be a little blood. He’d be cowed into leaving, too embarrassed to come back inside. The winner would fume over the rest of his dinner.

And they’d repeat it forever. The ball of dread that usually formed in my stomach was absent. I rolled my eyes at the boys and said, “Typical of them. Don’t worry, it’ll be fine.” Maybe I’d been exposed to too many real fights to let a few punches ruin dinner. Maybe I was desensitized.

Whatever it was, for once, my nerves didn’t get the best of me. I thought of Mallet again. I couldn’t be with a fighter if I was afraid of a fight. I knew Mal would never hurt me, and that was what mattered most.

And he wasn’t like my father or my uncle. I believed that somehow, some way, he and his brother could learn to get along. I shot Katherine a weak smile as she picked at her plate, and she smiled back. Reassuring. Sisterly.

She’d faced her problems. I’d let go of my grudges. If we could learn to get along, anyone could.

Well, almost anyone. I heard the typical honking and revving engine outside. The fight was over and the loser was fleeing.

I shrugged at the table. “Let’s sell tickets next year.”

At least the boys laughed.

○●○●○●○●○

To top off the night, I received a text from Tyler just before I went to bed. “I know you’re home, Riley, can we please talk?”

I cursed out loud. The man was never going to get off my case. It had been months! Why couldn’t he just go find a new girlfriend like a normal young guy?

He wasn’t normal. That was the only conclusion I could come up with. There was something wrong with him.

Katherine knocked and slipped into the room before I could answer. “Heard you curse,” she said. “Also, I couldn’t sleep.”

“It’s Tyler,” I sighed. She sank onto the edge of the bed and I took the seat next to her. Wordlessly, I passed her the phone where she could read his text message.

“Sounds harmless enough,” she said.

“Except that it’s been months of this and I’ve given him no indication that I want to see him.”

“I didn’t realize it had gotten so ugly,” Katherine said softly.

I sighed again. “It isn’t… ugly. It’s just that he won’t give it up.”

“Maybe he’s looking for closure.” She shrugged and handed me back my phone. “Are you?”

“Looking for closure?” I didn’t think that I was. On the other hand I was still replying to his messages occasionally, still worried about hurting his feelings. Still worried in general. “Maybe I am.”

“I could come with you if you want to meet him,” she said.

“That’s really sweet,” I said. And unexpected. Katherine really had changed. “I think I need to do this on my own, though. Could I beg for a ride? I don’t think I want him picking me up.”

“Of course. No problem.”

My phone buzzed with a new message before I could even reply to Tyler. I thought that it was him again and rolled my eyes, but when I opened it up, it was from Mallet.

I couldn’t hide the blush that colored my cheeks or the grin that spread across my face.

Katherine nudged me. “Another boy?”

I nodded. The message just said, “Try not to slip into a turkey coma for too long - still expecting you on Sunday.” Plus a little winking face.

Katherine read it over my shoulder. “Damn. How’d you end up with two guys obsessed with you?”

“It’s ‘cause I dyed my hair.”

We laughed until Mom knocked on the wall and screamed for us to shut up.

CHAPTER 8

I set that meeting with Tyler for the very next afternoon - I’d only make myself crazy if I waited any longer. I was making myself crazy enough as it was.

I parked myself at a table of the bar that he’d chosen. Strange for him - he wasn’t much of a bar-goer, much less so early in the day. “Just a seltzer,” I told the bartender. As much as I would have loved a drink while I waited for my ex-boyfriend to show up, I meant what I’d said to Katherine, and I intended on sticking to it.

It would be much tougher when I was back at work, and near impossible if and when I hung out with Martin and Shawn. But after discussing it with Katherine again that morning, she’d suggested four months - and we’d made a pinky swear on it.

So I sipped my unsatisfying seltzer and watched Tyler enter the bar looking as morose as I remembered him. His beard was trimmed a touch shorter and his hair a tad longer, but otherwise he was unchanged.

“Riley,” he said, sliding onto the stool next to me. “You still go by Riley, right?”

“Yeah,” I said. “Still Riley.”

The shadow of a frown barely flickered across his lips.