2. Briar
2
brIAR
“You’ll be here?”
I look at my watch and tap it until I can bring up the calendar. “I can’t think of a reason I wouldn’t be,” I answer. Seriously, I can’t think of a reason. Though I’m trying really hard.
My father sighs. “Oh, good. It’ll mean a lot to Brevan to have you and your brother and sister here.”
“Mmm,” I answer.
Brevan is my father’s husband. No, I don’t care that he randomly married a man literally days after his divorce from my mother was finalized. What bothers me is that Brevan is two years older than me. Two!
Worse still, he’s a year younger than my older brother.
It’s just weird.
I try my best to look past it because my father is happy, and I can’t remember seeing him happy growing up. My parents were never a very happy couple in any of my childhood memories. They co-existed in the same house until I was ten. Then my father moved eight hours away to northern California and remained there for the majority of the year, right until I graduated from high school.
Part of me understood. He accepted the job as provost to a university up north and he needed to be close. My parents didn’t want to uproot my siblings and me from our home and friends in Anaheim; it made sense.
I often wonder if my craving for a family derived from the lack of family I had growing up. Maybe that’s not fair. Ours wasn’t exactly a broken home, but it wasn’t a happy home either. My siblings and I were indifferent to each other at best. None of us were close to our parents. Our parents didn’t love each other.
Maybe that’s why I want the quintessential love story. I want a wife and kids and a white picket fence. I want a happily ever after. With everything in me, I want it.
It’s been proving harder to find than I anticipated.
“Brevan’s worked really hard on this,” my dad says.
I turn to the window as he talks animatedly about Brevan. Honestly, I love the way he loves his husband. I do. That’s the exact kind of love I want. Where my spouse’s happiness makes me excited. The way he looks at Brevan is just… everything.
Why is that so hard for me to find?
“Okay, Dad,” I say. “I’ll be there if I can.”
Ironically, he recently moved back to Anaheim once Brevan graduated from college and after his short stint in the NFL. They head up north every now and then so Dad can do his job in person, but usually, they’re in a quiet neighborhood in the suburbs of Anaheim.
Quiet being relative since they had a series of car bombs go off right outside their house last summer. This was probably the only time my siblings and I got together for a shared interest and tried to convince him to move.
He refused. I’m not entirely shocked, but still get a little anxious when I think about him living in Anaheim. The city is working on cleaning up some loose ends from the whole ordeal—which turned out to be hate crimes directed at Haze’s fucking brother, who had ironically moved in next door to my father!—but it’s slow-moving. I hadn’t even known Haze’s brother moved in next door to my father until the day of the fucking bombing. Talk about a weird, small world.
“I look forward to seeing you. Everything good at home?”
Turning from the window, I look around the empty first floor. Honey Bee, Levis, and Haze are at work. Brek is upstairs in his room, having stopped home on his way to a showing. And Oakley moved out a couple months ago. However, he didn’t go far. He’s just across the road. But considering the way Brek acts sometimes, it’s like he’s moved to Antarctica and can’t just cross the street to see him.
“Yep,” I say. “Business as usual.”
“Good to hear. I’ll let you go, son. Talk to you next week.”
“Okay, Dad.”
“Love you.”
I smile. “Love you too, Dad.”
The line goes silent. Something I’ve always appreciated about my father was how he never hesitated to say I love you. Ever. Not to his kids, at least. I don’t know what happened between him and my mother, and frankly, I don’t want to know. But there was never a day that went by that I didn’t know my father loved me .
Sighing, I glance out the window again and pause. Not for the first time today, I see part of the Van Doren household outside. They’re a strangely outdoorsy bunch, but not in the sense that they participate in outdoor activities. At least, not to my knowledge. There’s no hiking or whatever.
But they’re often in the yard. Hanging out. Cooking. Now that the backyard is fixed up, they’re out there even more. Yet, throughout the day, many can be seen on the large front porch. Sitting in rockers with mugs in their hands.
If I didn’t know any better, I’d say none of them worked. They do… though they hold weird hours. Most of the time, when they ‘go to work,’ they’re gone for days at a time. I’ve asked Oakley what they do, but he just shrugs and repeats what we’ve read from the internet. Either he doesn’t know or he’s not saying.
Honestly, I think it’s a combination of both.
Recently, there’s been a new addition, but I’m not sure who she is. I’ve seen her pop outside from time to time with long, dark hair and wearing these cute dresses. She’s tall and beautiful. One of the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen.
It’s difficult to determine how old she is from this distance. Or, hell, who she is. To my knowledge, Jalon has four brothers and six sons. I suppose a niece. Or a cousin, perhaps. Either way, she’s breathtaking, and whenever she appears on the porch, I find myself staring like a fucking creeper.
As I am now.
Brek’s footsteps on the stairs have me turning from the window. He pauses at the foot of the stairs and raises a brow. “What’re you doing?”
“Creeping on the neighbors.”
He snorts. “They allow visitors. ”
Grinning, I shrug. “There’s someone new over there.”
“So you’re creeping on the new guy.”
I glance out the window again. Oakley said Uncle Noaz has been there for a few days, but I haven’t seen him. Just this beautiful woman.
Brek slips into his shoes. “Oh. I hear Daddy Jalon has a new girlfriend. Might be seeing her from time to time.”
Well, that’s disappointing. Frowning, I stare at the woman outside again. Figures. And also unsurprising. Of course, she’s there for Daddy Jalon. She’s just that level of stunning.
Brek nudges me on the way by. “Want to come to my showing?”
“Sounds thrilling,” I deadpan. “Actually, I need to get back to work.”
“Fine. But don’t creepily stare all day. It’s bad for your health.”
I roll my eyes as I watch him leave the door. With a last look at the Van Dorens, I force myself to get back to business. Although, it’s noon so I could totally justify a lunch break. It’s not like I don’t set my own hours. The beauty of working for yourself.
Heading into the kitchen, I pull out fixings for a sandwich. As I’m setting slices of bread on a piece of paper towel, my phone buzzes with a notification. Pulling it out, I tap on the screen and set it down as I read the message. It’s nothing exciting. Just my siblings’ group chat, which I’m not surprised to see getting active since I just got a call from my father. Presumably, my siblings did too.
Tabitha Keller-Navarro
You talk to Dad?
Seth Keller-Navarro
Yes. You’re both going, right?
Tabitha Keller-Navarro
I didn’t even catch what this is. Just Dad being excited for our new daddy’s… something.
I grin. Like me, I didn’t think either of them disliked Brevan. He was a young, excitable man who always seemed to talk in questions. Like he was never sure of what he was saying.
Seth Keller-Navarro
Probably football-related. Still weird to me that he spent so little time in the NFL and yet is ridiculously still involved with it.
I didn’t think that was true, actually. It was probably that when Dad called to invite us to something for Brevan, it coincidentally happened to be football-related. Which, okay, I suppose is weird since he only played for a season. Or was it two? I can’t remember.
I wipe my hand on a dish towel before responding.
Me
Yes, I’m going. Or going to try to. I can’t think of a reason not to go when I’m within driving distance.
Not that I think I’d actually make up an excuse not to go. I wouldn’t do that to my father. Brevan makes him happy, and I can do my part to be a good son.
Tabitha Keller-Navarro
Ugh!
I chuckle and finish making my sandwich. Since they’ve stopped texting, I close the app and lock the screen before sticking it in my pocket. With lunch in hand, I head back to my computer, where I left it on the couch when my father called.
Sighing, I drop down as I take a bite and reposition my laptop on my lap. I’m a freelance editor—an accidental career. I did work-study in Anaheim for two years as an editor for the administrative department. One of the directors spoke highly of my work, and in the summer between my second and third year, they put me in touch with a company that would hire me on an as-needed basis. It pays great; nearly three times as much as work-study on the cheapest projects.
Typically speaking, I can make $600 every day or so. When I’m focused.
My gaze flicks to the window. Thankfully, they’ve all gone inside, so there’s no one to stare at. I suppose drooling over Daddy Jalon’s new girl is wrong. Right? It’s wrong?
Anyway, back to editing.
This isn’t what I thought I’d be doing with my life. Editing. I mean, it can be cool sometimes. I read some interesting things. There are also times when I read absolutely dreadful things and want to gouge my eyes out.
But this isn’t what I studied for, it’s just what I’ve fallen into. I feel like my entire life is like that right now. I know what I want—a wife, kids, a house, a career. Love. The kind you read about. Not Hallmark movies or even fairy tales. I want epic love. The kind you feel throughout your body. The kind that devours you.
I want a best friend. Someone who I can’t stop thinking about. Someone who stimulates my mind and consumes my thoughts. I want someone who doesn’t want to change me or my life, but wants to be a part of it.
So much of it eludes me. No. All of it does.
Including the simplest thing, like a fucking career that I don’t hate. I enjoyed my course of study, but since I graduated nearly a month ago, I haven’t found a direction I want to go in. I don’t know how I want to spend the better part of sixty years.
So I pluck away at editing. It’s not the worst job. It gives me freedom, and I learn a lot. I get paid to read, though sometimes I feel like my eyes are bleeding.
Someday, life will catch up and I’ll find my place in it. But for now, I’ll just stay in my lane and let life pass me by until I’m ready to get back on the road again.