31. Cliff
Chapter 31
Cliff
T hree days pass without Michelle. I’m exhausted. I miss her.
It doesn’t help that tomorrow is Thanksgiving. I’ll be at Bird & Breakfast, like I was last year, but this time, Michelle will be across from me, laughing and smiling and being beautiful. And tonight, she’ll be staying under my roof.
Christ.
I’m not in the mood for celebrations this year. Thanksgiving can go gobble elsewhere for all I care, especially as I pull up to the bus station parking lot to send my two girls off to New York without me.
I attempt a smile as I pull the parking brake, looking over at Brittany’s slumped shoulders and Emily’s thin, straight lips. She pulls her headphones down around her neck as the Discman in her palm continues to spin.
“You girls ready?” I ask.
“Woo,” Emily deadpans, pushing the Stop button.
Brittany’s big eyes peer up at me. “Do you think Rocket will forget me?”
I chuckle and run a palm over her head. “Of course he won’t.”
She nods to herself, hugging her stuffed unicorn closer to her chest.
I open the door and climb out, handing Emily her black duffel bag with key chains and patches and grabbing Brittany’s sparkly pink rolling suitcase, almost blinding in the sun’s reflection.
I roll their bags over the craggy concrete to the covered bus station with my free hand holding a small box of pastries for their trip. The bus is already here, humming and whining. The three of us ran behind this morning because we always do, and now, I only get minutes with them. It feels unfair.
“Hugs,” I command, and both girls barrel into my arms.
I sigh against them, gripping each of their sides closer to me. I reluctantly pull back once they do, twisting my lips to the side.
“You be good for Mom, okay?”
For the first time since Halloween, Emily hugs me again, leaning her head on my shoulder. Brittany looks like she’s on the verge of tears, so I cup behind her head and pull her close.
“What if I don’t want to go?” Brittany asks.
“You’ll see the parade though.” I grin down at her. “That’s gonna be really cool.”
“Sorry I’ve been mad at you,” Emily murmurs. “I don’t even remember why I was in the first place.”
“Halloween,” I clarify.
“Oh, yeah. You suck.”
I chuckle. “I know.”
“Were you mad at me too?” she asks.
“No,” I say sarcastically with half my mouth tilting in a grin. “I could never be mad at you.”
Brittany giggles at the same time Emily does.
Emily punches me in the side. “I’ll miss you, idiot.”
“I know that too.”
I look at my watch. Their bus is set to leave soon. They need to board. It doesn’t feel like enough time.
“All right, here we go!”
They hold me tighter. I wrap my arms around them and hold them as close as I can until they’re both laughing and pushing me off.
We say final goodbyes. I load both of their bags onto the bus, hand off the box with too many apple fritters and chocolate chip cookies, then walk down the stairs. They wave from the window.
“Say hey to big Garfield for me!” I call out.
Emily cups her palms around her mouth and yells back, “I’m gonna pop his balloon!”
“That’s my girl!”
With Brittany’s face mashed against the window, the bus rumbles away. I watch and wave until it’s out of sight. I stand there for a minute in silence—the wind as my only companion—before strolling back to my truck. I casually lower my forehead against the steering wheel and let the monotone honk echo through the parking lot.
It’s a weird sensation, sitting at a bus stop one day before Thanksgiving. There’s a heavy knot tied in my gut, pulling tighter and tighter until it’s painful.
They’re gone.
I exit the car, slamming the door closed as I stride back to the bus depot. I dig in my pocket for coins and push a quarter into the pay phone. My fingers shakily mash over the small numbers until a dial tone rings. Over and over as my heart pounds more and more.
Then, the line clicks.
“Thanks for calling Bird & Breakfast. This is Michelle. How can I help you today?”
My heart rate slows. Her voice is soft. Warm. Comforting. It doesn’t matter that we haven’t spoken in days. I’m addicted to the sound, and I’m letting myself indulge.
“Michelle,” I breathe.
“Cliff?”
“Hey.”
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah.” I push my head against the pay-phone box. “No. I … I dropped the girls off. I don’t feel good.”
And I needed to hear your voice , I don’t say.
“Is everything okay? Are they okay?”
“Yes, sorry. Yes.” I huff out a laugh. “They’re on the bus. Didn’t mean to worry you. I … I needed to talk. Sorry. This is—can you … distract me for a second?”
“Oh,” is all she says.
It’s quiet.
I sigh. “That was?—”
“Dad’s been greeting the guests this morning. He’s really staying active. I think he’s playing chess now with some guest. You can tell the man’s family wants to leave the inn, but my dad’s got him in a match he can’t escape now.”
The knot inside my stomach slowly unravels, like her words are gentle hands untying it herself.
I choke out a laugh. “Sounds like Paulie.”
“And this morning, Lisa and George stopped by to help set up place mats and stuff for tomorrow. Lisa, of course, told me I needed more silverware. And then I told her that if she wanted more—because I have enough already—then she could bring some herself. But then she said they wouldn’t match.”
I chuckle again. “What a morning. Wish I could be there.”
There’s a long pause before she asks, “Why are you really calling, Cliff? What’s going on?”
“The girls left, and … I’m not doing okay. And we haven’t talked in days and …” And I feel dumb for even bringing it up. “I’m fine. Having trouble breathing a bit. I ran to the pay phone, so that’s probably why.”
“Why’d you run?”
To talk to you.
“I forgot something,” I lie. I wonder if she can tell.
On her end of the line, I hear a door open and close. There’s a distant clicking on linoleum—maybe Rocket—then a hiss of wind. She must have stepped outside.
“It’s breezy here today,” she says. “Smells kinda like fall, kinda like Christmas.”
I breathe in, the smell of dank bus stop air like a swift, unwelcome kick to my senses.
“Smells like garbage here,” I say through a laugh. “I think there’s sewage nearby. Nothing to phone home about.”
“Well … except you did.”
I can picture the teasing at the edge of her lips. God, I can imagine how beautiful it is.
Home . I smile to myself even though she can’t see me— especially because she can’t see me.
I grin. “I guess I did, huh?”
Michelle sighs. “I’m sorry the girls left, Cliff.”
I shuffle my feet against the concrete. “Yeah … thanks.”
A silence passes between us, at first a little nice and comforting like before, but then it lasts too long, and Michelle makes a small, breathy noise, like she wants to speak but can’t.
“So, I set up the bed for you,” I finally say.
“Oh. Well, I won’t be over until probably late,” she says almost aimlessly. “Working, you know.”
“Right. Well, I’ll be in Emily’s room if you need me.”
I hike my shoulders up to my ears as a gust of wind blows by. I know my unease isn’t from that though.
“Good,” she says.
“Yeah. So, I’ll … see you tonight, I guess.”
“Good,” she repeats. “Sounds like a plan. And thanks again, Cliff.”
“Absolutely,” I answer. “Uh, hey, I should let you go,” I say. “Off the phone.” I don’t know why I felt the need to clarify, but the fact that I did stabs me hard.
“Sure,” she agrees on a breath. “I’ll see you at Thanksgiving tomorrow.”
The implication of not seeing each other before then hangs in the air.
“Yeah. I’ll see you then.”
I hang up and groan in the empty parking lot.
She’s stubborn. I guess so am I. But when you like someone—as a friend or more—you take the good with the bad, and I like Michelle because of her stubbornness and not in spite of it.
I have a feeling I’m the biggest sucker in the world.
I stare up at the starry ceiling in Emily’s bed. Leonardo DiCaprio stares back. I avert my eyes to the clock on the side table. It’s one in the morning. I’ve been awake since Michelle came in at eleven, but I haven’t moved an inch. Just me and Leo.
Inhaling, I throw back the covers and open the door. I need water. Air. Something.
I quietly take the stairs down to the kitchen, but when I reach the tiles, Michelle is already sitting at the nook, papers drawn out in front of her. Rocket lies at her feet.
I halt in the doorway. My entire body heats. She has her legs crossed at the knees, poised in a matching dark gray silk pajama set. Unwrinkled and pristine. Over her chest is the pendant necklace she now winds between her fingers. Her face is bare. Lashes aren’t as long as usual. Her complexion is uneven. Lips are light pink. It’s the first time I’ve seen her without makeup, but even without her armor, she’s stunning.
Her eyes travel down to my chest and back up. I’m in my boxers, and I’m not wearing a shirt. My chest, covered in wisps of brown hair, is on full display.
“I didn’t think you’d be up,” I say stupidly.
“Working.”
An empty coffee cup rests by her hand.
“I see.”
“Sorry if I was making noise.”
“You weren’t. I like your pajamas.”
She looks down at herself. Her chest flushes red. It always does when I compliment her. It’s the best part.
“Do you want some crepes?” I ask.
The corner of her mouth rises. “You don’t have to bake for me whenever you see me.”
I chuckle. “My burden in life is to bake for everyone.”
She eyes the stove, then me. “If you must.”
“I must indeed.”
I click on the stovetop as she goes back to her papers. The silence is weirdly uncomfortable—something that doesn’t make sense for us—but it doesn’t last long. I’m not capable of quiet.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “For the other morning. Not talking about things.”
“It’s all right. I didn’t talk either.”
Then, the kitchen is silent once more. I pull down a plate. It gently clatters to the counter. Every cabinet is an echo as I find ingredients. The fridge is a loud whir.
I don’t know what I expect from a midnight encounter with Michelle, but it’s more than this. More than a silent one a.m. session of quietly making crepes while her pen scribbles over paper.
Rocket walks over, nudging his nose against my calf.
I tear off a piece of finished crepe and say, “Sit.”
He drops down.
Well, look at that.
“Good boy.”
I raise my eyebrows at Michelle. She manages a small smile before turning back to her work. That’s all I get.
It takes me a total of twenty minutes to finish up. I slide it across the table to her and save none for myself.
“Weird baker thing?” she teases.
“Sure,” I answer.
These won’t be her favorite—I know her tastes well enough by now—but I remain shameless when she takes a bite. Yes, I’m absolutely tactless as I watch the fork disappear between her gorgeous, plush pink lips. A dab of honey is nestled in the corner of her mouth, and she easily licks it away.
God.
“These are great,” she says.
“Good,” I reply.
She stands to take her plate, but I rise with her, grabbing the opposite side.
“I’ve got it,” I say.
Her eyes meet mine, and we freeze. Still as statues. Breathing in tandem. She’s close. So close. I could be closer if I dared.
I swallow, pulling in a deep breath. The plate pushes against her pajamas and my bare chest. I look down at her lips again, to the necklace resting in the divot of her collarbone, down to the gap in her pajamas with no bra and a peek of cleavage. My tongue flicks out to lick the corner of my lips, and I exhale.
When I look back up, her brown eyes—warm like the autumn leaves—flick between my eyes and my lips. They dip past my chin to my chest, to my checkered boxers, and back up to me. She chews on her bottom lip.
I want to say something. I always want to say something to her. But what is there to talk about now? We’ve gotten in this precarious situation with no real exit. She’s going to leave Copper Run. I’ll stay here. What is there to discuss?
I crane my neck closer. Her eyelashes start to flutter. I can feel her exhale on my chin. I want to reach out and place my thumb on her lips. I want to tilt her head back. I want to kiss her again.
It would be so easy …
But it’s never going to be easy with us. To wish for that would be naive.
I take a step back. Her breath leaves so shakily that it sounds like it hurts.
I walk over to the sink, rinse off the plate, then deposit it into the dishwasher. When I turn back around, she’s staring at me like a deer stuck in headlights.
“Good night, Michelle.”
Her throat bobs in a swallow. “G’night, Cliff.”
With all the strength I have, I cross the threshold out of the kitchen and go back through the dining room and upstairs again.