CHAPTER 2
Remy
“Give me a second to unlock the door,” I tell Jamie, pinning my cell phone to my shoulder with my cheek while I sort through my keys.
“I still can’t believe you bought a house.”
“What? Why?” I laugh, side-stepping a stack of boxes in the entryway that my mother sent. “You have a house. Why can’t I?”
“Because you’ve either lived in someone else’s or rented since I’ve known you.”
I know it’s just his perpetual honesty and not meant to be a dig, but I don’t need that much honesty. Grimacing, I toss my bag on the sideboard and kick my shoes off.
“Yeah, well, it was time for a change.”
At that, he cracks up. “Don’t get me wrong—I’m proud of you for ending it with Winston, and glad you like your new job, but I hope you’re not becoming a change addict. What’s next? Get a new best friend? Because if that’s the case, then I might have to fly out there and stage an intervention.”
And like that, my mood is restored. Leave it to Jamie to amuse me by making everything about his neediness.
The hardwood floor creaks just the right amount as I make my way further inside.
I know the memories it’s seen weren’t mine, yet the broken-in sound effects are a balm to my soul.
It feels like a home already, one that’s housed lives before and is now passing the torch to me.
I still want to kick myself for not having done this sooner.
It only took me six months of—yes—renting again after my breakup to work up the nerve, but I did it.
I bought my first house all on my own. I’ve only been in it for a month, but I’ve gotten more fulfillment from being a homeowner than my last relationship ever provided.
I didn’t cave in to my indecisiveness or let a partner make the call for me. I did this. On my own.
It would be an insult to my ex to call our four years together a waste, but, seriously, how did I stay for so long in a situation that was…
nothing? Jamie used to tease me that I was looking for something that didn’t exist—a fairy tale.
I’m not about to admit it to him, but I think he might have been right.
Six months ago, as I stared into the living room at the man on my couch watching television, I realized Winston might as well have been a stranger, not my boyfriend. I cared about him. I still do. He’s a nice guy, but…I should have felt something. Right?
Hell, maybe I actually have learned nothing and am still holding out for a fairy tale.
“Is a guilt-trip your housewarming gift?” I counter. “If so, that’s not going to fly. You’ve been cheating on me with Janessa for years now.”
“Oh, come on. That doesn’t count. She’s my California bestie.”
“And so what? That makes me your Texas bestie? Nice to know your loyalties only go as far as state borders.”
“No, you’ve got national bestie status. I gave you the good recliner when she was over here when you visited, remember? You’ll always be number-one.”
Smirking, I withhold any further comment and start toward my bedroom. He could move to another planet, and I still wouldn’t be able to get rid of him.
“Ah! Mother fluffer!” The yelp that comes over the line is so loud I have to hold the phone away from my ear.
“Are you all right?” I try to hold back my amusement over the censored expletives he’s adopted since his sister and her kids moved in with him.
“No! I just stepped on a LEGO. Why is there a LEGO in the bathroom?”
Hitting speakerphone, I kick out of my khakis and try not to laugh at his rhetorical question.
It’s difficult not to find humor in the one thing that’s finally given my oldest friend a run for his money.
Gripe to me as he does, he’s a model uncle and brother.
I am curious, however, what his breaking point may be.
I’ve been getting calls like this for weeks now.
“How’s ‘Uncle Jamie’ life treating you? I don’t suppose you’re ready for a vacation and going to come visit soon?”
“No, I wish. I’ve still got to help get Meg and the kids sorted. My ex-brother-in-law is turning out to be a prime duckhead. Sorry.”
Wincing, I shrug into a pair of soft old shorts. Last time we talked, he told me his unfaithful brother-in-law had yet to visit the kids since Meg had come to stay two months ago. I’m guessing that hasn’t changed.
“It’s fine. I understand. I’m glad they have you. It’s really sweet how you’re helping them out.”
He groans, and I hear footsteps like he’s moving through his house with his one speed—chaos.
“Yeah. Apparently, helping means tripping over toys, cleaning muddy handprints off my walls, and listening to Meg either cry or rant about Jason. There is nothing sweet about my thoughts. So, save the compliments. What about you? Is it weird yet being back on campus? Do the athletes look like little kids now that you’re an old man? ”
“They look like patients. And it’s not just college students. The center treats alumni, faculty, and even the local high school teams.”
“Blah, blah, blah. Yeah, I know. You told me already. Whatever. Congratulations on trying to perfect the already elite of the human species. I still vote you should have stayed at the military hospital and found some hot Army guy who’d deploy every other year.
It would have afforded you the perfect opportunity to come visit me more often. ”
Rolling my eyes, I head back to my entryway to unpack the boxes Mom sent so I don’t have to dodge them anymore. He’s impossible, dismissing the fact that the rest of the world doesn’t have his convenient work arrangement.
“I’d have still had to work forty hours a week, Mr. Life Advice.”
“Jealous,” he taunts, not even trying to conceal his smugness.
I’m jealous of his freedom, not his career. I wouldn’t know how to come up with continual content for the gay men’s column he writes. Repeatedly reaching for and missing a fairy tale hasn’t exactly left me wiser. Experienced, I suppose, but not wiser.
Speaking of experience…
“So, I ran into Miles Keller last week,” I say casually.
“Who?”
“He worked for the same company that David did.”
“David?”
Cringing, I elaborate, “David as in two exes ago.”
“Oh. Okay. So, who is Miles? Did I meet him?”
“I think so. Remember when you came to see me that one summer, and you went to that hibachi grill with me and David and some of his work friends? Miles was there. He was the one with wavy blond hair.”
There’s a pause, and I don’t know whether he’s processing or distracted by his surroundings until he chimes in with, “Wait, was he the one who said, ‘you know?’ after, like, every sentence?”
Frowning, I try to recall something so trivial and yet oddly specific. However, I think he may have actually said that the other day when I ran into him. “Maybe?”
“Oh, yeah. The curly-headed fucknugget.”
“What?” I bark out a laugh. “Why was he a fucknugget?”
“He just was. He had fucknugget written all over him. Why? Don’t tell me you’re going out with him.”
Great. So much for this segue. “No,” I insist, but it sounds guilty. “He gave me his number, though, and said he’d call the next time he was in town. He asked to go out for drinks.”
“Ew. Total fucknugget behavior. Throw it away.”
Laughing, I pick up the top box, setting the phone on top of it, and haul it to the living room. “This isn’t 1997. No one writes their number on a matchbook anymore. It’s in my phone.”
“Then delete it. Enjoy your freedom or at least get some good sex and then never answer his calls again, but don’t date him.”
Rolling my eyes, I round the couch. “Maybe I will. He’s good-looking and funny.”
“I don’t remember much about him, which tells me he’s not that funny or good-looking.”
“You think that, and yet you told me to have sex with him. Wow. That’s…amazing advice. How do you keep your job?”
“Atlas! What is that?” he shrieks, yelling his youngest nephew’s name. “I can see that it’s a cat. The problem is that I don’t have a cat, and neither do you, so why is there one in the house?”
Oh, boy. Maybe that breaking point I wondered about might happen sooner than I thought.
He’s still traumatized over his grandma’s cat he inherited along with her house when she passed away years ago.
He was grateful she’d left her house to him.
The cat? Not so much, and I was the one who had to hear about it.
I do not miss those phone calls. He’d rant.
I’d tell him to put it up for adoption, and then I’d get a lecture about how you can’t abandon a deceased relative’s pet.
I never thought I’d be relieved when an animal passed away.
I didn’t think that thing would ever reach its ninth life.
I set the box down on my new coffee table.
Well, new-to-me. The big oak-framed piece with its glass top will be a convenient footrest when winter comes, and I want to stare at the fireplace in my fuzzy socks.
Winston preferred modern furnishings. I never complained, but thought they made our townhouse feel like a showroom.
It wasn’t warm and inviting. Perhaps I was just projecting the lack of warmth from our relationship into the space.
“O-kay,” Jamie cautions on the other end of the line. “Is that my oat milk? You cannot give a cat oat milk.”
“But you said it’s healthy,” a small voice replies, and I have to bite my cheek to keep from laughing.
“He’s right, Jay,” I chime in, cutting the tape off the box. “You did say that.” I’ve lost track of the number of health kicks he’s taken up over the years.
“Shut up,” he mutters, which I assume is directed at me. His voice goes muffled again, though. “It is, but we should take it outside in case he has any friends that might want to come by if they’re hungry.”
Oh, Jamie, I want to warn. You’re opening yourself up to more trouble.
“Hey, man. I’m going to have to let you go,” he returns, but then switches to a stage-voice tone, “because Uncle Jamie needs to go impart some life advice to the little people who are pillaging his house.”