Chapter Eleven Milo
Eleven
Milo
Prue looks beautiful today. I keep shaking the thought away, and it keeps returning—stronger and more difficult to dismiss every time.
Mrs. Welch chose an ambitiously large canvas, fetched brushes, and got to work without so much as a word of encouragement from Prue or me.
A few minutes into her painting, Prue asked if she wanted music and she simply nodded, unable to pull her focus from the straight orange line of the horizon she was cutting.
Prue pulled up her playlist called Now That’s What I Call Julia Welch as we both looked on in awe.
Well, Prue looked on in awe. I looked at Prue.
I can’t put my finger on what’s going on with her today, but I do know it’s catching me off guard every time I steal a glimpse of her. It’s an aura, a lightness, to be sure. But it’s more than that.
It’s not makeup, which I don’t think I’ve seen her wearing, and it’s not a hairstyle because her curls are as untamed as I’ve ever seen them, and it’s certainly not the outfit, which is a dark gray smock dress over a white T-shirt that leaves much of her shrouded in mystery.
I thought it could have been the way the morning sunlight, the yellow hue passing through the orange-leaved trees out front, cast a perfect, dancing glow on her profile. But then the sun went behind the clouds, and nothing changed.
Being enraptured by beauty is nothing new to me, I’ve found people beautiful my whole life.
Too many people, perhaps. And all kinds—tall, short, large, small, any gender, sex, or ethnicity.
My eager, wandering eyes have gotten me in more than my fair share of messy situations—leaving someone’s bed to join another’s that looked woefully empty.
It’s a deep-seated urge I’ve not been able to justify to any of my previous romantic partners, my need for more that has always felt more like a need for balance.
My grateful appreciation that morphs into wanting with an unquenchable thirst.
But I’ve never been enraptured like this. An unfamiliar, familiar woman in a brightly lit room, side by side midmorning while we’re both stone-cold sober, who’s offering to get me coffee as she hums along to a Carole King song. It’s usually far, far less wholesome.
And just as I’m thinking that I need to put a stop to it, Prue lets me know it’s been an hour, and I assure her that I’m in no rush to leave.
I pull out my phone to text Aleks and let him know I’ll be by the brewery a little bit later than planned before I notice five missed calls from Nadia and—more concerningly— one from Nik.
“One minute,” I say, jumping to stand a little too urgently, my chair nearly falling before Prue catches it with her leg. “Sorry,” I say, placing it firmly on the floor, “my sister called.”
“Okay, yeah,” Prue says softly, turning her focus back to her mother’s canvas.
I walk toward the bathroom and close myself inside the tight space. Leaning my hip on the sink, I hit the call button and wait ten torturous seconds before Nadia answers.
“Finally!” She sighs, both agitated and relieved at the same time. “Are you okay?”
“Yes, sorry, I was caught up here and—”
“Sef’s water broke. They just left for the hospital. We couldn’t get ahold of you so Nik called Aleks, he’s driving them. The kids—”
“Wait, slow down. The hospital? Didn’t Sef want a home birth? Why—”
“There was blood,” Nadia whispers, then pauses for a breath.
“I guess there’s not supposed to be? And, it’s still a little bit early.
Nik was too freaked out to drive, and Sef, well, Sef was being Sef.
Calm, as always. They left me with the kids, which is fine, but when the school bus came I’d only managed to get two of them dressed and none of their lunches packed so they’re all still here.
I’m not fucking made for this! I don’t know how to—”
“I’m on my way,” I say, interrupting her panicked monologue, which is still going on. “Breathe, Nads.”
“…and Nik said something about a delivery for the brewery? One that couldn’t be missed and that Aleks might not be back in—” I hear a kid scream and then burst into tears in the background.
“Back in time to get the delivery. Nik wrote it down, somewhere, the note’s here, I just…
” A crash, then another set of screams follows.
“I don’t hear you driving!” she shouts into the phone.
“Sorry.” I open the bathroom door and begin walking toward my backpack on the floor, searching inside for car keys—there’s no time to collect my brushes or other items, I need to go now.
“I’m coming,” I tell her, rifling through my stuff.
“Fuck,” I say, remembering that I walked over this morning.
“I’ll be there soon, okay?” I hang up, looking desperately around for my shoes before finding them literally right under my nose.
It’s been a while since I ran, but I’ll run it for Nads. For those kids. I’ll do anything for them.
“Hey,” Prue says, placing her hand on my shoulder. “Is something—”
“My s-si-sister-in-law went into labor and th-th-there was blood and I-I-I need to get home and help with the kids or meet a delivery at the brewery or-or-or—” I inhale sharply, having lost my breath, but it’s no help.
I start to feel black clouds come into my vision, tunneling it so all I can see is Prue’s worried expression.
Clutching at my chest, I feel my heart racing as I try to catch my breath. “I didn’t…I haven’t…Nadia needs me.”
“Hey, it’s okay. I’ll drive you,” she says, pulling her phone out of her dress pocket.
She then lifts it to her ear, her hand on my shoulder squeezing and releasing in rhythm with my breathing I’ve somehow begun doing.
“Hi, Dad, I need backup…Yeah, she’s fine.
Trouble next door…Yeah, an hour, maybe…Thank you. ”
“But your mom—”
“Dad’s got her,” she reassures me, slipping on a pair of wool clogs. “Get your shoes on.”
I swallow, refocusing. “Sorry,” I say, bending to tie my shoes.
“Don’t be.”
We pass Tom on our way out, who exchanges soft, understanding glances with Prue as she keeps pushing me toward the front of the property with her hand that’s not yet left my shoulder.
We reach the parking lot, and she, the perfect gentleman, opens the passenger door for me before practically shoving me inside of her truck.
“You know how to drive a stick shift?” That is, for some reason, the question that falls out of my mouth when I buckle myself in.
I love your truck, is what I should have said.
It’s a two-door, baby-blue F-150 that must be as old as Bertha but starts without all my girl’s dramatics.
Or, alternatively, I could have said, I’m freaking the fuck out and I hate that you’re seeing that.
Prue rolls her eyes, looking at her rearview mirror as she reverses out of the parking lot and onto the main strip of road toward my brother’s place. “I didn’t peg you as sexist, Milo.”
If I was in a better place mentally, I’d make a pegging joke. But tragically, this is not the time. “I would say that to anyone as hot as you.”
She scoffs, then snorts, then laughs—none of which is exactly attractive but is, annoyingly, endearing. “Yeah, okay, sure.”
“I cannot argue with you about your level of attractiveness right now as I’m in the midst of a familial crisis, but please put a pin in that for later.”
Prue mimes sticking a pin into an imaginary corkboard in the narrow space between us before shifting gears and making a left turn into Nik and Sef’s long driveway. “Is she okay? Your sister?”
“Which one?”
“The pregnant one.”
“I don’t know. She normally has her kids at home.
So…yeah…I hope so.” She’ll be okay, I tell myself, and, for whatever reason, I believe it.
Sef is my brother’s well-deserved happy ending.
The world is cruel, sure, but I still like to believe that people like Nik—good people—are rewarded. “She’ll be fine.”
“Right,” Prue agrees softly, looking up toward the house. “Wow, it’s cute.” I nod, caught up in thoughts of Sef and the baby and my not being there for my brother when he was too freaked out to drive. “Where should I park?”
“Just up there.” I point to the left of the house. Prue turns left at the fork in the drive and brings the truck to a stop next to Bertha. Then, unexpectedly, Prue turns the engine off, pockets her keys, and unbuckles her safety belt.
“Are you coming?” she asks, already halfway out the door, her brows knitted as she turns to face me.
I nod repeatedly and then follow her toward the front porch.
Inside, we’re greeted by a wall of sound.
Running footsteps, a toy playing some echoey, eerie version of “Old MacDonald,” a commercial blasting from the television downstairs, and intermittent, excited screaming.
Nadia and the children are nowhere in sight, but from what I can tell from the majority of the sounds, it would seem they’re in the basement.
“Hello?” I call out, holding the door open for Prue to pass through.
She politely removes her shoes and looks cautiously down the hallway toward the basement stairs, as another crash occurs and maniacal fits of laughter follow.
“We’re here!” I say, brushing my hair back as I make my way down the hall.
“Nads?” I shout, halfway down the steps.
“In here!” she shouts back just as she comes into view.
I hear Prue following close behind, her footfalls on the steps far more delicate than mine, but just as urgent.
“Hi,” Nads says, handing me the littlest Kablukov. “This one pooped.”
“Okay,” I say, taking Quinn from her as I assess my little sister from head to toe.
She’s still in the clothes she slept in—a purple hoodie that I’d wager she’s stolen from Sef’s closet and gray sweats with the pockets turned inside out.
Her hair is too short to be tied back, but she’s tried with a large clip all the same and is failing miserably.
She looks as dazed as I feel. As worried too.
And pissed. Rightfully so. “You all right?” I ask, wincing. “I’m so sor—”
“Who’s that?” Nadia cocks her head to one side, pointing past me.
“That’s Prue,” I answer. “Be nice,” I whisper for her ears only.
“Hi,” Prue responds from behind me. “I drove Milo home and thought maybe you could use an extra set of hands?”
Nadia glares skeptically, as the three eldest kids run straight through the playroom and back up the stairs, leaving everything overturned in their path and damn-near vibrating.
“She’s good people,” I tell Nads, loud enough for Prue to hear this time. “We like Prue.”
“Right…” She looks hesitantly between Prue and me, then settles her gaze on Prue, softening some. “I’m Nadia, Milo’s sister. You’ve caught me on a bad day.”
“I know something about that, first impressions aren’t exactly my strength,” Prue says, stepping past me and moving farther into the room.
I watch her circle around the large beige couch as her keen eyes search the floor, couch cushions, and coffee table.
Eventually, she bends to pick up the remote and tries a few buttons before the television turns off. “But it is nice to meet you.”
Nadia doesn’t respond, but I’m relieved all the same. It is instantly easier to think with one less sound.
“I’ll change her,” I say, bouncing Quinn in my arms as she leans against me, “and then I’ll go looking for that note from Nik?” I ask.
Nadia nods, brushing a piece of hair away from her cheek. “Okay, yeah. I’ll go chase those three down before they break something—or themselves.”
“What should I do?” Prue asks, stepping toward me and then retreating half a step when Nadia looks over her shoulder and focuses her deathly stare once again.
“I don’t know.” Nadia shrugs flippantly. “Actually, yeah, I do. Find the other one,” she commands before charging up the stairs.
“The other one? How many are there?” Prue mumbles, picking up a blanket to look underneath it.
“Nadia’s not normally so…” I move Quinn from one arm to the other as she sucks her thumb, leaving a wet patch of drool on my shirt. “She’s normally, uh…” I decide to let the lie die on my tongue. “Never mind. I’ll be right back and then you can get going, Killer. Thank you.”
“It’s okay,” she tells me, smiling as she makes quick work of folding the blanket and draping it over the back of the couch. “No rush…”
It hits me again, at what may be the most inopportune time, how beautiful she is.
The subtlety of the smile she offers me, the reassurance in her eyes, seeing her here in my brother’s house.
The unfamiliar, familiar woman who’s managing, somehow, to appear comfortable in what must be one of the most uncomfortable situations imaginable.
It hits in a second, violent wave when my stubborn feet refuse to move and I watch as she finds little Perry in the play tent and waves a tender hello. Then a third, catastrophic wave when I hear her ask if she can hide inside with her before crawling in.
It’s a too-tight feeling in my chest. An itch that can’t be scratched. The creeping vine of a feeling I’ve yet to experience and yet instinctively know, latching on to my ankle and threatening to cover me whole. Something to be avoided, stopped, and cut off.
Going upstairs toward my brother’s bedroom where they keep their changing table, I realize that I was right the first time I laid eyes on Prue.
She is dangerous and I am, most definitely, being lured toward what promises to be the most painful of deaths.
Or, at least, the death of the reality I’ve lived thus far.
I don’t know how yet, but I need to make it stop.
I have to bury this feeling with the decade’s worth of feelings that have come before it.
Because, when the brewery is open, and Sef is okay, and the baby is home, and Nads starts smiling more, and Nik gives me his blessing—Bertha and I are getting the fuck out of here.
And I’m not about to leave any part of myself in some small tourist-trap, one-stoplight, pass-through town. Especially not my heart.