Twelve
Heath
My breath is quick, my heart rate up. The treadmill’s belt whips beneath my feet but I keep up with it, no problem. I’m killing it today.
“Damn, Heath. Are you trying to make me look bad?” Brett looks at my screen. His pace is half of mine.
I lower my speed back to my normal jog and smile. “I have a lot of . . . energy today,” I pant.
“Yeah, I can see that. What’s up with you?”
Even if I could tell him, I wouldn’t.
My time with Teagan last night was too short. I got what I wanted—what I needed—to clear my head of what happened with my mom right before. My stress and anxiety faded the second I tasted Teagan. Nothing else was on my mind while I was inside her, fucking her against that door. It was everything. Making Teagan, the catty control freak, bend to my will—just thinking about it makes my blood rush downward.
I should have stayed for a second round, but after seeing her look at me like I was some kind of sex god, my ego exploded. I’ll let her get the snarky last word if it means I get to use it against her next time. The hours can’t pass quickly enough.
“Nothing’s up.” I dodge Brett’s question.
“Nothing’s up?” He gives me a suspicious look. His eyes widen and his jaw drops when it clicks. “You’re getting laid!”
Ugh . “Try to sound a bit less surprised.”
“Sorry.” He laughs. “This is big news! You were on, like, month six of no sex.”
“Are you tracking my dry spells? Also, it was not that long.”
“Sure it wasn’t. Did you finally get with the girl you took home from the party?”
“No,” I say, hoping he’ll let it go.
“A new girl?”
He won’t drop it. When he doesn’t stop staring at me for an answer, I give in. “Sure. She’s new. But we’re not dating. It’s just sex. Like, great sex.”
Brett laughs. “No shit? Who is this girl?”
“No one you need to know. Stop asking.”
Our treadmills beep to signal our twenty minutes is up. My screen reads 3.25 miles . I haven’t done that in a while. We slow to a cool-down pace, and as I catch my breath, I see Brett still staring at me.
“Stop looking at me like that. I’m not telling you shit.”
“Why not?”
“Uh, because it’s not your fucking business?”
“Come on,” he whines. “This chick has you buzzing. Bring her out this weekend and let us meet her.”
Just imagining how that would blow over makes me cackle. “Absolutely not.” He looks down at his screen with a pout. Against my better judgment, I acknowledge it. “What?” I huff.
“Nothing, I guess.”
“Oh really?”
“It’s just that I always kind of hope you’ll find someone.” There it is.
Brett always acts like I’ve never been in a serious relationship. I can’t tell if he wants me to be in another one because he thinks it would be good for me or if he wants me to be in one so he isn’t alone in his misery.
We climb off and stretch. “You’ve been married too long, bro,” I say. “Let me live.”
He acknowledges the end of our conversation with a frown. “As long as you’re happy and shit.”
“I’m definitely happy and shit.” I wipe my face with my towel. When I’m done, he’s still staring at me. “Bro, if you don’t stop—”
“I haven’t seen you this way about a girl in forever. Since high school, forever,” he says. My eyes narrow. “I think you’re really into whoever this girl is.”
“I’m not into her. Drop it.”
“Whatever you say.”
I’m so ready to be done with him. “I gotta go.”
“Do you want to grab lunch?”
“I can’t today, I need to go see my mom.” I wait for him to ask why, but his attention stays on packing his bag.
“Next time, then. We have to try out that new tapas place on Eighty-Fifth. It’s all over Instagram right now.”
Brett never asks about anything important in my life, especially not my mom. It’s just money and sex with him. He has his boats, his cars, and now his trophy wife to go with them. Everyone has problems, but I can’t have mine wiped away with tapas and a yacht.
“Yeah, for sure.”
~
Pulling up to my parents’ house raises my blood pressure. I hit the gas and speed up the long driveway snaking through the trees.
The house comes into view and it still feels unreal. I haven’t gotten used to this place, and I’m not sure I ever will. We lived in four different houses in Westchester between the time I was in sixth grade to when I graduated high school. Dad bought this one two years ago. Mom says it reminds her of home on the island, but I don’t see how. As long as she’s happy and still close enough for me to visit, I don’t care which massive mansion my dad decides is the flavor of the year.
The house is a renovated mid-century bungalow. The split gable roofline defines the two wings, one a sprawling rectangular swath of glass seeming to float behind black metal posts, the other warm wooden slats and stone anchored to a towering chimney. It is the epitome of my dad’s personality: two-faced, pretentious, and overbearing. If it were exactly like him, it’d be full of shit.
My dad’s red Audi R8 isn’t out front, meaning he isn’t here. He leaves too frequently to park his daily driver in the detached garage out back with the other seven collectibles. I pull up and park in his place right in front of the door.
Our estate manager, Silas, the silver fox, comes out, greeting me when I approach. He has been with us since I was eight, a more consistent male role model to me than my dad. His suit today matches the color of his hair. “Mr. Heath. Welcome home.”
He knows how I feel about this house, but he’ll keep saying it, hoping I’ll change my mind. He’s a well-meaning old man, stuck in a world long gone. “Did you miss me?” I ask, trying to hang on to the last of my good mood.
He grins at our inside joke. “Always.”
We walk inside together. “Where’s Mom?”
“The dining room, last I saw her.”
“Cool.” I take a step in that direction, but Silas stops me with a hand on my arm.
“She is doing well,” he says. Deeper meaning lies behind his tone and tense expression.
“Good.” Maybe I didn’t make a mistake by picking her up.
Mom sits at a table, watching the gardeners tending to the weeping cherry tree in the atrium’s garden, absentmindedly fingering the waves of her hair, which hangs to her hip. “Mālō, tinā!” Hey, Mom , I call to her in Samoan. I can’t remember much, but it always makes her happy to hear me speak what I can.
She turns in my direction and her face lights up. “Tālofa, si a‘u tama!” Hello, my son . She stands, inviting me into a hug. I wrap her in my arms, resting my head on her shoulder and squeezing her tight. “Ou te alofa ia te oe.” Another phrase she will always say to me: I love you.
“I love you too.” I let her go and she pulls my face closer to kiss my cheek. My heart feels fuller when she smiles at me. I can do no wrong in my mother’s eyes. “Dad’s not here?”
“No. It’s just us. Come, sit.”
The chair’s legs sputter against the floor as I pull it out. I watch every move she makes. She sits next to me, pulling her long hair over her shoulder to keep it from getting trapped beneath her. She wears a taupe cardigan, and underneath it a loose dress covered with tropical flowers. The red looks pretty against her brown skin. I know she dresses like she’s back home to comfort herself.
I wish we could go back to the island again, but we haven’t visited since my grandmother passed away. Mom still feels her loss immensely. They were very close and remarkably similar. My mom was the daughter of a model and a man who left the second he found out he was going to be a father. Then Mom also ended up becoming a model and marrying a man who didn’t want a kid. History has a funny way of repeating itself.
I want to break the chain, but here I am, fucking up every relationship I have. It’s hard to know you were never wanted, only tolerated, by your parent. I would never put another kid through that.
“How are you feeling?”
“I’m good now that you are here.” The dimple on her left cheek deepens when her smile spreads. I want to believe her, so for the moment, I do. “Are you hungry?”
She doesn’t wait for an answer before she waves over our housekeeper from the kitchen. Homa brings over juice, a plate of fruit, and traditional pani popo. Their sweet coconut scent calls to me. I lose the fight against my simple carbohydrate avoidance and take a large, sinful bite. Mom does the same before she pours our cups, putting me at ease.
“Tell me more about your plans this summer. Which of your friends are getting married? Ryan and then Ritchie, right?”
“Yeah, it’s hard to keep track.” After a sip, I add, “For now, it’s just Ryan. I don’t think Ritchie’s thing is going to happen. He talks about proposing to his girlfriend, but their relationship is really toxic.” I’m hoping he’s close to figuring that out, but I won’t hold my breath.
“Well, that isn’t good.” She pops a grape into her mouth. “Maybe you’ll be the next to get married, then? Find someone before you start your physical therapy program.”
I stop chewing and wait for her to look at me. It’s a red flag when she gets forgetful or loses track of time, that cloudiness and disassociation that comes right before the worst hits. I’d hate to think Dad was right.
“Mom, you know I only have a year left of school, right?”
“Yes. I mean whatever your internship is called after you graduate.”
“Oh. My residency.” That’s a relief. “Yeah, well, that leaves me this summer and I’m already working full-time. I’ll have to find someone quick.”
“I hope it won’t be too hard on Teagan.”
My muscles tense again. “Teagan? What do you mean?”
“All the wedding events,” she says, and I relax. “All of you drag her around like she’s one of the boys. You have to let her be a woman sometimes.”
“It’s not like we’re forcing her to come with us. She prefers doing stuff with the guys more than the bridesmaids.”
Because the bridesmaids prefer doing trips to wine country, and Teagan prefers doing girls. Strip clubs are her happy place, not Ryan’s. He will probably sit there like a deer in headlights again.
“That doesn’t matter. She is unique. She has needs and desires you and your friends can’t understand. You should let her tell you what she needs, listen when she does. It will help get you in touch with your feminine side as well.”
“My feminine side?”
“Yes. Your full range of emotions. The way they help you see the world around you. “
“That’s feminine?”
“Not exactly, but it’s different from you boys who never talk about how you’re feeling,” she says. “Not everything has to be a struggle. You shouldn’t hang on to this anger. Letting yourself connect to your emotions is much healthier than being angry all the time.”
“I have good reason to be angry.”
“Heath.” She grips my hand in hers. “You shouldn’t have reasons. I’m sorry you had to come pick me up.”
“I’ll always be there for you, Mom. You know that. But I don’t want you to keep doing this to yourself.”
“You won’t have to any longer. This is the last time it will happen, I swear.” Her hand leaves mine and settles under her chin. The smile on her face makes me almost believe her. “Besides, I’ll always be okay when I have my two boys to take care of me.”
“Does he?” I ask. She tilts her head in confusion. “Does he take care of you? When he’s gone ninety percent of the time, then dragging you around like an accessory whenever he’s here.”
“Yes, tama.” She sighs and takes my hand again. “He is not perfect, but no one is. I know you and your father don’t see eye to eye, but we love each other very much. He cares for me the best way he knows how.”
If that’s the best he knows how, it seems he has plenty left to learn.
They’ve been doing this same dance for years. Dad travels a lot during football season, and Mom gets worse. He comes home more often over the summers, finally notices something is wrong with her, and decides to “fix it” before he leaves on his next trip. But everything is fine because they love each other, and that is somehow enough.
I’ve only been in love once in my life—blind, stupid, crazy in love—and it fell apart so easily. I haven’t seen the point of trying to have anything real since then. Letting someone in is as good as cracking open your chest and telling someone to take a swing. I have enough hurting me right now.
My arrangement with Teagan is everything I need and nothing I don’t. No talking, no room for emotions, no space for me to fuck things up again. Pain free.
“No more frowning.” Mom pulls me out of my head. “It’s the weekend! Do you have fun plans for tonight?”
I chuckle. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
~
I left Mom feeling much better than I had when I dropped her off a couple of days ago, and for a moment, it feels like everything will be okay.
Inside my building, Teagan walks up to my apartment door at the same time I do. Her heels tap against the wood floors. Those little shorts and thin blouse draw my eyes to her body like magnets. I don’t care if she sees the smile on my face or not. She’s my pain relief, even though it hurts to admit that.
She crosses her ankles and then her arms, and I can see the shitty words coming. “Looks like you’re on time for once,” she says.
If she only knew how bad I’ve wanted to hear her bitchy little comments all day. I unlock my door and open it for her. “Don’t get used to it.”