Chapter 17 #2
His hand is still on my face as his expression shifts into something I can’t quite read. My pulse does something inconvenient.
“Got it,” he says quietly.
He doesn’t move his hand.
I don’t move away.
Fuck. All the attraction I feel for Archie—that I’ve tried so hard to bury—is bubbling to the surface.
The apartment is very quiet. I can hear the fridge humming in the kitchen. I can feel his pulse in his thumb, or maybe that’s mine. It’s hard to tell where one ends and the other starts.
I’m staring into Archie’s eyes. Those hazel eyes that make me forget, temporarily, all the reasons I should pull away.
My phone starts to chime, and Archie snatches his hand back.
My heart hammering, I reach into my pocket and retrieve my phone.
But my idea that the phone call is a lucky reprieve lasts only until I’ve seen the caller’s name.
My sister.
I stuff my phone back into my pocket.
“Aren’t you going to get that?”
“It’s just my sister,” I say. “I’ve already talked to her today.”
“Is she okay?”
“Yeah, there’s just some shit going on with my brother.” I run my hand through my hair.
“What’s going on with your brother?”
It must be the lingering smell of chicken and dumplings, or maybe it’s the way Archie is looking at me, but I find myself answering honestly.
“He needs to go to rehab again.”
Archie doesn’t give me the look I’m bracing for. The one that says “oh, how sad” or “that must be so hard.” Instead, his expression shifts in a way I wasn’t expecting, and he regards me for a long moment before speaking.
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay.” I let out a bitter laugh. “It’s the…
god… It must be about the twelfth time he’s been admitted to rehab.
” I don’t say that they’ve all been paid for by me.
“Although we’re trying a new place this time, so maybe that will make a difference.
Caitlin, that’s my sister, is hopeful that it will work this time. ”
I don’t share Caitlin’s hope.
“So, you have a brother and a sister? Are they younger or older than you?” Archie asks.
“Both younger. I pretty much raised them,” I say.
Then I grimace. “I’m not sure that’s a great recommendation on my parenting abilities though.
Tommy got into drugs when he was in high school, and he’s never managed to hold down a real job.
Caitlin was doing better, getting good grades in high school, but she got pregnant during her senior year.
The baby’s father was a complete loser.”
I stop. I’m picking the label off my water bottle in methodical strips, the way people do when they’re saying more than they intended to.
Which I totally am. But I find myself continuing.
“She ended up graduating, but then became a teenage mom. I supported her so she could attend community college and train to become an early childhood teacher. I wanted her to come out to San Francisco to be near me, but she’s got another kid now with a different guy, and because of custody arrangements, she can’t leave Detroit. ”
I don’t know if I hide the dejection in my tone as I tell the story.
Because the world we grew up in has swallowed my siblings.
It’s my fault. I’d been so desperate to escape my childhood, so desperate to do well at college so I could have a future that was different from my past, that I hadn’t paid enough attention to what was going on back home with my siblings during those critical high school years.
And now, no matter how much money I throw at the problem, it doesn’t seem to change anything.
My parents live in a much nicer house in a much nicer part of town now. Yet they’re still the pariahs of the neighborhood, the ones who leave empty cans and bottles strewn on the unkempt lawn, compared to the pristine flower beds and freshly painted mailboxes of their neighbors.
Caitlin is definitely doing better, but she seems to get sucked into the drama with her exes and makes abysmal choices when it comes to boyfriends.
My niece and nephew are at least going to a good school, but even that is something Caitlin complained about when we talked today.
Apparently, Kimmy is struggling to make friends because money can buy a better zip code, but it can’t buy your kid an invitation to the sleepover everyone else is going to.
Archie doesn’t say anything right away. When he does, his voice is softer than usual.
“Sounds like you’ve spent a long time trying to hold everything together.”
I clear my throat. “Yeah, I guess I have.”
“Families are complicated.” He says it like he knows. “You can love people and still not be able to save them from themselves.”
Somehow, he’s defined my dilemma completely, and in fewer words than I’ve managed in a decade of trying.
“It’s definitely complicated,” I reply.
We stare at each other. The moment stretches. His eyes drop to my mouth, just for a second, then snap back up.
And with that, the attraction between us is back.
If anything, it’s been made worse by what I’ve just told him. It’s been a long time since I’ve confided anything personal about myself.
I’ve never even told Andrew the exact details of my complicated family and everything I left behind in Detroit.
I’ve tried to keep that part of my life completely separate from who I’ve become.
My stomach hollows when I remember the last person I ever talked to about my family.
Vaughn Mansley.
We’d gone to a bar one night after we’d been working late, and after a few whiskeys, I’d let my guard down and told him a bit about my childhood with drunk parents, an empty fridge, and being the one who made sure my siblings got to school in the morning.
He’d seemed sympathetic. Little did I know he would use that knowledge against me, knowing I’d have no recourse when he stole my idea.
And now I’ve got his little brother looking at me with those same hazel eyes. Although Archie’s have a warmth in them that Vaughn’s never did, they still remind me that I’ve been fooled by a Mansley before.
I stand abruptly.
“I’m going to get some seconds,” I say. The scrape of the plate against the coffee table sounds too loud in the sudden silence. “Do you want some more?”
“I’m good, thanks.”
“Do you want to put on that detective show so we can watch another episode?” I say as I head for the kitchen.
“The detective show. Right.” Archie reaches for the remote, and I escape to the kitchen before I do something stupid.
The fluorescent light is too bright after the lamp-lit warmth of the living room. I stand at the counter, staring at the takeaway containers, and remind myself of the facts.
Fact one: Archie Mansley is Vaughn Mansley’s brother.
Fact two: The only reason I’m in this apartment is because I tried to dump maple syrup on Vaughn’s head.
Fact three: Archie doesn’t know any of this. He thinks I’m here out of guilt. He thinks the man eating his grandmother’s comfort food and spilling his tragic backstory is someone worth caring about.
Fact four: If he ever finds out the truth, whatever this is between us will curdle into something ugly.
I spoon more dumplings into my bowl. My hands are steadier now.
I can’t let this happen. I won’t.
When I return to the living room, I sit on the opposite end of the sofa. Archie glances at me, then at the space between us, but doesn’t comment.
He doesn’t need to.