15
Positive Pickle
Mitch
No matter what I do, this restless need to move hasn’t left me.
I’ve done so many push-ups and sit-ups that my arms and stomach are aching.
I went for a long swim in the ocean. Even forced myself to jog, which only made the pain in my hip flare up.
And even after a long, ice-cold shower, nothing has eased this constant pressure that barrels down on my shoulders.
My skin feels stretched taut across my ribs, and no matter how much I try to catch my breath, this pressure in my chest won’t lessen.
I’m not sure why I agreed to this camping trip. I might be looking for some sort of connection to my past, trying to hold on to something that doesn’t exist anymore, or hoping to rekindle it. Who knows? Whatever the reason, it would be shitty if I bailed and went back to bed.
I drink my third glass of water, and Mom walks into the kitchen, makeup done, her hair set in a bun with two curls sticking out and framing her face.
She’s such a beautiful woman, but the pain in her eyes still shows even after all this time.
She deserves to be happy, not be stuck with a man who never deserved her to begin with.
Someone unfaithful who broke her heart. I wish Mom realized that.
Then she could have spent less time taking him back and more time finding someone who treated her right.
“Good morning, Chi-Chi,” she says, kissing the top of my head. “Have you been up long?”
“A few hours. I made some oatmeal and coffee.” I nod toward the stove.
She lifts the lid on the pot, breathes in the scent and smiles. “You’re going to make some woman very happy one day.”
“I bet,” I reply, heavy on the doubt. I’ve been happy being a bachelor for some time, and I haven’t bothered looking for the one.
Hell, I’m not even sure where my next paycheck will come from, let alone if I’d make a good husband or father.
But the hope in Mom’s voice fills me with a sudden desire to be more than a guy with no one to call mine.
“When are you heading out?”
I glance at my watch. “In a few minutes. Just need to pack the car.”
Mom sits down next to me at the table with her bowl of oats.
“I’m so happy you are all spending time together again.
It’s like the old days.” She places a hand on my shoulder, giving it a gentle rub.
“And I’m relieved you and Max are working things out.
Camping sounds like the best way for you all to reconnect. ”
I hurriedly distract myself from the memory of last night and what I think almost happened in Maxine’s apartment, shoving my dishes into the dishwasher. “Yeah, it’ll be fun.”
I hate lying to my mom. She doesn’t know about our little chat with Dad.
She has no clue what it brought up for me, and I’m sure for Max.
I told her things were fine between me and Maxine.
That we made up, which I guess we have. But when I see how relieved she looks, and how the worry etched on her face a few days ago has vanished, it makes the lie worth it.
Only now, after a restless night, I’m starting to feel like there’s this massive gorge that’s opened up and I have to decide whether to flee from it, or leap over it. Which could explain this constant pit I have deep down inside.
“I have to go, Mom.”
“Okay. Drive safe. Text me when you get there.”
Her concern makes me smile. I hug her, kissing the top of her head. “Yes, Mommy.”
She giggles as I pull away, but then reaches out, taking my hand and stands, tucking herself between my arms. I realize this isn’t about me going camping. Dad isn’t doing great today. Still in bed, he didn’t even want to get up this morning when I went to see him.
She takes a deep inhale. “I love having you home, Chi-Chi.”
“I love being home.” Another lie, but this one I say in hopes it will eventually be true.
When I step out of the kitchen, I hear Dad hacking and hurry upstairs to his bedroom, finding him hunched over, coughing into his hand, his face so red he’s nearly purple. The sight is like a fist clenching around my heart, and I rush to his side.
“Dad?” I gently tap his back with one hand, pulling my phone out of my pocket with the other.
He waves away my concerns, leaning back into the pillows. I offer him his glass of water and help him take small sips.
“Are you okay?”
“Never better,” he rasps, his voice a dry, scratchy sound.
“Are you sure?”
“I’m fine,” he insists. “The cough’s always worse in the morning.”
I don’t believe him. I’ve been here long enough to tell the difference. Every day sounds worse than the last, and the grayness of his watery eyes tells me this isn’t just a morning thing. In a very short matter of time, he seems to have disintegrated.
“Dad, I’ve gotta ask. Are you sure you don’t want the treatments? There are serious advances with chemo and—”
“Jesus Christ!” he snaps. “I’ve made my decision, Mitchell. I’m all right with it. I don’t care what it takes, you need to come to terms with it, too. And soon.”
“I’m at terms with it,” I reply, putting the glass down on the bedside table.
What a morning for bald-faced lies.
He looks so tiny tucked between the thick pillows, covered in so many blankets to help him ward off the cold. He’s weak, shriveled.
“I just don’t get why you aren’t fighting,” I say, weakly.
With sadness in his eyes, he looks up at me. “I’m too tired to fight.” He glances past me to Mom standing in the doorway, watching us, biting her fingernails.
“And what about Mom?” I ask.
“I’m not entirely selfish,” he begins. “I’ve caused her enough pain. She doesn’t deserve to waste any more time taking care of me.”
I blink a few times, sitting down on the edge of the bed to gather my thoughts. He’s not wrong, but I keep that to myself. “I’m not sure she sees it that way.”
“She does. She just won’t admit it. Anyway, doesn’t matter. I’ve made my decision. It’s final.”
“But, Dad—”
“Final, Mitchell.” He brings his gaze up to mine and, in it, I see him searching for the words he longs to hear. He’s looking for my forgiveness, and it makes the anger in my chest rise tenfold.
I’m not ready to give it. I’m not sure I’ll ever be ready.
“I guess I’ll see you tomorrow, then,” I reply, holding back.
Mom doesn’t even look up as I walk out, but it’s better this way. One glimpse of those anguish-filled eyes and I might lose what little restraint I have left.
I pull up outside Hunter’s house and see him standing by a mountain of camping gear. Or at least it might be Hunter. With Celia wrapped around him, they’ve turned into a mess of blond and black hair, tanned skin and summer outfits.
Maxine steps out of the house, sporting her hair braided into two pigtails.
She’s dressed in navy-blue shorts with white crew socks that reach her middle-calf.
They’re adorable with a red and blue line across the top.
A red and black checkered shirt is tied around her waist and with her plain white T-shirt she looks like a cute, dare I say sexy, lumberjack.
It stirs up that heaviness I’ve been carrying since I left her place last night.
I get out of my car. She drops her small backpack and rolled-up sleeping bag at her feet. “That’s all you’re bringing?”
“I don’t need much.”
“That’s not going to be enough.” I point to the flimsy sleeping bag. “They’re calling for a low of sixty tonight.”
She squints at me, then crosses her arms with a shrug. “I’ll be fine.”
“Still love the cold, I see.” I grin, but she ignores me and pulls her phone out. I could insist she bring more than one blanket, but decide this isn’t my problem. If she’s cold and uncomfortable all night, then it sucks to be her.
Hunter and Celia finally come up for air. We greet each other with hugs when Maxine gets a call. Celia steps away with her, and Hunter helps me load our stuff into my car before gripping my shoulder. “You seem a little tense.”
“I’m having a rough morning. It’ll pass.” I offer him a smile.
“Don’t worry,” he answers reassuringly. “We’re going to have a blast.”
I side-eye him. “I’m sure we will.”
“May I remind you, you’re the one who suggested this little last-minute trip?”
I twist my mouth, and glance over at Max who, if it’s even possible, looks more annoyed than she did before. She’s huddled in what seems like a very intense conversation with Celia.
“From what I remember, I suggested we hang out. You’re the one who said camping,” I reply, and give him a little shove. “How did you convince Miss Grumpy Pants to come along?”
He glances over his shoulder at his sister and smiles. “She needs a break. It’ll do her some good.” He looks back, seeing my skeptical stare and laughs. “Okay, I told her if she didn’t come, I’d keep bugging her about cleansing her chakras. That did the trick.”
Getting a good laugh from me, he smacks me on the back, then we get into my car, the happy couple in the backseat.
“No making out, got it?” I tease.
“Yes, Dad,” Hunter replies, shoving his face into Celia’s neck.
I turn the key of my rental and hear Maxine snort-laugh. “This thing is a monster.”
“It’s perfect for where we’re headed.”
“Not great on gas, though,” she scoffs, switching the radio to some emo-pop station. I grip the steering wheel tightly. “We should have taken my car. It’s so much better than this flashy thing. Deceptively powerful.”
“Will you stop doing that?” I ask, sharply, switching back to my classic rock station. Lack of sleep has shortened my patience.
“Stop what?”
“Arguing about everything. Trying to make everything a competition.”
“Oh, boy…” I hear Hunter whisper.
“Last I checked, we’re trying to get along,” I say. “And we can’t do that if you keep bitching at me all weekend.”
“Aww,” she begins, bringing her hands to her chest. “That might be the sweetest thing anyone has ever said to me.”
“Max…” her brother warns.
I glare at her, and she rolls her eyes, dropping her hands along with her fake smile. “Fine, sorry.”
We drive for a few more blocks when her phone pings. She reads a text message, then sighs.