35. CHLOE
35
CHLOE
Chicago finally feels like a winter wonderland. It snowed while I was working, a crisp sparkling layer covering the sidewalks. I step in the existing footprints, not wanting to ruin the untouched snow. Outlined in gray, the snow turning to slush around my boots which oddly reminds me of myself.
For years, I’ve allowed people (guys) to only walk (see) on the path carved out, the one permanently indented into me. Fearful that they'd run if they saw all the other parts of me, the not crisp and sparkly, but dark and dull.
I laugh at myself sometimes. All I want is to feel something, anything, again. But what do I do? Repeat the same pattern that ultimately leads to emptiness.
It’s why this thing—relationship? Friendship? Arrangement?—with Cal matters. He’s the first person who refuses to follow the footprints. Without realizing—or maybe he does—he’s veering off the path, seeing parts of me that no one has.
And I’m letting him.
I don’t want to keep up this cycle anymore. Not because I’m tired of it—which I am—but because it’s him.
It terrifies me of what will happen when he learns about what I did. It’s stopped me occasionally from getting closer to him, but he prevails, continually breaking down my walls, melting the snow, and seeing through me.
And that has me feeling something, even the smallest sparks. Finally .
My short walk home was careful but quick, needing to relieve Cal of Riley duties.
Stepping off the elevator, the hallway has a new, sweet smell. Opening the door to his apartment— your apartment, Chloe —my nose is overwhelmed with the smell of cookies.
I toss my keys on the rack by the front door. Tucker is the first to greet me. Tied around his head is a construction paper headband giving him horns. I can’t tell if I have a pet dog or pet triceratops.
“What is this, Tuck?” His tail is wagging gleefully. “Did you grow horns?”
I pet his head, careful not to mess up the headband. He leans into my touch, nudging my hand, requesting more love.
At least when this inevitable goodbye from Cal comes, I’ll have Tucker.
I can always count on him, the longest and deepest relationship I’ve ever had.
Immediately after college, when I moved to Chicago, I got Tucker. My parents and Miller thought I was insane. Adjusting to a new city and post graduate life was already a challenge. Mix in a twelve week old puppy? A surefire way to drive myself insane, but grief was already doing that.
That never happened. Instead, I adjusted—as I always force myself to do. Tucker was an easy puppy compared to the horror stories I’ve heard about. Listened and trained quickly. Didn’t cry throughout the night, but that was probably because I did enough of the crying for the two of us. Couldn’t both be crying ourselves to sleep, now could we? Anyway. He was the first companion since that morning when I was left to fend for myself.
Tucker didn’t know, nor will he ever know because he’s a dog, and dogs don’t understand humans—I will fight this fact forever—but he’s been protecting me. Soothing the wild, guarded exterior and soft, scared interior.
With all the boys that have been a revolving door in our lives, he’s always loved me best .
My mind drifts to the one boy that I think could love me as Tucker does if I let him. Unconditionally. Relentlessly. Patiently.
There he is. Standing in the kitchen next to my nephew.
He’s focused on the measuring cup Riley is flipping upside down. His smile at its full capacity. His sandy hair sticking out from the bottom of a backward hat. His chiseled jaw and large, broad shoulders shake with a laugh. One arm is tucked around Riley’s waist, steadying him like he’s steadied me. His vintage Goo Goo Dolls concert tee fitting him perfectly in all the right spots. His sunshine shining through my darkest corners.
The sight goes straight to my core—memories and, um, a lot lower, which isn’t appropriate around my nephew. All cautions flying out the window.
I drink in the sight of him again. I think I’d let this man put a child in me tonight if this is what being a dad looks like on him.
“Hi,” I say, sneaking behind them to get water.
“Hi! Auntie Chloe!” Riley cheers, waving a flour dusted hand at me.
“Hey, buddy. What are you two up to?”
“What does it look like?” His sassy tone mirrors mine. “Making cookies.”
I snicker. Cal’s attention comes to me. “Someone’s sass is rubbing off on him.”
I give him a coy smile. “Yeah, yours.”
Cal double-checks to ensure Riley is okay before turning his body to mine and swiping a bite of dough from the bowl. “Yours.”
He holds out his finger to me. “Want to try?”
I take the dough, swiping it off his finger, ignoring the temptation to taste it another way.
“Good.” I lick my lips. “I’m going to change. Then I can’t wait to eat these cookies.” Exiting the kitchen, I plop a kiss to Riley’s cheek.
“Doesn’t Cal get a kiss, too?” Riley asks, stopping me in my tracks. My eyelids flutter .
“Yeah, doesn’t Cal get a kiss, too?”
“I don’t know, bud. Heard you’ve been good today. I’m not sure about Cal.” I pop my hip, arm resting on it, and tilt my head. “Only good boys get kisses.”
Riley giggles.
“ I can be such a good boy. I promise .” Cal winks.
***
The oven buzzes as I walk down stairs.
“We’re friends, right?” I overhear Riley ask Cal.
“We better be,” he responds with the slightest hint of a laugh.
“Silly goose me. You might be my bestest friend.” There is a pause before Riley continues, “After my dad. And Chloe. And Tucker. And this really, really, really pretty girl in my class at school. But after that, you are.”
“I’ll take whatever spot you’ll give me, mate.”
“Mate. Mate. Mate.” Riley sings to the melody of Row, Row, Row Your Boat.
“Instead of best friends, I can be your best mate,” Cal offers him.
My ovaries are working on overdrive today.
I sneak down a few more steps, sitting right where I can catch small glimpses of them, not ready to interrupt the moment.
“I like that,” Riley peeps.
“Me too, lil’ man. Want to know a secret?”
“I’m the bestest secret keeper.” I presume Riley’s nodding his head with his grays all big like a baby deer. He loves secrets, and truthfully, he’s pretty stinking good at keeping them.
“You’re my bestest mate in the entire world.”
“I am!?”
Cal’s shoulders bops. “Why wouldn’t you be?”
“I thought Chloe was your bestest mate. ”
I creep down another step silently. Leaning my back against the wall. Cal’s face comes into full frame. I’m in the shadows of the stairs, and I don’t think he can see me.
“She was till I met you.” Cal ruffles his hair, and they laugh in unison. He’s relaxed right now, even with the mess Riley is making. “You can’t tell her, though,” Cal reminds him.
“I won’t!” Riley takes the mixing spoon, running his finger along the concave side, sticking the heaping amount of dough into his mouth like a lollipop. Pulling the finger out of his mouth with a POP! , not a lick of dough is left. “Can I ask you something?”
“Anything,” Cal replies overly confident.
Riley is perceptive. He always has been, even as a toddler. I suspect it’s because of what happened between Miller and his mom.
Saying you’ll answer anything is a dangerous game.
The kid is curious and loves school. Loves learning even though he struggles with it at times.
One of the few holidays I was home for, he asked me a question I didn’t know the answer to. Instead of accepting ‘I don’t know’ as a response, he made me pull out my phone and google it. We spent the next hour learning about whatever it was—could probably ask him, he’ll still know every tidbit of information.
Callum could be in the danger zone with whatever comes out of Riley’s mouth next.
“Do you like Auntie Chloe?” he asks.
I’m on the edge of my seat, literally and emotionally.
“We are roommates, so yes.” Roommates. After his parent’s visit and the piano, I don’t know, I thought things were different between us? Maybe I misread everything.
I start to rise from the stairs when Riley modifies his question.
“No. Do you like-like her?”
I hesitate—anticipation building for Cal’s answer.
Seconds feel like minutes. The air goes dry, a drought waiting for water.
“Yes,” he replies simply .
“You do?” Riley shouts.
“Indoor voices,” Cal reminds him.
“Sorry. You do?” he says in a much more appropriate volume.
“I like-like her very much. Your Aunt is the most beautiful, most exquisite person I know. Want to know another secret?” Riley nods eagerly. “I have the biggest crush on her.”
“Wow!”
“Do you like her?”
“Uh-huh. I love the drawings on her arms.”
“Me too.”
“Does. . . does she like-like you?”
Dropping my gaze to my lap, I didn’t realize I was grasping the railing. Knuckles white. I lift my head, and the oven goes off again.
Staring back at me, through me, are the ocean eyes that I find myself swimming in daily. The eyes that are drowning and saving me all at once.
We both inhale. Chests rising and falling in symphony.
“I don’t know.” Cal’s gaze never leaves me. His next words leave his mouth like bullets. “At least not that way.”
My heart is colliding with my chest.
“I bet she does.”
Riley is distracted, messing with something on the counter and rambling, but it's white noise. His words are going in one ear and straight out the other. All I can hear is Cal’s words stuck between my ears.
I enter the kitchen, pick up an oven mitt, and remove the tray of cookies. Riley jumps off the chair at my request to go wash up. Cal leans against the counter, following my movements. Picking up a cookie, the burning of my fingertips nothing compared to the inferno within my body, taking a giant bite out of it.
They made Miller and I’s favorite ones.