15. Will
15
Will
I glance over at my apartment front door for the fourth time tonight. It’s only ten o’clock… but I’m tired of waiting. I’ve been alone for a long time. I haven’t minded it—not much anyway. Zoe tells me I’m lonely. I tell her I choose to be alone. You don’t have money like I do and become lonely by accident. There’s always someone who wants to be your friend when they find out you’re a billionaire.
Maybe it’s because Alice so clearly doesn’t care about any of that that I like spending time with her. Because if I’m pulling an Alice and being completely honest, I do like spending time with her. Zoe’s a friend, but not one that I hang out with outside of work. Alice and I have shopped, eaten, walked the Truckee, and talked a lot.
So, instead of looking at that door and waiting for it to do something different, I get to my feet, run my hands down the thigh of my sweats, and open the exit. I cross the hall and tap on Alice’s door.
She opens her door a crack, her Lake Tesoro-blue eyes unsure until they find my face. Clearly, she wasn’t expecting company.
“Hey,” she says, opening just wide enough that I can see her lavender tulle-infested dress spread out on the ground.
She’s not even sleeping in the bedroom. Sure, there are hard floors in every room of this apartment, but she’s in the living room. She’s just camping out. Gerald lies over top of the dress, and I am strangely reminded of a funeral viewing.
“What’s up?”
“Ah, I was hoping we could skip the middle of the night rendezvous and you could just come over now.”
“Oh.” She shakes her head. “I won’t be bothering you tonight.”
“You won’t?”
“Nuh-uh.” Her throat moves slightly with a swallow. “I promise, Will, not tonight. I’ve got a new system. I’m rolling the tulle differently.”
She’s ridiculously sincere. Alice has every intention of leaving me alone tonight. I am certain of it. I am also certain that, in a couple of hours, her back will ache so much that she’ll be knocking on my door. I’d rather she just get a full night’s sleep. Besides, I wouldn’t mind chatting with her—and ten is always better than two.
I tilt my head and peer around her. “And you’re sleeping on that?” Her place looks like an abandoned warehouse, with only a few scraps remaining.
Alice twists around to look at the bed she’s made out in the middle of the living room. “Yep. That’s my bed.”
“Alice.” Her name is a protest.
But that slender, pale throat just bobs again.
I move toward her, and she steps to the side—just as I hoped, letting me into her place. There are everyday living things around—clothes, laundry baskets, an alarm clock—but it all looks out of place and odd. Again, empty warehouse vibes.
I stride over to the middle of the open room and stand between her living area and kitchen. There’s a mug sitting on the kitchen counter, filled to the brim with Cheerios. A fat book sits next to it— Little Women .
“Just some light reading?” I say, looking at the hardback book.
“Oh. I’ve read it. It’s my favorite. But I use this copy to press my memory flowers.”
I lift my brows—I don’t know what that means.
“Um.” She walks over to the counter, lifts her book, and opens it up. The pages fall easily open, and a small, aged yellow daisy presses between the pages. “This is from my uncle Owen’s wedding. I was a flower girl.” She flips to another page. “And this one is from the day I graduated college.”
“That’s nice.” It’s sentimental. And while I normally stay away from heavy conversation, I understand commemorating events. I clear my throat and peer down at her mug of Cheerios. “A giraffe bed and no spoon. You like living on the edge, don’t you?”
Her face contorts. “I don’t have any spoons. Or bowls.” She laughs. “I’m so grown up, huh?” Alice nibbles on her lip. She tugs at the bottom of her T-shirt. It’s too big on her and hangs so low that just the bottom of her cutoff sweats hangs out. “I kind of forgot about my lack of silverware when I bought the cereal.”
“You don’t have a bowl?”
Her lips twitch nervously. “No. The bowls were Mom’s. Which means they’re in storage. I’ve never actually needed to buy bowls until now.” A nervous titter leaves her mouth.
“Okay, I’m loaning you a little money until payday, and then?—”
“No,” she says, stern and loud. “I’m fine. If I needed money that bad, I could ask my dad. Believe me, he’s tried to give it. I don’t need it. I’ll be fine. Eating Cheerios from my one and only mug isn’t going to kill me. I’m just glad the mac ‘n’ cheese came as individual cups.”
“One and only mug?” I scrub a hand down my face. She’s killing me. Why so stubborn?
“It’s fine, Will. It’s working.”
“And the bed? Is it working?”
Her nose wrinkles. “It’s… fine.”
“Wow,” I grunt. “You really can’t lie, can you? Clearly, it is not fine.”
“It is.” But her tone betrays her. I’m not sure Alice is capable of telling a lie, not without giving herself away.
“Okay. Then try it out.”
“I’ve tried it.”
“Right now,” I say.
She snorts. “No.”
“Can I try it?”
“No!”
“Then show me,” I say. “Prove to me that this bed is fine .”
Her eyes flutter to the ceiling, but she complies. She sits on the tulle disaster, a quilt on top of that, with Gerald settled in her crossed legs.
“Lie down,” I tell her.
Alice huffs, but she doesn’t argue again. She lifts Gerald, setting him at the top of her makeshift bed, and lies down, using the giraffe as her pillow. Her neck lifts at an awkward angle. Her back slants strangely with the steep decline from Gerald’s body. It’s not pretty.
“This looks like a crime scene. You look like a dead body all cockeyed and disjointed.”
A breathy laugh falls from Alice’s lips. “I do not.”
“You do. Have you seen yourself? If I had my phone, I’d take a picture.”
She pushes herself back into a sitting position. “Well, it’s comfortable—ish.”
“Ha!” I bark. “We have already established that you suck at lying. So, save it for someone who doesn’t care.” I hold out a hand, ready to help her stand.
She slides her palm over mine, and I yank her to her feet. Alice is petite—at least, compared to me. She might be taller than Zoe, but I’m 6’4”. I probably have a hundred pounds or more on the girl. So, it shouldn’t surprise me that when she flies to her feet, her chest bumps into mine.
“Okay,” she says, one palm on my chest. “I’ll sleep in your bed.” Her brows cinch. “Your guest bed. I’m not sleeping in your bed.”
“Alice,” I say, reining back my smile. “I knew what you meant.”
She picks up her giraffe, throwing the large stuffed beast beneath one arm, then snatches the handles of her laptop bag. “I’m ready.”
“What’s with the giraffe?” I say.
“Gerald,” she reminds me, though I haven’t forgotten.
“Gerald goes everywhere with you?”
“Honestly, I haven’t paid much attention to Gerald in years. I don’t need to sleep with a stuffed animal at night. I’m not a child.”
“And yet…” I glance pointedly from her to the toy in her hands.
“My stepmom bought this for me. She took me to the zoo in Denver before she moved to Coeur d’Alene. It’s my mom’s storage unit. He can’t stay there.”
Only Alice is paying for the unit.
“All of my things came with me. Including Gerald. Every time I look at him, I think of Coco. Of Dad.” Her chest deflates with a sigh. “He feels like home.”
“And you want a piece of home with you.”
She gives a one-shoulder shrug. The wide neck of her shirt slips, revealing one smooth shoulder. I swallow, though it suddenly feels difficult, and drag my eyes from that shoulder to her gaze. “I guess I do. Does that make me immature?”
I shake my head no. “I think that makes sense.”
“You do?” She tips her chin up to peer at me, blonde hair falling down her back.
“Yeah.”
She huffs. “I think it sounds a little wacky.”
A laugh sputters from my gut. “Come on,” I tell her, leading her out of her place and across the hall.
We’ve just stepped inside when Alice’s phone starts to ping, once, then twice, then a third time.
“Sorry,” she says. “I’ll silence that.”
“I don’t care.”
“No, really. You will. It’s my Bailey family. Once a family text starts, it goes on and on and on.”
“Your dad’s side?”
“My stepmom’s, actually. But the Baileys have been family my whole life. My dad and my uncle Levi have been best friends since middle school.”
“I see.” I don’t have a family. Not anymore. Alice has such unique family dynamics, with her dad, her stepmom, her extended family, and then her mother. It makes me curious. “You have a big family.”
“Oh yeah. It’s the best. What about you? Any siblings?”
“None, actually.” It’s one reason hiding Billy is as easy as it is. No siblings—but also, no aunts, no uncles, no cousins.
Her face falls as if this were a tragedy.
My lips pinch in a flat line, and I shake my head. “A large family is a strange concept for me.” And because I’m truly curious, I add, “Alice, do you want some tea? Then you can tell me all about the Baileys.”
Alice plops onto my couch, giraffe in hand. “Okay.”
My place may be twice the size of hers, but the kitchen and living room are still an open concept. So, I steep while Alice talks.
I learn about her stepmom and father’s businesses, and that her uncles are truthfully her very best friends. She said it before, but I thought it an exaggeration.
I walk the steaming mugs over to where she sits and set them on the coffee table in front of the sectional sofa. “You’re better friends with your uncles than your cousins?”
“I love my cousins. They’re quite a bit younger than me.”
“But your uncles would be quite a bit older, wouldn’t they?”
She thinks. “Yes.” She shrugs. “That’s just how it is. I do love my little cousins though. Here—” She pulls out her phone—it’s kind of ancient looking, but there’s no reason to point that out, so I keep quiet.
Alice scoots her body until her side is flush with mine. She pulls her legs up under her and holds the phone up for me to see. With her closeness, the scent of roses surrounds me. She is floral and sweet—which is probably a completely inappropriate thing to think about a friend.
I clear my throat and pull in another breath, but it doesn’t help me focus. It’s all roses, all Alice.
“This is Levi,” she says, pointing to a tall man with dark hair. “He owns a bike shop. I spent so many hours in that shop as a kid. That’s the one thing I couldn’t fit in my Jeep—the bike he gave me for graduation.” She smiles a little sad—she loves that bike. “His wife, Meredith,” she says, back to pointing, “and their kids, Quin and Wesley.”
“Nice,” I say, my eyes roaming over her face. She stares at her family photo, a light in her eyes when she talks about these people that isn’t always there.
“This is my uncle Miles. Okay, now get this, and you thought Jet Jacobson being a family friend was cool…He is married to Lane Jonas.”
I cinch my brows, thinking.
“Delaney Bailey?” she says. “She took his name when they got married. I never know what people will know her by.”
“Oh, yeah. The folk singer?”
“Yes!” Alice pats my forearm with my correct answer. “They have three kids.” She points to a young boy in the photo. “Arthur’s only six. He’s kind of the sweetest. He might be my other best friend.” She laughs, and it sounds like bells ringing. Clearly, this photo, these people, they are Alice’s happy place. “And here’s Uncle Owen.” She grins, and I wish she’d state all of her thoughts. “His wife, Annie. They have the biggest family. One boy, Noah”—she points to the red-headed boy as tall as the tallest man in this photo—“and four daughters.” She laughs again, but I’m not in on this joke.
I just study the picture and nod as she points to each person. “Will I be quizzed on names after this?”
“Yes,” she says, her eyes still on the screen. “This is Uncle Coop and his wife, Leah. Leah is a baker. If you ever go to Coeur d’Alene again, I will take you to her shop. The cinnamon rolls are to die for.”
“And they have children?” I say, because I am certain they do. I will learn their names and faces, and Alice will expect me to remember it all.
“Twin girls, Sofia and Maya.” She points the identical-looking tweens out to me. “And Ian.” The boy is maybe nine or ten, smiling hugely for the camera, eyes shut tight. “This is my dad, Jude, my stepmom, Coco, and my siblings, Lula and York.”
Alice stands next to her sister—they look similar, but different too. They have different mothers, and this picture is proof. Alice is fairer than her sister and brother. Her nose is different too.
“And last of all, my grandma Lucy. She’s kind of like the Bailey family glue. She will feed you, love you, and force you into a family meeting. Oh, and this is her husband, Max. They’ve been married…” She thinks. “I was twenty-one, so five years now.”
“Wow. That’s a lot of family.”
The right side of her lip pulls up in a half grin. “Yeah.”
“It’s nice though. Very nice.” It looks a little overwhelming to me, but it’s obvious they make Alice happy. “And your mom?”
“Yeah.” She grins again, but if I’m being Alice-Taylor honest, the sparkle from her eye has left. “Here she is.”
Sandra Taylor has Alice’s blonde hair and pretty, full lips. She’s feminine like Alice, but unrefined. The blue in her eyes is dim; it isn’t the bright and scenic of Alice’s watery blue. I’d have guessed her to be ten years senior to Alice’s stepmom. But I don’t think that’s the case.
I’m looking at the phone when the picture changes—the same face lights up the screen, only it’s a different photo of Sandra and the phone is ringing.
“Oh! Mom’s calling.”
“Go ahead. I need to warm up my tea, anyway.”
Alice nods. “Thanks, Will.”
I stand and walk to the kitchen, but Alice sits on the couch right in front of me. While I know she deserves privacy, I can’t stop being tuned in to her either. I busy myself with the microwave. She’ll leave the room if she needs any more privacy, right?
“Hey, Mom. How’s L.A.?”
“Alice, did you pay the storage unit bill?” Sandra’s voice rings through Alice’s phone loud and clear.
She glances from her phone to me. “Mom, you’re stuck on speakerphone. One sec.” She hits a button on her phone, but Sandra’s voice is just as loud and unloving as before.
“Boone’s brother tried to get inside it the other day and the manager wouldn’t let him.”
Alice holds the phone to her ear, but the thing is still stuck on speaker.
“Did you pay the bill?” Sandra growls. “Alice?”
“I did. I’m paying it. But why would the manager let Boone’s brother inside? He doesn’t know Boone’s brother. I don’t even know Boone’s brother.”
Sandra sighs like her only daughter is exhausting her. “You met him that one time. When Boone played guitar at that bar?”
Alice leans her head back against the couch, her eyes closed. “Mom, I have the key. The unit is in my name. If it’s not me, the manager isn’t going to just let some random person into the unit.”
“Then call the manager. Or send Brad the key or?—”
Alice blows out, her chest deflating. “Mom, I’m not doing either of those things. I don’t know that guy.”
“Alice, it’s my stuff. I told him he could borrow my air fryer.”
“Brad can borrow the air fryer, but I can’t? I literally came here with a mug. One mug!”
Another groan from Sandra and I peek at Alice, watching her face, watching the light that her Bailey family brought to her face dim. “He lives in town. You drove miles and miles away. What if I come home and I need it?”
“Well, I’m not sending him the key.”
“Then when will you be home?”
“Mom, I’m living in Tesoro now. I’m working in Tesoro.”
“What about my stuff?”
“I’m paying for the storage unit—just like you asked. It’s all still there. When you go home, I’ll send the key.”
Sandra gripes at her daughter for another sixty seconds. She never asks about Tesoro or Alice’s job or even how Alice is doing. My heart patters in my chest, and all I want to do is light that torch I know is hiding somewhere inside of Alice.
When they say goodbye and she hangs up the phone, I plop onto the couch next to her, my tea forgotten inside the idle microwave. “That’s it,” I say, my hand patting her hand. “I’m loaning you a spoon.”
She laughs, but it’s weary. “Fine. One spoon. No bowls though. My mug and I are just fine.”
“Deal.” I swallow and bring my eyes over to hers. “And I expect you to press a flower to commemorate the event.”
Alice laughs, but it’s clear her mother has changed the tone of this evening for her.
“You’re paying for her storage unit?” I ask, my words soft.
“She can’t afford it.”
“Why won’t you let your dad loan you any money?”
“He paid for my college degree. He hired me. Coco hired me. They were literally paying my living wage. They don’t need to give me anymore.” She stares out at my floating bookshelf, the one with my Allen Finch series collection. “I don’t want to be like her,” she says, her voice small. “I love my mother, Will. But I don’t want to be her. She took from my dad for years. I lived with him, but he still paid her child support. He helped her live until the day I graduated from college. Then, he hired me on. Always taking isn’t love, Will. I won’t be like that.”