CHAPTER SIX #2
Then I hang up on him before I’m tempted to tell him how haggard he’s been looking, or how bloodshot his eyes were when he drove me to the airport.
Or worse, how I was actually worried about him when I saw him standing at the kitchen counter the other night, too zoned out to manage taking a bite of his lo mein without dropping half of it along the way.
Years of accumulated knowledge learned by default, and the sudden prospect of being thrust together into a partnership neither of us wants but neither wants to fuck up either, is making things weird between us.
“Meatball sub,” I mutter, unwrapping the sandwich. It’s double-wrapped to hold the heat as well as the mess. “Fucking Jovi.”
After my mom left, we ate a lot of takeout for a lot of years. Wasn’t until I got old enough to start cooking for us that Dad stopped making his daily stops for dinner around town. Monday night wings. Tuesday night tacos. Yes, he followed the specials.
Wednesdays, without fail, we had spaghetti from Maria’s Little Italy while Thursdays were dedicated to Fish and Chips from McCarthy’s.
Pizzas were delivered on Saturdays. They were always cold and always tasted more like the box they came in than anything else.
Hence, why I don’t eat takeout pizza anymore.
Though, I never would have pegged Jovi observant enough to be aware of any of it.
I was mistaken. The meal before me is proof of that.
The only takeout we never gave up was the Friday night meatball sub from Darby’s Sub Shop on the corner of Main Street, smack in the center of downtown.
All throughout our childhood and into my college years, no matter who was around—and Trent and Jovi were around a lot—our family's order remained the same. One footlong sub to share between the three of us, a small Caesar salad and an extra-large order of Darby’s signature onion rings.
The meal before me obviously isn’t from Darby’s, but it might as well be.
Jovi got the order exactly right. And even the onion rings, which likely won’t have the spicey zing Darby’s was famous for, came with a side of mayo and barbeque sauce.
The precise but disgusting combo I was addicted to for dipping.
I mix the two packets, drizzle the sauce over the onion rings, and take a bite.
“Never tell Jovi, but he totally nailed this,” I begrudgingly admit to Harriet. “I'd never hear the end of it.” She meows in response. Then, apparently tired of my bullshit, she leaps to the counter, climbs over the sink, and slinks out the window.
I gulp down the greasy, crunchy bite of illusionary comfort and pause for a moment.
I’m alone again. Eating a traditional family meal without my family.
Because they’re all dead. My only companion has left me.
And the only person still alive who knows about the Friday night meatball sub is a person I can’t look at for more than thirty seconds without wanting to roll my eyes.
Logically, I sense this stack of revelations should be distressing, but emotionally I’m too exhausted to rally enough to feel much of anything.
Temporarily numbed to current events, I slide my ass onto the kitchen counter and proceed to mindlessly stuff food in my mouth.
Every bite makes me feel both nauseous and hollow and as my mind wanders, I catch myself having morbid fantasies of choking to death on an onion ring.
It would be fitting to die with this meal.
One I shared countless times with my father and sister. One Jovi ordered for me.
In a way, it would be like he killed me.
I don’t think anyone would be surprised.
JOVI
After breaking the news to my mother, I make the rounds visiting all of our local bars and setting up Zoom meetings with the others.
I talk to everyone from the bar backs to management to inform them of the changes underway.
Despite my mother's concerns, Mina is thrilled to step up and confident she can manage without my constant supervision. The only conversation I haven’t tackled yet is the one I need to have with Casey.
Tonight’s the night I’m ripping that bandage off. Right after dinner.
“Case?” I call out as soon as I’m stepping through the door. “I brought food.”
“You’re the best,” she squeals, bounding around the corner to greet me with an enthusiastic kiss. I used to love this about her. The genuine joy she feels in seeing me, how she never fails to let it show. In recent weeks it’s been harder to offer the same energy in response.
I’ve been telling myself it’s because of everything that’s happened. That nothing and no one conjures much enthusiasm in me these days. But as she’s crushing her lips to mine, wrapping both arms around my neck to pull me closer, all I can think is how I can’t breathe.
“I missed you,” she says, nudging her nose softly to mine.
“Come on,” I tease, gently untangling myself from her. “You spent all day surrounded by madness on legs. There's no way you had time to miss me.”
She makes a face and slaps my arm playfully. “I told you to stop calling my kids madness.”
“They’re third graders,” I muse. “How is a room full of them not total madness?”
She giggles, shaking her head at me. “You’re terrible.”
“What happened to ‘you’re the best’?” I hold the bag of food up to remind her.
“Oh, yes!” Her eyes light up and she claps her hands. “I’m starving.” She hooks a finger into the bag and peeks inside. “What did you get?”
“Meatball subs and onion rings.”
She makes a face. “Anything else?”
“Caesar salad,” I offer.
“Dressing on the side?”
Now I’m the one tempted to grimace. Caesar salad needs to be tossed, each piece of romaine richly coated in creamy dressing. But, I know Casey, so, “Yes, the dressing is on the side. And I had them hold the cheese on your sub.”
Casey goes to step aerobics and spin classes every morning; she could stand to eat a little fat. But it’s her body, her business.
“Thank goodness.” She scrunches up her nose. “Peeling off melted cheese is always such a mess.”
I swallow a sigh and start moving again. “Wanna eat outside on the patio? It’s nice out.”
“It’s kind of buggy.”
“I’ll light the torches, they’ll clear out,” I promise. “I’ll grab a bottle of wine too. We can make it a whole thing.”
Her face lights up all over again. “Sounds perfect.” She curls her arm over mine, falling into step with me as we walk through the house.
It’s silly but it’s also exactly the sort of sweet thing she does that made me want to be with her in the first place.
She never hesitates to let me know she cares about me.
Never holds back the happiness she feels in simply being together.
I never have to guess with her. It’s nice. Easy. “I’ll get the glasses.”
Gathering what we need doesn’t take long, and a few minutes later, we head outside.
As promised, the citronella torches hold the mosquitos at bay. Above us, the full silver moon is well worth the occasional breeze moving through.
“I’m glad we’re doing this,” she says, after we’ve been quiet a while, both of us too focused on our food to carry on conversation.
“You’ve felt distant ever since the accident.
” She hesitates, like she’s having second thoughts about bringing it up.
“I haven’t known how to reach you. You’ve been home every night, but in some ways, it felt like you were still away in Nashville. ”
“I’m sorry I’ve made you feel that way.” I’m even sorrier, I’m about to make shit worse.
“I understand that you’ve had a lot to process.” She reaches out a hand to squeeze mine. “I wish I knew how to help you through all of this. You can let down your guard around me, you know. I could be someone you lean on, Jovi. I want to be.”
“Casey.” Now. I have to tell her now. “I appreciate that, really, I do. It’s just…” Fuck. This is harder than I thought it would be.
“What?” Her eyes grow wider, the amber of her irises flashing in the torch light.
“Trent left his business to me.”
She frowns. “His horse business? Why?”
I don’t suppose it would be all that obvious to her.
She hasn’t been in my life long enough. She wasn’t there when Trent first started working horses.
She has no clue I’m the one who got him into it.
That I was doing it before he was. “Because he knew I would do right by it. That I would do right by the animals.”
“So, you’ll still be distracted for a while.” She smiles to hide her disappointment. “Until you figure out how to dissolve it all.”
“No, that’s not it.” Jesus Christ, I wish people would stop assuming that. “I’m going to run it, not sell it.”
She laughs out loud before she can catch herself. “I’m sorry, but are you serious? What do you know about running a ranch?”
I clear my throat, folding up the empty wrappers of my eaten sandwich. “More than you might imagine.”
The look she gives me is nothing short of incredulous. “You’re for real. You want to run Trent’s horse business.” She leans forward, hands clasped in her lap. “Why? Because you’re not ready to say goodbye? Jovi, how long are you going to put your own life on hold to keep from facing his death?”
I blink.
For a moment, I think maybe I heard her wrong. When I realize I didn’t, I swallow down the words I want to say to allow passage to those I need to get out.
“You’re not understanding what I’m saying.
” I lean toward her as well. “I’m moving.
Not forever, but for a year. And not because I can’t let go, but because I have to do this for my best friend.
Not to avoid his death, but to honor his life, his kids.
I have to do this for them, so that they’re taken care of.
So that Trent can provide for them the way he wanted to. The way he and Lena always set out to.”