Chapter 21 #2
I tap through the past few texts he’s sent me, most of it regaling just how boring his grandfather’s townhouse has been over the past week, some of it touching on the conversation he had with Olivia, but for the past few days it’s been radio silence, much to my dad’s dismay.
He’s been relentless in trying to gain information on Will’s disappearance and on who leaked the information that Ian used for the ‘hit piece,’ as he’s called it.
It won’t take him much longer to realize he’s just at his Pop’s, to realize that a secret as big as the one Will was keeping could only be kept underground for so long.
But I can’t help but wonder if, without Ian’s scheming, it ever would’ve come to light. If Will or Ben or Gen would’ve had the courage to deal the devastating blow unless the house of cards was already beginning to crumble. And if this is just the start, how does this end?
I turn the key and hear the Charlie Brown Christmas vinyl playing through the thin walls. I’m shocked by the lack of noise complaints from our neighbors.
“Finally…” Carmen sighs when I walk in and I hand her the tape along with the LOL Surprise Doll that Marcus snagged for her. She lets out a loud squeal and Mom jumps out of her skin.
“Christ Carm, don’t do that.” The spatula she’s holding is covered in a gooey pie mixture.
“I told Marcus you’d save him a plate.” I nod to the counter now crowded with casserole dishes of various sizes.
I can see the flush of pride in Mom’s face, the one that reminds me just how far she’s come and I know she’s excited that she can provide for us, that she no longer feels like we are scraping by.
I wonder how quickly that would dissolve if she knew just how much we were being helped, that without my father a lot of this wouldn’t have been possible.
I sit on the barstool near where she’s pouring a thick batter into pie crusts.
I immediately dig into the fat stack of pancakes she left out for me but, unable to help myself, I reach over to swipe a finger through the mixture she’s stirring.
I let the pumpkin cinnamon flavor settle on my tongue as she swats me away, rolling her eyes playfully while moving to preheat the oven.
“So..” she says, in that tone she uses when she’s being mischievous.
“Your sister’s informed me that a very striking young woman has dropped her off after rehearsal more than once.
” I watch her eyes dart over and quickly find their way back to the oven.
My silence condemns me as I slide back into my seat and shoot daggers at Carmen who smiles conspiratorially.
“Andy definitely has a crush on her.” She over exaggerates just to annoy me and I reach over, pinching her arm. “OW!” She rubs the small red mark I left before slapping me hard on the arm. “Jerk! Don’t even lie. Mom knows it’s true. It’s so obvious.”
“It is pretty obvious.” Mom nods, sliding on her oven mitts before opening the oven.
“How can you say that? You haven’t even met her,” I scoff and I know I sound like I’m twelve, but these women know the exact right buttons to push and are relentless.
“The constant checking of your phone….the lost stare you keep doing…shall I go on?” She slides the pies in then crosses her arms, sly perception in her eyes as she meets my gaze.
Understanding sits just beneath, a softness Carmen can’t pick up on because it’s meant for me, and I flex my jaw, rolling my lips as my mom cocks her head.
“He’s embarrassed!” Carmen teases using both fingers to pinch me.
“That’s it!” I stand up throwing her over my shoulder and she giggles, using her small fists to punch my back harder than you’d expect from a girl her size.
I toss her on the couch and raise my arms like I’m about to grab her again as she squeals loud enough that Todd from next door bangs on the wall behind the TV.
“Knock it off,” Mom says sternly before loudly calling out, “Sorry Todd!”
We freeze, stifling our laughs. I pull her up and we both move back to the counter, where Mom instructs us to help roll out a few more pie crusts.
“How many pies are you even making?” I ask, noting she currently has three in the oven.
“Can I meet her?” Her insistence is quiet and stern, the kind I can’t side step despite the years of teenage rebellion I spent trying.
“Ask Carmen. She knows her better than I do.” I sniff, shifting my weight down and into the rolling pin.
Mom gives me a sour look, chastising me, and rolls her eyes.
“Just admit it Andy, you’re in love,” Carmen sing-songs, still oblivious to the subtext. I huff a laugh I’m hoping pushes us past this conversation.
“We’re friends. That’s it,” I say definitively, like saying it out loud will erase the feelings.
Those damn feelings.
“Friends who kiss!” Carmen practically screams and my head snaps to her.
“How’d you—”
“I was going to grab a drink of water and saw. She would’ve told me, though. We’re close like that.” She shrugs, standing to grab a pie tin from the stack.
“Kissed?” Mom asks, raising her eyebrows, concern welling in her eyes. “In this house?” she adds, for levity or for Carmen, and crosses her arms with a look of faux sternness on her face.
“It really doesn’t matter.” I focus on rolling out my own pie dough, not meeting her eyes, but I feel that tender expression she wears whenever she pities me.
Whenever she knows I probably did mess a good thing up but doesn’t want to rub it in.
She moves her mixing bowl to the counter right in front of me and I feel her trying to force me to meet her gaze.
“Andy…”
I glance up to find her whisk mid air, staring at me knowingly and it bothers me because she doesn’t know anything. She has no clue why I want Sloane. Why I can’t have her. She must see something in my face because a small frown flickers at the corner of her mouth.
“What’s wrong, honey?” She sets the whisk back in her bowl.
“I…kissed her.” I pause, remembering. “And she ran from it. I haven’t really heard from her since.
” I clear my throat, not mentioning that it was probably for the best. I carefully place my pie crust in the dish to my left, being careful not to tear it.
I feel Mom’s eyes narrow on me, her posture shifting.
“Well…did you chase her?”
I look up, surprised even though I shouldn’t be. My mom will always find a way to take a woman’s side.
“Chase her?” I scoff.
“Women love to be chased, Andrew. It’s romantic.” She picks up her whisk and slowly begins stirring again.
“I don’t think she’s the type who wants to be chased,” I sigh.
“Oh please,” she huffs. “Every girl wants to be fought for. They want to feel worth it. You need to decide if she’s worth it.
” Mom shrugs, grabbing my pie dish to finish folding the crust over.
“My god, the turkey will be done before you finish this crust.” I fall back again in my bar stool, tilting my head toward the ceiling.
“You’re being a baby,” Carmen points out, her eyes glued to her pie tin like they were the whole time she eavesdropped.
“And you are a baby,” I mimic her tone and she punches me in the arm so hard I wince.
“Carm…” Mom warns. “She’s right, though.
You’re being a baby.” She shrugs, opening the oven and Carmen snorts a laugh.
“Now I know you don’t want to listen to an old woman, but if you like this girl you need to show her that, honey.
I know everything feels dire at this age, but things have a funny way of figuring themselves out.
And you deserve to fight for what you want.
Even if it ends up not turning out the way you hoped it would.
” She sets the timer on the oven, wiping her hands on the back of her pants.
“If there’s a will there’s a way. And if it isn’t meant to be, you’ll know you tried.
” She kisses me on the head and goes to the pantry to find one of the ingredients needed for the stuffing she’s set on making.
Deserve.
It’s such a funny idea, deserving something.
On one hand I think she’s right, think that maybe I do deserve to be happy, to find someone who really sees me, thinks that I’m a good person despite it all.
In reality though I know it’s the opposite—that I don’t deserve any of it, that I’ve been betraying the people who mean the most to me for years, and for what?
I look at the pies on the counter, reminded that I do this for them. That all of this is for them. And yet, what if she’s right? That I deserve to just…try.
The conversation I had with Ian plays in my mind, and I let myself imagine it: wanting Sloane out loud like I did at that bar, unafraid to hold back, and with none of the guilt that’s polluted my good will for years, if it worked. If he could really undercut him, free me.
“When do you think the turkey will be done?” I ask sitting up abruptly. Carmen glances over suspiciously but decides to ignore me going back to opening the tape I just purchased.
“A couple hours…why?” Mom asks, her eyes fixed on the hand written stuffing recipe in the notebook on the counter.
“I need to go grab a book I left on campus,” I lie. “I’ll be back.” I grab my coat and slide out the door just as Carm opens her mouth to argue.
The city is quiet as I let my feet carry me up the steps of the MBTA.
The train is fifteen minutes late which means I’m shorter on time than I want to be when I reach Cumberland Park, just on the outskirts of campus.
The cobblestone streets are uneven as I weave past the closed store fronts my peers frequent but have always been astronomically out of my price range.
I always aspired to be here, to be able to afford one of these three story walk ups, the townhomes owned by almost every family at my school but being here on Thanksgiving, seeing how quiet it is, how empty, I find that I miss Nancy yelling at me on the street, the obnoxious blinking of Marcus’ open sign that you can see clear down the road.
My community, or at least a community. Here, you can tell it really is just every man for himself.
The black doorway of my father’s corner townhouse is ominous, the giant gold knocker something out of a horror movie.
I know he isn’t home, know he’s out of town on business like he is most holidays, so it’s a safe time to visit the person I’m really here to see.
I lift the large gold bar letting it thud heavily against the wood door frame before raising it again and again until I hear a latch, the sound of a lock turning.
The door creeps open and I notice inside the curtains are all closed, the home masked in shadow as Ian pokes his head out, his face uncertain until he realizes it’s me, and he raises an eyebrow.
“You’re alone?” I ask, peeking around him.
“Obviously.” He rolls his eyes.
“But it’s Thanksgiving…” I trail off realizing he’s telling the truth.
“Just another day in the fabulous life of Ian Rivers. How can I help you Andrew?” He’s annoyed and impatient—typical for him.
“You said you’d take care of my mom…my sister…if this all goes to shit.”
Something like excitement flickers in his eyes. “I’m not a monster, Andy. Of course I would.”
I nod, because I believe him. Because even though the past few years I’ve told myself the opposite, I do believe that he and I can be good, despite the man who made us.
“I’m in.” I nod and I watch a cheshire like grin grow on his face.
“Come on in, brother.” He opens the door wide for me to enter. “We’ve got work to do.”