Chapter Four
Luke
“Hey, fella, how are you? Good to see you again,” Charley proclaims from behind the grill, his beer belly almost touching the grates. I wonder if his belly hair, which is visible below what is practically a crop top, is scorched onto the burgers. I try to shove aside the thought.
Charley lets out a wheezing cough, perhaps the abundance of cigarettes getting to him. His scraggly white beard is a little longer than the last time I saw him. He’s only got about six months to grow it out for his gig.
“I’m okay,” I say. “Need any help?”
“Nah, this is my prime territory. King of the grill, and all that. Maybe your mother needs help though, getting the potato salad and stuff ready.”
I nod, relieved I don’t have to make awkward small talk with Mom’s boyfriend of the month, who happens to be the Santa Claus at our local mall in the winter and a sculptor the rest of the year. They met at one of his art shows a few months ago, Charley’s nude sculptures capturing Mom’s eye.
And the rest was history… or at least history for this month.
I wander inside the familiar ranch, eyeing the peeling yellow paint on the outside. I really should make it over to help Mom fix the place up. Of course, she’d probably just read me a riot act about how women don’t need men to save them and all that.
I open the creaky screen door and amble inside, Bowser nipping at my heels. He is one piece of Charley’s baggage—a five-pound Chihuahua that hates everyone and has an overactive bladder. I look down in time to move my foot from the spray of piss coming my way.
Great. Just what I need.
“Luke, there you are!” Mom exclaims, dashing from the kitchen to greet me. She leans in for a huge hug and squeezes me a long time. “It’s been forever,” she says.
Really, it’s only been about three weeks. Mom and Charley were away on a Caribbean cruise for a while. Thankfully, Scarlet got stuck with the joy of watching Bowser.
Mom readjusts her tube top—when she gets a new boyfriend, she breaks out the faded turquoise square of fabric, feeling more confident, I suppose. Scarlet and I always give each other a knowing look when we see it reappear, knowing there’s a new man in the picture.
“Dinner’s almost ready. I’m so glad you could make it, especially with everything going on. This is the time you need to be surrounded by family,” she says, leading me to the kitchen. Scarlet and her husband John are chopping onions and helping ice the cake Mom made. Scarlet turns to eye me.
“Mom, Jesus, it’s not like she died. They broke up,” Scarlet says, shaking her head and giving Mom the Scarlet eye roll. She looks me up and down for a second before continuing. “Although, he does look awful. Are you eating and sleeping? You look like hell, Luke. Really.”
“Yep, family. Just what I need right now,” I say, shaking my head as I run a hand through my curls. I know Scarlet’s right, and I know she’s not one to hide the truth.
John approaches, slapping me on the back. “You look fine, Luke. Don’t listen to them. How’s the single life treating you?”
I shrug noncommittally. It’s crazy how my breakup seems to be the talk on everyone’s lips. How is a guy supposed to move on and let it go when no one will let me?
“Will everyone stop talking about it? Give him some room to breathe,” Scarlet says now. “Jesus, where is the tact in this family?”
I raise an eyebrow at Scarlet, the infernal hypocrite.
“Well, we’re just worried about him is all. I know how much Lila meant. And don’t get me wrong, she was a great girl. But she wasn’t for you. So serious all the time. Always so… judgy, you know? Like the time she refused to eat my brownies and stuff.”
“Mom, you put pot in them. Honestly, what did you expect?” I ask, squeezing the bridge of my nose between my thumb and forefinger. This family is a headache. I’m surprised Lila didn’t go running sooner than she did.
“The girl needed to loosen up. We all do. But anyway, you’re better off. Play the field. Live it up, Luke. You’re still so young.” Mom is carrying potato salad out the screen door to the picnic table, John following with the onions and condiments.
“Not that young,” Scarlet says, nudging me, and I smirk.
“Hey, you’re not going to be in your twenties forever,” I retort, leaning on the counter to look out the kitchen window. Charley’s taking the burgers off the grill, but he stops to lean in and give Mom a kiss. Their kissing turns a little heated, and John looks hellishly uncomfortable, trying to distract himself with setting the table. Scarlet peers out the window beside me, laughing at her husband’s clear discomfort.
“How did you keep him around? How did he not go running?” I ask, smirking.
Scarlet shrugged. “Guess he figured I was worth dealing with Mom’s bizarre ways.”
“Remind me to have another chat with that guy,” I tease.
Scarlet and I have always had an easy relationship despite our typical sibling rivalry. We’re close enough to be honest with each other.
“Look, I know why you did what you did, and I know maybe it was the right thing to do. But Lila was so good for you. You were good together. Are you sure you made the right decision?”
Out of everyone, Scarlet would be the one to bring up this topic, to question me, to not just tell me things are going to be fine.
I shrug. “Honestly? I don’t know. These past few days, I’ve started to wonder.”
Scarlet sighs. “Things are different for you when it comes to love. You were older than me, and you were more affected by the shit with Mom and Dad. I get that. But Luke, don’t let what Dad did screw up everything for you. And don’t forget that you’re worth it, too. Whether it’s Lila or not, you deserve someone willing to look past all of this”—she motions toward the house, referring to the general dysfunction that is Mom—“to be with you. You’re a good guy. Really.”
“Thanks, Scarlet. So sentimental today. Are you pregnant or something?” I tease, nudging her.
“Hell, no. We’re not ready for that yet. And hey, are you saying I look chubby?”
“Never.”
“Did you say pregnant?” Mom says, wandering back through the screen door. That woman is flighty as hell, but she has sonic hearing, I swear.
“No, Mom. No babies,” Scarlet says.
“Thank God. I’m not ready to hear the word Grandma. I’m too young.”
Scarlet and I look at each other, wide-eyed.
“If you say so,” Scarlet mumbles as I head to the fridge to get some drinks. Bowser dashes back toward me, nipping at my feet.
“Dammit, Mom. Will you get this dog? Did Charley really have to move this thing in, too?”
“Oh, Bowser’s not so bad. He’s Charley’s favorite. Here, buddy,” Mom says, stooping down to pick up the snarling dog as she baby talks to it. But Bowser isn’t having it. Instead, the dog latches onto Mom’s hand, sinking its tiny, razor-sharp teeth into the fleshy part of her thumb.
“Dammit!” she screams, flinging the dog across the kitchen. Blood spurts everywhere, a fountain of red, as I abandon the drinks to rush to Mom’s help. Scarlet yells for John, who dashes inside.
“Here, let me go get my first aid kit,” he announces, running to get his kit.
“Good thing I married a nurse. God knows we need medical help in this family,” Scarlet says, calming now as I hold pressure on Mom’s hand.
Charley’s also in the house now, taking over my position. “I’m so sorry, sweetie. I don’t know what got into him.”
“It’s okay, it’s okay. I’m fine. A Band-Aid and I’ll be good as new.”
“You didn’t make any of those brownies, did you, Mom?” Scarlet asks. “I could use a few dozen.”
Mom shakes her head, laughing, as John comes in, taking over and bandaging Mom’s hand. Bowser’s resigned himself to the living room, perched on the couch like a king.
When all is calm again and we head outside to eat, the food is mostly cold and bugs are landing on every inch of it.
“So much for a peaceful dinner,” Mom says as we all sit down. Everyone digs in—we are not a grace-saying kind of family.
“Any new art shows coming up?” I ask Charley, trying to make friendly conversation.
“Not until September. It’s in Georgia,” Charley says. “I’ve got quite a few pieces ready to go.” At this, my mom lets out a little giggle and Charley gives a creepy wink.
Oh Jesus. I was afraid of this.
“Yeah, I have quite the muse. The work is in the shed if you guys want to see it after dinner,” Charley offers.
“No way,” John, Scarlet, and I shout simultaneously.
I think about burning my own eyes out at the mere thought of my mom being Charley’s new muse.
“You guys need to loosen up. Relax. It’s all good. Charley added some leaves into the sculpture so it’s appropriate.”
I shake my head, and Scarlet gives another of her eye rolls.
“How the hell did we survive this family?” Scarlet asks me, and John stifles a laugh.
And the thing is, I honestly have no idea. I have no idea how the hell I turned out even seminormal or how I thought for a second I deserved someone like Lila Morrow after growing up in this loving but batshit-crazy family.
***
Getting back to the apartment is a relief. I promise Mom to stop by and shut down her offer to set me up on some dates. Back in my room in the bachelor pad, I inhale, taking two aspirin before lying back on my bed. My family always gives me a headache.
Don’t get me wrong. Mom’s a good woman—nude sculptures, questionable dates, and pot brownies aside. She’s only recently become more hippie-like, trying to get the most out of life and feel younger than her fifty-eight years. To an outsider, I’m sure she looks like an absolutely insane woman. She is not your typical church on Sunday, epitome of ladylike kind of mom. She’s gritty and raw. But she’s my mom, and if anyone has the right to be a little rough around the edges, it’s that woman. She’s had a tough go at it, and she did her best to raise Scarlet and me so we didn’t know we were different. We never had a lot, her waitressing money not going very far, but we survived. We turned out semi-okay.
Mom’s love life has also not been traditional. She’s had more boyfriends over the years than I can count. Her relationships are unstable, and she changes men as regularly as some people change the oil in their cars—sometimes more frequently. Still, I can’t fault her for that either. Dad did a number on her. I think dating gives her power. I think she wants to believe in love, craves it even, but can’t let herself be committed. To Mom, I think a long, committed relationship makes her feel vulnerable.
For now, though, Charley is making her happy, and I’ll take it. It’s good to see her happy.
I turn over in bed, glancing at the clock.
It’s Wednesday night. At this time, Lila would be getting her shower before we cuddled up to watch our favorite show. She’d use that shampoo I loved so much before brushing out her long blonde locks. On the couch, her wet hair would dampen my shirt, but I never cared. Holding her, relaxing into her in the evenings was our tradition. It’s what grounded me, what made me feel ready to tackle another day of work.
Now, I lie here staring at the clock, not feeling like doing much of anything.
I don’t feel angry tonight or hurt. I just feel—silence. Bone-chilling silence permeates me. I feel empty.
I wonder if it’ll ever feel like home here, if I’ll ever find my own routine. Because right now it doesn’t feel like it.
I don’t get up and put on the show we used to watch together, and I don’t even move. Instead, I lie in my bed, staring at the clock, as my mind drifts back to a different time.
A time when she was mine.
***
Sweltering. That was the only word that came to mind as my brain fizzled, drained from the exhaustion of going up and down those damn stairs at least thirty times. The pounding July sun on my back didn’t help matters—nor did the fact our new apartment had no air-conditioning to speak of. And there was no breeze, not even a single puff of air.
“Are you sure you need all these… shoes?” I asked, staring at the neatly placed label on the box in my arms.
“Are you kidding? Those aren’t even half of them,” she replied, smiling as she tightened her ponytail, turning from the back of the U-Haul as she grabbed another box.
“You do know this is only a one-bedroom, right? And we only have one closet?” I joked, mentally preparing myself to climb those stairs again, my calves screaming at the thought.
Just five more trips, I thought. Five more trips and we’d be officially moved in, officially a couple who lived together.
The thought was enough to drive me up those stairs.
“Correction,” Lila said as I huffed my way up the steps, her right behind me. “I have one closet. You have a dresser.”
I shook my head. “I don’t even think having one entire closet to yourself is going to help. How many shoes does a girl need?” I trekked back to the bedroom, dropping the box to the floor.
“Careful, those are my babies,” she said. I turned to eye her with a raised eyebrow.
“What?” she asked, putting her box down. “Don’t judge. You knew I was a shoe addict when you asked me to live with you. You can’t back out now.”
Wiping sweat from my forehead, I walked toward her, grabbed her hands and entwined our fingers. “I’m not backing out. No way.”
She smiled at me, leaning in for a kiss. Despite our dripping sweat and tired muscles, the kiss eased my exhaustion. It energized me and made me realize it was all worth it.
She pulled back. “Come on, mister. No breaks for you. We have about ten more boxes and then we’re done.”
“Yeah, and then we just have to organize.”
“But it’s exciting, isn’t it?” she asked, not moving from the room.
“It is. I can’t believe it’s happening.”
Lila lit up, that smile I’d come to love already plastered on her face. That smile I’d come to need in my life. I glanced around the tiny room, peeling yellow paint and old, decrepit windows taking away from the atmosphere of our first bedroom together but not enough to make me even blink. The thought that I, Luke Bowman, got to share a bedroom with this sexy, shoe-addicted woman was more than I could’ve ever dreamed of. I’d dance down the hallway and skip around the block—if I could feel my legs.
“I’m so happy we get to start our life together here. It’s perfect,” she said, leaning in for another kiss. I wrapped her in my arms, despite our sweatiness. Neither of us cared. We were home. That was all that mattered.
“I love you,” I said, staring deep in her eyes.
“I love you, too,” she replied. “But we need to finish carrying boxes. We’ve got more shoes to carry in.”
I grinned, shaking my head. “Can’t we just donate a box or two to Goodwill?”
“Luke Bowman, bite your tongue, or this happy little arrangement is going to be over before it even starts.”
“Not a chance,” I said as I followed her down the stairs.
“Because you love me too much?” she asked, winking over her shoulder.
“That. But also because there is no way in hell I’m moving all this shit out of here again. My legs feel like Jell-O and I’m starving.”
Lila laughed. “Same. If we break up, let’s just draw a line down the center of each room, deal?”
“Deal,” I agreed as we paraded toward the U-Haul, smiling at the thought of it. It was a ludicrous idea, us breaking up. I was crazy about the girl who stole my heart over a dying cat. I knew from that first moment Lila was destined to be mine. These past eight months had only strengthened the need for her, the want for her. They’d only strengthened the fact life without Lila wasn’t life at all.
“After we finish these boxes, I think we should get pizza,” Lila said. “I’m starving.”
“Extra cheese and ham? Oh, and those amazing lava cakes they have,” I said.
She pauses, perhaps just to put off going up the steps. “I was thinking the exact same thing. You read my mind.”
“We’re made for each other,” I announced, propping the box on my hip to free up a hand. I offered her a fist bump.
She scrunched her nose in that adorable way that made me smile. “We’re made for each other because we want the same pizza toppings?”
“Hey, it’s in the details. We’re made for each other,” I responded, still offering her my fist.
She sighed, but obliged, bumping fists before agreeing, “If you say so.”
We finished unloading our boxes, dead on our feet, and polished off an entire pizza and four lava cakes.
That night there was no hot sex or crazy celebrations. Our first night together involved falling asleep as soon as our heads hit the pillow, but we were okay with that.
Our lives were just beginning. We had so much time together, so many memories to make. There would be so many chances to make memories, we knew, as we drifted off in each other’s arms, right where we believed we were supposed to be.
***
The comforter I lie on is the comforter we shared on that first night. I think about that day, the sheer exuberance of moving in, of having found the one to share my life with. I think about her bouncy ponytail and how that woman could make seventy-nine pairs of shoes sound not so bad. I thought about how I didn’t care what color dish towels she insisted we needed or how she organized the living room. That day, all I cared about was the fact I was fusing my life with Lila’s, and we were facing the future together.
Now, here I am, alone, the comforter that once cocooned us an empty reminder of everything good that’s gone.
Those boxes didn’t have a one-way ticket into that apartment, and there would be no line drawn to divide the place. There would just be some hurtful words, some drifting, and a dissolution of the love we’d packed into that apartment.
The one-bedroom wouldn’t be big enough to hold our pride, our fears, and our feelings that we were outgrowing each other. That one-bedroom wasn’t big enough to hold my regrets and the what-ifs.
Now, though, I’m realizing that even if I leave that place of memories behind, they won’t go away. Lila won’t go away.
Soul mates are built in the details, and those details follow you no matter where you go.
“Hey, man, you want some pizza?” Evan shouts from the other room.
And just like that, life goes on, the moving day memories relics from a past that no longer seems to be mine.