Chapter Three – Roxy

The morning after is always a complete bitch. The hangover, the empty, sick feeling in your stomach, and the blurring of your memories. My brain has blocked out random chunks of last night after around ten p.m., and all I can really remember is dancing with Tom then leaving with Kyle. I have no idea about the rest of the night, or why my wrists are aching.

“Roxy! Get up!” Mom yells up the stairs.

“I am!” I call back, rolling out of bed.

“I need to open the café, and we’re going to be late!”

“Alright! Give me five minutes.” I rub my face with one hand as I grab my jeans from the back of my chair with the other. I throw on a shirt and slip my arms into a sweater. My hair and make-up takes me two minutes to rush through, and I practically fall down the stairs.

Mom looks me up and down when I pull my boots on. “At least you look presentable.”

“So glad you approve,” I mutter dryly.

She sighs. “Roxy…”

“Let’s go, Mom.” I open the front door. “Don’t want to be late, remember?”

I hear her sigh again as I walk to her car. She can sigh all she likes – she told me to hurry so I’m not stopping for a heart-to-heart in the damn hallway. I just want to get to the café, do my shift, and then call Selena to find out what I did – or didn’t – do last night.

We pull up to R & C’s, the café Mom’s owned for the last twelve years. She named it R & C’s after me and Cam – she said we were her pride and joy and so was the café, so it made sense to name it after us. The inside is even decorated in our favorite colors – blue and purple. At least they were when she freshened it up five years ago.

I walk across the royal blue, tiled floor to the counter and look over the café. The white walls are covered in photos of the Columbia Gorge and Mt. Hood through the seasons. They start in spring to the left of the counter and spread round the café, finishing in winter to the right of the counter. The images hang between the small menu boards with the specials on, their alternative blue and purple frames bright against the walls. The tables are half covered with table covers, alternating like the frames and the menus that sit on them. If there’s a blue cover, there’s a purple menu.

Mom really went all out on her design. She put as much love into opening the café as she did raising us, and it’s all that’s kept her going the last few months.

Mom flips the sign on the door to “Open,” and I start up the coffee machine. Sundays at the café are easy; old Mr. Yeo will be in for his coffee and waffles in fifteen minutes, followed by the Stevens sisters for their weekly cake treat ten minutes later, then Louisa, my cousin, will be in to drink us out of coffee as she writes another chapter or so on her next book. Always the same people at the same time.

Just how I like it. It gives me something to concentrate on, and if I’m doing that, I’m not thinking about the photo of Cam right in front of me on the counter. If I’m not thinking about him, I can almost pretend I’m not hurting.

Just like Mom does.

Two weeks to grieve, to hurt, then she was back at it – throwing herself into work. She insisted the café had to be opened, that life had to go on. Our lives didn’t stop just because Cam’s did. The truth of it plagues me and taunts me every day, and I’ll never know how it’s so damn easy for her to walk on in here each morning, put a smile on her face, and pretend everything is fan-freaking-tastic.

I don’t know how she does it. I never will.

I tie my apron around my waist and tuck a pad and pen into one of the pockets as the doors open. Mr. Yeo walks in, ten minutes early, and I know instantly today is going to go horribly.

Mr. Yeo is never early.

“Good mornin’, young Roxanne,” he says in his usual chipper tone.

I smile despite his use of my full name. “Good morning, Mr. Yeo. Your usual?”

“Of course, girl. When have I ever had anything else?” He chuckles, sitting at his table by the window. He rests his cane against the wall behind him and settles down, waiting for his coffee.

“Mom.” I poke my head into the kitchen. “Mr. Yeo’s here.”

“He’s early.” She looks at me, surprised.

“Yep.” I sigh and grab a mug for his coffee. My foot taps against the floor in a quiet beat to the radio Mom insists on having on in the background as I make the hot drink. I carry the mug across the café and set it in front of Mr. Yeo. He gets his paper out and lays it on the table.

“How are you, my dear?” he asks.

“I’m okay, thanks. How’s my favorite customer?”

“Favorite customer? There’s favoritism?” Isla Stevens cries as she walks through the door. “Well I never, Roxy. I thought I’d be your favorite!”

“No, that would be me,” her twin sister, Marie, pitches in, patting her graying hair. I laugh and lead them to the counter.

“Now, ladies no need to fight. How about we make you my favorite female customers?”

“Hmph. I suppose we can share that,” Isla mutters.

“Goodness me, Isla. We’ve shared a womb, clothes, a house, and you’re fussing over a favorite customer title.” Marie shakes her head and leans toward me. “She always was the fussy one.”

“You forgot boyfriends,” Isla adds. “I believe we shared a few of those back in the day.”

I raise my eyebrows and move to the cake section of the counter. “I’m not sure I want to listen to any more of this conversation.”

The twins laugh. “Oh, dear,” Isla giggles. “Not like that.”

“Like that? I didn’t say anything.” I plate up the two slices of carrot cake and set them in front of me.

“No, but you were thinking it. After all…”

“…We know what you young’uns are like these days,” Marie finishes her sister’s sentence. “All that trashy television.”

“Which you enjoy.”

“Shush, Isla. Don’t tell everyone.”

I smile. Isla rolls her eyes. “Dear, Marie. Anyway, Roxy.”

I look up from the register and freeze when I see the glint in her eyes. “Um, yes?”

“We’ve heard something,” Marie taps the counter.

“That happens when you have ears,” I respond, tapping mine.

She looks at her sister. “She thinks she’s funny.”

“They all do,” Isla replies. I grin.

Marie looks back to me. “We’ve heard a bit of gossip. About you, dear.”

Well, isn’t that a surprise.

“Enlighten me,” I say dryly.

Isla leans forward, pressing her chest against the counter. “We heard,” she whispers. “That that hunk of a boy, Kyle, is your boyfriend.”

The twins look at me expectantly, both with excitement shimmering behind their hazel eyes.

I snort loudly and slap my hand over my mouth. “Uh, ladies, there’s a reason things are called gossip. It’s because they’re not true.”

Their faces drop. “Oh, damn,” Isla mutters. “Those would have been some pretty babies.”

“Right you are, Isla. Very pretty. And Cam would have approved.”

“The only male Cam ever approved of me dating was a Hollywood star – and even then he had to be on screen,” I remind them.

“Well, it’s still a shame,” Marie murmurs, taking her plate. “We could do with a bit of juice around here these days. Nothing exciting ever happens anymore.”

“I agree…” Isla nods as they both walk over to their table. I look at them hopelessly, shaking my head, and the bell from the kitchen rings for food. I walk in to get Mr. Yeo’s waffles.

“I’m sure I just heard the twins,” Mom says, wiping the side down.

“You did. Being their usual crazy selves.” I grab the plate. “Gossiping.”

She laughs. “You wouldn’t think they were in their fifties. More like their fifteens, if there were such a thing.”

“I think there is. It’s reserved just for them.” I leave the kitchen and give Mr. Yeo his breakfast.

I’m wiping the counter down when the door opens again. I swear, if this is Louisa early, too…

“You look like crap,” Selena announces.

“Gee, thanks. You look amazing yourself.”

She sits at the counter. “I’ll have a lemonade with a dose of what the freaking hell was wrong with you last night?”

I purse my lips, grabbing a glass and filling it with ice. “I have no idea what you’re on about.”

“Of course you don’t.” She sighs as I put the glass in front of her and lean on the counter.

“Really, I don’t. I can’t remember much.”

Her lips twist up on one side. “You mean you don’t remember Kyle claiming he was your boyfriend? Oh, this is awesome.”

“He did what?” I glance over her shoulder at the Stevens sisters. “You know what? My morning suddenly makes sense.”

“He pretended to be your boyfriend to get you away from that Tom guy you were hanging with.”

“Why the hell did he do that?”

“You were too drunk, and Tom was too grabby.” Selena shrugs. “He pretty much dragged you from my house.”

“Asshole!”

“Yep, you mentioned that a few times to him last night apparently. He called me when he’d taken you home.”

“I can’t believe he did that,” I grumble. “He’s not my damn keeper!”

“You need one,” my cousin’s voice says from the doorway. I look up, spying her black hair as she strolls toward me.

“Oh, don’t you start as well.” I stand and grab a mug for her first coffee.

“I’m just sayin’, Rox.” Louisa holds her hands up, her laptop bag slung over her shoulder. “You think you’re good, but you’re not.”

I catch her eye, and my heart sinks when I catch her meaning.

“Please tell me the reason you were at the B’n’B on Friday night wasn’t what I think it is.”

“Shut up,” I hiss under my breath, glancing at a suspiciously silent Isla and Marie. I put Louisa’s coffee in front of her. “I’m not talking about that here.”

“That’s a yes.” My cousin sighs. “God, Rox. You really have to-”

“Give it a damn rest,” I snap. “I’m not a child.”

“You know he wouldn’t have wanted you to act this way,” Selena says softly.

“She’s right,” Louisa asks. “Cam would have gone crazy seeing you behave this way.”

“Then he shouldn’t have got in the car knowing Stu was absolutely fucking steaming, should he? He should have got in with us.”

“You know that isn’t fair,” Lou says with an edge to her voice.

“No, what isn’t fair is that he died. What isn’t fair is that I’m just trying to cope and I can’t even grieve for him without everyone going on at me.” I snatch up my cloth.

“You’re not grieving, Roxy.”

“Everyone grieves in different ways. This is mine, okay?” I stare at her and point at her laptop bag. “Are you gonna work on that book? It won’t write and publish itself, you know.”

Louisa chews the inside of her cheek, and sighs. “Fine. I get it.” She turns and sits at the table nearest to the counter.

I resume my cleaning of the counter unnecessarily and feel Selena’s eyes on me. I turn to face her.

“What?”

She sips her lemonade. “She’s right, you know.”

I scoff, turning to the coffee machine. “Oh cry me a fucking river, why don’t you?”

“Just saying.”

“Well don’t.”

~

It’s not a problem if I know I’m doing it.

This is what I’m telling myself; it’s what I have to tell myself. I have to believe I don’t have a problem and my coping mechanism hasn’t developed into more than just that. It hasn’t. It can’t have. The drink, the sex, the… occasional drug use… is a habit, not an addiction. I can live without it.

Maybe…

His room hasn’t been touched. I know because I’m the only one that ever opens the door. I’m the only one brave enough to step into the place that was his sanctuary and filled with everything that made Cam, Cam.

It even smells like him still. His half-empty Davidoff cologne sits on his desk, the underlying musky smell still lingering in the air as if it was only sprayed recently. The bed is still perfectly made, and there’s still a weeks’ worth of clean clothes piled on his chair. He never did put them away – instead waiting until Mom gave in and did it or he could bribe me to.

I sit on his bed and lean back against the wall. My legs bend upward, my thighs pressing against my chest, and I wrap my arms around my knees. Every part of me aches with missing him. It’s a feeling that runs deeper than anything I’ve ever known, so deep I feel it right to my bones. Being in his room only makes it worse, but it’s all I have left of him. The memories aren’t enough yet.

I need to be in his room surrounded by him. By the clothes I sneak out when Mom isn’t around, returning them only once they no longer smell of him, and by that exact smell. I still call his cell to hear his voice on the answer phone. I still check his Facebook very day for a stupid status update or a picture of a cat with some stupid caption.

Of course they never come. And it hurts – every time I look at the date of his last post, a grumpy cat picture, my stomach sinks a little more, twisting painfully with every millimeter it drops. The same feeling hits when I look at the sneakers he’ll never wear again or think of the pink shirt he bought for my graduation to piss me off.

The shirt he’ll never wear. The graduation he never got to attend.

I reach to the side and smooth my hand across the comforter beneath me. The navy fleece blanket gives way to the lighter blue sheet beneath it, both smelling of his Davidoff and fresh laundry. It amazes me his room still smells like him, and it’s almost as if he can’t let go either, even though he has no hold on his life.

I hope it never leaves. I hope his things still smell like my big brother, my idol, as long as I’m here. I know I taint it every time I walk in here but I can’t help it. It’s a catch-22… I either preserve the thing that reminds me of him the most by staying away, making the preservation irrelevant, or I keep removing a little of it by coming in when I get lonely.

The smell will fade eventually, this I know, and that’s what keeps me coming in here. Either way the musky yet fresh fragrance will disappear, so I might as well make the most of it while I can. Besides, I adore the smell, even if I did taunt him about it constantly when he was alive.

“You’ll choke her,” I’d warned him, leaning against the doorframe.

“Oh, ha ha. And you’re the expert on dating, I suppose.”

“I’m not allowed to date, Cameron. Remember?”

He chuckled and sprayed again. I wrinkled my nose.

“’Kay, seriously. She’ll be drowning in that stuff.”

“If I have my way, she’ll be drowning in Eau De Cam.” My brother winked. I gagged.

“You smell like a cheap whore.”

Another chuckle accompanied the kiss to my forehead. “How do you know I’m not?”

I scoot off the bed and open one of his drawers. His sweaters are lined up, all folded neatly, and I grab one from the top of a pile. I pull it over my head and look in his mirror. The hoodie swamps me, but I don’t care. I hunch my shoulders and bury my nose in the collar, smiling when I smell Davidoff. He wore this before he died and put it back in his drawer, obviously.

Little shit. I always knew he could put his own damn washing away.

The house is still silent since Dad helps Mom at the café on Tuesdays. I curl my fingers around my cell as I go downstairs, my thumb rubbing over the unlock key on the side.

I could call Layla now. I could get her to meet me, give me what I want, and then it wouldn’t hurt anymore. I wouldn’t feel so lost without Cam because I’d be lost somewhere else.

Somewhere else…

A knock sounds at the door as I put my hand on the handle, and I pull it open.

“Kyle,” his name leaves my mouth in an exclamation of surprise. What’s he doing here? Didn’t he get it before? I don’t need him.

Or rather, I don’t want to need him.

“Roxy. I wasn’t sure if you were here.” He scratches the side of his nose, looking down at me with his soft brown eyes. “Can I come in?”

I step to the side. “You don’t need to ask. You never have before.”

“Yeah, well. It doesn’t feel the same without him here.” His eyes focus on Cam’s sweater, and I wrap my arms around my body. “You wear that better than he ever did.”

I snort, shutting the door behind him. “Right. I look like I’m wearing a tent.”

Kyle shrugs, wandering into the front room and looking around. He doesn’t say anything for a moment, his eyes flitting from picture to picture. Me. Cam. Cam and Kyle. Cam and I. All three of us. “I wanted to talk to you.”

“I don’t want to hear it.” I storm into the kitchen.

“That’s nice. You don’t even know what I want to talk about.”

“Probably the same old bullshit everyone else does.”

“Or maybe it’s not anything to do with you. It might surprise you to learn not everything is about you, Roxanne Hughes. As much as you apparently think otherwise,” he finishes dryly.

My mouth drops open, and I turn to him. He leans against the doorframe connecting the kitchen and the front room, his hands in his pockets and his hair sweeping casually over his forehead.

“Wow, I don’t remember you being this much of a dickhead when you left here last summer,” I snap, disguising the sting of his words.

“And I don’t remember you being this much of a bitch, so I guess we’re on a level playing field here.”

I cock my thumb in the direction of the door. “You know the way out.”

Kyle doesn’t move. His head tilts to the side and his eyes study me. “You’re cute.”

“Excuse me?”

“I said you’re cute.”

“I heard what you said.” I snap my jaw up. “By “excuse me,” I meant what the fuck?”

“I know.” The bastard grins. He fucking grins.

“Something funny?”

“You really, really don’t want me to answer that.”

I stare at him stonily, trying to ignore the flipping of my stomach. The way he smiles… I’ve seen him do it thousands of times and it never gets old. It’s playful and endearing and annoying at the same time.

“I wish I could wipe that smile off your face,” I lie.

“Really? Because I wish someone would put one on yours.”

“There’d be more of a chance if you didn’t come over here and talk to me like shit.”

Kyle laughs. “Right. I guess you’ve already forgotten who started with the sass?”

I open my mouth and pause. Oh yeah. That was me…

“Exactly.” He pushes off from the doorframe and crosses the kitchen, his stride swallowing it up. I keep my eyes on him as he moves closer to me and leans his hip against the counter. “You know, just because I want to talk to you doesn’t mean it’s about you.”

“That’s the only reason most people do these days.”

“And whose fault is that?” One of his eyebrows goes up. “I got home four days ago and even I can see you need a damn good talking to.”

“Hey-”

“But that’s not what I’m talking about.”

I narrow my eyes, putting my hands in the front pocket of Cam’s hoodie. “What, then?”

“Cam.”

I shake my head.

“Yes.”

“No.” I move away from him. “I can’t-”

“You might not need me, but maybe I need you for this.”

His words stop me in my tracks. “Why? You could talk to Si, or Ben, or even Lewis. Why me?”

“Because.” He pauses and exhales a loud, pained breath. “Because no one knew Cam the way we did, Rox. No one could possibly imagine how much it fucking hurts to be here without him. Except you.”

I squeeze my eyes shut and open the front door. “I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I can’t help you.”

“Jesus, Roxy.” Kyle’s feet thud against the laminate floor, and the air shifts when he stops in front of me. He takes a lock of my hair between his fingers, twirling it. “You take stubborn to a whole new level. I need to talk about him, okay? I need to remember him with someone who loved him even more than I did. Without him here… I feel lost. Completely fucking lost.”

I open my eyes. His face is right in front of mine, his eyes on mine, and I swallow. My heart picks up pace from both his closeness and the raw pain in his voice I feel right through me.

“I’m not ready to talk about him.”

“It’s been six months.”

“And?” I knock his hand from my hair. “I know. But that doesn’t mean I want to talk about him, Kyle. You have to understand that.”

He smiles sadly. “And that’s your problem.”

“I don’t have a problem.”

“Oh, you have several.” His laugh is as hopeless as his smile is sad. “You’re just too busy hiding behind all the shit you do to yourself to realize it.”

“You said you didn’t want to talk about that.”

“I said I didn’t want to. Not that I wouldn’t.”

“Asshole.”

“So you keep saying.” He backs away from the house, dangling his keys from his hand. “I won’t give up on it, Roxy.”

“On what?” I frown.

“On getting you to talk about him. You need it as much as I do, difference is I can admit it.”

“Kyle…”

“Iz comes back in a few days. She wanted me to tell you.” He gets into his car with the mention of his sister, salutes me, and reverses. I stare after him as he drives down the street. My cell feels heavy in my pocket, and I pull it out. My thumb swipes across the screen to Layla’s number and hovers over the call button.

A fat tear rolls down my cheek, and I tap it. That conversation pushed me over the edge and tore open my already gaping wound. My body stings with the reality of it – I’m not the same person I was before and neither is Kyle. We’ve both grown up and been changed by the loss of the person that held us anywhere near each other.

I redial Layla’s number and accept the truth.

The day I lost Cam, I lost Kyle too.