The problem with brothers is that there is no hiding information from one another. It only takes one look from AJ when I walk in, and I know my face is redder than a Maine lobster. He stands up from the couch with a shit-eating grin from ear to ear as he starts toward me with a slow clap.
“Don’t be a douche,” I tell him.
“I’m so proud of you, bro.” His arms stretch out in front of him, reaching for me. “You’re going to make it after all,” he continues crooning with obnoxious baby-talk voice. If I were him, I wouldn’t take another step closer. His condescending words are quickly eliminating every happy endorphin I walked in here with.
“I should have just stayed there,” I say under my breath. Stepping away from AJ in order to hold myself back from punching him, I make my way into the TV room and find Dad still asleep, Mom folding a load of Olive’s laundry, and Olive tearing outfits off of each of her Barbie dolls.
“Is everything okay with you and Charlotte now?” Mom asks.
“Yeah, it’s fine,” I say, kneeling down next to Olive. “Want to have dinner with Lana tonight?”
“Yay!” Olive shrieks. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!” She hops up and jumps on top of me, locking her arms around my neck. “Can I wear a dress?”
“If that’s what makes you happy, of course you can,” I tell her.
“She has school tomorrow,” Mom says, keeping her eyes locked on the pair of pants she’s intricately folding into quarters.
“Yeah, I’m aware. I can take care of her, believe it or not.”
“What crawled up your pants, Hunter?” she asks.
Besides the obvious, how can she not know what’s bugging me? “Am I the only one who sees how much you all consume yourself with my private life?” I stand up with Olive still attached to my neck, giggling like a hyena. She makes it hard to have a serious conversation with Mom, but this needs to be understood.
“It’s only because we all worry about you, sweetheart.” Mom finishes folding the last of the clothes and lifts the stack up. “And Ellie’s death has been difficult for your Dad and me, too. Not only was she precious to us, but seeing our son lose his wife has been heartbreaking. We love you very much and have done our best to help you through the past five years, but it’s been a continual learning experience for us too. There’s no manual for how to help your son through something like this. Plus, all mothers pry. If I didn’t pry, it would mean I didn’t care about you. Someday, I won’t be here to make sure you’re happy and you’ll miss this.” She brushes by me to head up the stairs, leaving me with her motherly version of a punch to the gut. This is why I normally keep the peace and let her and everyone else take part in my sad little life.
AJ finally meanders in and pulls Olive off my neck. “Sorry, again.” He sits down on the couch beside Dad, cradling squirmy Olive in his arms. “You should be smiling.”
“You should be looking for your wife,” I retort.
“She’s at home,” he says.
“You should be there, too, then.”
“I want a divorce.”
And there’s the mic drop. Can’t say I didn’t see this coming the day he spent his life savings on a three-carat diamond only because she wouldn’t accept anything less for a proposal, or so AJ said. “Have you thought this through or are you just afraid to fix this problem you caused?”
“Oh!” Olive shrieks. “Did you hear that?”
“Hear what?” AJ turns his attention to her, clearly avoiding my question.
“The mail is here. Mail, mail, mail!” she says, running through the house.
“Where are you going, Olive?” Mom shouts from upstairs.
“Mail!” Olive shouts. She is half way down the driveway before I reach the front door and she is already running back with a stack of mail in her hands. “I knew it!” She runs in past me, dropping the mail on the coffee table, keeping one small envelope against her chest. “It’s her, Daddy!”
“Who?” Mom asks, walking down the stairs into the living room. “Who’s her?”
“Mommy’s heart,” Olive says, as if it would make sense to anyone but Olive and me.
“Excuse me?” Mom says. I never exactly told Olive to keep these recurring letters between this woman and myself a secret, but I never intended to let anyone else know about them either. “Why are you getting mail on a Sunday?”
Uh. We don’t get mail on Sundays. I didn’t grab the mail yesterday, but why would she have thought the mail just arrived. “Olive, did you see the mail carrier?”
“No, I just heard the mailbox.” Bionic hearing? Jeez. Wait a second. Running out the door, letting the wind slam it shut behind me, I make it to the end of the driveway just in time to hear a car engine, but whoever it is has already gone over the peak of the hill. Even if I ran down the street, I wouldn’t have a chance at seeing the car.
Defeated as always, I walk back into the house and take the envelope from Olive. “Did you see the person who put this in the mailbox?” I ask her. Has she been delivering these letters all along? If so, she’s obviously from around here. But, what about the mountains?
Olive shakes her head, her pigtails flopping around. “Nope.”
“Did you see a car drive away?”
“Yup,” she says. Her one little word makes my heart stop beating for a brief second.
“What color was it?” I ask.
Olive places her finger over her lips as her gaze floats to the ceiling. “Ummmm, hmmm. I think—I think it was green—or maybe it was brown. Gray, yeah it could have been gray, like gray and white maybe.”
I kneel down in front of her and take her hands into mine. “Olive, I need you to think real hard. Was it a big car like mine or was it small like Grammy and Grampy’s?”
“It was—kind of in the middle I guess. You know what, it could have been a blue car,” she says with a large smile. “Yeah...I like blue cars.”
This is absolutely not helpful. “Hunter, would you like to explain any of this?” Mom asks me, like I’m a teenager who she just caught hiding weed in his top drawer.
“A lady writes Daddy notes all of the time. She has Mommy’s heart,” Olive outs me a little more.
“What?” Mom croaks with anger tinting her cheeks. “You know the recipient?”
“No,” I correct her. “I don’t know who this woman is. I just receive letters from her.”
“She obviously knows you and where you live!” Mom says, exasperated. “Well, open it!” I don’t want to read this out loud. Not to her. Olive doesn’t understand much of what these letters ever say, so I don’t mind reading them to her, but this is all I have left of Ellie, and it feels like it should be private.
“Mom, I need this to be for my eyes only,” I try to explain, though, I know she won’t understand. She loved Ellie as if she were her own daughter. And for that reason, there are tears welling up in Mom’s eyes.
She doesn’t respond with an argument, just a look like I’ve hurt her. “Okay,” she says. With Olive locked tightly between her arms, she presses her cheek down on Olive’s head, her eyes close and a single tear escapes.
I open the envelope, carefully slipping the paper out. I unfold it, finding more text than normal.
“Dear Mr. Cole,” I read out loud, succumbing to the guilt trip. Mom’s eyes open with surprise, elation, and a plea for more.
Four weeks have passed since my last note to you. In that time, the weather has grown cold and I have spent a great deal of time indoors, reading, cleaning, and writing a bit. I’m afraid her heart feels a bit empty these days and I feel guilty for not doing more to fill it.
I swallow against the tightness in my throat while bearing a sharp pain in my chest. I don’t want her heart to feel empty...ever. I spent my entire life warming her heart, filling it with as much love as I could offer. Needing a break from the ice-cold words, I glance up at Mom, assessing her thoughts by the look on her face. Confusion is all I see, though.
I met a man, a man who doesn’t know of my weakness, losses or gains. I think he saw me for who I am and wanted to learn more about me, but I fear what he would think or do if he were to learn of my fragile state.
I want to tell her no man is worth the fight if he doesn’t love a woman for everything that makes her who she is, but I can’t tell her that because I don’t know who she is and I probably never will.
Anyway, I hope you and your daughter are doing well. Ellie once told me she dreamed of having a daughter. I know this isn’t the way she wanted it to happen, though. I’m sorry I have let Ellie’s heart down this past month, I will do what I can to bring back some of the warmth that has slipped away. Maybe this man I met will be different. Maybe he will be the first to love a bird with a broken wing. We can always hope, right? Take care and I hope the holiday season brings you everything you wanted this year.
Sincerely,
Her Heart
I have always thought she might know of Ellie considering she knows who I am and now, where I live, but this is the first time she has mentioned Ellie’s name or the fact that she knows Ellie and I have a daughter. That information would have remained private in any donor exchange of information, especially since I have no information about her.
My only thought right now is that she knows Ellie—she knew Ellie, which means I must know her, or I’d like to think I know her. Ellie and I had the same group of friends, aside from some of the faculty she worked with at the school, but she wasn’t very close to any of the other teachers.
“Hunter,” Mom interrupts my thoughts, tears now spilling out, one after another down her wet cheeks. “This woman knows you and Ellie. This wasn’t a random donation, was it?” She’s asking me as if I have purposely kept information from her, details I’ve been dying to find out for myself.
“It seems it, but I have no information about her. I never will unless she reveals herself to me.” Mom leans forward and takes the envelope off of the coffee table, flipping it back and forth, looking for the return address I’m always in search of.
“She doesn’t want you to find her,” Mom says.
“I know.” But that won’t stop me from trying.
“I’m heading out,” AJ says, walking into to the living room. I almost forgot about the atom bomb he dropped on me a few minutes ago.
“Where are you going?” I ask him.
“Home to work things out with Alexa, I hope,” Mom interrupts.
“Nah, I’m going to Lion’s for a bit,” AJ says, brushing her off.
“Oh, AJ, I hope you aren’t drinking again. You’ve come so far.”
“Jesus, Mom. I think you and Dad need to hit the road. You’re spending way too much energy worrying about Hunter and me today. For your information, I never had a drinking problem. I just like to unwind and enjoy myself sometimes. There is nothing wrong with that. Plus, maybe I’m just going for the bartenders’ company.” He knows he’s crawling under her skin and AJ has always been one to enjoy doing that to her.
“I did not raise you like this, AJ. You should be ashamed of yourself. You need to make things right with your wife, not go down to a—a,” she curls her lip in disgust. “Grungy, dirty bar where the girls all have ta-tas bigger than the state of Texas.”
AJ lets out a loud belly laugh before placing his hand on Mom’s shoulder. “Oh, Mom. Their breasts aren’t quite that big, but they sure are something to look at, huh?” With that, he grabs his coat from the couch and leaves without another word.
“Where have I gone so wrong with the two of you?” she asks in a shaky voice. “You want to die alone and he doesn’t know how to keep it in his pants.” While I know she didn’t mean what she said, it still feels like a slap across my face. I never said I wanted to die alone. Yes, the thought has crossed my mind, but I never admitted to it out loud.
“That’s not fair,” I tell her.
“You’re right,” she agrees. “But don’t look something good in the face and walk away, Hunter. Don’t do it. That’s all I’m going to say.” Except, that’s not all she’s going to say. “That girl over there, Charlotte, she’s a keeper, so don’t mess it up. Make yourself happy, even if it’s only for Olive’s sake.” Now, she’s done.
“Daddy always makes me happy,” Olive chimes in, avoiding eye contact with Mom. “Always.”
Mom hands me the envelope she’s been holding tightly in her hands and pulls Olive into her. “I know, sweetheart. This is just grownup talk.”
Olive looks up at her, gazing straight into Mom’s eyes. “He does the best he can,” she says, following her last defense.
Mom closes her eyes, hopefully realizing she’s gone too far once again. “You’re right, Olive,” she says. With a loud sigh, Mom stands back up and walks into the kitchen, calling out, “Harold, it’s time to go.” And this is how most Sundays end. Mom’s feelings get hurt and Dad leaves all discombobulated from his food coma.
Dad meanders into the living room, rubbing at his eyes. “What’s going on?”
“Just the usual invitation to leave,” Mom says to him as if I told them to leave. Her passive aggressive comment isn’t worth the argument, though. I learned long ago that I won’t win, and she will just end up feeling more hurt.
“Well, I guess we’ll see you next Sunday,” Dad says lazily. He leans down and squeezes Olive, then thwacks his hand against my back. “Take care of yourself, kiddo.”
Mom gives me a cold hug and sighs against my cheek. “I love you even if you hate me.” More motherly guilt, but I’m not letting it get to me today.
They walk out together, leaving a gust of silence behind them as the door slams. “It’s okay, Daddy,” Olive says.
“Am I really doing okay?” I ask her.
She wraps her arms around my leg, leaning her face against my side. “You’re doing great,” Olive replies. “Oh! I almost forgot! I have to get ready to go Lana’s!” I look down at my watch, seeing it’s already four. Where the hell did this day go?
After a couple of hours of mindlessly watching the game, I pull out my phone and send Charlotte a text—refocusing on where my thoughts have all been going since I left her house a couple hours ago.
Me: Pizza?
Charlotte: Yeah…‘whatever’ ;).
Me: Pizza and ‘whatever’. Got it.
As I slip my phone back into my pocket, the thought of a decision I’ve made plays out in my head, where I feel a combination of desire and fear beating the shit out of each other. Growing up, my situation was different than the average guy; I was only with one woman because there was no other woman for me. I don’t know what another woman would even be like, whether she would be different, better or worse.
Neither Ellie nor I knew what we were doing when we took that step in our relationship. We were sixteen and her parents had to go out of town for the weekend. She said she was scared to stay home alone all night, so I told her I’d come over, regardless of her parents’ strict rules of no boys in the house when they weren’t home. When it came to rules for Ellie and me, we broke every single one. Young love isn’t something to tamper with since our hormones were raging at a rate I still have trouble comprehending.
We were only friends, best friends, until a few months before that particular weekend.
Everything between us shifted during a birthday party with the good old Spin-the-Bottle game. As fate had it, the combination of momentum and the velocity of the bottle wanted us to kiss.
The moment I had imagined most nights as I was falling asleep was only seconds away from happening. I was going to savor the taste of her lips. She moved toward me first, quickly to start, then much slower as the space between us closed. Her focus was locked on mine. There were no apparent nerves, just a small smile, a smile I would see so many more times throughout our lifetime—her lifetime. She closed her eyes, waiting for me to meet her halfway, which felt like a mile in that moment. My heart pounded, sweat was beading on my forehead, and my breath lodged in my throat. It was a now-or-never moment. I considered it being a never because I thought if I didn’t have the balls to do it at that second, I would never be able to do it. My eyes closed and I leaned forward, forgetting about the two-dozen eyes staring at what would be our first kiss. Music was playing in my head, my heart was no longer pounding, but dribbling a slow beat as my fingers swept across her cheek and into her silky blond curls. Our lips were only separated by two inches of air, filled with magnetizing particles of attraction. Adrenaline took over and our lips met. It wasn’t one of those passionate kisses like we had when we were older, where I would surprise her from behind and lift her up until she was pinned against a wall beneath my grip. This one was stationary, pretty much devoid of motion, our lips connecting and locking into place as we sat there for what felt like hours. I took the opportunity to inhale her skin and the fragrance of her shampoo. Everything changed and happened in that one second—I fell in love with my best friend. Just before our kiss ended, her lips made one small movement—they curled into a smile I could feel against my mouth.
When she pulled away, and she had to because I never would have, her hazel eyes were wide and I swear to God I saw a twinkle in them. That shit doesn’t really happen, but it did in that moment.
What the fuck am I doing? “Olive,” I yell up to her.
“Yeah?” she shouts, hopping down the steps in her party dress.
“I’m not feeling so well, sweetie.”
“Oh no, do you need me to call the doctor?” she asks. “Do you need soup? I can call Charlotte.”
“No, no soup—or Charlotte. I just need to lie down for a bit,” I tell her.
“No Lana’s?”
I look at her sad eyes for a long minute, trying to think of a way to explain to her why it’s not a good idea to go over there but there is no way to make her understand that I’m scared of feeling something even remotely close to what I felt for Ellie. I will tarnish memories. I’ll forget sensations, feelings, and what my heart once felt like.
My phone vibrates in my pocket and I pull it out, seeing AJ’s mug appear on my screen. I answer, asking, “What’s up?”
“I might need you to come get me,” he says.
“Where the hell are you?”
“Downtown,” he says simply.
“You had too much to drink?”
“No.”
“AJ, where the hell are you?”
“County jail,” he mutters.
“Jesus, AJ. What the hell did you do?”
“Please,” he begs quietly.
“I’ll be there as soon as I can.” I drop the phone onto the couch and grab Olive’s jacket from the coat hook. “I’m taking you over to Lana’s. Grab your things,” I tell Olive.
“What about you?” she asks. “I want you to come, too.”
“I need to go help Uncle first.”
I scoop her up, along with the Barbie dolls she planned on taking over to Lana’s. We run across the street Charlotte opens the door as we approach. The front step. The poor thing opens the door with a large grin, but I’m about to ruin that.
“AJ got locked up; I have to go get him out,” I tell her.
“What?” she asks, shocked. “What the hell did he do?”
“No clue.”
Charlotte takes Olive by the arm and pulls her into the house. “Come in, honey, Lana’s upstairs. Go on up.” Olive turns back around and gives me a quick hug before she runs inside. “Do you need me to do anything?”
“No, if you could just watch Olive, I’ll let you know as soon as I find out what happened. I should just leave the moron there, but—“
“That’s not who you are,” she says, pushing up onto her toes and leaving me with a soft kiss on my cheek. “There’s always time for ‘whatever’ later.” Her words float into my ear, crashing into my already confused thoughts, and I respond with a smile.
I should say more to her, like, I can’t wait, or something, but words don’t come to me, so instead I just wrap my arm around her shoulders and leave her with a kiss on the top of her head. “I’ll let you know as soon as I find out what’s going on.”