Chapter 57: Gavin

Gavin didn’t believe in redemption nor did he believe in God. To him it was obvious: we’re here for a very short time and when we die, that’s it. The candle flickers out, we’ve made our exit, and it would all be so tragic—except we’re dead, so we don’t know the difference.

After all, there are certain universal truths when it comes to the human condition. We all occasionally catch colds, get hangnails, feel constipated, and realize how powerless we are against bureaucracy. On the same note, everyone dies. There’s nothing spectacular about death; it’s just a matter of course and not a big deal. Sure, loss sucks, but that’s more about the people who are left behind than about the person who kicked it. And what if somebody’s death was a positive thing, like a shot to vaccinate you against some terrible disease?

Honestly, his intentions really were good. Well, at least they hadn’t been bad. Not exactly bad, anyway.

Months ago, Skylar had been about to leave for her Olympic training camp and Gavin could feel her pulling away. He’d blamed Jo Beth. If it hadn’t been for Jo Beth, Skylar wouldn’t have had Olympic aspirations and she wouldn’t always have been on the brink of abandoning him. One night when he was particularly upset about it all, Gavin released some steam by going to the bakery and whipping up a batch of lemon bars, which he’d packed full of ground pistachios and coconut milk.

He never thought Jo Beth would actually eat one of them, but he’d had fun imagining it; how she’d get sick and gag, break out in hives, stop breathing, maybe even die.

Then Elizabeth stopped by the bakery and gave him instructions for how to ‘handle things’ while she was in Brazil. He’d put the lemon bars into a box and handed it to her. “Here,” he’d said, “don’t go empty handed. They’re lemon bars, and you can tell Jo Beth that you made them yourself.”

Elizabeth, flushed with happy anticipation at the idea of seeing her daughter, had taken the box from him. “Oh Gavin,” she’d said. “You’re so sweet.”

When Gavin heard that Jo Beth had died he was surprised, but he wasn’t sorry. For all he knew, it really was an amniotic fluid embolism, which (he’d read online) can cause a fatal allergic reaction. Or maybe it was the lemon bars. He’d never know, and really, did it even matter? Jo Beth had been dragging Skylar down. Skylar had needed to be set free from the constant fear that she wasn’t meeting her sister’s standards.

“When did you get here?” Speaking of Gavin’s dream girl, there she stood, wearing her robe, and rubbing her eyes. She sniffed. “Are you baking cinnamon rolls?”

“And I made coffee!”

He filled a mug with French roast. She barely smiled when he handed it to her, as if she knew he’d just used that very same mug to pummel Mitch. But that was impossible. “Was Mitch up when you got here?” she asked.

Gavin paused like he was thinking. “Not that I know of, unless he left without saying hello.”

Skylar sipped her coffee and leaned against the counter. “Maybe he went to get Bijou,” she said, sort of to herself.

“Where’s Bijou?”

Skylar looked up like she was surprised to find him still in her kitchen. “She’s at my mom’s.” She took another sip of coffee, looking off into the distance, obviously thinking about anything but Gavin.

He moved towards her, took her coffee mug, and set in on the counter. “We have a few minutes before the cinnamon rolls come out of the oven,” he said, reaching into her robe, cupping her breast, and kissing her neck. “Let’s go upstairs.”

She pushed his hand away and stepped back, closing her robe. “Gavin, not now.”

His temper flared, but only on the inside. Gavin kept his voice level, calm, like the reasonable guy she knew him to be. “Why not? This is the first time in weeks that we’ve had the place to ourselves.”

Skylar bit her bottom lip, hesitating for a moment. “I’m sorry, Gavin. I know you don’t want me to say this, but I can’t go to Chicago with you.” She paused, perhaps to search his face for permission to continue. He didn’t flinch, but kept himself open. “In fact,” she continued, “I think we should go back to just being friends.”

He nodded and gave her a smile. “Sure. Whatever you want.”

Skylar’s mouth twisted in surprise. “Really? You’re okay with that?”

Of course he wasn’t okay. But Gavin figured she needed space, space which he would give her, and when she came back to him things would be even sweeter between them.

The timer on the oven beeped.

“Wow,” he said. “We had a lot less time than I thought.” He moved toward the oven, grabbed an oven mitt, and took out the tray of cinnamon rolls. “It’s a good thing we didn’t go upstairs. These would have burned. There’s nothing worse than burnt cinnamon rolls.”