“Once you have had a wonderful dog, a life without one is a life diminished.”
~ Dean Koontz
Mom and Dad. Everyone has them at some point in their lives. What their relationship is like with their mom and dad is dependent on all manner of things. My relationship with my mom is wonderful. Mom is the mediator of our family. Mom is the peacekeeper. Mom should work for the United Nations, given she’s managed to keep Dad and I from killing each other.
I love my mom, and I’m not ashamed to admit it. She understands me, accepts me, and encourages me to be who I am.
More than once I’ve wondered why she and Dad are still together. I know the answer: because they love each other. I’ve seen them play footsies under the dining table when they’re eating dinner. I’ve seen them finish each other’s sentences more than once. I’ve seen Dad watch her walk through the living room, when he thinks no one is watching him, the love and admiration in his eyes …
I think it’s moments like those that make me hate him less. Actually, hate is a strong word. Do I hate my father? No. I just wish he’d be as understanding about who I am as Mom is. But, as Dad is fond of saying, if wishes were horses …
Thank God Dad was at work when I let myself into my home. The front door makes this squeaky whine that I can feel all the way up my arm, and it no doubt alerted Mom to the fact I’d arrived. She met me in the middle of the living room, as I was trying to hurry to my bedroom, the reading glasses she wears when in work-mode perched on her nose.
“Hey Mom,” I said, trying to walk past her.
She didn’t let me. Without a word, she snagged my arm and pulled me in for a hug I had no defense against.
I also had no defense against the hot tears that welled up in my eyes. They stung, and no matter how many times I tried to blink them away, they persisted.
Suffice to say, when Mom finally released me from the hug – her hands anchoring me to her still, via a gentle grip on my wrists – my cheeks were wet.
“Hey, baby girl,” she said, her smile warm and gentle. “You need to talk?”
I shook my head and sniffed. “Not yet,” I answered. “Think I need a shower first.”
She smoothed her palms up my arms and brought our foreheads together with a gentle touch, like she’s done ever since I was a little girl and upset about something. Most of those times I was upset over my crappy hearing, or Dad.
“Love you, Mom,” I said, as she pulled away.
She smiled. “Take a shower. I’m grading papers, but when you get out I’ll stop and we can fix lunch together. What do you think?”
“I think it sounds good.” I kissed her cheek and then made my way to my bedroom.
It had been two nights since I was here, and while that wasn’t long, it felt like a lifetime. So much had changed since then. So much had happened.
I crossed to my bed and dropped onto its edge, letting my gaze roam around the room. It didn’t surprise me at all to find it coming to rest on one of Caden’s previous sock-puppet creations, currently sitting on my bookshelf.
A hot lump filled my throat as I studied it. It was Toothless, the black dragon from the How to Train Your Dragon movies. Tanner loved those movies. So did I. How could I not? They were about a young person not living up to their parents’ expectations and learning that was completely okay.
Had Caden known that’s how the film spoke to me? I’d never questioned him on why he made the puppets he made for me, but maybe I should have?
Pushing myself to my feet, I walked over and picked up Toothless from the shelf. Its wool was soft beneath my fingers. Its felt green eyes looked up at me. I couldn’t help but feel like the goddamn thing was judging me.
The lump in my throat grew thicker.
“I don’t need to be protected,” I muttered at it.
Huffing, I tossed the puppet back onto the shelf and stomped back to my bed. I had a right to be angry, damn it. Caden had way overstepped his bounds answering Donald’s call. And let’s not talk about him telling Donald I was going to be too busy to call him back.
Who the hell did he think he was? Who did he think I was?
I threw myself onto my bed, tummy first, and fisted my hand beneath my chin. Of course, the position meant I was looking at the Thor sock puppet Caden had made me.
I glared at it. It looked back at me, hand-made Fosters can in its “hand”.
A soft tap on my calf saved Thor from being flung across the room.
Twisting, I looked up to find Mom standing beside the bed. Can I sit? she signed.
Mom does not sign at me often. That she was now meant one of two things – she was going to tell me something she suspected I didn’t want to hear, or Dad was home. Which I guess, in this incident, could be essentially the same thing.
Repositioning myself onto my side, I nodded.
She lowered herself to the side of the bed, watching me with concerned eyes. “I was going to let you decompress for a while,” she said with a small frown, “but changed my mind.”
“Why?”
Her frown disappeared. “Because I’m the mom. It’s my job to take away my baby’s pain.”
I snorted, and then rolled my eyes. “Can you get someone deported?”
“Ahh.” Understanding filled her face. “What’s Caden done this time?”
Before I go on, I should point out Mom thinks Caden is the Best Boy In The World (caps intentional). Ever since he arrived in our lives with his matching bone marrow and saved Tanner, Mom idolizes him. She’s allowed to, I guess. He saved her grandson, after all. If she were religious, she’d fully expect him capable of walking on water.
Thankfully, she isn’t. Religious, that is.
What she is, was grateful. We all were. We just had different ways of showing it. Dad showed it by rarely acknowledging Caden existed (although I suspect that was because Caden was Brendon’s cousin, and Brendon completely messed up Dad’s plans of Amanda dating his teacher’s aid, so by default, Caden was the enemy). Amanda showed it by letting Caden sleep on their couch whenever he wanted and for as long as he wanted. Mom showed it by baking.
Baking.
One time when Caden was visiting, she baked him cookies. To the best of my knowledge Mom has never baked cookies in her life. But she baked them for Caden. They were a crumbly mess of chocolate chips, and I think she used self-raising flour instead of plain flour, but she baked them. From scratch.
For Caden.
Another time, she paid a small fortune for an imported packet of Tim Tams – an Australian chocolate cookie that is completely delicious – and baked him a Tim Tam cheesecake.
Caden thinks Mom is awesome. I know this because he tells her every time she places some newly baked delicacy in front of him.
“Caden,” I said, already feeling on the defensive, “answered my cell and …”
I petered off. Mom knew nothing about Professor Douchebag. God, I can’t even imagine what she’d say if she did. I didn’t want to imagine.
She raised her eyebrows. “And? That’s it?”
My stomach lurched a little. “And he thinks I need to be protected. And I don’t.”
“Protected from what?” A puzzled smile played with her lips. “Life?”
I let out a sigh. “Kind of.”
“You know it’s his nature, right?” She brushed a non-existent strand of hair away from my cheek, her eyes softening. “Think about what he did for Amanda and Brendon. He protects those that he feels need to be protected even if he’s not aware of it. And his career choice? A veterinarian? A protector of animals? You’re going to have to accept he wants to keep those he cares for safe.”
My heart did a stupid little flutter at the word cares for. I was doing my best to convince myself I didn’t want Caden O’Dae to care for me.
My best, I have to admit, wasn’t very good.
I searched for my earlier anger. “I don’t need to be protected,” I declared, returning my chin to my fist. I glared at the sock-puppet Thor regarding me with blue-button eyes from my pillow. “He’s not my boyfriend.”
“And yet,” Mom said, loud enough for me to understand her without turning to watch her lips, “you just spent two nights in a motel with him. I’m not judging, sweetheart, but that kind of behavior suggests him being something along those lines. And let’s face it, he doesn’t come to the States over and over just to see Tanner and Brendon, does he?”
Heat spread through my cheeks. I pushed myself up into a sitting position and fixed my focus on Mom. “I’m not sure I know what you’re saying.”
She laughed. “Yes, you do. And you’re being stubborn about it. Stubborn like your father, I might add. But, it’s not my place to tell you who you should fall in love with.”
My mouth fell open. “Mom!”
She shrugged. If ever there was a teacher shrug, that was it. The kind that said, if you’re not listening to the lessons I’m giving you it’s not my fault you’re floundering. Mom has written more than one bestseller about education. When I was eight I told her I was going to be a teacher too. Dad told me not to be stupid.
“Nor is it my place,” she went on, “to tell you that spending two nights in a motel with a boy could be considered leading that boy on if you’ve got no intentions of venturing into boyfriend and/or love territory.”
“You’re not helping me,” I grumbled. She wasn’t. What she was doing was making me feel guilty. Damn it.
She lifted an eyebrow at me. “Aren’t I?”
I huffed out a sigh.
Mom straightened from the bed, bent and kissed my forehead, and then walked to the door. She stopped on the threshold and turned back to face me. “Shower, baby girl,” she said, her smile warm. “Take the time to think about what you’re really angry about, or who you’re really angry with.”
I nodded, that lump back in my throat. Love. God, why did she have to go and use the L word?
“Mom?” I called. I don’t know why, but I wasn’t ready for her to go yet.
She gave me a smile. “Baby girl?”
I opened my mouth. And closed it again when Dad appeared behind her, his glower directed firmly at me.
Great.
“You finally came home, I see?” he said, loud enough I wanted to tell him not to shout.
“Charles,” Mom warned, pressing her palm to his chest.
I looked at him, my tummy knotting.
He was in his usual Professor Sinclair, PhD attire: tweed jacket, button-down shirt, tie and chinos. His glasses – as always – were spotless.
“Two nights, young lady,” he said, wrapping his fingers around Mom’s wrist and removing her restraining hand, his stare locked on me. “Two nights. I don’t know why I’m surprised. Or disappointed.”
“Me either,” I shot back, his words cutting more than they should. It’s not like I was five. Or not used to this. We’d been at this game for a long time, after all.
“Can I assume you didn’t have your hearing aid with you?” It wasn’t a question. More an accusation.
Mom shook her hand free of his grip and pressed her palm to his chest again. “Out, Charles. Until you remember you’ve been worried sick about our daughter, you’re not allowed to talk to her.”
A fresh lump joined the one already in my throat. And then I sneered. Of course he’d be worried. He didn’t think I could function in the real world without running the risk of dying or being run over or … or …
“I’m hungry,” Dad said, turning. “And I’ve got work to do.”
I watched his back as he walked away from my room.
Mom let out a sigh. “I know you’re thinking horrible thoughts about your father right now,” she said. There was no missing the sadness in her voice. Even my woeful hearing could detect it. “But he has been worried.”
“Y’know,” I said, curling my knees up to my chest to rest my chin on them, “one of these days I’d like Dad to show me he’s worried by hugging me and telling me he’s glad to see me. Not by pointing out my failings.”
Pain flickered over Mom face. Guilt sliced through me. Dad pushed so many of my buttons, but the one I hated the most was the one that made me say things to Mom that hurt her.
She was caught in the middle. Stuck between the man and the daughter she loved. If only we could love each other the same way she did us.
But wishes and horses … wishes and horses.
“I’m going to have a shower,” I said, climbing off the bed.
She nodded, chewing on her bottom lip (the typical Sinclair woman’s response to confusion. I did it, Amanda did it, and Mom did it), and then left. I suspect to give Dad a lecture.
I stood in the shower until the water ran cold. It was a good way to pretend I wasn’t crying.
It took me longer to dress than normal. I wasn’t in any hurry to see Dad again, and yet at the same time I wanted to pick up our argument right where we’d left off: me being a disappointment to him, him being a constant reminder to me I was defective.
Oh, the joys of family life.
I knew Dad was going to be less than approving of my chosen attire. That was probably why I selected it: short denim cut-off shorts with the smiling emoji embroidered onto each back pocket, a crop-top tank complete with torn hem and a large, bejeweled Rolling Stones lips/tongue logo on the chest, and the highest flip-flop wedges I owned. Just for kicks, I spiked my hair into a faux Mohawk.
Yeah, I was being a brat.
I walked out of my bedroom, ready for the battle. I was disappointed when Dad wasn’t to be found.
“Where is he?” I asked when I joined Mom in the kitchen.
She was making bacon and cheddar sandwiches. My favorite. For a while I was a vegan, but only because it irritated Dad. Do you know why we have canine teeth? I do. Dad told me every meal I sat down to in his company that was sans meat.
Mom flicked a sideways glance at me and shook her head. “Chase,” she admonished, “do you have to antagonize him?”
I shrugged, plucking a slice of cheese from the pile. “Does he have to treat me like I’m a baby?”
“Maybe when you behave like one, he does,” she shot back.
I rolled up the cheese into a cigar shape and stuck it in my mouth.
She rolled her eyes. “He’s in his office. He mumbled something about another professor from school popping by.”
Swallowing, I reached for another slice of cheese, and then let out a laughing yelp when Mom whacked the back of my hand with the flat of the butter knife she was holding.
I laughed. And then hugged her. “Thank you, Mom.”
She nudged my forehead with hers. “After lunch, we’ll fix this Caden situation, okay? You and me.”
Hugging her tighter, I nodded. “Okay.”
I didn’t know how fixable the situation was between Caden and me. I knew how he felt about me, and I was beginning to suspect that how I felt about him was so what I didn’t want to feel about him … but Mom was right – it was Caden’s nature to protect. And it was my nature to hate being protected. How did we align those two personalities to function without it turning into resentment and anger?
And what about Donald? I needed to deal with the unhealthy hold he had on my heart before I could truly move on, and it was clear he wasn’t ready to let that hold go.
“Set the table for lunch, baby girl,” Mom instructed. As always, I loved the way her voice vibrated through me when she spoke while I hugged her. It was one of the safest sensations I had ever experienced.
Dad came into the dining room as I was placing glasses of iced tea on the table. I didn’t look at him.
He moved to his chair – at the head of the table, of course – and lowered himself into it. “Fall term is open for enrolment,” he said loudly. “You can still get classes.”
Biting back a sigh, I turned to face him. “Can I, now?”
He adjusted where I’d put his glass and then met my stare. “Of course. I could pull a few strings and get you into the English Lit. program, rather than you continue art.”
“Of course,” I said, arching my pierced eyebrow. (Dad did not like my pierced eyebrow. Not one little bit.) “I’d go into the upper level English classes, correct? The ones you’re in charge of?”
“Of course,” he said. “My daughter wouldn’t be slumming it in the other classes.”
“And you’d be there,” I went on, keeping my voice neutral. If Dad sensed my mood, he didn’t show it. “To make sure I was okay? That I was finally living up to my true potential?”
His eyes narrowed. “And why wouldn’t I be wanting you to live up to your true potential? I’m your father. I want what’s best for you. Christ knows you’ve thrown every offer of help and advice I’ve ever given you in my face. Maybe it’s time to realize you need help? Maybe it’s time you stop this ridiculous charade of being capable of—”
“I am capable,” I snapped back. Hot tears stung my eyes. Hotter anger coated my throat. It was just then, right then, that I realized how little Dad looked at me for who I was. How much of a burden was it to have a broken little girl? He’d never been able to accept it. He’d spent my lifetime trying to fix it.
Fuck it. I was unfixable.
My anger grew. My skin prickled with it. My scalp crawled with it. I took all of it, all the anger, all the pain, and shoved it into my gut where it roiled and built inside me like a volcano. I had to leave now before he said something else. Because if I didn’t …
The front doorbell chimed – louder than the average doorbell, thanks to Dad installing one specially designed for the Hard of Hearing. I flinched. I couldn’t help but notice Dad did as well. Good. I shouldn’t be the only one on the verge of eruption.
“That’ll be Perry,” he said, rising to his feet.
An icy finger trailed up my spine. I blinked. “What did you say?”
He frowned at me. “That will be Professor Perry,” he said, enunciating each word like I was from another planet.
That icy finger buried itself into my chest, a drilling pressure. My head throbbed.
Professor Perry. Donald. Here. Professor Douchebag was here.
My stomach rolled. I felt nauseous. And angry. Seriously angry. Not at Dad. Not at Donald. But at the world. The world was fucking with me and there was nothing I could do to fuck with it back.
I turned, although spun is probably a better word, ready to flee. I had no idea why Donald was at my home, but I didn’t want to see him. I definitely didn’t want to see him in the company of my parents.
Mom stood behind me, carrying two loaded plates. Beside her, his smile relaxed, his gaze skimming over me as if I was of no consequence, was Donald.
“Perry.” Dad walked past me, hand extended to Donald. They shook hands. “Your timing is perfect. My daughter and I were discussing her return to college.”
Donald raised curious eyebrows in my direction. “It’s Chase, isn’t it?”
I didn’t move. Didn’t respond. If I did, I feared I might throw up. Mom frowned at me, but I couldn’t respond to that either.
What the fuck was going on?
“Chastity,” Dad supplied. “She was in your Art History class last year. But no, I’m suggesting she study English Lit.”
Donald chuckled. The sound of it sank into the pit of my tummy like a hot weight. “Taking after her old man, eh?”
I pressed my palm to my mouth. I was going to be sick. I really was.
“I’ve got to go,” I said, looking at Mom. “I forgot I told Amanda I’d help her with Tanner today.”
Mom’s frown deepened. She slid Donald a look. My stomach rolled again. Oh God, I did not want her wondering about Donald.
I looked at Donald, fighting to keep myself composed. “It was nice to meet you again, Professor Perry,” I said, forcing a smile to my lips. “Don’t look for me on campus, however. Dad’s delusional.”
Dad’s scowl blackened. I hurried from the dining room before he could respond. I did not look at Donald. Snatching up my keys and cell from the console table, I yanked open the front door.
And stopped at a gentle hand on my arm. Mom.
I shot her a look over my shoulder, my smile wobbly. “I’m okay. Dad and I were having a fight before you and the professor came into the room, is all.”
She didn’t look convinced.
“I’m going to go see Amanda,” I said. “It’s probably better I’m not here while Dad plans out the rest of my life for me.”
Sorrow flickered across Mom’s face. “Okay.”
I risked another second of being in the same breathing space as Donald, and gave her a kiss. “I’ll call you later.”
Love you, she signed.
Love you back, I signed in return.
I’d just wrapped my fingers around the Speeding Dragon’s door handle, when someone touched my elbow.
I didn’t need to turn to know who it was. “Leave me the fuck alone, Donald,” I growled.
“I miss you, babe,” he said, his lips near my ear, his chest brushing my back. I could barely discern the words. God knows what he would say if my parents saw him this close to me. “Please let me help you forgive me?”
Babe. Forgive. Miss …
I ground my teeth. I didn’t need this. I didn’t. I wasn’t … I wasn’t …
Capable?
I could hear Dad’s voice demeaning my abilities. And now he’d brought the one man who’d ruined my chances at completing the college education I’d wanted. Dad’s ability to find the thing that hurts you the most and use it against you was devastating. He’d done it to Amanda with Tanner, and he’d done it to me over and over with my hearing. Mom said he didn’t do it on purpose, and I guess I knew he didn’t. But …
Without looking at Donald, I shook off his hand and opened my car door. “Enjoy your time with my father. I’m sure whatever reason you came up with for coming here will make your failure to talk to me bearable.”
He murmured something in protest.
I ignored him until I was buckled into my seat. Then, and only then, did I look up at him with a wide, cold grin. “What? I can’t hear you, remember?”
He opened his mouth, but I closed the door on his response, started the car and reversed out of the driveway.
I didn’t look at him.
What I did do was drive to Amanda and Brendon’s. Sometimes only a sister can understand the frustrations of family.
*
Amanda hugged me when I walked into their apartment, her expression worried. Had Mom called her? Warned her? Sent her a text telling her I was on the way and angry with Dad?
If only it were that simple.
“Tanner awake?” I asked, searching over her shoulder for my nephew. If I focused on the hug, I’d be in tears. I didn’t want to be in tears. Tears were for those incapable of dealing with the insanity of life.
I was dealing. I was.
Amanda let me go and shook her head. “He’s taking a nap.”
Despite the fact Tanner is three and has been cleared of cancer, he still has a long battle ahead of him. He tires easily. He gets sick easily. His immune system took a battering and it’s taking his little body a long time to catch up with his whole I’m-three-and-indestructible attitude.
I let out a sigh and wandered into the living room. I’m not so selfish and self-absorbed that I’d wake him up from something as important as sleep. So I dumped myself onto Amanda and Brendon’s sofa, parked my ankles on their coffee table, snatched up the remote and turned on the television.
What the fuck was I doing?
The cushion beside me shifted as someone joined me on the sofa. “Everything okay?”
I turned and looked at Brendon.
Brendon is an eternal optimist. That attitude sometimes drives me mental, but it has its perks. Like giving the guy a perpetual smile. It was hard to be grumpy in Brendon’s company. Of course, part of my grumpiness was the result of his cousin, so I wasn’t finding it so hard at that point in time.
It didn’t help that Caden and Brendon could be brothers, they were that similar in looks. If Brendon grew a beard …
“Well?” he prompted with raised eyebrows.
“Your cousin pisses me off,” I said.
No point in beating around the bush with Brendon.
“What’s he done?”
I shook my head and rubbed at my face with my hands. “Nothing,” I grumbled into my palms. I wasn’t there to bitch and moan. I was there to decompress. To get my head around things I should already have my head around.
“Want me to beat him up for you?”
The question took me by surprise. I couldn’t help but laugh. “No,” I said, smiling even as I shook my head. “Not yet, at least.”
Brendon studied me for a heartbeat, and then dipped his head in a single nod. “Let me know when. He’s due a nipple cripple or two.”
“Eww.” I shoved at him. Shoving at Brendon is like shoving at a brick wall. “Go away, weirdo.”
He grinned at my laughing protest and got to his feet. “Consider me gone.”
Amanda didn’t waste any time replacing him on the sofa. When she dropped onto my right side – the side with the partially working ear – I knew what was coming.
“So?”
I stubbornly refused to react. Or look at her. Instead, I changed channels. When the hell had Ellen become so skinny?
“Chase.”
“Oh look,” I said. “It’s the Robocop remake. Or is it a reboot?”
“Chase.”
I continued to channel-surf. “Think I need one of those,” I said, watching a woman with a body forged by countless years of working out and food deprivation, doing her best to convince me how easy it was to lose weight and look good by buying one of the torture devices she was currently swiveling around on. I changed channels.
“Chase.”
A really, really young George Clooney was looking very sexy in hospital scrubs while barking instructions to a really, really frazzled nurse.
“Chase.”
Before my thumb could press the remote again, Amanda plucked it from my hand.
I huffed out a breath that was part growl, part groan, and slumped back into the sofa, folding my arms over my chest.
“Mom called,” she said.
I snorted out a chuckle. “Did she tell you Dad and I were at it again?”
“She did. She also said you were acting weird around one of Dad’s work colleagues who was there to see Dad.”
My tummy turned into a twisting knot. Yeah, Mom never missed anything.
“What gives?” Amanda asked. “Who was it?”
I didn’t answer. If I said Donald’s name, everything would come spilling out, and I didn’t think I was ready for that kind of confession.
When I insisted on remaining silent, Amanda did what she always used to do when we were younger and I was ignoring her: she dropped herself firmly onto my lap, straddling my thighs and trapping me.
“Hey!” I protested, trying to squirm out from under her.
Amanda is not a big girl at all, and when Tanner was diagnosed with leukemia, she lost a lot of weight. A scary amount, to be honest. Now that’s she’s married to a personal trainer, she’s become this super fit, super strong woman. Once upon a time I would have been able to get her off me, but not any more. I love Brendon to death for how happy he’s made my sister, but right at that moment I wanted to smack him. This was an unfair advantage.
“Hey,” she said back, holding my head still between her hands. “Talk to me.”
“You’re not going to like what I’m going to say.” As far as excuses go, it was a lame one. I knew it, and by the way Amanda laughed, so did she.
“I mean,” she said, not relaxing the pressure on my thighs or my cheeks, “if you want to sit here and sulk like a baby I’ll let you, just say the word. But I can’t promise Bren will follow suit. You know what he’s like. So I figure it’s better for you to tell me what’s got you so snippy – and while we’re at it, where Caden is. Brendon’s first line of attack will be to pick you up and swing you around above his head, making helicopter noises until that scowl’s gone.”
“I’m not Tanner,” I grumped.
“True,” Amanda agreed with a contemplative nod, “but you’re behaving like him when he wants a cookie and I give him an apple.”
I reached up and tried to remove her hands from my face. She still didn’t budge. When had she got so strong?
“So,” she said again, wriggling her butt against the tops of my thighs. “Is this about an apple or a cookie?”
“Ow,” I muttered, squirming on the sofa. “You’ve got a bony tailbone.”
“Caden is the apple, isn’t he?”
My tummy tightened at his name. Goddamn it.
“Talk to me, sis,” she said, her expression growing softer. “Tell me what’s taken your happy.”
It wasn’t my tummy that tightened this time, it was my heart. I love my sister more than I can possibly articulate, bony tailbone and all. When I still didn’t say anything, she slipped off my legs and curled onto the sofa beside me, taking my hand in hers and tucking a non-existent strand of hair behind my ear.
No matter how much I tried, I couldn’t stop myself turning to give her a wobbly smile.
“Where’s Caden, Chase? What’s going on?”
“He’s still in LA,” I said. Christ, why did my whole body ache at that statement?
Her eyebrows rose. “And you’re here? Why?”
A sigh tore at my chest. “Because he won’t stop trying to protect me. Because he thinks he knows what’s best for me, and what isn’t.”
“And you don’t like that.”
It wasn’t a question. She knew me well, my sister.
“I don’t. But I like …” I stopped. Tears were burning my cheeks. Annoying, stupid, ridiculous tears.
Amanda tucked that imaginary strand of my hair behind my ear again. When we were younger, when I had hair long enough to sit on, she used to twirl a strand around her finger while we watched television together. Then, when I turned all that hair into dreadlocks, she’d tug on one whenever she wanted attention. The tucking action was her new thing, her response to the new pixie-cut, I guess. She studied my face, my eyes. “This isn’t just about a dog, is it?”
Before I could answer, Brendon appeared in the living room and my heart swelled with happiness. On his hip, still rubbing the sleep from his eyes, his hair a spiky blond mess poking up in all directions, was Tanner.
“Someone wants a hug from Aunty Chase,” Brendon said, crossing the room to deposit Tanner on my lap.
“Aunny Chase!” He snuggled into me in the way only three year olds can – with absolutely unabashed delight. “Where you been?”
“Caden and I got held up in LA,” I said. For some reason, my cheeks filled with heat.
Tanner’s eyebrows shot up in an expression so like Amanda’s I laughed. “Did they have guns?”
“Oh champ, I don’t mean that kind of held up,” I said, giving him a comforting hug and tickle. He giggled and squeezed me back.
He pulled away and gave me a curious look. “Where’s Cade?”
“He’s still in LA.”
Tanner pouted. “Why?”
Tanner had a serious case of hero worship for Caden. It had nothing to do with the fact it was Caden’s bone marrow that saved his life, and everything to do with the fact that Caden makes the best sock puppets and draws the best pictures and carries Tanner around on his back singing songs about Batman and Superman and Iron Man, and wears T-shirts and socks with superheroes all over them, and is fun and crazy and …
I closed my eyes. If I didn’t, tears were going to spill, and Amanda and Brendon were watching me too damn closely for me to let that happen.
“S’okay, Aunny Chase,” Tanner said, patting my shoulder. “Cade will come soon.”
I opened my eyes and gave my nephew a wet smile. “He will,” I mumbled.
Tanner frowned, and then a wide grin split his face “Is he bringing the doggy here?”
I burst into tears. Brendon scooped Tanner from my lap, and Amanda drew me close and nestled me under her chin, her hand smoothing up and down my back. She murmured words I didn’t hear but felt. Soothing words that vibrated like a low hum in her breast. I burrowed into the sensation, trying to stop my tears and failing.
Fuck. I was a mess.
When I finally got control of myself I wiped at my eyes and nose with the back of my hand and levered away from her body.
She looked at me, worry all over her face. “Okay, Chastity, time to cough up and explain what’s going on.”
I let out a shaky sigh and sniffed. There was nothing refined or ladylike about the way I’d been crying. It gave “ugly tears” a new definition. There are few people in the world I would allow to see me like this. Amanda is one of those few.
“Talk,” she said now, watching me swipe at my nose. “We need to fix this.”
Such is Amanda’s approach to life. Problem? Fix it. When it came to her own problems … well, that’s a different story. I’m sure if you ask her, she’ll tell you.
Caden and I had sex, I signed. A lot of sex.
“On that note,” Brendon said, “I think Tanner and I will go buy what we need for dinner.”
“Ice cream!” Tanner cried with delight.
“Boiled chicken and brown rice,” Brendon countered, his face a mask of mock seriousness.
“Ice cream,” Tanner repeated with a wild shake of his father’s shoulders.
“Egg-white omelet and buckwheat pancakes!” Brendon replied with equal enthusiasm.
“Ice cream!” Tanner insisted, wriggling on Brendon’s hip and grinning widely.
Brendon turned to us both. “We’re going to go buy some ice cream.”
“Ice cream!” Tanner cried victorious.
I smiled. I couldn’t help it. In the face of such joy, the woes of my stupid, conflicted heart were no match. “Make sure you get peanut butter chocolate chip,” I told Tanner.
Of course, that reminded me of the last time I’d eaten that particular flavor of ice cream, and who I’d been with, and what we’d done shortly after, and my smile crumbled. Amanda slipped her arm around my shoulders.
Sympathy and understanding filled Brendon’s smile. He knew what it felt like. Although I don’t think he ever got dumped by one of his professors. To the best of my knowledge, the only person to ever dump him was my sister. And now look at them: married and trying their hardest to get pregnant again.
Hitching Tanner farther up his hip, Brendon stepped closer and bent to drop a kiss on my forehead. “It’s going to work out,” he said when he straightened. “Trust me.”
I blinked at the tears threatening to overwhelm me, and rolled my eyes. “You’re a born optimist. Of course you would say that.”
His smile turned to a grin. “Yes. Yes, I am. Isn’t it wonderful?”
I couldn’t help but laugh. It was a wobbly laugh, to be sure, but a laugh.
“We’re outta here,” he declared, turning to Tanner, who was watching us all with the kind of contemplative frown little children wear when exposed to the pathetic-ness of the adults in their life. “Let’s go get a wheatgrass and kale smoothie!”
“Ice cream, Daddy,” Tanner corrected.
“Wheatgrass and kale ice cream?” Brendon suggested.
Tanner’s giggle was answer enough.
“We’ll be back in fifteen, twenty minutes,” Brendon said to Amanda.
She smiled up at him, a smile Brendon bent down and kissed.
“Love you both,” my sister said.
“Love you back, Mommy,” Tanner declared. “C’mon, Daddy. Ice cream!”
“Ice cream,” Brendon laughed.
I watched them go, my heart clenching. In case you haven’t picked up on the clues yet, I love my family. They are amazing and supportive and real. I don’t know what I would do without them.
At the feel of a gentle finger tucking behind my ear, I returned my attention to Amanda.
“Okay,” she said, taking my hand, her smile soft. “Talk to me for real. What’s going on?”
My throat grew thick. She was right. It was time for real talk. It was time for me to tell her everything. She was my sister, after all. She’d had my back from the day I was born.
Letting my gaze jump around the room, I settled on one of Tanner’s Transformer toys lying on the floor. “I was in a relationship with my Art History professor early last year.”
Silence greeted my confession.
I looked back at her, flinching in advance at the censure I knew was going to be on her face.
Yep. There it was. Ouch.
“Professor Perry?” Amanda asked.
I nodded.
“The one who wears suits made out of hemp, has all those books published, and walks around the place like he’s the proverbial Second Coming?”
Okay, so Amanda didn’t like Donald. I didn’t either. One problem down, a gazillion to go …
“Yes. That Art History professor,” I confirmed in a wry tone. “Donald Perry.”
Amanda studied me like I’d suddenly grown an extra head. “He’s like, a hundred and fifty-seven years old.”
“He’s forty-seven,” I corrected.
“Oh, hell, what was I thinking?” she said, smacking her palm to her forehead.
“Amanda,” I growled.
She let out a sigh. “Sorry. Sorry. You just … Professor Perry? Really, Chase? Professor Perry?”
I shrugged. “He gave me some of the best sex of my life.”
“Holy fuck, sis.” Confusion filled Amanda’s face. “Why?”
“Why was I in a relationship with him? Because … because I was in awe of him, of his intelligence. His knowledge about art. His charisma. He’s very charismatic.”
Amanda didn’t look convinced. “He’s being investigated by SDSU. Did you know that?”
I frowned, the information unsettling me. “I didn’t. Do you know why?”
“I don’t. Dad mentioned it in passing to Mom the other day. Apparently he’s on extended leave at the moment.” She shook her head, studying me like I’d grown an extra head. “He might be charismatic, Chase, but still … Professor Perry? You’re so much better than that. I don’t understand why you’d be with him. I just don’t.”
I sighed, slumping deeper into the sofa. “He paid attention to me,” I said finally. “He treated me like I was a grown-up. Like I wasn’t … wasn’t defective. One lesson, he asked me to stay back, complimented me on my essay on Dali, and the next thing I know, we’re swapping saliva and his hand is up my shirt.”
Amanda stared at me. “Was it just that one time? You used the word relationship.”
“It lasted a whole semester.”
She pressed her palm to her mouth. I waited for her to digest my revelation.
It took her a while.
“Okay,” she said eventually. “So it’s over. So explain to me why you’re—”
Before she could finish, Pink started singing from my cell.
Without making eye contact with Amanda, I dug my phone out of my pocket and held it to my working ear. “Can I assume you’re not at my parents’ house any more?” I said.
“No,” he answered. “I’m not. I’m at my place. The question I have is, when are you going to be at my place?”
Two firm fingers pinched my thigh, hard enough to hurt. Mouthing a silent oww, I glared at Amanda.
She glared back at me. Tell him you don’t want to talk to him, she signed.
I frowned at her.
“I can’t stop thinking about you, Chase,” Donald continued. I had to give it to him, he was determined. And adamant we were meant to be together. Where was that determination when he was with the grad student in his office?
“Every breath I take, I’m convinced I’m breathing in your scent,” he went on. “Every woman’s voice I hear, I think it’s yours.”
Tell him you’re not interested, Amanda signed, her sharp motions the equivalent of shouting. Tell him you’re seeing someone else.
“So every woman sounds like me?” I asked into the phone.
Amanda pulled a face and made a gagging action with her finger and mouth.
“Complete with missing consonants and slurring?” I added before Donald could respond.
“That’s not what I mean, babe,” he reproached, like I was a petulant child. “And you know it.”
Amanda’s fingers and hands moved, an evil grin curling her lips. Tell him you just had the best sex of your life with another guy. In fact, tell him you’re in the middle of it now and you need to get back to it.
I waved a shushing hand at her.
“What I know,” I said, my heart racing, “is that you told me that I was defective and you couldn’t be in a serious relationship with someone with a disability.”
Amanda’s mouth fell open. She gaped at me. And then pure, concentrated rage flooded her face. He did what? she signed.
“He did what?” she said aloud, fury turning the words to a snarl. Obviously she was too angry for just one form of communication.
“Is someone there with you?” Donald asked.
“I’m with my sister,” I answered, dropping my forehead into my hand.
“And the hottest guy on the planet,” Amanda said loudly.
“What?” Confusion and alarm filled Donald’s voice.
“Donald,” I said, eyes closed, head in my hand, “why are you so adamant you want us to be a thing again? Why? Is it because you saw me at LAX? Or is it because you saw me with another man?”
He didn’t answer that. Instead, he said, “Be at my place in fifteen minutes, babe. I know you want to see me. I need to show you how sorry I am.”
There was no missing the emphasis on the word show. Nor the implication behind it.
My stomach tightened. The trouble was, I really didn’t know if it was from disgust, rage or, God help me, an idiotic, pitiful need for his approval.
And if it was the latter, what the hell did I do to stop it?