Screw Closure
:: a resolution involving the distortion of a continuously woven thread
Saturday, April 1st, 7:02 pm
Foster Avenue, Baltimore, Maryland
Claire shows up in a cute black shirt with the words Esse quam videri in cursive across the front.
To be rather than to seem—the North Carolina state motto.
“I wore this for you, Kate,” she says in her syrupy-sweet southern drawl. “Are you still a logophile?”
I hope this means word person, because I nod, and we hug, and it feels, for the briefest moment, as if no time has passed.
“What’s that?” I ask, nodding at the yellow and maroon package she’s holding. It’s wrapped in a bright blue bow.
“Slim Jims,” she says, winking as she breezes past me to greet David. “A peace offering for Josh.”
I stare at the unappealing collection of skinny meat-rods. Josh lived on those in college. Still would, if I bought them. But like, gross. And why is she giving him a peace offering? He’s the one who should apologize.
“What, nothing for me?” David jokes. A soft blush creeps onto her cheeks as she stumbles over an excuse. David casts me a helpless look.
“Wow, D. Way to make this awkward,” I tease, hoping he’ll forgive the comment which only makes the moment more awkward, as if that’s possible.
Well, this is off to a good start.
I take Claire’s hand and pull her to the couch as a relieved-looking David scurries off to find Josh.
“Kate, this room is just lovely!” she exclaims, glancing around once he’s gone. It’s all one space in here—foyer, den, and living area. A wall separates us from the kitchen, a good thing tonight as it’s still a wreck.
“You should’ve seen it when we moved in,” I tell her, shuddering at the memory. “Josh didn’t sleep for a week, trying to get the wallpaper off.”
Claire listens politely while I bore her with details of our home woes. She is the picture of southern propriety—jean-clad legs crossed, heeled boots tucked together, V-neck shirt revealing just the right amount of perpetually-tanned cleavage. She’s tall and curved with long, wavy auburn hair. I feel like a frizzy-haired poodle next to her.
Nonetheless, I mimic her position. We eye each other with thin smiles, unsure what to say next. It’s so quiet.
Where are the boys? Ugh, this is horribly awkward.
A minute passes, and I can’t take it. I kick off my boots and flop back in the couch without regard for the short skirt I’m wearing. Why bother trying to be a Claire? I have a hard enough time being Kate. The velvety gray fabric feels comfy and smooth against my bare skin. I’m so in love with this couch. It’s my finest contribution to the décor so far.
“Might as well get comfortable,” I tell her, relaxing into the corner pillow. “Josh was organizing paint supplies. He probably roped David in.”
She smiles knowingly, then asks about plans for the rest of our house. I tell her of the latest mishap—basement mold.
“We had an abatement company scheduled to come out, but then David broke his arm, and…” I trail off because Josh asked me to reschedule the appointment, and I’m just realizing I forgot.
“I was going to ask about that,” she says. “What happened? Is he all right?”
I give her an abbreviated version of David’s fall and ensuing surgery. Surgeries. He’s going to need several. “It’ll be months before he’s fully healed.”
She shakes her head, grimacing. “That sounds like a bad break for such a short fall.”
I nod. Bad, baffling, gut-wrenching. I can’t let my mind wander into the what-could-be-wrong-with-David room.
“So, what’s he doing, now? Did he go into teaching?”
“Middle school English,” I say, relieved to change the subject. “He loves it.”
“And what about you, Kate? Ever finish your degree? You had, what, like a year or something left, right?”
“No. Um…not yet.” My eye twitches at the mention of school.
Claire probably has her master’s by now. She and I are on completely different ball fields academically. Josh, too—he’s brilliant. It irks Nick to no end he’s working in emergency medical services.
An old, familiar ache tugs at my chest. Josh should be designing skyscrapers, not scraping paint off century-old walls. I can still picture his drawings, hundreds of them, tacked neatly in his room growing up. He was going to design buildings, and I was going to decorate them.
But those dreams, like so many, went up in flames the night David’s house burned down.
And it all started with me…
I overdosed when we were seniors in high school.
I’d been sneaking pills from Vivian’s stash for years. A few here and there to help me sleep, drown out the noise. No one knew. But then right before Christmas, Josh caught me in her bathroom. I’d played it off, swore up and down I didn’t have a problem.
Only, there had been so much stress, what with college looming and the Brought to Light scandal. And it seemed the boys were always distracted with work and sports. They had each other, but I was alone, unhinged and disconnected. At least, that’s how I felt.
Then they discovered the thing with our birth certificates, and it was like the rug was ripped out from under me.
I hadn’t meant to take so many.
Poor Josh. He’s the one who found me and wouldn’t leave my side, even at the hospital, he and David both. I didn’t realize at the time, the profound affect it had on them, Josh, especially. Nor could I have predicted the disastrous chain of events that followed.
We’d gone on to college in the fall, as planned, but Josh lost interest in engineering. He began EMT training in addition to his studies, said he never wanted to feel helpless again. He volunteered on campus and at one of the local stations all four years and went on to become a paramedic despite stellar grades, lucrative job offers, and Nick’s clear disapproval. That was like icing on the cake.
As for me?
No one cared what I did, so long as I looked pretty and kept quiet. Not a word of protest from Nick or Vivian when I dropped out. Only Josh, but he’s always looked out for me.
“Kate?” Claire’s squinting with concern. “Are you all right?”
Am I?
I swallow a thorny pill of shame remembering the bottle I still keep, hidden upstairs in my closet, tucked away for an emergency. Unease churns in my gut as it dawns on me fully, why David thought this whole bringing-closure-to-the-Claire-saga was a bad idea. Too much dredging up the past.
“Want wine?” I croak, hopping out of my seat quite spontaneously. I hadn’t planned on drinking, but I’m going to need something to get through this night. She nods, and I make a beeline for the kitchen.
Screw closure. I’m getting drunk.
7:25 pm
Josh and David are chatting with Claire when I reemerge toting four full glasses.
The boys stand close together, shoulders bumping, awkward and adorable, like twin sides of my heart. David looks good enough to eat in his snug shirt and fitted chinos. With his arm in a cast, the combination of vulnerability and raw male perfection is divine.
And he’s a little pale, which is sexy as hell with his piercing eyes and those curved, blushing lips. I can still feel their warm press on my neck this morning, his breath hot and delicious against my skin.
Lord help me.
But Josh? He’s an absolute mess. My soul hurts. I want to hug him. He’s wearing a mechanical smile, but his eyes scream, help me. A fine white dust lingers on his shirt, clinging to his arms and legs—remnants from our rice battle. His disheveled hair, normally a warm, golden brown, is almost gray with powder.
He looks like a maniacal snow creature.
What must Claire think? I sneak a glance at her, but she’s staring into her wine glass, perplexed. I watch in horror as she spits wine back into the glass.
“Kate, I’m sorry!” She sets it down and backs away. “There’s something wrong with your wine. It’s crunchy.”
We all peer into her glass. Sure enough, there are several little white grains floating in the sea of red.
“Is that…” she asks hesitantly. “Is that rice?”
And then she’s scrutinizing Josh, eyes narrowed. She runs a tentative hand through his hair and a cloud-like poof forms as several grains drop to the floor. He blushes beneath her touch, shaking his head roughly. Grains go flying.
“Well, that’s clearly rice,” he says, grinning shyly as she giggles. Warmth floods the room and my stomach does a little backflip because, oh my goodness, Josh is flirting with her. Flirting. I haven’t seen him flirt in years.
David and I exchange a loaded glance, and I can’t tell if he’s ruffled by Josh’s odd behavior, or my reaction to it. Or maybe something else altogether. There’s a sharp edge in his expression, but it’s gone before I can blink, shrouded in the beautiful calm mask of his face.
And I should be glad, right? I wanted them to reconcile. So why is dread circling like a vulture? I hadn’t considered she might want to get back together, but what if she does? What if he does? I take a giant gulp of wine as that thought festers. Would Josh leave David and I for Claire?
I’m so preoccupied, my grip loosens, and I almost drop the glass. Wine sloshes everywhere. Fortunately, this goes unnoticed by Josh and Claire who are now too focused on each other and the stupid Slim Jim bouquet he’s eyeing like a starved mountain lion. He offers to get her a fresh glass, and she follows him to the kitchen where I hear a gasp.
“Kate tried to burn the house down,” he explains as she dissolves into giggles. “And she’s apparently developed a rice fetish.”
Claire is probably mortified. She’s like Josh, neat and orderly. I remember that from sharing a room with her at the beach. Our styles are not exactly compatible.
It gets quiet then, and I imagine they’re talking. Poking more fun at my expense, maybe? Probably. But it’s all good, right? If it brings a little closure.
Because who doesn’t need that?
David observes my crisis from a distant corner of the room.
“Stop gloating,” I mutter, flopping back on the couch as he closes the space in four graceful strides. He’s not, but I don’t want him watching because he has a way of seeing through. And I feel conflicted enough already.
“You know me better than that, Kate.”
And of course, I do. He’d never say I told you so, no matter what he’s thinking. But one look in his wary eyes tells me I’m not the only one conflicted. Apprehension flutters within me at the notion David, too, is shaken. Or maybe it’s just the wine. I’ve already downed my entire glass.
“You’re right, D. I’m sorry.” I pat the cushion and he sits. Not nearly close enough, though. I inch closer.
“I’m sorry, too,” he says, and puts an arm around my shoulder.
“Oh yeah? For what?”
“I don’t know. Seemed like the right thing to say.”
I laugh and snuggle into him, threading my fingers through his. “Maybe we could stay home and let them go out,” I say, feeling a sudden, urgent need for this night to be over.
“Hmm. I don’t picture Josh going for that.”
He skims my palm lightly with his thumb. His touch coupled with the wine has a heady, dizzying effect which, mercifully, dampens thoughts of Josh and Claire.
I let my mind wander back to this morning in bed and to the hundreds of times we’ve been together. A deep ache sinks low in my belly, pleasant and painful. God, I need him. I stare at his lips, moist and slightly parted. I want them on me. The hard, pulsing length of him in my hand—
Claire’s laughter interrupts these lusty thoughts. She has a bizarre laugh, like tinkling china. It’s startling. I listen closer, my body like a furnace. Josh is talking, but I can’t make out the words.
I close my eyes and nuzzle David’s shoulder, which feels unusually bony. A nagging unease invades my arousal, and I wrap both arms around him, my face in his chest.
“You’re losing too much weight,” I murmur.
He sighs. “What, you’re collaborating with Josh, now?”
I don’t know what he means, and I forget to care, because he smells delicious. Like warm ocean breezes and endless skies of blue. I want to dive inside him, drown myself in the undertow. Forget Josh and Claire and stupid closure. I don’t want to think about anything. What I want, is David. Right here, right now.
I kick caution to the curb, tilt my head up, and kiss him. There’s an immediate explosion when our mouths connect, and he gasps, grinning into me as our lips sink and slide like hot, buttery sweetness.
And, good Lord, the boy can kiss. It’s been so long. Too long. My hands grab and claw at his shirt, pulling him close as I part those full, sultry lips with my tongue. He opens for me, warm and wanting, groaning into my mouth as I fill his.
Months of pent-up need flood my belly in a rush, and I’m dizzy-hot and pulsing, my body triggered and ready from our foreplay in bed this morning.
“I want you,” I whisper, shifting to straddle his lap. It’s a bold move, but I’m feeling reckless, spurred on by months of abstinence and cheap wine. Can there be a more tragic combination?
What am I doing?
“Kate,” he murmurs weakly, our mouths so close I feel more than hear him say it. Then a soft, plaintive, “Kate.” His breathless plea, my complete undoing. I press down and into him, hands snaking behind his neck, twisting into his lush, silken curls.
My skirt hikes up and he’s reaching around me, fingers digging, hungry at my thighs, hot on the exposed flesh. And I shouldn’t, really shouldn’t, but I grind my hips back and forth, gratified to feel him growing thick and hard beneath my—
“No that’s okay. I left my purse by the door.” Claire’s voice.
The sound of clicking heels.
Holy Shit.
She and Josh are coming back.
David swears under his breath, and all too fast he’s pulling away, pushing me from his lap. And they’re in the room before I can compose myself. Thankfully, she’s oblivious and annoyingly chatty, and seems to have Josh so distracted he doesn’t notice David on the couch inelegantly adjusting.
And me?
Well, I’ve got a mess of my own to deal with. And though I’m talking to Claire, my mind remains on the couch doing dirty, unspeakable things to him. So, yeah. I don’t know what the hell I’m saying.
At least their vibe is friendly. Claire is practically giddy, and Josh is sporting a flirtatious grin that makes me want to simultaneously hug and punch him. And I’ve had just enough wine, I might do both, or worse. So, I pull my thoughts away from his smile and David’s crotch to focus on Claire. We’re doing this for her after all.
And for closure.
Whatever the hell that is.
8:45 pm
SoBo Café, Cross Street, Baltimore, Maryland
An hour later we’re nestled in a cozy table at the Sobo café.
It’s one of my favorite restaurants in Baltimore—small, intimate, kind of funky with amazing food. It’s packed tonight, and loud. David and I sit together opposite Claire and Josh. She’s chatting his ear off, leaning a little too close if you ask me. They’re scrolling through pictures on her phone, easily one of Josh’s least favorite pastimes.
Is she that clueless?
I glance at David, but he’s not paying attention, to me or them. He’s completely zoned out. I squeeze his leg and he jumps.
“You could at least pretend to enjoy sitting here,” I pout.
He shakes his head slightly, like coming out of a trance or something, and I feel a stab of guilt. He’s tired and his arm is bothering him, and here I am, pleading for attention like an obsessed groupie.
“Sorry, Sunshine.” He takes my hand beneath the table with a pensive gaze. “I thought I saw…” his voice fades as he stares out the window past Josh and Claire. That uneasy feeling creeps back over me.
“What did you see?” I ask.
But the waitress arrives then with drinks and appetizers, and the moment is lost. Claire brings up her recent vacation at the same beach resort where we all worked together in college. David laughs and engages with her, and I tell myself I’m imagining things.
Besides, he seemed fine on the couch. More than fine. Pleasure ripples through me at the thought of him, hard and wanting between my legs. I take a blushing sip of wine. I’m sure it’s nothing. He’s tired, is all. It’s been a long day.
“Were you there vacationing with family?” I ask when the conversation reaches a lull. I’m talking too loud, and David nudges me. I nudge him back, letting my hand drop to his thigh, inches from his zipper. I stifle a giggle, wondering if I can make him hard right here at the table. My fingers dance a little closer and his lips press together, ear tips reddening. It’s freaking adorable.
“No…well, kind of.” Claire glances at Josh. “I was there with my fiancé. I mean, he wasn’t my fiancé then. He proposed a month ago.” All eyes swivel to Josh.
I wish I had a picture of his expression, because it alleviates any question of his desire to rekindle things. Jubilant delight doesn’t even describe it. He looks like someone just offered him free chicken wings for life. It’s priceless.
I feel David kick him beneath the table, a clear message to wipe the ridiculous grin from his face and congratulate her. Which he does.
“I’m glad you found someone, Claire,” he says, earnestly. “I hope he treats you better than I did.” This is totally for her benefit, but I think the comment is sincere. I know he never meant to hurt her. At any rate, she buys it.
Her eyes swell. She throws her arms around his neck and pulls him into a hug. “It means so much to hear you say that! And no one will ever be like you, seriously.” She leans back and scrunches up her cute little button nose. “We had a lot of fun together, didn’t we, love?”
Gag.
I forgot she used to call him that.
He nods at her with that shy, sweet smile again. I hate that she’s so pretty. My wine glass is empty, and David’s shifting out of my reach. Is the food ever going to come? They’re reconciled now. She’s getting married. Let’s end this.
“So, when’s the wedding, Claire?” I say/slur. I don’t know. My lips are all tingly and numb. Josh shoots me a warning look.
She releases him and turns to me, twisting at where her engagement ring should be. “We don’t actually have a date yet. Hopefully some time early next year.”
I bite my tongue to keep from asking where her ring is. Like, what’s up with that? Did she not want Josh to know? Is she lying? Claire’s not the type to hide a diamond.
An uncomfortable silence follows during which the waitress finally refreshes my wine. I down half the glass in one gulp. Josh narrows his eyes, and it’s my turn to kick him, noting with pleasure the concerned look he and David exchange. Why are they always looking at each other? They don’t look at me that way.
Meanwhile, Claire is studying David and I. “You know, I really assumed you two would be married by now.”
No! What the—
My stomach drops to the floor, and I nearly spit up the wine I just chugged. Did she really go there? An intense blush creeps onto my face, and I can’t even look at David who must be mortified. I have no one to blame but myself for this disaster.
“Well—” I begin, but he comes to my rescue.
“I’m just waiting for Kate to perfect her cooking skills is all,” he says, tucking a curl gently behind my ear. And God help me if every fiber of my being doesn’t want that to be true. He’s playing it up, though, for her benefit. I know that detached smile of his all too well.
She laughs, and the conversation somehow returns to my rice fiasco. David wraps a comforting arm around my waist, drawing me close. I fold into him. I’d crawl right back into his lap if it were socially acceptable.
Claire mentions something about National Rice Ball Day being on April nineteenth. I want to ask how she knows stuff like that, but the wine’s getting to me. Actually, it may have already gotten me. I feel all melty and warm with David’s arm around me, his fingers caressing the skin beneath my sweater. It feels so good.
“You should be a masseuse,” I whisper. Or possibly don’t whisper.
He shushes me.
I watch as he and Josh exchange a series of looks likely involving my declining state. I don’t even care…I’m floating down a river of numb intoxication. It’s delightful. I imagine casting all my worries overboard. The house, my job, our past and it’s relentless pursuit. I think Vivian had the right idea all along—why live life sober? I lean on David and close my eyes. Claire’s laughing in the distance…it hurts my ears.
“Can someone shut her up?” I don’t mean to say this out loud, but David sucks in a breath, and I think maybe I did.
Well, this is embarrassing.
Only, I don’t feel embarrassed. I feel the foggy haze of indifference, and it’s wonderful. I should do this more often. I think I’m telling David this when the food arrives, and I don’t know what the hell I ordered, but it smells divine.
Scrumptious.
I like that word. It tastes good in my mouth.
“Mmm…scrumptious.”
Claire is giggling, at me, I think. It’s like echo-y, unearthly awful. And Josh keeps telling me to sober up. As if I have a choice? I don’t know. Everything’s cloudy and sitting upright isn’t working anymore. I rest my head on David’s lap, feeling full and empty, and desperate for sleep. And for one of those pills in my closet. Just one. Tears spill onto his pants.
And we’re moving. Crowded rooms and flashing lights. Uber, someone says. Me? The app looks blurry. Can’t see my phone. I’m stumbling. Lying in the backseat. David buckles me in.
So tired.
Such a long ride.
Claire calls goodbye. And we’re back in our home of fresh paint, and old wood, and new beginnings.
“I love our house,” I murmur as strong, safe arms carry me upstairs, tuck me into bed. Josh pulls the covers up and kisses my forehead. I grab hold of him.
“Stay.”
He hesitates.
“Please… until I’m asleep.”
The mattress sinks beside me.
“Did Claire hear what I said?”
He chuckles. “What? About you wanting to shut her up? No, I don’t think so.”
“Are you sure?”
He runs a finger down the bridge of my nose to the tip. “You were in rare form tonight Kath-er-ine.” I love how he draws my name out the way he used to when we were little.
“I know. I’m so sorry. You and David were right.” I yawn. “You guys are always right.”
“No. Honestly, Kate, I’m glad we did it—cleared the air and all. I feel better now.”
The cost of closure.
“Then it was worth it,” I say, and yawn again. My eyes won’t stay open, but I don’t want to be alone. He starts to rise and I pull him back.
“Stay with me tonight, Joshie. You and David? Please? I don’t want to be by myself.”
He doesn’t answer, and I feel the indecision. We used to sleep together all the time, the three of us. Not in this house, though. I must fade out for a few minutes because I have a vague sense of him leaving.
Then two warm bodies are slipping in on either side of me. David fishes for my hand under the covers and Josh curls into my side, his arm sliding beneath my head, reaching for David. My bed is a queen, so we’re all squished and tangled. It’s warm and wonderful, and I don’t even want sex, or snuggling, or anything. I just want them, and me, and us.
Together.
Sunday, April 2 5:42 pm
Foster Avenue, Baltimore, Maryland
I get the text from Claire just before dinnertime.
We haven’t left the house all day. Josh and I are both recovering from our weekend of debauchery, and David’s just been sleeping. We’re all sprawled on the couch like zombies, flipping back and forth between House Hunters and a Harry Potter marathon on one of the movie channels. Yes, that’s right—poor David, I can’t even. Josh’s running commentary is hilarious, though. He’s cracking us both up.
My phone vibrates and I glance at the screen.
Claire.
“She’s on her way,” I tell Josh, nudging him with my elbow.
“You deal with her,” he mumbles. Claire left her coat here last night. She’s coming to retrieve it on her way to the airport.
The doorbell rings a few minutes later, and I let her in along with a gust of cold, blustery air. It may officially be spring, but winter still has a death grip on the city.
“Kate!” She pulls me into a hug. “Recovered from last night I see.”
I force a smile. “All good here.”
“Sorry to bother you guys.” She peers around me into the darkened living room. The boys sort of wave sleepy acknowledgments from the couch. I honestly love days like this—quiet, lazy, just the three of us, no agenda. We didn’t get out of my bed until close to noon. I hand her the coat and move back toward the door.
She makes idle chat for a minute, then we’re hugging goodbye and exchanging empty promises to keep in touch. She’s halfway out the door.
“Oh! I can’t believe I forgot to mention this.” A pained expression clouds her face. “I need a favor.”
A favor?
“Um…sure,” I say, hesitating. What could she possibly want from me?
“I ran into Denise the other day. Remember her? She was in your dorm, freshman year.”
Of course I remember Denise. She introduced me to Claire. I experience a slight tingle at the base of my skull. This cannot possibly go in a good direction.
“We didn’t keep in touch,” I say cautiously.
“Yeah, me either. I almost didn’t recognize her.” She tinkle-laughs, and I’ve never hated the sound more. “Here’s the crazy thing, though. She was asking about you.”
“Oh?”
‘Oh, shit’ is more like it. How does Denise even remember me?
“She’s married now. I guess they’ve been trying to get pregnant, and she miscarried. She had all these complications. Some kind of infection afterwards? She’s still not recovered.”
Sirens sound off. I shake my head violently, trying to give her a clue to shut up! She totally misreads it as empathy. Her brows squeeze together.
“I know, so awful, right? She told me about you having a miscarriage freshman year, and some terrible infection after? I said she had the wrong girl, but she was adamant.” Her voice lowers. “I think she was hoping to get in touch with you. You know, a sympathetic ear. Maybe you have some advice for her? Did you really have a miscarriage, Kate? That’s so awful! I can’t believe I never knew.”
I just nod, dumbfounded, eyes darting around the room. My entire body shakes, and I have to lean against the wall. All I can think about is the boys on the couch, listening.
She’s oblivious, digging through her purse. “I think I wrote her number down. Here it is!” She folds a sticky note into my palm and glances at her watch. “I’ve got to run, but seriously, call her. You were always such a great encourager.”
She bids a final farewell to the boys, who offer no response whatsoever, and the door shuts with a resounding thud. No movement. No sound.
Not even a breath. Just an all-consuming silence, and my secret laid bare.