Damaged Threads
:: harm resulting from neglect or extended, prolonged abuse.
Friday, March 25th, 9:17 am
Starbucks, President Street
Baltimore, Maryland
“Insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results.”
This Albert Einstein quote is everywhere lately. I love quotes. Think about the power of words. Properly strung together, delivered at the right moment. Explosive, life-changing. I should have majored in English Lit like David, maybe I wouldn’t have dropped out after three years. Occupational therapy, what was I thinking?
I wasn’t thinking, of course. I was following Josh. And he wanted Duke, or at least he thought he did. And after all we’d been through? I couldn’t let him go alone. And I couldn’t stand the thought of staying in Maryland, even with David there.
So, I convinced myself I wanted to be an OT. It’s a long path, but I was committed. And UNC was great for a few months. I love learning, but the structure of school about killed me. The years loomed ahead like an ever-darkening storm cloud.
Gosh, if I hadn’t met Mia—
“Kate, are you listening?”
“Huh?” My head jerks up. “Oh, sorry Mia, my mind wandered.” Ugh. I should probably be more professional. She is my boss, after all. Even if we are friends.
“Well, come on. Spill it. What’s more important than me and my ramblings?”
I laugh. She’s not one to beat around the bush. “Oh, it’s nothing. Just Josh, mostly. We argued earlier. I can’t stop thinking about it.” And he hung up on me while I was driving here. And David won’t go to the doctor. And they’re both so stubborn I want to scream. And I love them so much I want to weep. Yeah, probably shouldn’t share any of that.
She groans. “Seriously, Kate. He’s so fucking hot. You know I’ve been waiting years for you to set me up.”
I should be unphased by the comment, but even my freckles are blushing. Mia, like most of our current friends, does not know Josh and I are twins because technically, we’re not. It’s complicated, which is why we avoid talking about it.
Not that this matters to Mia. I’m sure she would hook up with Josh, either way. We met at UNC years ago. I had a salon job washing hair where she was a stylist. She got me interested in massage therapy. Ultimately, the reason I dropped out.
Josh basically hates her.
He also hates being set up. My last attempt was a disaster. Plus, he, David, and I are vowed off dating for the time being. We’re sorting things out. At least that was the deal when we moved in together. No dating anyone, inside or outside the house.
This boils down to David and I keeping things platonic until we get our shit together. And Josh? He might never get his shit together.
I neatly sidestep Mia’s comment and steer our conversation back toward work. Mia started a mobile massage company in Raleigh and she’s expanding into Baltimore. This is that third job Josh loves to stress about.
“I’ve got that meeting today with Thayer Branding Consultants,” I tell her.
A regular spa client of mine owns this graphic design firm downtown by the Harbor. We got to talking and I sold him on the benefits of employer-provided massage. I’ve got a meeting with his human resources team today. Getting his company on our client list could open all kinds of doors.
“I wish I could stay,” she says, checking her watch. “My flight leaves in like three hours, though.”
Mia lives in Raleigh, so we FaceTime and Skype, but usually only meet in person once or twice a month when she comes through town. We chat for a few more minutes, and I apologize again for keeping her waiting. I can’t believe I went to the wrong Starbucks.
“Hey, I’m serious about Josh,” she says, hugging me as we part ways. “You gotta make that happen.”
I just nod.
Mia’s striking with her auburn, color-streaked hair, tattoos, and outrageous makeup—but Josh…um…I’m not sure she’s his type. I’m not even sure he has a type.
If I’m being honest? I’m not sure I want him to.
2:03 pm
Royal Farms, Ponca Street
Baltimore, Maryland
It’s mid-afternoon before I have a moment to breathe.
Most mornings I work at a pediatric rehab center connected with Hopkins. It’s super rewarding, and I love the kids, but it’s not what I want to be doing.
What I want is to work with Mia full-time. This is why I should be high-tailing it across town for my meeting instead of sitting in a Royal Farms parking lot drinking stale coffee, making calls. But I have a long track record of poor decision making. Why change now?
David is first on my list.
“Sunshine,” he says into the phone, all soft and sweet. My heart does that little twangy, fluttering thing. I love when he calls me this. “You okay?”
“I guess,” I say, faltering. I’d planned to tell him I scheduled his neurology appointment, and he’s not going to be happy.
“Don’t worry. You’re going to do great.”
For a second, I have no idea what he’s talking about. But of course, David would remember my meeting. He’ll forget his wallet or wear the same outfit two days in a row, but this kind of stuff he remembers.
“Thanks, D.” My voice cracks, and I cough to cover the emotion. “I guess I’m a little nervous.”
“Be yourself. They won’t be able to resist you.”
I laugh. “Yeah? Well, Josh didn’t have any problem with that this morning.”
“Don’t take it personally. He was upset with me.”
This isn’t surprising. Josh is generally upset with one of us. It’s his modus operandi. “What’d you do this time?”
David doesn’t respond, and I picture his exquisite form settling gracefully into a chair, hands clasped behind his neck, eyes closed.
“Lover’s quarrel?” I prompt. “Kick him out of bed last night or something?”
I’m kidding.
Kind of.
Our sleeping arrangement isn’t ideal, but it made sense for the boys to share with only two bedrooms. Josh and I weren’t bunking up. And David? We’ve spent plenty of nights together but sharing a room kind of went against the whole no-dating-sorting-things-out agreement.
It burns a little, though—them together, while I’m alone. Especially when they sleep together, which they often do. I mean, they’re not like a couple or anything. I don’t know. It’s one of those elephant-in-the-room situations we roundly avoid.
Besides, he and David have always been this way. Inseparable. Weirdly connected. Like one person existing in two bodies. Honestly, they’re more like twins than Josh and I could ever pretend to be.
It’s kind of sweet. And messy. Like everything else with us.
He’s still quiet.
“I can hear your eyes rolling, David.” This produces a soft laugh, but no response. Yup, I’ve annoyed him. Definitely not mentioning the appointment. I switch subjects. “My meeting is in an hour. Any advice?”
“Hmm, I don’t know. Maybe picture them in their underwear?”
“What?”
“At your meeting, the people…picture them in underwear. That’s what I do at work meetings when I’m nervous.”
I have a hard time imagining David nervous about anything. I can kind of see him visualizing his colleagues naked, though. “So, you’ve pictured Blake in underwear, then? Is that what you’re telling me?” I’m laughing.
“Yeah, I guess. Although technically I’ve seen Blake in underwear. Not pretty. Lots of hair.”
Blake is David’s closest friend at school. He teaches band, God bless him. He’s tall, athletic, super nice. Totally reminds me of that blond guy from MTV’s Teen Wolf. Not in league with David, but attractive, nonetheless. And I guarantee if he has body hair, he’s waxing it.
They should offer a discount combo at the spa, like waxing followed by a massage or something. I generally detest body hair, which David knows since I complain about my encounters daily. To the point of giving Josh a complex, I think, because he has a decent amount.
And David? It’s not fair comparing anyone to him. Besides, he’s practically hairless, except that thin, narrow path between the v lines. You could eat off his stomach, and good Lord, does he have a body. I can’t even…
Where was I going with this?
Oh right, Josh. He gets a little jealous of Blake and David’s friendship. He’d deny this, but it’s true. He’s kind of possessive when it comes to David. Or, protective. I guess that’s a better word.
“Kate, are you still there?” I hear talking and laughter in the background.
“Sorry, D. I zoned out. You got me thinking about hair.”
He chuckles. “Look, I’ve got to go. There’s a room full of eighth-graders staring at me.” The noise grows into a cacophony of hi Kate, and smoochy kissing sounds.
“I want your job,” I say as he calmly instructs them to settle. The noise goes down about a decibel.
“Have you people ever heard of a code red?” he jokes, á la A Few Good Men. We watched the movie last weekend for the first time; clearly, it made an impression. As we hang up, I hear a chorus of comments and laughter.
You’re such a dork, Mr. B.
What’s a code red?
Are you going to marry Kate?
This last comment brings a warm flush to my face because I’ve been in love with David since we were ten years old. And marriage? That used to be part of our plan.
But I’m not sure about anything anymore.
2:59 pm
One Light Street Building Baltimore, Maryland
I’m in the elevator, on my way to the meeting when my phone vibrates.
Classic Josh text—one word, all caps.
Josh: BORED
I shake my head. He has two settings: perpetual motion or boredom. Following the word is a sunflower emoji, which is baffling. I mean, I do like sunflowers…whatever, I don’t have time for his nonsense.
Me: Busy, go clean a toilet.
He’s a paramedic with the fire department in Baltimore County. They help around the station when not out on a call. We like to give him a hard time about it. He responds instantly.
Josh: BULLSHIT
Clearly, he’s having a slow day and listened to nothing I said earlier.
Me: Big meeting, remember?
Josh: BARELY
I roll my eyes at the wall. He’s so frustrating. I wrack my brain for an appropriate ‘B-word. We play these nerdy alliteration games in our text messages. David’s the best, but he teaches English. Who can compete with that? Which reminds me, I can’t believe I forgot to ask when I called him.
Me: Who’s picking D up?
Josh: BUS?
That gets me, and I’m laughing so hard I have to lean against the wall. Poor David, relying on the two of us idiots to get around. His car died after we moved in, and he hasn’t decided on a new one.
The elevator door opens, and I stifle my laughter quickly and duck into a corner of the hall.
Me: Seriously J?
Josh: BLAKE.
Well, that makes sense. And neither of us has to trek across town. Double win. I text Bye feeling ridiculously proud of getting the last ‘B-word in.
Surely, it’s a good omen for my meeting.
4:47 pm
Light Street, Baltimore, Maryland
Or not.
Okay. The meeting was a disaster. Like, monumentally bad. And I was prepared, but holy paperwork, they had a lot of questions! Logistics, liability issues, waiver forms, I don’t even know. I felt like shouting, It’s just massage, people!
Mia’s going to have to get involved, reach out to the HR manager and clarify things, I guess. Ugh. I’m so embarrassed. I should call and let her know, but I can’t stomach it. So, I phone David instead.
It’s almost to voicemail before he answers. “How’d it go?” he asks, yawning.
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“That good, huh?”
“It was epic.”
An epic fail.
“I’m sorry, Sunny. Don’t be so hard on yourself. Maybe it went better than you think?”
I hear papers shuffling and imagine him bent over our crooked kitchen table, the cozy chaos of paint samples and carpet swatches stacked high. Our house is a hot mess, but it’s our mess. It’s all about perspective, right? I take a slow, cleansing breath.
Maybe David has a point. They didn’t flat-out refuse me. There might still be hope.
“I tried the underwear thing,” I tell him, relaxing a little. “Only, I kept picturing a hairy version of Blake in bikini briefs. So, thanks for that visual.”
He laughs. But it’s a strained, weary sound that sets my nerves right back on edge. I head the car toward Boston Street. “You okay, D? You sound a little…off?”
He sighs.
“Another headache?”
“I’m fine, Kate. Just grading papers.” He yawns again, then lets out a low chuckle. “And now I’m picturing Blake in bikini briefs.”
We joke for a few minutes, and he perks up when I ask about the latest school gossip. Turns out I’m a sucker for teacher drama. Backstabbing department heads, front office sex scandals, theft? His middle school is like a soap opera breeding ground.
“And food is still disappearing from the staff lounge,” he says. “Yesterday, the principal’s lunch was stolen, if you can believe that. Right out of the refrigerator. A Chipotle bowl with her name on it.”
Hmm…Chipotle.
Speaking of food. “What are we doing for dinner?” I ask. Josh is sure to be starving, and there’s nothing in the fridge.
We decide on Chipotle because, the power of suggestion and all. Plus, it’s convenient—there’s one in Canton, near the house. We hang up and I head there feeling markedly better.
Until I walk into the restaurant and my phone rings.
Mia.
6:02 pm
Foster Avenue, Baltimore, Maryland
I’m beyond cooked.
Between recounting the meeting disaster with Mia and a supernaturally long take-out line, it takes almost an hour to get home. Josh is sorting mail in the kitchen when I stagger in.
“How was work?” I ask, dropping the bags on the counter with a thud.
He grunts. Josh-speak for I’m tired and leave me alone.
I shrug off my jacket and pick up the pile he’s discarded. Josh has no patience for coupons, but I am embarrassingly passionate about them. I love a good deal. And a cute guy in uniform. I unabashedly admire his backside while glancing through the ads.
Usually, he changes at the station, but he’s still in work clothes. Black combat-style boots, dark navy pants, and a blue EMT shirt. His broad shoulders pull at the thin, snug fabric every time he moves. I’ve got a thing for shoulder blades, something about those angular curves.
His shirt’s tight enough to capture the rise and fall of each breath. I love watching people breathe, it’s what drew me to massage. Connecting with someone else that way, with their body—it’s very intimate.
I’m reminded of the conversation with Mia and can’t help myself. “You know I had breakfast with Mia today.”
“Yeah. Starbucks. I heard. Another planning session of the Baltimore massage invasion?”
Does he have to be so antagonistic? Maybe I should set them up.
“She’s still got a thing for you, you know.”
He doesn’t turn around, but his shoulders shake with silent laughter. “Is that right? Good for her.”
Ugh! He’s so infuriating! I grab the nearest thing I can find to beat him with. A potholder. I get one good swat in before he swings around and rips it from my hand. He pulls me close.
“That’s what you want, huh? Mia and I to date, hook up…what?”
No. That’s not what I want at all.
I shake my head against him, and he sighs, then runs a hand through my hair, gently loosening the curls. He smells good. In a real way. Not all fancy cologne and aftershave. But soap and sweat and sanitizer. Maybe a hint of latex. He smells safe, like a hospital.
And I love that.
“How’d your meeting go?” he asks.
“As expected, I guess.” My voice is muffled in his chest and I’m not sure why I don’t tell him the truth. A tear slips down my cheek, and I can’t tell if I’m crying because of the meeting or because of him. I blink several times and wipe my face on his shirt. Either way, I don’t want to get into it.
Neither does he, clearly. I sense him glancing over my shoulder.
“Hey, you got Chipotle!” he exclaims, immediately brightening. Much like a toddler, Josh is easily distracted by food. And television. And a to-do list. I’m surprised he hasn’t made a chore chart for the house.
“Typical,” I mutter, wiping my face while he accosts the takeout bag. I turn back to the mail, and that’s when I notice it, gaudy and out of place amidst the flimsy advertisements—a gold-crested wedding invitation. It’s addressed to David.
“Did you see this?” I ask Josh, who nods.
“Look who it’s from,” he says, mouth already stuffed with chips.
I flip the envelope over. “Isabelle Keats!” That’s an unpleasant blast from the past.
She and David dated in high school. And she went to Towson, like him. I didn’t realize they kept in touch, though. We aren’t exactly friends.
“Think you’re invited, too?”
Josh doesn’t respond. He’s too busy inhaling queso and looking surly.
We entered grade school with Isabelle, but she never cared for either of us. She was all about David, though. As were most of the girls in our class.
“Well, if he goes, he’s taking me,” I say, regretting the words as soon as they leave my mouth. I do not understand myself sometimes. Of course David will take me. Who else would he take? It’s not like Josh should care.
Only, he does, and we both know it.
And therein lies another elephant in the room—our battle for David’s affection. It’s been ongoing since the day we met him.
Bound by invisible thread.
Ian once said that of Josh, David, and I. He meant Abigail, David’s twin sister, too, only we hadn’t realized it at the time. He’d been drunk and babbling, but I never forgot the comment. Never understood it, either. Not until the night he died, and our world imploded.
Ugh. Stop it, Kate. Bad thoughts.
Josh’s phone rings and he glances at the screen, swallowing. “Work,” he says in a tight voice, turning from me.
I nod, moving to stand behind him. While he talks, I rub his shoulders until I feel them relax, the cadence of his heart returning to its slow, steady rhythm. He clasps a hand over mine, gently squeezing, and I know we’re right again. I think I need a shirt that says I apologize by massage or something.
It’s only after I unpack the food I realize we haven’t seen or heard David, which is unusual in our house of thin walls and squeaky floors. I head upstairs and peek into my room.
The boys sometimes hang out here. I suspect this is because I have a newer television and the largest bed. And my room is clean. Okay, cleaner. At least the floor’s recognizable, unlike theirs. Plus, it’s cozy, which is to say, incredibly small.
I prefer their room because it’s bigger and gets a lot of natural light. They face the front and have a huge window seat perfect for curling up with a good book. I’m about to check in there when I hear a sharp cry, followed by a thud.
“Kate?” Josh calls. “What the hell was that?”
My heart leaps to my throat as I race into their room. It’s chaos. Laundry, books, paperwork, David’s laptop, his work bag. A thousand little sports balls are littering their floor. I kick a clear path, calling for him.
That’s when I notice a thin light peeking out from beneath their closet door. Frantic, I shove it open and find him, collapsed on the floor, arm grotesquely bent, blood leaking from his forehead.
And I scream for Josh.