The vibe at my parents’ house feels like a minefield because my parents have been downstairs fighting all morning. They don’t agree about the money, and now I feel guilty because I created a huge wedge. I know I’m right, but what does it matter if I’m only causing them more pain?
I head downstairs and find them squabbling in the kitchen over dish placement. Mom insists that Dad is trying to piss her off by putting the bowls in the wrong spot.
I stand in the doorway and square my shoulders. “Guys.”
Both heads turn.
“I know you want to talk, but I have something to say first. I apologize for threatening you. I shouldn’t have said you’ll lose me if you take the money. It was wrong. I would never do that to you.”
“So you’ve come to your senses,” says Dad. “Knew you would.” He nods at Mom like he’s won their argument.
“Yes,” I say. “I have. Which is why my position about taking the money hasn’t changed.”
Dad frowns. “But you just said—”
“I said I regret telling you I’ll stop being your son, but I stand by everything else. Taking money in exchange for silence is a hard no for me. But,” I draw a deep breath, “I now recognize that we’ve each dealt with Joy’s murder in different ways. It only makes sense that we do the same when it comes to closure.”
Mom’s eyes fill with big wet tears.
What I wouldn’t give to see those eyes dry for an entire day. A week. A month. Which is why I say something that’s hard for me. “Take the money. Get closure. Move away from this town and find a way to be happy again. That’s all I want for you guys, and I really mean it.” I pause, pulling on the new strength I’ve found. “But understand that I’ve got to find closure in my own way, too. I’m not ready to let go because I’ve only started unpacking years of baggage. I don’t know what it’s going to take to move on, but I’m trying to figure that out.” I have pieces of the puzzle—like making sure Manda and her friends are held accountable—but what comes after that? How do you make peace with life once you’re done fighting?
“All we want is for you to be happy, Huff.” Mom grabs a paper towel from the roll by the sink to blot her face.
Dad puts his arm around her shoulder to comfort her. “See. We don’t disagree on everything.”
She bobs her head and wipes her nose. “Like Huff needing to see Dr. Shultz.” She gives me a poignant look.
I raise my hands in surrender. “If it’ll make you both happy, I’ll go.”
“Good,” says Mom, “because you have an appointment in an hour.”
I’d roll my eyes, but I’m done with all that. If I don’t want to do something, I say so. If I want to do it, I do it. Like a man.
“Hey, did you make me any of those pancakes?” I ask. They’re the best. With coconut shavings and dark chocolate sprinkles.
She points to the fridge, and I do a fist pump.
Hey. Don’t judge me. I might be my own man now, but that doesn’t mean I’ve stopped loving my mom’s cooking. That will never change no matter how old I am.
My pediatrician hands me a red lollipop and gives me a sharp pat on the arm. “Nothing to worry about, Huff. You’re in tip-top shape. Tell your mother I send my regards.”
I take the treat because, well, I’m not crazy. Lollipops are delicious. But I did have to break the news to Dr. Shultz that I won’t be seeing him anymore. The only reason he kept me as a patient this long was because my parents guilted him to death. “He’s so small. He’s so weak. You know his entire medical record from when he was a preemie,” they’d say.
Either way, he says my heart sounds good, my blood pressure is solid, and that I’m in extremely good health—though, he did lecture me about the use of steroids. I assured him I’m simply a late bloomer and working out a lot. I know, the lying’s got to stop, but what other option do I have? I can’t go around telling everyone the truth. (A) They won’t believe me, and (B) I’m fairly sure it’ll make my life more complicated.
I’m heading back in Mom’s gold minivan for an evening of BBQ burgers and John Wick (Dad’s favorite) when my phone rings. It’s River, and I hesitate to answer. Right now, my mind is like a shattered mirror, and little by little I’m gluing the shards back together. It’s taking a lot out of me. Still, I know she wouldn’t be calling if she didn’t need something. And, also, I still miss her.
“Hey, what’s up?” I say.
“Okay. I know I said it could wait, but now it can’t,” River blurts out at a million words per second. “Keni moved out because the other girls wouldn’t side with her to have me kicked out of the house. Now, they’re all sick, Huff, and I think she did it. I think she poisoned them, because I saw her with the orange juice before she left, and everyone had mimosas for brunch today except for me because I’m trying really, really hard to lay off carbs.” Inhale. Exhale. “Then they all started feeling nauseous, and eighteen girls are in the hospital being treated. It was her. I know it was.”
Finally River pauses, allowing me to talk.
“Are you sure it couldn’t be something else?” Attempting to poison an entire sorority is a pretty psycho thing to do, even for a psycho. It’s just too obvious.
“If you’re asking if I think the keto quiches I made put half our house in the ER, my answer is no. I ate a slice, and I’m fine. So are all the other girls who didn’t have mimosas. But I found out something else. I was going to wait to tell you. I know you needed to go home and see your family because of the settlement thing.”
“Hold on. How’d you know about that?”
“Crap. I wasn’t supposed to say anything.”
“Riverrr…” I snarl.
“Ugh. Fine! Kyle called and gave me a heads-up. That’s why I haven’t been trampolining your ass over this other stuff.”
“He called you?” I feel betrayed.
“Yes.”
“And you didn’t tell me?” What happened to honesty in our friendship vow? I revoke your rights to my crunchy treats. “What the hell, Riv?”
“I’m sorry.” She whooshes out a breath. “He said if I cared about you, I’d give you space.”
“He doesn’t—he fucking—he doesn’t know what I—what my—” I pull myself back from the rant cliff and take a sobering breath. “Kyle means well,” I say with forced calm, “but he’s incapable of understanding other human beings, let alone me. Don’t ever do that again.”
“Wow. Sorry for giving a shit about you.”
“There’s a difference between giving a shit and treating me like a helpless child. I’m not your kid, River. I’m not your little brother. I’m your friend. And I don’t need your protection. If anything, it’s the other way around. The last week is proof of that.”
Silence.
I fully expect her to chew me out. Maybe I deserve it, but today seems all about lines being drawn in the sand.
“Um,” she clears her throat, “for the record, I don’t need your protection. I’m a full-grown woman. That said, I am a big enough person to admit that people need people, and I did need you this week. Because other people—bigger, stronger, and extremely violent—wanted to harm me. Also,” deep inhale, “there’s no denying you’re in a better position to defend me against unforeseen physical threats.”
“Thank you.”
“But! That doesn’t mean I’m helpless or can’t take care of myself.”
“Obviously. You’ve survived this long without me,” I concede.
“Wrong. I haven’t. And some days I wonder if this relationship is healthy because I’m just as dependent on you as you are on me.”
“An honor,” I say, being serious.
“Yes, Huff. It is. And I don’t care if you’re all hot and muscly and tan all of a sudden or I keep dreaming about you in the shower. You earned your spot in my life and don’t ever take that trust for granted.”
“Never have. Never would. What was that part about the shower?”
“Stop it,” she barks.
“Stop what? What were we doing in the shower?” I chuckle.
“Huff, I’m trying to have a serious conversation.”
I can’t help smiling. “Me too. Were we naked?” I tease. “Did you shampoo me, or did I do you?”
“You’re being all cocky—that’s not my Huff.”
“You want me to be insecure and weak again for you?” Never going to happen.
“Nooo,” she says. “I like the changes in you. I just miss predictable Huff sometimes. That’s all.”
“If you want predictability, here’s what you can expect from me going forward: I can be me. You can be you. And I won’t ever tell you to stop because it’s why I’m in love with you.” I flinch and clench my eyes shut. Only for a short second. I’m still driving. I can’t believe I said that! But now that it came out of my mouth, I know I said it because I mean it.
“Don’t say that, Huff,” she says with melancholy.
“Why? Because it’s true? Because I’ve known since the second grade that there would never be another girl for me?” I groan with frustration. “Fuck, River. I’ve loved you since we sat together and you passed me half your graham cracker at snack time. Me and you. The Hudson River. It’s dirty. It’s big. It’s a landmark that’s hard to miss, and it describes exactly how I feel about you.”
Silence. Deafening silence.
Suddenly, she says, “Did you really just call me dirty?”
“I called us dirty.”
“And big,” she adds.
“And I’m not going anywhere. I don’t care if you want to stay just friends and I have to walk you down the aisle at your wedding as your man of honor because you’ve fallen for the wrong guy who isn’t me, or you decide you want to become a nun and take a vow of celibacy, or you tell me you’ve discovered you love women because your sorority is, in my opinion, way too fucking into each other. I don’t care. I’ll be by your side until you take your last breath, no matter what you choose.
“But make no mistake, I’m hoping that your last breath is used to tell me how much you’ve loved our life together. And our six kids. And ten dogs. I love dogs. Also, turtles. Shells are useful. But you already know my position on that.”
A long, static-filled silence is broken by soft sobs on the other end of the phone. Those turn to blubbers and hiccups.
I’m wondering if I’ve pushed for too much, too soon. Maybe she needs more time to warm up to the idea of us being a real possibility. I know I do, but after this last week, I can’t deny things changed for me. It all started when I realized I’d give my life for her. Now I see my feelings were there all along. I simply didn’t believe I could ever deserve her. She’s pretty fucking awesome.
“Fuck you!” she belts, jarring me in my driver’s seat. “Fuck you, Huff! You stupid sonofabitch!”
I force myself to keep my eyes on the road. “Ehhh…what?”
“Why now? Huh? Why are you saying all this now?”
“Because it needed saying. Before it’s too late.” God forbid she becomes a nun. Oh stop. You know what I mean.
“Dammit! Huff,” she barks, “no more perfect answers.”
“Or what?” I ask.
“Or-or—”
“How about telling me what you want.” Not a question. It’s a demand. I’m tired of walking through life on eggshells. I’m done with that. “I know what I want. Do you?”
“I want—I—I need to say things, too, but I never imagined doing it like this.”
“Like how?” Because I don’t see why it matters. I’ve made myself clear. I want her. Does she want me back? Speak, woman! Speak!
“There’s all this bad, bad stuff happening, and now there’s this stupid hurricane and—”
“Hurricane?” And she’s only just telling me this? “Stay put. I’m on my way.”