Chapter 25

twenty-five

River

December 23rd

Delia and I are having another staring contest from opposite ends of the bar before the usual evening rush and closed nights for the holiday. Her eyes have the look that I've learned is ‘about to drop a truth bomb' and there's no getting around it. Except, instead of pushy statements, she slides an envelope my way quietly. Flipping it over, I read the elaborate green and gold lettering: Merry Christmas, Love your Framily. Her handwriting's flourished touch rivals her eyeliner, she often says. Opening the envelope, a few things fall onto the polished wood: one plane ticket to Denver and scribbled note with something attached.

This one is in Nessa's messy scrawl:

Didn't wrap my extra gift, but please wrap yours. We love you guys, but neither of you are ready for tiny humans. K, thankssss.

Of course, Nessa also attached her gift, a bunch of different types of condoms, with staples in the center of each and every one. I'm pretty sure she's aware that poking holes in condoms will give the opposite effect of pregnancy prevention.

"Does she," my voice begins to quiver, "does she know about this?"

Looking up from the makeup application she's doing in her tiny hand mirror, Delia rolls her eyes skyward. I'm about to get mad that she's making faces at me, before she uncaps and applies mascara.

Delia's mouth drops open and I wonder out loud, "Why do girls hold their mouth like a dead fish for mascara?" She hits me with a damp and smelly bar towel.

She tries to school her face into a neutral position and resume her routine. "Nope. That's on you. We decided you needed a push to get away. I'm sick of your face, George . If you want to spend time together, on your own terms, do it. Otherwise, I'm sure there's a Motel 6 with the light on for you. Merry Christmas, boss. Go pack, and get the fuck out of here. You're cut from this shift. I have a crew coming to clean with me."

I look up and see Stef and Lee entering and hanging up their coats to clean up the meeting that just ended.

Reading more closely now, the ticket is dated for the day after Christmas. I will be in the same city as Lily again. Soon.

"Yeah, but what about the rest of the week?" I push back.

"You don't trust me now? Scout's home from school, I have everything in order. Get out of here. Go."

Grumbling, I head upstairs and dig through my closet for my duffle bag and toss it on the bed. Opening my top drawers, I grab an armload of boxers and socks and toss them over too. Moving down the rows I grab a few plain black and white T-shirts, black and gray sweaters, gray sweatpants, and jeans. I'm in the middle of crawling on the floor of my closet and sorting through boots for the ones that are best in the snow, when an overwhelming panic hits me. I need to place my head between my knees and focus on not suffocating.

I fall back onto my haunches and slide against the wall. With my back now supported, I scratch at my hair. Touching it makes a bit fall into my eyes, and I realize this is longer than usual for me. Do I need to cut it before I go?

Staring straight ahead at the off-white wall and hanging clothing, I'm struck by how much anxiety leaving is causing me. Or is it seeing Lily causing it? Lily, who I have texted or called almost every day since Labor Day Weekend. Lily who I spent nearly every day with from eight until eighteen years old. This is silly , I try to convince myself. Shaking my head, I slowly rise to walk to the bathroom.

Splashing cold water on my face, I peer into the mirror above the vanity.

The mirror is one of my favorite modern touches in this space: a deep black iron frame shaped like an archway with a round top and rectangular bottom. Above the curve of the arch are a series of small windows that give natural light, while a deep iron pendant whose Mercury glass is both vintage and warped to cast beautiful shadows on the room.

Looking at this one tiny piece of the building, I'm struck by the ownership I have over everything The Featherweight is today. Mine , a primal part of me is growling.

Pru's advice, despite being like all fortunes, about the listener and not the reading itself, is completely correct. I have to drive the chariot to my next destination. If I don't want to lose the family business or the girl, I have to make the effort. I have to make everything here appealing to her, for her sake.

Examining my face in the mirror, I try to find the boy she knew in school and the man I am today both in there. My beard is fuller than its usual stubble. Mostly brown, with tiny bits of copper mixed in. Heavy dark brows and hair are now accompanied by light forehead lines and crow's feet. My eyes are the same deep teal-green color they've always been, flecks of blue showing in them in some light. I always was told that they were the color of the pines and sky. A tiny scar on my earlobe indicates the earring I got and stopped wearing earlier this decade.

Morning workouts and evening runs help keep me busy between shifts at the bar and shifts with Mom. Compared to seventeen-year-old me, my chest and shoulders are broader. After watching Dad stress over the bar for so many years before his stroke, I needed to take whatever preventative measure I could. I don't even know if I would have someone to help me in that case. Robert would certainly be willing to pay someone and never visit if he treated me anything like he does Dad. That sounds so depressing and lonely .

Because you are lonely , I admit to myself. It's not that I am a saint, I've had my fair share of short lived relationships or casual hook ups over the years. Just, not since September. Although, counting backwards, not since I took over renovations here. Once Dad signed it all over I completely drowned myself in this place. I needed to prove myself to him to ease something knotted inside me.

Once Lily slept here alongside me and I held her throughout that night, not one flirty patron or app-based match appealed to me. I'd rather chase the release from my own fist if needed. I'd rather be chatting with Lily about nothing at all. I often stop swiping to scroll Lily's feed for the umpteenth time.

Just tell her! There is no good reason not to. I want to see her.

It doesn't have to be about chasing her, although maybe that's what she's needed. None of us have shown up and offered to hold her hand as she walks back in that door. We've left her alone too long.

The longer I stand there staring back into my own eyes, the more sure I become. I am getting on that plane. I am going to get my girl.

I move around with purpose while images of us over the years run through my mind, until I'm thinking of her pigtail braids that first day we met. Later that night, I thought about the many more inappropriate ways I could use those pigtails and the ways she bends in her yoga photos while I was in the shower. I don't know if she'll want me, too, but I won't know if I don't try.

Christmas Morning

I've delayed long enough, I need to call her. Sitting on the couch I let out a long groan to myself, fuck, stop procrastinating.

Opening video chat, I run a hand through my hair trying to make it the right amount of messy and neat. Who even am I, preening and primping?

Before I can overthink it much longer, I hit her contact and listen to the ringing while sending up a silent prayer she answers quickly.