Page 96 of Hot Mess Express
“Shut up,” he mumbles—even as he melts into my embrace.
“And,” I go on, “I can hold you tightly no matter if we’re in bed falling asleep or standing right here by a door staring outside at nothing. I can hold you anywhere, anytime.”
Anthony peers over at the others, seems to realize they either don’t notice or don’t care what’s going on over here by the door, then turns back to the window. “I’m not starin’ at nothing.”
“What’re you staring at then?”
“Jefferson.”
I frown, looking outside. There’s nothing in the yard.
“My dog. He was the sweetest creature on this planet. I miss him so much.” He sighs. “Can see him runnin’ around in that yard out there, havin’ the time of his life. Barely been a year since he’s been gone, feels like yesterday he was here, barkin’ and bein’ a menace. I loved him so much. I think his death messed me up way more than I’ve ever admitted to myself. All this time without him. Time really just … flies on by. Fuckin’ time.”
My hold on him tightens. “Is that what you’re afraid of? Time? How fast it flies?”
“Afraid? No. I ain’t afraid of anything.”
“Really? Impressive.”
The teasing sarcasm is either ignored or goes over his head. “I was just wonderin’ if we could’ve known each other all this time … had I not injured myself in boot camp like a moron and actually made it into the Army.” He looks up at the sky, as if imagining it in detail. “What if we ended up in the same place? Could’ve been the three of us out there … you, me, Pete … maybe whatever it is that’s goin’ on right now between us, could’ve started years ago.”
“You’re playing the deadly ‘what if’ game,” I warn him.
“It ain’t deadly. I like playin’ it sometimes. Thinkin’ about how things could’ve been.”
“Better you didn’t meet me back then.”
He turns to look at me, breaking my hold on him. “What do you mean?”
The others burst into laughter in the kitchen again. I bite my lip, then nod at the door. “Wanna step outside with me? Maybe we can both use some fresh air.”
Anthony glances past me at the merry clique in the kitchen, then answers me by opening the door and seeing himself out. I go behind him, close the door, and follow him into the grass. It’s warm, but it’s a windy day, the trees dancing, the air feeling good and lively on our skin. The yard is sizeable with a small stone path that circles around to a few neatly-kept bushes and a family of funny-looking garden gnomes by the fence.
We stop under a tree. “What I mean,” I tell him, “is that I was fighting a few demons of my own these past several years.”
“Demons?” He snorts at that. “The hell kind of demons could a guy as put-together as you possibly have?”
“Demons from my dad.”
His eyes soften. “Your dick dad, huh?”
I give a solemn nod. “I went off to the Army shortly after he left, and I guess ghosts of his abuse followed me. I kept thinking he’d come back, and my mom would have a moment of weakness and accept him back, and the nightmare would start over. I didn’t want my brother to have to be the one to stand up to that drunken monster. Thoughts like that messed me up a lot. And some of the guys in my barracks, well, they weren’t all that sympathetic to me. Maybe I didn’t let them. I was too toughened up from dealing with my dad to appreciate anyone’s kindness. How Pete and I became friends, it’s still a mystery to me. Maybe he was just strong enough to tolerate how I was. Or patient enough. I think I may owe more to Pete for putting up with me than I’ve ever admitted to his face.” My hands find my pockets. I shrug. “I’m not sure I was all that nice a person to be around. I don’t think you would’ve liked me.”
Anthony leans back against the tree, appearing stirred by all of that. “Maybe I can say the same,” he mumbles half to himself. “I was a cocky little shit back in high school. I mean more than I still am now,” he adds as a joke, eyeing me. “I wouldn’t have wanted to be my friend or start anything with me. I needed time to grow up. I …” He sighs and casts his gaze to the grass. “Still need time. Some days, feels like I’ll never get my shit together.”
“You gotta have more faith in yourself, Anthony.”
“How can I? No one’s got faith in me. Not even my dad. He’s always been searching for pests his whole life, spraying trees and setting traps and sprinkling granules everywhere …” He stiffens up. “Should’ve looked closer to home. The pest is right here. Me. I’ve always been the pest.”
“You’re not a pest.”
“Yeah, I am.”
“And I have faith in you.” I take a step closer to him, then lift his chin with a finger, bringing his eyes to mine. “You hear that? I have faith in you.”
He stares deeply into my eyes, locked into me. I swear it takes so little sometimes, yet so much, to get through to him.
“Stay another week,” he says.
