Ink & Interruptions

Author’s Note: Hi lovely readers! I know it’s been a week since my last update, and I’m so sorry for the radio silence. Life got a little chaotic, but I’m back! Thank you for your patience and for coming back to check on Evie. Your support means the world to both of us. Now, let’s see what happens when our girl has to deal with Kyle’s confession…

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            The next few minutes felt like a movie without sound. All the characters were shifting around the screen—things were happening, but the voices were muted, and there were no subtitles, only movement without meaning. I felt the heat of the wood beneath my palms as I pushed up from my chair. Felt the rough ridged fabric of my purse strap as I slid it over my shoulder. Felt my feet shifting against the insoles of my shoes as I made my way to Uncle George—the absence of noise pressed into me, slowing my progress and keeping me trapped in this silent film.

            Uncle George’s stubble felt rough against my skin as I wrapped a hug around him and pressed a peck to his cheek. I would come back—I’d make sure of it, but right now…right now, I needed to be anywhere but here. Somewhere with sound. A place where the past didn’t hang around my shoulders and whisper memories through the fog. I knew my parents were watching me, their mouths moving. Kyle was standing, and I wondered if everything was muted for them too. Did they hear my voice? Did it even come out of my mouth as I uttered goodbye and turned to leave?

            The hallway stretched out before me; the space between me and the door like a raging river—long and treacherous. I need out. The thought was muted, but as I allowed my steps to eat up the distance, the words slipped through—soft whispers spiraling up through my mind growing in volume as I neared the exit. Out. Out. Out. The doorknob was cold, chilling my skin as I pulled it open and stepped onto the porch. I didn’t turn around—couldn’t bear the thought of seeing the others strewn about the room, mouths moving but no sound coming out, so I closed my eyes and pulled the knob against my back, hoping the door followed.

Click.

            As the metal latched—the door morphing into a barrier once more—the sound rushed in, overwhelming my other senses. The birds were screeching—their songs turned to piercing alarms as I hurried down the stairs, the roughness of the wood railing never registered against my palms. All there was now was noise. A car rushed by—the roar of Ms. Wilburn trailing the fading engine as she demanded the driver slow down.

            “Think about the kids.” She wailed, as she clenched her fist, pulling her arms close to her sides.

            I kept moving, my eyes pinned to the driver’s side door. Two houses down a dog barked, announcing the presence of some unwanted guest—a foreign entity to be dealt with. Three more steps, each one pushed along by the wind that whipped through the spaces between the houses and cars. The hollow sound filtered through my ears and worked to drown out the thoughts that beat against my mind—begging me to entertain them, to allow them in and welcome them home.

            Me? Kyle had said me.

            Me. It was always me.

            Since when?

            The final thought spun out, the thread tumbling down the staircase of memories, touching and connecting each one along the way. Kyle and me as children, teens, young adults. Always Kyle and me—clinging to each other in the storm that was our mothers. Had I read it wrong? Had Kyle been happy? We’d never explicitly spoken about it—us—the future that was to be our center stage. The lights bright as they blurred out the audience—shielding us from their gazes, but the expectation heavy in the air as we shifted around the wooden planks following along with each scene, delivering each line before the curtains closed. Kyle and me exchanging stolen looks—our eyes meeting briefly before we were shuffled to our dressing rooms to be groomed for the next act.

            Had those moments—those glances amidst the chaos—had they been different for Kyle? Had his eyes been filled with longing for me? I’d always seen the longing as a partner to mine—one in the same—us longing together. Longing for a life of my own—a life separated—a solo act full of rambling monologues and the applause of no one. My voice echoing around an empty room, finally free to be anything I wanted to be. Was our longing different? Had it always been me?

            My mind raced alongside my feet as I reached my car. Tugging the door open and throwing my purse across to the other side, I watched as the impact against the seat sent my phone tumbling into the floor—my keys following close behind.

            “Crap.” I slid onto my seat, resting on my knees as I leaned across the center console and began to search the passenger floorboard. I sighed as my fingers closed around the keys. Finally.

            “I’m starting to really like you in skirts.” Every muscle in my body tensed as Kyle’s voice filled the space around me. I felt like an animal cornered—a sense of danger working its way up my spine. Fight or flight.

            I clenched my teeth together and flipped around—the movement causing the fabric to spread out around me. Curses flooded my mind as I watched Kyle’s mouth tick up to one side.

            “Can I help you?” I pushed myself out of the car, placing my hand on his chest and shoving him away from me in the process. The skin beside his eyes became pinched—his eyebrows pulling close together as he finally registered the anger that was painted across my face in bright shades of pink and red.

            “What’s wrong?”

            If my forehead had been any smaller, my eyebrows would have been left to hover somewhere over my head. “What’s wrong?” I repeated, my voice hitching on the last word as I felt my eyelids flutter over and over again—the question causing my brain to short out.

            “I thought you’d be happy.”

            “How? Why?” I felt like I was back in the parking lot with him, my body spinning out to match the roaring noise in my head. “Why? Why would you think I would be happy?”

            “Evie, I don’t understand. I made it better.”

            “Made what better?”

            “This.” He gestured between us before flinging his arm out behind him towards the house. “Your mom, she’s happy. You should hear her in there.”

            “My mom?” I slammed my eyes closed. “You did that for my mom.”

            “Well, not just for her. I did it for you and my dad. I did it for all of us.”

            I opened my eyes and some of the anger fizzled out as I found him staring at me—every ounce of his heart hanging in the brown of his eyes. He was being genuine, no hidden camera or a tall, dark-haired man waiting just off stage, ready to jump out and yell “Gotcha” at Kyle’s signal. Kyle believed what he was saying, I could see it, could feel Aunt Jules pointing out the signs over my shoulder.

            “Kyle.” His name slid out on a breath of air. “I don’t think I can have this conversation right now.” I took a steadying breath, willing the movement of my lungs to slow my heart rate and strengthen my voice. “I need to go. To think…or something.”

            “What do you mean?” He reached out and wrapped his hand around mine, the heat rushing up my arm, encircling me like a summer breeze. “It’s me. It’s us.”

            “Us ended, Kyle.” I tried to pull my hand back, but the movement caused him to tighten his hold.

            “That wasn’t real.” He stepped towards me, closing what little space there had been and effectively stealing every breath of oxygen the world had been offering me. “Mom had just died, and I was confused, and then there was the wedding—it was just too much, but it’s still been us.”

            “No, it hasn’t been. That moment might not have been real to you, but it was for me. Every day of the last eight months has been real for me.” I tugged on my hand again, and he released it, but made no move to step back.

            “Really?” His eyes felt like flames, the heat from them licking up the side of my face, setting my skin on fire.

            “Yes.” The word felt sticky as it clung to my tongue, hesitant to leave my mouth.

            Kyle’s eyebrow lifted, stretching his eyes wide, the brown of them becoming overwhelming. “So, where’s the other guy?”

            “Other guy?”

            “Yeah, your mom asked me, so I’m asking you.” He leaned in, the movement causing me to retreat only to be stopped as the edge of my car pressed into my back. “If it’s over, where’s the other guy, Evie?”

            He cannot seriously be asking me that. Can he? I stared at him, blinking as my mind processed the dots he was trying to connect in my life—the narrative he was writing from the details he’d gathered from everyone but me. My heartrate flared back to life as fury crawled from its arteries and began to pulse into the rest of my body.

            “Are you for real right now?” I shoved him back, the full force of my weight behind my hands as I willed him as far away from me as I could. “You honestly think the only way WE are over is if I have another guy?” I huffed out a breath, the sound guttural. “Despite what your mom led you to believe, Kyle, my life is not defined by what a man does or does not do. My days do not matter when and if they are attached to a walking penis.” I was screaming, the words exploding, pulling pieces of me with them as I hurled them across the driveway at him. “There’s no guy.” My chest was heaving, each breath coming a little slower as I swung my leg into my car and lowered myself into the seat. “There’s just me.”

            Kyle stood frozen, his mouth opening and closing like he was searching for lines that had suddenly been erased from the script, but the curtains were already closing for me with or without the applause of the audience.

            I shut the car door, and before the engine fully turned over, I was in reverse and speeding down the driveway and out into the road. The figures of my parents and Uncle George standing on the porch blurring as tears began to race down my cheeks.

            The drive home felt like a mismatched montage—each stop sign, exit, and looming house flashing in the rearview mirror, marking some passage of time. Each tap of my brakes, flick of my blinker, and turn of the wheel—movements made from habit, the path home seared into my muscles. It wasn’t until I was sitting in my driveway, my foot on the brake and my hands still cemented to the steering wheel did my brain slow down enough for me to register where I was.

            I pushed the gear shift into park and peeled my hands and feet back, retreating further into the leather of my seat. What did I do?  The question echoed in my head as I wiped away the dried remnants of my tears. The evidence of them visible in the red of my eyes, as they glared back at me from the rearview mirror. I scrubbed at my face for a moment before reaching down to grab my phone from the floorboard and my purse.

            I pushed the door open and trudged up the driveway, stopping just long enough to battle the front door open before collapsing onto my couch. My body bent over the armrest, face-planting into it.

            “I hate my life.” The words were muffled as my mouth moved against the cushion—fibers from the fabric sticking to my lips. I lay like that for a few minutes until the armrest dug too far into my hips and the discomfort pulled me upright long enough to adjust into a sitting position.

            I had dropped my phone, purse, and keys to the floor the moment I’d crossed the threshold, and the energy needed to make my way to them felt immense, so I sat staring at the black screen of the TV as my fingers roamed over the hem of my skirt.

            As I made my way around the pleated fabric for the tenth time, my eyes dropped to my lap. The skirt wasn’t that short, but it had bunched up around my hips which caused the better part of my legs to be on display. As my eyes roamed over the exposed skin, the feeling of Kyle’s hand on my thigh returned to the surface like an invisible brand.

            Screw this. I forced myself up from the couch and marched towards the kitchen, unhooking the clasp on the side of the skirt and dragging the zipper down as I neared the trashcan. Never again. I pushed the skirt over my hips and stepped out of it, pausing for a second before slamming it into the trash can.

            “There.” I huffed out a breath. “That was mature.” My next breath of air fell out in a rush, and I rolled my eyes as I moved away from the trash and toward the fridge, the path taking me past my bedroom. The mirror leaning against the wall snagged my attention—there I was, standing in my house—shoes, shirt, and no pants.

            “Well good thing it’s no shoes, no shirt, no service.” I kicked off my shoes with a soft chuckle, bending down to collect them before launching them into my room. I looked at my reflection again. “At least I look a little more sane now.” I announced as I made my way to the fridge.

            After several minutes of shuffling through jars, condiments, and questionable leftovers, I closed the fridge and decided to find my happiness at the bottom of a family size bag of Doritos. I grabbed the bag from the counter, darted back through the house, being sure to grab a blanket, my phone, and the TV remote before settling back onto the couch. If my plans worked, by the time Monday arrived, the fabric of the couch would have merged with my skin—the line between where it ended and I began indistinguishable.

            I scrolled through the options on Netflix looking at the new releases and limited series before settling on watching The Proposal for probably the fifth time. Sandra Bullock was one of my favorite actresses, and I honestly needed something to go right for someone today even if that someone was an illogically beautiful woman and that something was that woman ending up with an equally gorgeous man even when all reason says they should definitely not end up together. The beauty of a romcom. I pulled the bag of chips open as the opening began to play.

            I was on my third handful of chips and in the middle of watching Sandra announce her engagement to both Ryan and her bosses when my phone buzzed. I sucked the Dorito powder from my fingers, using my other hand to pull my phone from the folds of the blanket.

            I swiped open my phone and stared at the glowing notifications. Two missed calls from my mom. Four texts from her. One from my dad. One from Jenna. One from Henry. My eyes scanned down the screen—no text from Kyle. That’s good, right?  I looked at the other messages again. There was no way in hell I was calling my mom or texting her. I barely had enough brain power left to process Sandra’s comedic genius let alone deal with whatever act of war my mom was declaring on the other side of those messages. No thank you.

            I decided starting with my dad was the only option.

Dad: Checking in. You alive?

Me: Barely. But yeah, I’m alive.

Dad: Love you.

Me: Love you too.

            I waited, my eyes scanning the screen for dots. Signs that the conversation wasn’t over—that he was going to tell me Mom was mad, or that he he’d heard everything I’d said to Kyle, but there was nothing else—just Dad’s love. Well at least I have Dad. I let out a sigh, the air puffing up my lip before rushing down my neck and into the collar of my shirt.

            “Up next, is…” I clicked out of my dad’s message and looked at Jenna and Henry’s names. “It’s Like ripping off a Band-Aid.” I muttered as I clicked into Jenna’s message.

Jenna: Can you please tell me why I still have absolutely no information?

            Hmmm. I don’t know. It’s either because I forgot to send it OR because we aren’t friends. I stared at the message—half in awe and half enraged by the level of commitment she had to figuring out my boy drama. At this point, she was probably more invested in it than I was.

Me: Sorry. I’m not in the mood tonight. Long day.

There. That should shut it down. I clicked out of her message and opened Henry’s—my heart betraying me as it beat a little faster.

Henry: How was lunch? Uncle George ok?

I sighed and dropped my phone into my lap, my head swinging back against the couch at the same time.

             “Oh, hey, Henry. Lunch? Oh, lunch was great.” My voice spilled out around me as I played out my own version of our conversation.

            “That’s great. Anything interesting happen?” I pitched my voice low, trying to mimic Henry’s.

            “Interesting? Hmmm. No, no, not much. Just seeing my Uncle George sick on top of missing Aunt Jules. Oh, and then my mother showing up and making it her life’s mission to actively work against me.” I dragged my hands down my face. “Yep. That would about cover it. Well, that and Kyle announcing to everyone that he still wants to be with me. So yeah, pretty much just a normal family lunch.” What a freaking mess. I pulled my head from the couch and shook my head. “I wonder if Henry would change just his number or his entire zip code?” I let out a soft chuckle and pulled my phone back up, clicking into the text bar.

Me: Uncle George is doing okay, I suppose. I didn’t get a ton of information on it.

            As I typed the words, my heart sank. How did I forget to ask about him? I should have asked what was wrong, what I could do to help, something, but no, it was about Kyle and me…again. I made a mental note to call Uncle George tomorrow, leaving things open ended right now felt wrong—like some secret message to the universe to do its worst, and at this rate, I wasn’t sure I wanted to see its worst.

Me: Lunch was a lot for a lot of reasons. Long story short my mom showed up.

I added a screaming emoji, ghost emoji, and the tombstone emoji for good measure.

Henry: Oh. Same mom from childhood or has she undergone an evolution?

            I smiled as I picture my mom transforming—spinning in circles while light exploded out from around her, the rays capturing all of the edges and smoothing them, whittling them down until everything about her was soft. My phone buzzed again, pulling me from the image of my mom wrapped in sweats, her hair thrown into a messy bun, arms outstretched, waiting for me. I looked down and a message from Jenna blinked up at me from the top of my screen. I rolled my eyes and swiped up, dismissing whatever conversation she was desperate to have. Maybe silence is the key.

Me: Nope. Unfortunately, I haven’t been able to take her to enough gyms to trigger her next form.

            Did I just make a Pokémon reference?  I felt my embarrassment begin to seep into my cheeks. Why can’t I just be cool for two seconds?

Henry: Hey, don’t give up. I heard that it took Ash like sixty years to catch ‘em all.

            I re-read his message, my cheeks pushing into my eyes as a smile spread across my face. The moment fleeting though as another message from Jenna popped onto my screen. “Oh, come on.” I swiped up again. “Girl needs a new hobby.”

Me: Oh goody. Only thirty-ish more years and I’ll be able to have lunch with my mom without wanting to burst into flames.

Henry: Oof, that’s bad. I wish I could have been there to help.

            My stomach flipped over as heat raced through my body, goosebumps forming along my skin.

Henry: I’m really good at starting fires.

            As my eyes skittered over message, my heart jumped into my throat as I reached the winking emoji waiting at the end of it. I pulled my phone closer to my face, surprised when the heat from my cheeks didn’t fog the screen. What does that mean? Does he like me? Is that a friendly wink? Should I wink back? Maybe I’m reading too much into it?

            My mind was racing—spiraling in on itself as I worked to untangle the possible message staring up at me from a small yellow dot that was slowly turning my mind to mush.  My phone buzzed, the vibration dislodging me from my thoughts. Jenna. Again. I sighed before clicking into her messages. “Lord, give me the strength…” My words trailed off as I read through her messages.

Jenna: Ugh. Long days are the worst. Wanna go out?

Jenna: Wait, it’s waaaaaay too late for that. I can come to you.

Jenna: OOOO! I love that idea! I’ll grab snacks and wine and be there soon!

Jenna: Don’t worry about the address. It’s in your school file!

            I stared at the screen, unsure whether to laugh or cry. This can’t be real. She wouldn’t really show up, would she? There’s no way she would drive across town to someone else’s house. There’s just no way. Right? I tapped on the text bar and started to type out an apology and a request for her to do anything but that when a knock at the door stopped my movements.

            I squeezed my eyes shut, my mouth dry. No way. There’s no freaking way. It wasn’t until the second, more aggressive knock came, that my body shifted back into action. I untangled myself from my blankets and made my way to the door. I should have installed that peephole Dad suggested.

            Another knock.

            “Who is it?” I called, hoping that by some miracle Jenna was not an actual psycho, and it was my neighbor needing sugar for the first time since I moved in.

            “What do you mean? I told you I was coming over.” I leaned into the door, pressing my forehead into the wood as the sound of her voice filtered in from the other side. “Hurry up and let me in. I’m quite literally freezing to death, and your neighborhood is like super creepy.”

            I took a deep breath and then pulled the door open. “Hey, Jenna.” The complete lack of warmth in my voice did nothing to deter her as she sauntered past me and began unpacking the grocery bags she was holding, spreading out item after item on the living room table.

            “I didn’t know what you liked, so I grabbed a little of everything.” She glanced up from the table, her eyes resting on the TV for a moment before returning to her task. “I love this movie. Ryan Reynolds is hot, and then there’s the dog, and the little weird Mexican man who’s a stripper and waiter.” She was giggling as she finished unpacking the final bag. “I didn’t bring any glasses for the wine, but I figured you’d have something we could use.” She shrugged, standing up straight and turning to face me. “So, what do ya think?”

            I think you’re an absolute crazy person, my mind screamed, but when I opened my mouth to invite her to leave, my voice failed.“Well, ummm….” I was stuck, the sight of her here—in my house with me—swallowing up every word I could think of. I looked down at the table and back to her. She needed to go. I could do this. Just say goodbye and help the crazy lady to her car. I took a breath, clinging to the doorknob I was still holding. “You didn’t need to come.” I pulled the door closer to me, widening the exit path and praying the movement triggered her social awareness.“This was a nice thought, but”

            “Don’t mention it!” She slipped a scrunchie from her wrist, tying her hair on top of her head as she pushed her shoes off, and plopped onto the couch. “Oh.” The word sent hope fluttering through me. Finally, the light bulb has turned on. I pulled the door wider, a smile beginning to form on my lips. “I’m all for comfy clothes, but if you’re going to stay in your panties, I’m gonna need my own blanket.” She gave my bare legs and pink underwear a pointed stare before snatching up my bag of Doritos and tucking her legs beneath her. She began to burrow into my couch—implanting herself into my evening, intent on becoming a permanent fixture. Well, this should be fun. I thought as I swung the door closed.