Ink & Interruptions

            “So, I’ll see you soon,” Henry’s words bounced around in my mind, followed almost immediately by the echo of Jenna’s “Of course she will!” before she’d tossed me a wink and slid into her car. Her engine roared to life, and my eyes traveled quickly back across the parking lot to where Henry stood—grinning ear to ear before swinging his door wide and disappearing into the cab of his truck.

            Moments later and I was still there. Standing in the parking lot, one hand clutching my keys as the other pressed into the door handle of my bug, desperately searching for some point of contact that would keep me grounded in reality. Brunch had gone, well, it had gone wonderfully. I laughed at the thought—the sudden rush of movement through my lungs breaking my trance. I curled my fingers around the handle, pulling softly to release the door from its latch.

            Sliding into the car felt like the first normal thing I’d done all day. The coolness of the leather pressing into the backs of my legs, the worn steering wheel forming to my hands like a familiar pair of gloves, everything was normal. Except it wasn’t. My mind began to whir. The sound of the memories and questions grinding into each other drowning out the music that began to pour out of my radio as I turned the keys and felt the vibration of the engine through the steering wheel.

            Each new reality sent my mind either racing into oblivion or coming to a crashing halt. Jenna had made me smile. This woman who I’d practically declared my arch nemesis months ago had spent the night laughing on my couch, eating my food, and chiseling her way through every carefully placed wall. And now what? She’s my friend. The thought came so suddenly that I didn’t have time to push it away. Was that true? Were we friends? Could one night change the fabric of who you believed someone to be? Did you really know her before? The question burned—like a shot of liquor taken quickly to avoid lingering too long in something painful.

            As much as I wanted to be trusting, wanted to take this reprieve from a life spent laying on my couch alone with old Chinese food, movies I’d seen a hundred times, and my newest novel, my unease crept in—my doubt nagging at me until I began to walk through all of my interactions with Jenna. When had it happened? When had I decided to hate her? What had she done—what unforgivable sin had she committed? Henry didn’t like her either, remember? My mind rushed to come to my defense. Right, Henry. I sighed as I flipped my blinker on.   

            He was more confusing than Jenna. Jenna didn’t cause my skin to prickle and heart to race, and thank God for that. Talk about messy. I chuckled softly under my breath. Starting friendships was hard, but anything in the ballpark of a relationship, and I was just about as useful as a measuring cup with a hole in the bottom of it. Henry’s smile flashed through my mind and my skin heated as if summoned by the thought itself. Gah, being single was hard.

            My mind all but slammed into the front of my skull—the thought causing wrinkles to form along the path, further tripping up my thoughts. I was single. There was no more Kyle. No more wedding. Why did this still feel wrong? Kyle left me. Kyle took the ring back. Kyle chose to leave. Not me. But I didn’t stop him. I watched him leave. I gave the ring back. I packed up the apartment. Me. Me and mom. Mom. My heart ached—a sharp pain that felt like it ricocheted through my chest slamming into my body and leaving permanent indentations. This pain was her fault. I hadn’t started the fight. She had. Her and Aunt Julia.

            Another pang of guilt—Aunt Julia. Why was everything so complicated? If she was here, everything would be normal. Kyle and I would still be together. Mom and I wouldn’t be fighting. I probably wouldn’t even be working at the school which meant no Jenna, no Henry, none of this constant warring about what I should and should not be doing. But would you be happy? Am I happy now? The questions rang through my head, silencing all my other thoughts. My eyes began to register my surroundings as I pulled into the driveway and shifted my car into park.

            What the heck?  I looked around the driveway, everything overwhelming my senses as I took in Uncle George’s front door, stone driveway, and lush green front yard. “Thanks a lot brain,” I muttered as I collapsed into my steering wheel, and the first round of tears began to prickle the rims of my eyes.

            You’ve got to be kidding me. I’m sitting in Uncle George’s driveway crying. I’m crying in Uncle George’s driveway. God, take me now. The tears became more aggressive—the pressure building as my chest began to shake. I could feel the water soak into the leather of my steering wheel as the fabric around my face grew damp. I’ve got to pull myself together and leave. He can’t find me like this—what if Kyle is here? He’ll think this is for him, about him. Uncle George can’t handle our drama, not with everything he’s dealing with. Not now.  I pressed my face harder into the steering wheel. Get it together. Breathe.

            I sucked down air and worked to steady my breath. I can do this. Breathe. Another painful intake of air as my body fought to pull oxygen into my lungs while my emotions raged against me. After a few more wobbling breaths, I managed to reach something closer to normal—slight sniffles and steady breathing largely devoid of shuddering hiccups. Good. Now, put the car in reverse.

            I pushed my head off the steering wheel and immediately dragged my hands under my eyes, wiping the remaining tears so they ran down my arms and pooled along the insides of my jacket. I sucked in air and mucus through my nose and coughed as I worked through the blockage. My mind was still shuffling through the steps needed to back out of the driveway when the sound of knuckles against glass caused my spine to go rigid. Please, no.

            “Hey, kiddo?”

            Uncle George. A breath of air escaped from me as my eyes closed. “Hey.” I called back as I scrubbed my fingers aggressively under my eyes. The layers of mascara Jenna insisted I put on this morning pretty much guaranteed that I was 60% raccoon right now.

            “Everything okay?” He was still talking through the glass, but he’d taken a step back from the door. I knew it wasn’t goodbye—the movement signaled space for me to come out—leave the safety of my car and face whatever thoughts Uncle George had.

            I nodded my head before leaning over and swiping my phone from the front pocket of my purse. I twisted the key out of the ignition and pushed the door open. “Hey, Uncle George,” I said again trying to pitch my voice high. “I texted a little earlier, and I was in the neighborhood, so I,” my voice trailed off as I met his gaze. “and I, well…” Nothing. My brain did not have a single believable lie.

            “And you thought this was the best driveway to cry in?” His left eyebrow shot up. “Interesting choice, but I can’t blame you. I’ve had many a good cry here.” He turned toward the door and waved me forward. “Let’s go in. I need to sit down, and you need to talk.”

            It all should have been off putting. Him calling out my tears, him knowing I needed to talk, but it wasn’t. It was just Uncle George—one of the only people who always managed to see me even when I was standing in the shadows. I made to follow him, but my mind screamed an alarm that caused my feet to freeze. “Uncle George?” My voice was hesitant, as it reached across the space between us.

            “Yeah?” He paused, turning halfway toward me.

            “Is, um, is Kyle here?” The words came out like lyrics on a scratched record—the deep valleys causing the track to skip.

            “No. He had some fancy lawyer meeting he had to go back for.” He headed toward the house again. “He won’t be home until tomorrow.”

            My shoulders sagged with relief, and I was able to peel my feet from the pavement. Rushing to catch up with him, I extended my hand letting it hover behind his back the way I’d seen Kyle do at lunch.

            “I’ve swatted your hand before. Would you like me to do it again?”

            I laughed as I pulled my hand back. “No, I’m good. Although, I’m fairly sure I could outrun you.”

            “Don’t be so sure.” He leaned against the railing as he made his way up the stairs to the front door. “Kyle paints a bad picture. I’ve still got my youth.”

            “Where?” I clapped my hand over my mouth. “Uncle George, I’m so sorry, I just”

            “It’s fine.” He was chuckling as he pushed himself up the final step and used the doorframe for support as he pushed the door open. “You were being yourself. Exactly who you’re supposed to be.” He swung the door wide and held his arm open, giving me space to slip inside before he followed and closed the door behind us both.

            The sunlight glimmered in the framed photos lining the walls and entry table, and the wandering beams illuminated a path that had been worn a slightly lighter color than the rest of the hallway. My feet thudded against the wood as they followed the trail easily from the front door to the living room.

            My steps softened as they hit Aunt Julia’s rug in the living room. It was the largest rug I’d ever seen in my life, and I remember my mother’s exultations over the grandeur of it as my father helped Uncle George tow it in, grunting and complaining softly under their breaths.

            “Oh, Jules, it is absolutely magnificent.” My mom’s voice had been pitched so high it was almost a shrill.

            “It really is, isn’t it.” Aunt Julia had responded, her hands placed on her hips as she surveyed the bare living room floor.

            Kyle and I had barely finished moving the furniture out of the way before the front door swung wide and the persistent grunts of two grown men battling the rug began to fill the space around us.

            Kyle and I collapsed onto the couch, rolling over to watch the scene unfold before us. Uncle George had one end of the rug and my father the other, but they had to consistently flip it between holding the monstrosity length ways and standing it on its end to maneuver the space, adjusting it over and over again until it was finally in the center of the room.

            “See, I told you it wouldn’t be that hard,” Aunt Julia exclaimed as Uncle George let out a final, extra loud noise before the rug slapped against the floor. The thwack from the plastic making contact with the wood was so loud, I was surprised it didn’t rattle the pictures on the wall.  

            “I couldn’t agree more,” Uncle George grunted. “How about you, James?”

            “Oh, yes, very easy. Honestly, I don’t even think you needed me.”

            “Boys, so dramatic.” Aunt Julia had sighed and shot my mom a look that caused her to chuckle under her breath.

            After that, it had been a controlled unveiling—each person a task. Uncle George and Dad were to remove the plastic film slowly, and with great care as to not snag the fabric along the way. Mom was to call our local pizza place and arrange for dinner, apparently it had been decided that we would all wait here while the rug rested two hours before the furniture could be replaced, which was to be Kyle and mine’s job. Every detail ordered, every person commanded and controlled. It was Aunt Julia at her best, or her worst.

            I blinked, the memory fading as I looked down at that same rug, now worn in different places from years of use. I noticed I was still wearing my shoes. I bent down and loosened the strings before pressing the heel down on each and sliding my feet free. I shuffled them to the edge of the room, toes touching the trim and heels facing the hallway.

            “She’s got a way of lingering, doesn’t she?” I turned at Uncle George’s voice to see him sinking into his recliner, the worn beige fabric creasing as his socked feet came to rest on the rug.       
           I looked back at my own shoes once more before trudging across the room and practically flopping onto the couch. “In ways you couldn’t imagine.” I said under my breath.

            “Try me.”

            I looked up as shame reddened my cheeks. “I’m sorry. I know you miss her.”

            “You don’t?” His voice was soft, a gentle nudge. Do I miss her?

            I sighed heavily and then leaned back into the couch, my head falling against the white fabric. “I want to say yes…” my words trailed off as fresh tears began to sting my eyes, forcing me to close them to keep a boundary between the emotions that threatened to explode from every orifice on my face…again.  

            “I see.”

            “I’m sorry.” The words broke.

            “Why?”

            “Because I want to miss her. I want to remember the good things, like the baking and the love and the parties, but…”

            “But what?”

            “I can’t help but be mad.”

            “Mad?”

            A hard burst of air escaped my mouth. “Yes, mad.” I raised my head, letting the anger prop me up against the tears that still lingered at the edge of my vision. “Aren’t you?”

            “Am I mad at Julia?”

            “Yes!” The word erupted from me. “Aren’t you mad that she had the nerve to control everything.” I sucked in a breath. “Every moment, thought, action—every decision, and then what? All of that to just leave. So, here we are, alone with no idea as to who we are. She left us with no sense of how to be ourselves because she never allowed us to be anyone but who she wanted us to be.” I sucked down air, gasping like I’d been swimming through capsizing waves, drowning under the pressure.

            Uncle George paused. His eyes closed as he laid his head back. The tears burned again. Of course, he’s not mad—she was his wife not the narrator of his every sentence. I opened my mouth to apologize, but before I could he whispered, “Yeah, I guess, I’m angry about that sometimes.”

            I froze. The words held me captive—like the bars of a cell that I believed to be all alone in.

            “But,” that word cutting through the ice that bound my mind, “I’ve had longer to understand who she is,” another pause, “was.” He opened his eyes again and looked at me.

            “I get it,” I said, cutting into his moment. “She was your wife. You loved her and all that stuff, and I get that relationships are hard. I’m not a kid anymore, but I mean, come on.” I fell back against the couch, “Did she have to leave us like this? Ghosts haunting the living.” It was too harsh, and as much as I wanted to apologize, to take it back, to say something nice about her for him, I just lay there, head hung back staring at the ceiling.

            His voice came after a long moment. “I don’t feel like a ghost.”

            “Well, I do.”

            “Why?”

            I groaned. Why is he asking me all these questions?

            “Evie?”

            “I don’t know. Okay?” I sighed before meeting his eyes. “It’s just, I’m not me, and the scary part is, I don’t think I even know who me is.” I felt the tears choking out my words, forcing me to close my eyes again. “Aunt Julia made every decision. It was me and Kyle, always. Mom and her. You and Dad. Every event. Every moment. Every victory, loss, everything was always her.” The tears spilled over. “And now, I’m here. There’s no Kyle. No Mom.” I scoffed. “Hell, there’s even no Dad because Dad’s Mom’s, and I could ask him to intervene, but that’s not fair, so it’s just me. Well, the bits and pieces of me I’ve managed to scrape from under everything Aunt Julia built on top of me.” I opened my eyes, and the rest of the tears spilled out, pooling at my chin and running down the length of my neck as snot bubbled up again, clogging my airway.

            “So, your mom and you are fighting, huh?”

            I could have screamed—was he capable of saying anything other than a question.

            “That’s hard. I know how close she and you are.” He let out a soft chuckle. “Always made Julia a little jealous, although she’d never admit it.”

            “What?” I sniffled, his words cutting my thoughts off.

            “Don’t get me wrong, Kyle and she were as close as any son and mother could be, but Julia and your mom…” He paused like he was caught between memories. “They were inseparable and for good reason. Julia didn’t have a great childhood, and your mom and her parents, your grandparents, were Julia’s haven.” He pushed himself up from the chair, teetering a bit before regaining balance and slowly moving across the room to a bookcase resting on the far wall. “Julia’s mom was always in between jobs and boyfriends, and when the boyfriend did have a job, it didn’t make much of a difference.” He ran his finger along the shelf until he stopped before a framed photo.

            My heart had worked its way up my chest and was now lodged in my throat. Aunt Julia’s mom? I’d never heard anything about her. The only grandparents Kyle ever talked about were his dad’s, and they had died before we’d made it to high school. I mean I figured she’d had a mom, but never really stopped to think about why I never heard about her or why all of her childhood stories included my mom and my grandparents. Uncle George placed his hand on the shelf, steadying himself as he turned back around, the photo in his other hand.

            He moved back across the room at the same slow, steady pace. “She met your mom when they were in the 2^nd grade. From what I heard, they were thick as thieves. I wished I could tell you it was a band of thieves, but it was a different time.” He sat back down in the recliner running his hand across the photo once more before passing it to me. “Money mattered a whole lot more then, and, well, your mom was the only one who ever really saw Jules.”

            My hand wrapped around the frame, careful to hold it tightly as I pulled it into my lap. Two sets of eyes and smiles beamed up at me. The girls in the photo were wrapped around each other. I instantly knew which one was my mom. Her hair was wild and windblown, every bit as crazy as it was on Sunday mornings before she ran her flat iron through it. Her smile looked crooked, smashed against Aunt Julia’s face.

            As I traced the lines of the image, I noticed stark differences between the two of them. Mom’s dress was bright pink and covered in dainty lace, the sleeves ending just above her elbows. The fabric was bright even through the age of the photo, her white shoes practically shimmering beside Aunt Julia’s tennis shoes. I surveyed the rest of Julia’s tiny body.

            She was small, every angle of her body too sharp. Her clothes fit, and while the lines of her shirt were crisp, neat, and tucked just right, the faded spots where previous stains had been scrubbed out still caused discoloration across the fabric. Aunt Julia. I touched my thumb to her face, where the edge of her cheek met my mom’s. My mom’s eyes were brilliant and pinned on the camera, but Aunt Julia was staring at my mom, her smile wide as her arms were wrapped tight around Mom’s shoulders.

            “How have I never seen this?” My words were hushed as my eyes scanned the photo again.

            “It’s not a part of her past she liked to talk about.” He shrugged. “But it is a part of it.”

            “I’m not sure I understand, Uncle George.”

            “Well, I’m sure you can see from that photo that your mom was everything to Julia, and well, you can probably see some other differences too.” He sighed. “When they were in seventh grade, your mom declared she was going to college to become wise beyond her years and snag herself a man while she was at it.” He chuckled a little at that thought before he added. “College scared Julia, but it was the fear of distance that drove her next moves.”

            “Why? Mom would have never quit being her friend.” I hadn’t known my mom then, but I knew her now, and there was no way something like school and distance would have made her leave Aunt Julia.

            “I think you underestimate the damage distance and time can do. Anyway, your mom made the announcement, and that was it. Julia knew she wouldn’t be going with her unless something changed. Money, a scholarship, something, so from that day forward, Aunt Julia worked.” He leaned over and reached out for the photo. “Worked to keep her brother in line, so that she would make it to school on time each day. Perfect attendance could go a long way on applications.” I slipped the photo back into his hands. “Worked to store dollar after dollar away, hiding it from her mom as much as she could, and when she was finally old enough to actually work, she did that too.” His thumb ran up and down the length of the frame as he leaned back in his recliner. “She crossed every t and dotted every i to ensure that whenever your mom chose the college, she’d be ready and able to go.”

            “Why didn’t she just move to the town with Mom? That would have been cheaper.”

            “Good question.” He laughed. “I never thought to ask that one, so I don’t really know, but I do know that the planning worked. Every moment, dollar, and grade she controlled worked, so off to college they went. Together.”

            “Okay, I get the control then, but why now? Why didn’t she stop after she found you? Or had Kyle?” I sighed. “Mom literally lived less than thirty minutes away. Why control me and Kyle?”

            “Oh, Evie.” His words broke, and I realized he was crying. “I don’t think she knew how. She came from something broken, and I think deep down she thought all of the good things—your mom, me, Kyle, you—we were rewards for her control.”

            I felt my own tears start back up again. For me or for Aunt Julia, I didn’t know. All I knew was the story didn’t fix the hurt—if anything it made it more pronounced. Every breath filled with shards of guilt, anger, and grief all rubbing against each other—causing more fragmentation.

            “I don’t know what to do with all this,” I said as a new wave of tears crested and spilled from my eyes.

            “Honestly, me either. It’s not easy being the one left.” He let out a noise that was lost somewhere between a scoff and a laugh—the emotions blending to create something that wasn’t quite either. “But if you wanted to see her at the pinnacle of her control, you should have been at our wedding.” Another noise escaped him before he closed his eyes again. “It was wonderful.”

            That’s when I saw it. Love. I think it’d been there the whole time, but I hadn’t been looking for it. Uncle George didn’t love her because of the control or despite it, he just loved her. Why couldn’t I? The question landed with a thunk—the heaviness weighing me down. I knew it wasn’t fair—Uncle George chose Julia. I was born into her plans, but even as I worked to unravel my emotions, my logic struggled to win out.

            Uncle George sighed, and like the movement of his chest was tethered to mine, I let out one as well.

            “So, that fight with your mom?”

            “Ugh, Uncle George, could you give the third degree a rest.”

            He chuckled, “If you wanted that, I don’t think you’d have shown up today.”

            “I didn’t even mean to show up,” I said snapping at myself and him simultaneously.

            “Talk about awkward.” The corners of his mouth ticked up, and I saw Kyle for a moment—the Kyle who held my hand when I cried for the 100^th time at the end of Steel Magnolias.

            “You knew it was going to happen. Why are you crying?” His voice was always soft just like the question was always the same.

            “The real question, Kyyyyle, is why aren’t you?” I dragged his name out as my nose ran and my vision blurred. “It’s like you don’t even have a heart.”

            “I do have one,” he assured me, “I teared up the first time we watched it.”

            I shot him a glare and narrowed my eyes even more as the corner of his mouth ticked up—just like Uncle George’s.

            My hand warmed as if his was still there, and I looked down, breaking eye contact with Uncle George.

            “It’s a mess, honestly.” I finally said, running my other hand over the palm that still tingled, triggered by the memory of Kyle.

            “When isn’t it?”

            “Okay, rude,” I said chuckling. “But fair. It’s, just, she doesn’t get it.” I sighed. “She doesn’t get that I want to be someone else. Someone of my own choosing.” I threw my hands up. “She doesn’t get that I have never been anyone but Kyle’s and Aunt Julia’s. My literal birth was treated like some ordained blessing from the heavens sent to weave my mom’s and Aunt Julia’s friendship into the very fabric of the universe.” My anger was running hot, sprinting through my veins and heating my skin. “And God forbid I say any of that to her. It’s just ‘Kyle is perfect for you,’ ‘Jules had this plan and that plan,’ and ‘wouldn’t it just be peachy if you could do everything she wanted.’”

            I launched off the couch, my rage fueling my body and causing my voice to rise. “I mean come on; how can she not see it? How does she not understand that I don’t really want to live in a creepy neighborhood surrounded by neighbors who never come out of their house or speak to me? She literally looked at the house like some kind of rebellion, and it’s not?”

            “I see.” I barely registered his voice as mine continued to tumble out.

            “I don’t know how! No one does. No one sees me. Hell, I don’t even see me. How could I? I wouldn’t even know who to look for.” I collapsed back onto the couch, breathing heavily. “She doesn’t get who Aunt Julia was to me.”

            “And who was that?”

            “I don’t know!” I erupted again, pushed too far over the edge, and I was tumbling—spinning faster into a void I didn’t know if I would come out of.

            “Okay, okay, Evie, shhh.” Uncle George was up and moving toward me as fast as he could. “I’m sorry, okay, and I wish I had all the answers and a plan to give you, but I don’t. I was never the planner, that was always,” I shot him a glare, cutting him off mid-sentence, and he chuckled softly before lifting his hands in mock surrender. “Right, no more of that for today, but what I was going to say is,” he placed his arm around me and tugged me close to him, and I allowed myself to fold into his chest. “I do know one answer.”

            I sniffled. “Well, that would be a nice change of pace.”

            “Still sassy I see,” another soft laugh, his chest rising and falling beneath my cheek, “The answer to all of this is to talk to your mom.”

            I groaned. “Still a silly grown-up I see,” I mumbled under my breath.

            “Mmhmm, a grown-up like you.”

            “Don’t remind me.” Another sniffle before I pulled gently out of his arms.

            “So, can I ask one more question?”

            I looked at him and sighed. “What?”

            “What’s for dinner?”

            I burst into laughter, the overwhelming wave of emotions finally giving way to hysteria. After a few moments, I was able to catch my breath, and I looked at him. I was better, and in that moment, I saw him for who he was—my Uncle George. I wasn’t sure how I’d managed to keep him through this mess, but I was glad I had.

            “How about pizza?”

            “Ooo, my favorite, and something Kyle is dead set against me having, so double win.” He pushed himself off the couch.

            “Hey, Uncle George.”

            “Mmm?”

            “That was two questions.”