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“Congratulations, love.” Grandpa pats her back, his voice thick. “I wish it could have been my son who was smart enough to scoop you up. But, I want you to know, you’ll always—” His voice catches and Mom and I both look away to let him get a hold of himself. “You’ll always be my family. Always, sweetie.”

“Oh, Johnny.” Mom wraps her arms around Grandpa and laughs through the tears that are splashing on Grandpa’s shirt.

The silver ring is still on the table. I pick it up and look through the hole, seeing my grandfather and mother through its circled border.

And it’s like I’m seeing my mother for the first time.

I remember her being so sad, so helpless she wouldn’t get out of bed for days on end when I was a kid. I’d have to make my own sandwiches and eat at the scratched kitchen table by myself. Milk went bad, cereal got stale, I spent all day on my skateboard or surfboard, Cohen by my side. Mrs. Rodriguez’s hospitality was the only reason I had decent dinners any night I wanted to stop by their house. That would last for weeks, then, one day, she’d pop up like a daisy and soldier through months without him. Until he showed up again and set it all to shit. The cycle went on for years. Cost her jobs and boyfriends who were decent. She missed a lot, just sleeping and moaning in bed over him. And I guess I just never cleared that image of her out of my head.

Because, maybe I don’t trust it’s entirely gone.

I kick my chair back and stalk to the deck, letting the door slam behind me. I hear my grandfather and mother talking, his voice irritated and loud, hers soft and low. Finally she follows me onto the deck.

“I thought the creampuffs would soften the blow.” She puts a hand to my face, her skin warm and scented with lemon oils, her rings cool and smooth on my cheek.

I grab her in for an awkward bearhug. “I guess this is where I say ‘congratulations’?” I murmur into her hair

“Only if you mean it.” Her voice is wavery, and I feel like a champion asshole for making her sad on her happy day. “I know this must seem sudden. But Rocko and I have been friends for years, and he mentioned this months ago. I’ve had a while to think it all through. And I’m sure about this. I want to be with him.”

I pull away from her and look into her eyes, the same color as mine, but all wide and happy and sure the world is going to be good and amazing and full of positive Karma. I love that she’s so full of hope now, but it also worries the hell out of me. “I do mean it. Only…are you sure this isn’t just a way to get Dad out of your system?” Her mouth goes slack, and I sigh. “C’mon. Be fair. I was with you through all that shit, and I hated it. I hated seeing you that way. But what suddenly changed that made you not need him like you used to? How do I know this isn’t just gonna crash and burn?”

Mom presses her lips together and brushes her hands through my hair. “Oh, Deo, my gorgeous, warped boy. What the hell did I do to you?”

“You taught me to be fucking careful, that’s what.” I jerk back from her touch. “Mom, I almost got serious with Whit. Then things broke off, and, you know what? Sometimes I think it’s for the best. I don’t want to be in a relationship like you and Dad were in. That was pure misery for years. I watched you, and I learned how to let go. Now I’m scared for you, because clinging to somebody was the trouble, Mom. Don’t you remember all that?”

“Oh, honey.” Mom wipes the tears from her eyes with her fingers. “You have it all backward. It’s not clinging to someone that ruins everything. It’s never grabbing on in the first place. Your father and I failed because we let go too easily. It was more him than me, but both of us let go of the love we had and put other things first. It broke us apart. But your father kept letting go. Of this town. Of his father. Of me. Of…of you.” These words come on the cusp of a sob. “Something in him kept coming back and wanting this all, but he didn’t have what it took to hold on.”

“It’s not like that with Rocko?” I ask, putting an arm around her slight shoulders.

Her laugh is wet with all those tears and…happy. So happy, it tugs at my heart. “Rocko is all roots, baby. He’s twined around me and isn’t ever letting go. I’ve never been able to hold on to anyone the way I can hold on to him, and he’s holding right back. I’m happy, Deo. I’m so happy, and I want you to be happy for me, but I understand if you can’t be.”

I make a fist over the fat silver ring Dad gave her and kiss her soft, crazy hair. “Of course I’m happy. So happy. Congratulations. When’s the big day and what do you need your slacker son to do to help?”

***

I’m back outside Whit’s apartment for the first time in almost two months. We’ve had a few close calls coming in and out of the tattoo shop, but I haven’t actually seen her in so long, my throat aches when I think about the Whit-sized hole gouged in my heart.

This may be stupid, but my mom and grandpa and Cohen have all gotten on board with my snail’s pace life change, and I need to close this chapter with Whit properly. And make sure my mom’s and Rocko’s big day is as happy as possible.

I take the steps to her apartment two at a time, and when I get to her door, it takes a few minutes before I manage to knock.

She opens the door slowly, so I know she checked the peephole. I expect to be invited in, but she keeps her body turned slightly, blocking the entrance.

“Hey stranger.” I smile at her, but her face is somewhere between stony and just plain sad. She looks younger, softer than the last time I saw her. Her dark hair is longer, down to her neck now, and it’s wavy again. Her big brown eyes are ringed in shadows. Is she sleeping well? Is she eating right? Suddenly the idea of ‘closing this chapter’ blows up in my face, and I’m left with all the hopeful scraps of possibility Whit always makes me grasp at with the desperation of a drowning man.

“Hello, Deo. Do you need something?” She’s using this professional receptionist-type voice like we’re former co-workers and never held each other all night after having marathon sex in this very apartment.

“I do. Can I come in and talk to you?” I could conduct all this business right here, and actually had plans to keep it short and to-the-point. But now that I see her, catch the sweet smell of citrus on her skin, remember so fiercely that it aches what it felt like to kiss her, I want to stretch this out.

She tucks a wavy piece of hair behind her ear and shifts her dark eyes uncertainly.

“Please?” I keep my voice neutral, safe, calm. “For my mom and Rocko. They’re why I’m really here anyway.”

She wavers for a second, then nods. “Okay. Come on in.”

The apartment still looks the same, maybe just a little more cluttered. I wonder if she kept that anthropology job she tried to get for me. It still makes me feel like an asshole to remember how I blew her off when she went through all that trouble for me. “Place looks good.”

“It’s still the same shithole.” Her sigh is long and suffering, and she crosses her thin arms over her chest. “You wanted to tell me something?”

“I did. I do.” I sit at the dining room table, the one where I served her what was supposed to be the first romantic meal of this long, amazing summer. “Come sit?”

She slides into a chair across from me stiffly and her stare is so point-blank, I feel jittery.

“Your tan faded. You haven’t been on the waves much?” I ask. She frowns and doesn’t give me a single inch. “Alright. I get it. So, you know the wedding is in a week?”

She nods and suddenly takes an extreme interest in the place-mat on the table.

“My mom is dying for you to come. I mean, she’s saying all that crap about how she respects your right to do what you need to, but it’s killing her. She wants you there, and I want this day to be amazing, and I know the reason you’re not coming is because I’ll be there.” I reach over to grab her hands, but she pulls them back. I curl them back towards me. “That day, with your parents? I was wrong. I thought I could force you to change your whole damn life when I wasn’t even willing to change one single thing about mine. I want to apologize for doing what I did. It was completely out of line, and no matter how good my stupid intentions were, I should have respected your decisions.”

She looks up at me, her big eyes wide and surprised. “I…uh….I accept your apology?”

“Is it a question?” I try to make my laugh easy, but it comes out shaky.

“No. I do.” She pauses, licks her lips, and adds, “And, even though I was pissed, it got the ball rolling, and I’ve been talking to my parents. I’m not saying what you did was right, but I should know better than to waste opportunities. Wakefield would have been disappointed in me. You remind me…of my brother in a lot of ways. So, you did help.” This time her sigh is one of pure exhaustion. “But I don’t think going to the wedding is a good idea.”

I nod, but my blood is coursing hot and fast with adrenaline. I had zero expectations when I came to see her, but now I feel like things may be better than I thought. That I might have more of a chance than I originally expected. And then I consider that I’m pushing this all too hard, too fast. I need to back off quick.

“Okay. I respect that.” I get up to go, and Whit stands too, but before I can leave, my mother’s words clang around in my skull. Her warning about how she and my dad let go too easily. How they didn’t hold when things got tough.

I walk the few feet over to her and take her by the shoulders. She looks too shocked to even wriggle out of my hold. “But I’m going to have to argue the point. I
am
right this time. Again.” She opens her mouth to argue, but I rush on. “Marigold and Rocko are important to both of us. And you’re important to me. This may be too quick. It may be too stupid. You may be back with Mr. Booty-call Douchenozzle Fuckhead.” The tiniest of smiles inches on her mouth. “But I have a week. And I’m going to use it to convince you to go to this wedding. Because Wakefield would want you to go.”

The glimmer of a smile fades and she shakes her head. “You’re seriously using my dead soldier brother to guilt me into doing what you want?”

My face cracks into the first genuine smile I’ve worn pretty much since she left. “Yeah. I am. You know why? It’s what Wakefield would want.” She narrows her sweet brown eyes at me. “It is. He’d want his sister to get out of her shit-hole apartment and come to some dipshit hippie wedding where they read poetic, sappy vows and serve tofu. Because he’d know that his sister would be surrounded by people she loves. People who love her. C’mon. Say you’ll come.”

This time the glimmer of a smile turns full-blown. “I’ll think about it.” She shakes her head. “Think. About. It. This isn’t a yes or a no.”

“Great. Not a yes or a no. Got it.” I walk to the door, but pause before I walk out. “Just, when you get your dress, tell me the color so I can match my tie, alright?”

She holds onto the door for a minute, we lean close, and the kiss and more that I want to give her crackles in the air between us. “Good-bye, Deo.”

She tries to make her voice cool and cruel, but I catch the hint of passion and happiness that slides under her words. Slowly, slowly I’m getting my life on track. And I’m about to woo Whit this week like she’s never been wooed before.

Because Mom and Cohen and Wakefield are all fucking right. Life is too short to waste on bullshit. And I’ve spent way too much time letting go when all I want to do is hold on with all my strength.  

              -Sixteen-

Whit
             

 I fan myself with the thick piece of recycled card stock, hoping maybe the answers will float right off of the paper if I do it long enough.
              “And you swear you have no idea what this is for?” I spin in the swivel chair and ask Rocko.               He looks at me over the tortoiseshell frames.
              “Darlin, I swear to Gaia, if I knew, I’d tell you, just so you’d shut the hell up. No idea what it is or who it’s from.” He looks back down at the VOID-stamp tattoo he is doing to cover up the name ‘Dwayne’ on his current client’s hip.
              “So, do you think I should go? I mean, do you think it’s safe?” When I got to work this afternoon, there was an envelope on my desk with my name on it. All that was inside was a brown card with an address printed on it and a time, 10:00pm. Who in their right mind would think that’s even close to enough information to be considered a proper invite?
              Rocko shrugs. “I don’t know, Whit. Do you want me to go with you? Check it out first? Just tell me what you want me to do and I’ll do it.”
              “But it’s probably from Deo, right? This isn’t his handwriting, but it’s all recycled paper and all vague like he always is… Maybe it’s Marigold? The wedding’s tomorrow. Is she planning some secret bachelorette party she doesn’t think I’ll go to if she tells me about it?”
                            I flick at the corner of the card and ponder this some more.
              Rocko doesn’t look up from the classy piece of artwork he’s doing, even though it’s so simple he could do it with the tattoo gun between his teeth.  I’ve been talking about this card for the last six hours. He’s clearly annoyed.
              “Do you want me to check with her?” he finally asks.
              “No, that’s okay,” I tell him. “But, do you mind if I leave a little early? Scope it out?”
              “Oh, sweetie, I would’ve let you leave hours ago,” Rocko says before clearing his throat. “I mean, course not. I can handle things around here. Call if you need.”
              I pull up to 1100 Clove Street, and check the address card once more. Because this place is not bachelorette party-worthy at all.  It’s a two-story furniture store. Why the hell would Marigold want me to meet her here?            
              I shouldn’t even be here. This is just plain stupid. Like, there should be an audience full of people rolling their eyes at me right now, saying,
“You stupid bitch, you deserve what you have coming. You know you shouldn’t be there alone. At night.”
              But, despite all the obvious dangers, I put my car in park, grab my iPhone, and walk slowly to the door.  If someone has decided to lure me to a furniture store to kill me, this is a pretty nice one to go down in, I guess. The mattress in the window is on special for six-grand, so, there’re worse ways to go, I guess.
              I push on the door and it’s unlocked, naturally, because killers don’t want you to have to screw around with a locked door before they slice and dice.
              “Hello? Marigold?” I call into the darkness.
              “I was afraid you wouldn’t show up,” Deo says. He steps out from behind a massive fountain carved from a tree trunk. “I’m glad you did, though.”
              “Deo?” I say it like it’s a question, even though it’s obviously not. I’m just confused. I don’t understand this. Why I’m here. With him. “What’s going on?”
              “Look, I wanted to hang out, I wanted to see you.  But, I don’t have a place of my own. Yet. I’m working on it.” He pushes his messy hair out of his face nervously. “And it’s not like I could just invite myself over to your place. So, I came up with this masterful plan instead.”