These Things About Us (2 page)

“No-hoh. Mummy's name is Emily.”

“Okay, bye Theresa.”

“Goodbye,” she chimed, and I punched the phone into the hook.

Deep breath
, I reminded myself and inhaled, slowly counted to four, exhaled. I massaged my temple and continued the breathing exercise until I was almost okay. There was no way I was going to remain completely calm, but I’d try my best, doing all the breathing exercises. This was not the end of the world. My last chance was that person I called who
was not available right now
. I could call her again tomorrow. Or I could go to that address listed with the phone number. I’d just have to survive the night and solve all my problems tomorrow.

I took one last deep breath before I went back to my seat and poked at the cooling potatoes. I'd have to ask Alex if I could have them wrapped up to have something left for tomorrow.
I'd have to spend enough money on not being homeless for tonight, on a bed. I couldn’t stuff myself with yummy potatoes.
I wondered just how long I'd last with my remaining 156.30£.

“So you're why Trace has me working tonight.”

I blinked up at a boy, younger than Trace, my age or close, and definitely related to Alex and Trace as well, with his hard edges and the small nose. Most of his light brown hair was swept to one side of his head. He looked like he'd been hit by a hurricane.

I tried to make sense of his words.
Trace had sent him out because he couldn't even stand being in the same room with me?

“I thought he'd throw up on me.” I fidgeted with my sleeve, tugging it over the back of my hand, over the birthmark.

“That's no reason to look so miserable. He's an ass.”

Gee, that made me feel so much better. I didn't care if even his relatives thought he was an ass. It still dragged me down even deeper to know I was so repulsive I could chase away a bartender.

“Come on, cheer up, Sour Lemon.”

“No,” I huffed, “There’s a lot going on and I’m basically homeless. I deserve to be a sour lemon.”

“You need a room for free?”

“What?”

“Are you legal?”

“Yes.”

“Mind if I check?”

I had no idea what he wanted to check my age for or what he meant about a free room, but I was happy to shift my focus to finding my passport for a few moments. I pulled my backpack up and carefully unzipped the side pocket, reaching in and slipping the passport onto the bar.

The boy snatched it up and scanned the info. His full lips twitched, and I knew what line he was reading. Finally, he handed my papers back.

“Well, Antonia Ainsley from Tucson, Arizona... Belated Happy Birthday.”

I shoved the passport back into the bag.

“Thanks,” I sighed.

“This is the most depressing 18th birthday party I've ever seen. I'm Wes, by the way.”

He stretched his hand over my plate and smiled at me, his wide mouth splitting his face in two and flashing a bottom row of crooked teeth. The smile was so honest, I couldn't help but smile back. I hesitated a moment, then placed my hand in his. His long fingers easily folded around mine wholly.

“Tony.”

“Come on, Wesley, I'm not paying you to stand here and make friends. Get moving.” Alex slapped a dirty dish towel against Wesley's shoulders and Wes grinned at the older bartender.

“Dad, you're not paying me - period. Plus, I'm not making friends, I'm trying to hire you another waitress. One that Trace won't feel the need to fuck at the first chance he gets.”

I choked on my coke and furiously hit myself in the chest to keep from dying on spot.

“What?” I squeaked.

“You’re a girl who needs a room. We have rooms and need a girl. The way I see it, we’re a perfect match.” Wes shrugged and stole a potato from my plate. Alex tore his eyes open at his son’s lack of respect, but I couldn’t stifle the giggle that bubbled up my throat. Wes winked at me in response.

Alex rubbed his hand over his chin and looked at me like he had to solve a Sudoku between my eyes. I was pretty certain I wasn’t a walking Sudoku.

“I’m sorry, Darling, I’d love to help, but we don’t need a girl but a woman who can handle a couple of pissed prats.”

I furrowed my brows.

“Wasted idiots,” Wesley assisted.

Oh, okay. It would have been weird for a waitress to take care of men who pissed themselves. You never knew, though. When in Rome… - Hold up, I was not going to do as the romans do. I wasn’t even planning on staying longer than absolutely necessary, meaning one night tops.

“I really just need an affordable bed for tonight.”

“Dad.” Wes’s voice was thick with an unspoken warning.

British men were weird. First the free meal and now Wes tried to shove me down his father’s throat. What was wrong with them? Did they all sport a serious case of helper syndrome? Trace’s gurgle popped into my head again. Maybe not all of them tried to help.

Alex sighed and fixed his eyes on me. “Do you need a job?”

My lips already parted to decline, but the words didn’t come out. I scratched the back of my hand. What if I didn’t find her?
Or worse: What if I found her and she’d tell me that she left me with Dad because she didn’t want to have me in the first place, and she still didn’t want me now.

Plus, I hadn’t planned what to do once I met my mother. College wasn’t really an option.
Most of my photography equipment had been lost, so no future there. And I had barely any money left in my pocket as it was.

“Yeah,” I breathed. “And I’m pretty sure I can handle a few… pissed prats.”

“You don’t have a visa, do you?”

I shook my head, pulling another sigh from Alex’s chest.

“How old are you?”

“Eighteen.”

“Well, at least we can work with that. Let me figure out the rest. Wesley, get her bags up to the top floor.” He motioned for a waiting customer to hold on another moment.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Wesley hissed, barely loud enough for me to hear.

“You wanted it like this, you take care of it.”

Was
it
me? Wes grabbed my bags, and I felt like an obedient little dog, trailing behind him down a narrow hallway, past the restrooms and up a steep, old staircase.

“Why is the top floor a bad idea?” I asked.

“Trace and I have our rooms up there.”

“Oh.”

I wouldn’t have been too happy about sharing the floor with the illegal waitress/broke American/teenage girl that made my brother sick either.

Wes led me to a door, unlocked it and opened his arm for me to walk in first. It was a simple bedroom. There was a double wide bed with white bedspreads in the middle, a dark chest of drawers against the wall and a small table with two worn chairs under the window.

It was more than I’d expected. Harry Potter under the staircase and all that.

Wesley walked in behind me, making the room infinitely smaller. He arranged my suitcase on the drawer and pushed his hands into his pockets, sent me an unsure look with his shoulders drawn up high.

I raked my brain for something to say. “Do you regularly invite complete strangers to stay down the hall from you?”

“There are two more floors filled with strangers right beneath our feet. I’m long over the fear of being stabbed during the night.”

“I just…” I didn’t want to look like a complete idiot. “You seemed pretty insistent.”

“Don’t wreck your brain. We really do need a waitress, unless I am supposed to blow off school so I can help out.”

“Okay.” Selfish reasons. Those, I could understand. They didn’t seem as crazy as helper syndrome. “Thanks anyway.”

Wes hadn’t told me where the bathroom was. I tiptoed out of my room and plucked at the shorts, so they wouldn’t be swallowed by the oversized shirt. I didn’t need anyone thinking I was a slut, running around half-naked in semi-public. Not that I hadn’t specifically chosen a time unlikely for any run-ins. It was late. Or more accurately: really early.

Gripping my toothbrush like a mighty sword, I tried the first door – locked. Light spilled out from the second door, so I tried the last one. It lead to the room right next to mine and easily swung open into complete darkness. My naked feet hit the plush carpet. Carpet. Definitely not a bathroom.
Damn it. Oh god, what if Wesley was sleeping just a few feet away.
This could get really embarrassing.

“Looking for something?”

I shrieked and jumped around at the voice, coming face to face with a very naked, very wet and tattoo-covered chest. I blinked at the naked skin for a moment, then dragged my eyes up to meet Trace’s green stare. Those eyes were hard and cold. They sent an icy shiver down my spine.

“I’m sorry,” I whimpered. I was pressed into the doorway. “I didn’t know this was your room.”

Unfortunately my gaze fell and fell down to the grey towel that was loosely wrapped around his hips. A filigree tattoo trailed down his side and disappeared beneath the fabric.

Oh holy… He was almost naked. “Sorry,” I repeated, “I didn’t want to.” This was bad. No more sexcapades was part of the whole fresh start thing. Leave it to Antonia to stare at naked men first chance she gets.

I was here to leave Antonia behind. Here, I was going to be Tony. I screwed my lids shut and twirled to the side, pressing my forehead into the wall. 

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

“I, my room…” I wanted to explain, but I couldn’t look at him. Not with this little fabric covering him up. So I smacked my hand over my eyes like a kid playing hide and seek, although I just wanted to hide and never be sought. “My room is over there.” I blindly pointed at my door.

For a second, when he didn’t respond, I thought I might have stabbed him with my index finger, but then I heard the hammering. I opened my fingers to peek at Trace crashing his fist into the locked door.

“Wesley!” he boomed.

I watched the door being opened slightly and a sleepy Wesley poking his head out. His hair was all over the place. Trace didn’t give him the chance to find me perched across the hallway; he stormed into Wes’s room and banged the door shut. He started yelling right after but it was incomprehensible from here.

Poor guests downstairs who had to endure that noise.

Oh no. Wes was the one to pity. He was the one who got crap for talking his father into letting me stay. Oh no, no, no, no. I should have declined. Now, I couldn't just let him take all the blame. I pushed myself off the wall and charged right after Trace into Wesley’s room.

Trace’s fist blew into Wes’s jaw. The smack rippled through me, flesh on flesh, bones just underneath. Wesley's head flew back, he lost his footing and bumped into his desk. A couple of pens clattered to the floor and my toothbrush fell from my hand.

Trace was crazy. If he didn't want me on his floor, fine, he could just
say
so.

“Shit,” he grunted and shook his hand, vaguely glancing at me over his shoulder.

Wes clutched his face, shock still glazing his eyes when they fell on me.

“Tony, get back to your room.” He uncurled himself from the desk and ripped me from my paralysis.

I wanted to leave, flop down on my bed and unsee that punch, instead my feet carried me deeper into the dimly lit room. Before it even trickled down to my brain what I was doing, my hands gripped Trace's biceps, and I tore him further away from Wesley.

He stumbled back a single step before realizing he was much stronger than me and could easily stop my feeble attempt. He yanked his arm free and glared down at me.

“Tony?” He spit my name out. Great, even that disgusted him.

“I think you're the one who should go back to their room.” The steadiness of my voice surprised myself, although I knew there was not a drop of fear in my veins.

“You don't have a bloody say in what I'm supposed to do.” Trace worked his jaw. “You're not welcome here. You're not-”

“Trace!” Wes cut him off and pulled me back by my shoulders. My back collided with his chest. I wasn't sure if he was trying to protect me or himself.

“What? You scared I'd hurt her?” Trace threw his arm in my general direction, and I couldn't help flinching. Wes tugged me behind his arm although I doubted that would be much of a protection.

“Actually, yes.” Wesley seemed calm, but his fingers trembled on my elbow.

“Fuck!” Trace screamed and ran his hands through his hair as he turned his back on us. “Fuck you, Wes. Fuck you!” 

He bolted, banging the door shut and a moment later banging the door across the hall. We waited for another few seconds, neither of us breathing a word. Trace didn't come back and I didn't hear any signs of him throwing my suitcase out of my room, so he was probably calming down in his own room. Maybe I should teach him the breathing exercises my therapist taught me. They usually helped with the anger.

“Are you okay?” Wesley searched my face for traces of fear.

“I'm fine. I've been screamed at before.” I turned out of his hold on me and fell two steps back, putting a safe distance between us. “That punch looked terrible, though.”

“Nothing to worry about. Brothers fight.”

I finally had the last blank filled in. The smiliar features had suggested it but I'd seen cousins who looked like twins. Trace didn't just hit a relative, he hit his little brother.

“I can leave, you know. I don't know why Trace hates me, but I don't want to come between you. Family's important.”

“Tony, he decided that he gives a damn about family a long time ago. This isn't your fault. These days anything will make him explode.”