I thought I heard someone outside my door.
“For me? Please? Just one beer. You’ll be glad you did. Promise.”
Someone rapped lightly. Then tried the handle.
“Okay,” I said under my breath. “Half an hour.” I quickly hung up.
The handle jiggled harder this time.
I hadn’t turned on the lights in the apartment, the room blacked out, but I could see shadows moving beneath the front door gap from the bulb that blazed all night in the stairwell. I walked softly across the floor, peering out the living room window into the street. Through the halo of streetlamp and drifting snow, I didn’t see any recently parked cars; each one was covered with a good few inches of fresh powder.
Who the hell would visit this time of night? Without calling first? I didn’t believe my brother would risk coming here, not with everyone on his ass. Hank Miller lived in the house next door, but he never stopped by without a heads up. One of the reasons I kept renting from the guy; he respected my privacy. Then I remembered those junkie bikers from the shop.
“Open up. I know you’re home,” Jenny said, voice muffled behind the door. “I can hear you tiptoeing around in there.”
Christ, I was acting as fidgety as my brother.
“What are you doing here?” I asked, flicking on the lights and opening the door.
“That’s a nice way to greet someone,” Jenny said as she slipped past. She was bundled up head to toe, like a little kid with an overprotective mom on a snow day, button nose wind-nipped and pink. “I wouldn’t have to come out in the freezing cold if you’d answer your phone.”
“Where’s Aiden?”
“At my mom’s.”
“You scared me,” I said. “I thought something was wrong.”
“No, our son is fine. A terror. But fine.” She smiled weakly. “He dropped Brody’s keys in the toilet today. And then flushed.” She waited for me to say something. “Don’t worry,” she said. “We were able to fish them out.”
“Glad to hear it.”
She furiously rubbed her hands together. “It’s an icebox in here. Is the heat even on?”
“Sorry,” I said, and reached behind her and cranked up the radiator. The old pipes sputtered and coughed like an old man with a chest infection. “Gas bills, y’know?”
“If you need to take back some of that money, Jay-”
“I’m good.”
I kicked out a chair for her. Only had the one. Leg had broken on the other, and even though I worked with used furniture practically every day, I hadn’t gotten around to replacing it. Wasn’t exactly hosting a lot of dinner parties.
“Have a seat,” I said. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” Which was a ridiculous thing to say, and her face screwed up, letting me know it. I didn’t understand how she could still make me so nervous after all we’d been through together. It was like, whenever I got around her, I instantly reverted to a fourth grade dweeb, stomach knotted, scared to hold hands on the jungle gym because my palms might get sweaty. It also made me defensive, which could make me sound like a dick. Plus, I was still pissed off about the move. I wasn’t going to bring it up first and give her the satisfaction. I’d just wait for an opening when it would do the most damage. I knew I should be bigger than that. But I wasn’t going to be.
“Can’t I stop by and say hello?” she asked, peeling back the hood of her parka. For a moment, the way her long, brown hair fell so softly, her playful smile etched on pretty lips, it made me forget how angry I was at her for taking my son to Rutland with that dillweed hillbilly. In that instant, she was just that girl I had fallen in love with all those years ago, drinking beer on the banks of Coal Creek as the summer slipped away and we dreamt big.
“I read about your brother,” she said. “How are you doing?”
I went to the fridge, grabbed a beer. I held it up behind my back.
“No thanks,” Jenny said.
“Suit yourself.” I cracked it open and took a hearty slug, then wiped my mouth with the back of my sleeve and belched. It was the most bachelor thing I could think to do.
“What are your plans?” she asked.
“For what?”
I started gathering dishes shellacked with food scraps and empty to-go containers off the table, dropping crusted pots and stained coffee mugs in the sink, soaping hot water to let them soak. The place was a pigsty. It stank. I hadn’t done laundry in a month. I balled soiled tees and chucked them in the corner. Then dragged the trashcan from under the sink and started dumping ashtrays and plastic lids overflowing with cigarette butts.
Jenny crossed over and took my hands in hers. “What are you doing?”
“What’s it look like? Cleaning up my apartment. You should be happy. You’re always bitching about what a slob I am.”
She stared empathetically. “Talk to me.”
“There’s nothing to talk about.”
“You must be worried about your brother.”
“What do you care? It’s not your problem anymore.”
“Don’t be stupid. I still care what happens to you.”
“You do?”
“Of course I do, Jay.”
I broke from her grip. “But that’s not stopping you from moving five hours away, is it?”
“That’s not fair.”
“Not fair? You mean, like not discussing moving with my son to another state? Like buying a house with some rebound fuck. Like not giving me a chance-”
“A chance? I’ve given you nothing but chances. To spend more time with Aiden. To catch up on payments. To fix us. And what have you done? Nothing. Absolutely nothing.”
“I just gave you money.”
“It’s not about money.”
“What’s it about then?”
“Your priorities, Jay. How you chose to focus your energy and spend your time. It’s about you not settling for less when you’re worth so much more.”
“I know you think you’re paying me some twisted compliment when you say stuff like that, like you’re building up my self-worth or something. But you’re not. All I hear is that I’m not good enough.”
“Then you’re mishearing me-because that is not what I am saying.”
“This is a really rotten time to be laying this on me. I’m in the middle of this shit with my brother.”
“What do you think I’m talking about?”
“Here it comes.”
“Here what comes?”
“You hate my brother. You’ve always hated him.”
“No, I don’t.”
“Bullshit.”
Jenny stepped back, arms akimbo. “That’s where you’re wrong. I don’t hate Chris. I actually like your brother. When he’s not all fucked up. I think he’s sick, and I feel sorry for him. I see how hard it is on you. I think he needs help. But you can’t be the one to fix him.”
“I gave up trying to fix him a long time ago. But I’m not abandoning him, either.”
“No one is asking you to. You have to find a way to distance yourself, though. You can’t keep making his habit your problem. Whatever he’s done this time-”
“He didn’t do anything,” I said, “other than be his usual screw-up self. Wrong place. Wrong time.”
“Then let him answer for himself. You can’t shoulder that stone.”
“What do you suggest I do?”
“Let Chris deal with Chris’ mess.”
“Nice, Jenny. When they fish him out of a dumpster behind the truck stop, I hope you feel good.”
“No, I won’t feel good,” she said. “But I won’t feel guilty, either.”
“He’s family.”
She stared at me, urgently. “You keep saying that. Don’t you see? We’re your family too. And you shut us out.”
“My family? And what are you doing with my family, huh? Packing up and running off with that shitheel to Vermont. You know damn well I’ll never get down there. I have a hard enough time making it five miles down the road as it is.”