As my head turns itself over, I strip off my shirt, toss it aside, and start hitting the heavy bag hanging from the ceiling in the corner of the garage. Dust explodes off the surface with every strike of my fists. Great billowing plumes of fine gray powder. The first few hits shock my nerves, slap the noise from my mind. The sharp, shooting pain radiates through my hands, then my arms, elbows, and shoulders, until the pain dulls and I barely feel it anymore. But I still feel her. Everywhere. All the time and growing more insistent.
She left me. Me, who’d slept all night in a chair by her hospital bed that time she got a concussion after falling off a tree during a climbing race with two of her brothers. Me, who’d let her cry in my arms every time her mom missed an important event in Gen’s life.
She just left without telling me.
No. Worse—without asking me to come with her.
“You’re not going to have any skin left if you don’t tape those up.” Cooper sneaks up on me. He positions himself behind the bag to hold it in place while I mostly ignore him to concentrate on my aim. Small clusters of blood have already appeared on the synthetic leather. I don’t care.
When I don’t respond, he presses on.
“Come on. What’s going on? Something happen?”
“If you’re going to talk, you can leave.” I punch through the bag. Past it. Driving my fists harder with every swing. The distraction dissipates with every repetition, and as my nerves become desensitized to the impact, my brain finds the effects wearing off too.
“So it’s about Gen.” There’s a sigh of equal parts disapproval and disappointment, as if I came home with a D on my report card. It’s exhausting having a brother who thinks he’s my dad. “When are you going to let that go? She ghosted you, dude. What more is there to say?”
“Remember how much you appreciated my input on Mac last year?” I remind him. Because I learned my lesson. When I was all up in his business about crossing over to the dark side to catch feelings for a rich chick, he told me no small number of times to get bent. And he was right. “Well, same.”
“I’m just trying to look out for you,” he says, like somehow I’ve missed the point. Then, sensing I’m quickly losing my tolerance for him, Cooper changes tacks. “Come on, let’s get out of here. Go out. Take your mind off everything.”
“Pass.” What I figured out a long time ago is there’s nothing that bleaches thoughts of Genevieve out of my head. She’s woven into the fabric. I can’t rip her out without tearing myself apart.
I catch Cooper’s eyes for a second between hits to the bag. There’s unhappiness in them. But it isn’t up to me to make him feel better, and I don’t take responsibility for trying. “You can go now, Coop.”
With a clenched jaw, he stalks out of the garage.
Not long after he’s gone, I give up on the bag. My knuckles are bloody; bits of flesh hang off in kernels. It’s gross as fuck.
When my phone buzzes in my pocket, I entertain a moment of dim-witted anticipation expecting it to be Gen, then curse to myself when I see it’s my mother.
Shelley: Hey baby. Just checking in to see how you’re doing.
Yep, my mother is not in my contacts list under MOM, but Shelley. Which speaks volumes.
She’s been messaging me in an attempt to resurrect our relationship after Cooper briefly had her arrested for stealing several grand from him a few months back. He’s had it with her shit for a long time, but that was the last insult for him. The final betrayal.
I haven’t told Cooper about the texts yet, because as far as he’s concerned, she’s dead to him. Admitting I’ve been in contact would have him downright furious.
Not that I’m so forgiving either. Not anymore, at least. For years, I was willing to give her the benefit of the doubt, even when I knew she couldn’t be trusted. That every visit was simply a precursor to another broken promise and another exit without a goodbye. I just don’t know how to ignore her.
Sighing, I shoot a quick text back.
Me: All good here. You?
Shelley: I’m in Charleston. Was hoping maybe you’d come visit?
I stare at the screen for a long moment. For weeks, she has been insisting she’s reformed. New leaf and all that. Her last message said she wants a chance at reconciliation, but the amount of chances this woman has gotten from us is comical at this point. There were times Cooper and I needed a mother when we were kids. Now, we get along just fine without one. Hell, we get along better. Life’s much less stressful without a person that blows into town every few months or years to spin some bullshit about a big opportunity and getting her life together, and all she needs is a place to stay and a few bucks, yada yada. Until we wake up one morning and she’s gone again. The coffee can above the fridge empty. Cooper’s room ransacked. Or whatever new low Shelley decides to sink to.
When I don’t respond right away, another message pops up.
Shelley: Please? We could start off easy. Coffee? A walk? Whatever you want.
My hesitation earns me another message.
Shelley: I miss my sons, Evan. Please.
I grit my teeth. Thing is, I didn’t pack for a guilt trip. She can’t play the mom card after years of negligence.
Her next message names a time and place. Because she knows I’m the soft one when it comes to her, and I always have been. She wouldn’t dare come at Cooper like this. Which is all the more conniving and unfair.
Still, even understanding all this, a part of me wants to believe her, to give her a chance to prove she can be a decent person. If to no one else, then to us.
Me: I’ll think about it and get back to you.
But reconciliation is a stretch goal. Coop is intent on taking this grudge to the grave. I’m sure he’d be happier if he never had to think about her again. For me, well, if I’m honest with myself, I guess I’m still raw about the whole thing. Last time she was here, she put on a good act, her best performance yet. She had me most of the way to believing she’d stick around and give it a try. Be a real mom. As much as she could be to two grown men who barely know her.
Needless to say, it blew up in my face with Coop getting in another I told you so.
And since I’m not in the mood for a repeat when I sit down for dinner later, I keep the news of Shelley being in Charleston to myself. She’s the least of my concerns, anyway. The thoughts of Gen on her date scream much, much louder in my head.
While Mac is passing me the mashed potatoes, I’m imagining Gen laughing over salads and appetizers with some asshole. Cooper’s talking shop, but I’m picturing this dude sizing up how to get Gen back to his place tonight. He’s thinking about what she looks like naked, and will some steak and lobster buy him a blowjob on a first date?
My jaw’s so tight I can barely eat.
Then, as we’re clearing the table, a bug crawls in my ear asking, what if Gen actually likes this bastard? What if she’s falling for his bullshit, eating his game with a spoon? Maybe she wore some sexy outfit with the intentions of leaving it on his bedroom floor. Maybe later tonight, she’ll be dragging her nails down his back.
I nearly put my fist through the wall, curling both hands over the countertop as I help Mac load the dishwasher.
And what happens if Gen and this guy get together for real? It’s one thing if she dated someone in Charleston, because I wouldn’t have to see it. But she’s home now. If she finds a new guy, I’ll be forced to watch them walk around, rubbing it in my face while I’m at work, fixing up her dad’s house? Walking in on them in the kitchen suddenly trying to act chill with that flush on her face that says she just had his fingers inside her? Oh, hell no. I’d end up taking a hammer to his hand.