"Babe," he yelled out again.
"Coming!" She patted my head and then left.
Logan
I knocked on the door, ignoring the memories that came with this house. No one answered. I knocked again, and looked around. Her car was the only one in the driveway.
After five minutes and four series of knocks, she finally answered the door. The chain lock stopped it from opening fully. "Hey," she said quietly. "What are you doing here?"
"Can you open the door? I can't see you."
She closed it, and a second later I heard her toying with the chain. When she opened the door, I was able to take in her state. She was in her pajamas, her eyes red, and her hair a mess. "Were you sleeping?" I asked.
She shook her head. "What's up?" she asked quietly, avoiding eye contact.
"Are you okay? You look like you've been crying."
She looked over my shoulder. "I'm fine," she said. "What's going on? What do you want?" Her tone was flat; it caused me to take a step back.
Honestly, I didn't know what to expect, but I wasn't expecting this. "I uh . . ." I rubbed my palm across my jaw, and then placed my hand in my pocket. It had started shaking again. "I thought that maybe you might wanna hang out, or something."
She bit her lip, her eyes cast downwards. "I don't think so, Logan. Actually, I don't think it's right that you be here—or anywhere, really. I mean—I can't stop you from existing, but I don't think you and me—I don't think it's a good idea that you and I exist together."
"Oh," is all I could say.
"Take care," she said, before closing the door in my face.
No thump.
Just flatline.
14
Logan
Four days.
Four.
That's how long it took for me to go insane without her. How I went a year? I have no idea.
Amanda
You know when you're a kid, and you play hide and seek, but you're too young to fully understand the concept of it? So you stand in the middle of a room and close your eyes and think that somehow, because you can't see anyone, it means they can't see you? Well, that's what I was doing now. Only I wasn't a kid, and no one was looking for me. Regardless, I sat in the middle of my bed with my eyes closed and my phone in my hands. Yes, I was hiding from my phone.
Alan had texted me more than an hour ago saying he was looking forward to dinner tonight. I knew that it was our night, but a part of me had wished that maybe Logan had said something to him, and that he wouldn't expect me over there anymore.
My phone sounded, pulling me from my thoughts.
Alan.
"Hi," I answered, hoping to sound enthusiastic.
"So, I'm at the store, but they don't have red peppers, only green, is that okay?"
My heart broke at the excitement in his voice. It'd become a thing—him shopping for the ingredients. After the fourth time I showed up with groceries in hand, he knew to expect me. He asked me to write out the ingredients for the Taco Casserole and made me promise I'd never buy them again. He said that it was bad enough that I was feeding him every other Sunday; I shouldn't have to be using my hard-earned money to do so.
"Green's fine," I told him. I wanted to ask him if Logan was going to be there, or ask him why he didn't tell me that Logan was back, but all I could say was, "I'll be there soon."
***
I let out a relieved sigh when I pulled into their house and no other cars were there apart from Alan's. I told myself on the drive over that I would just act as if nothing had changed. Logan wasn't here. He didn't exist. That was the way it'd always been with us, and that was the way it would stay. Yes, we discussed Logan, but never in the present tense. It was always about what he was like as a kid.
"Maybe you should look at helping out kids like Logan," Alan once said.
"What do you mean?"
"I know you want to get into nursing, but I see your compassion, your heart, your need to understand why he is the way he is. Maybe you should do something with that."
And that was all it took. Two days later, I'd decided to major in Child Psychology.
He opened the door before I could knock. His enthusiasm to see me always made me smile. No one knew I came here; we'd even decided to not tell my mom. It might have seemed odd to some people, and I could understand why, but every other Sunday, in the walls of this house, he gave me a piece of my life I never admitted to missing. He also gave me a father when my own seemed to no longer exist.
***
"I got you something," Alan said. He sat in his usual spot on the counter, drinking a beer while I made dinner. Just like the first time, only then, Logan was here.
"You don't need to get me things. Don't you think it's bad enough that you guys paid for my tuition?"
He raised his hand and got off the stool. "It didn't cost me anything. Besides, that was Logan's money, not mine. It was his choice what he did with it."
I rolled my eyes.
"Did Logan ever tell you about my Tina?"
I nodded.
He pulled out a wooden box and put it on the counter. "She was my girlfriend, all through high school and college."
I stopped chopping the peppers and wiped my hands on my dress, then leaned forward on the counter. Whatever he had to say, I wanted to give him all my attention.
He smiled at my movements, but it didn't reach his eyes. "She actually reminds me a lot of you," he said. "Not physically, but more . . . in your hearts. You're both so . . ." He paused, and thought for a second. "Genuine. Your hearts are genuine."
I didn't have the words; I stayed silent, in my own thoughts.
He pushed the box towards me. "This was hers. I want you to have it."
"I can't—"
"Make an old man happy," he cut in.
I took the box in my hands and flipped the lid open. Inside were dozens of bracelets, neon colored plastic ones, thick bangles, bright friendship bracelets, and a few chunky gold chain ones. I couldn't control my smile. "It's like the 80s threw up in here."
He threw back his head in laughter. "She loved them. She always had a wrist full of bracelets, kind of like you." He pointed at mine. He knew I wore them to hide something, but he never asked, and I never offered. That's why we worked as well as we did.
I took a few out of the box and put them on, shaking out my hands to get them comfortable. I had a good twenty on each arm. At first, I did it to hide what was there, and then it became habit to wear them. I was fully aware that they probably bought more attention to that area than if I didn't wear them at all. But like I said, habit.
"Are you sure you don't want to keep them? I mean, the sentiment is so much more valuable to you than if I were to have them."
He shrugged and took a swig of his beer. "What am I going to do with it, Amanda? Give it to my daughter? You're pretty much it for me."
My chest tightened at his words. Looking down at the box in front of me, I cleared the lump that'd formed in my throat. I wanted to tell him how much his statement touched me, and that it went both ways, that he had become like a father to me. I wanted to tell him how much these Sunday dinners meant to me.
"Coming!" She patted my head and then left.
Logan
I knocked on the door, ignoring the memories that came with this house. No one answered. I knocked again, and looked around. Her car was the only one in the driveway.
After five minutes and four series of knocks, she finally answered the door. The chain lock stopped it from opening fully. "Hey," she said quietly. "What are you doing here?"
"Can you open the door? I can't see you."
She closed it, and a second later I heard her toying with the chain. When she opened the door, I was able to take in her state. She was in her pajamas, her eyes red, and her hair a mess. "Were you sleeping?" I asked.
She shook her head. "What's up?" she asked quietly, avoiding eye contact.
"Are you okay? You look like you've been crying."
She looked over my shoulder. "I'm fine," she said. "What's going on? What do you want?" Her tone was flat; it caused me to take a step back.
Honestly, I didn't know what to expect, but I wasn't expecting this. "I uh . . ." I rubbed my palm across my jaw, and then placed my hand in my pocket. It had started shaking again. "I thought that maybe you might wanna hang out, or something."
She bit her lip, her eyes cast downwards. "I don't think so, Logan. Actually, I don't think it's right that you be here—or anywhere, really. I mean—I can't stop you from existing, but I don't think you and me—I don't think it's a good idea that you and I exist together."
"Oh," is all I could say.
"Take care," she said, before closing the door in my face.
No thump.
Just flatline.
14
Logan
Four days.
Four.
That's how long it took for me to go insane without her. How I went a year? I have no idea.
Amanda
You know when you're a kid, and you play hide and seek, but you're too young to fully understand the concept of it? So you stand in the middle of a room and close your eyes and think that somehow, because you can't see anyone, it means they can't see you? Well, that's what I was doing now. Only I wasn't a kid, and no one was looking for me. Regardless, I sat in the middle of my bed with my eyes closed and my phone in my hands. Yes, I was hiding from my phone.
Alan had texted me more than an hour ago saying he was looking forward to dinner tonight. I knew that it was our night, but a part of me had wished that maybe Logan had said something to him, and that he wouldn't expect me over there anymore.
My phone sounded, pulling me from my thoughts.
Alan.
"Hi," I answered, hoping to sound enthusiastic.
"So, I'm at the store, but they don't have red peppers, only green, is that okay?"
My heart broke at the excitement in his voice. It'd become a thing—him shopping for the ingredients. After the fourth time I showed up with groceries in hand, he knew to expect me. He asked me to write out the ingredients for the Taco Casserole and made me promise I'd never buy them again. He said that it was bad enough that I was feeding him every other Sunday; I shouldn't have to be using my hard-earned money to do so.
"Green's fine," I told him. I wanted to ask him if Logan was going to be there, or ask him why he didn't tell me that Logan was back, but all I could say was, "I'll be there soon."
***
I let out a relieved sigh when I pulled into their house and no other cars were there apart from Alan's. I told myself on the drive over that I would just act as if nothing had changed. Logan wasn't here. He didn't exist. That was the way it'd always been with us, and that was the way it would stay. Yes, we discussed Logan, but never in the present tense. It was always about what he was like as a kid.
"Maybe you should look at helping out kids like Logan," Alan once said.
"What do you mean?"
"I know you want to get into nursing, but I see your compassion, your heart, your need to understand why he is the way he is. Maybe you should do something with that."
And that was all it took. Two days later, I'd decided to major in Child Psychology.
He opened the door before I could knock. His enthusiasm to see me always made me smile. No one knew I came here; we'd even decided to not tell my mom. It might have seemed odd to some people, and I could understand why, but every other Sunday, in the walls of this house, he gave me a piece of my life I never admitted to missing. He also gave me a father when my own seemed to no longer exist.
***
"I got you something," Alan said. He sat in his usual spot on the counter, drinking a beer while I made dinner. Just like the first time, only then, Logan was here.
"You don't need to get me things. Don't you think it's bad enough that you guys paid for my tuition?"
He raised his hand and got off the stool. "It didn't cost me anything. Besides, that was Logan's money, not mine. It was his choice what he did with it."
I rolled my eyes.
"Did Logan ever tell you about my Tina?"
I nodded.
He pulled out a wooden box and put it on the counter. "She was my girlfriend, all through high school and college."
I stopped chopping the peppers and wiped my hands on my dress, then leaned forward on the counter. Whatever he had to say, I wanted to give him all my attention.
He smiled at my movements, but it didn't reach his eyes. "She actually reminds me a lot of you," he said. "Not physically, but more . . . in your hearts. You're both so . . ." He paused, and thought for a second. "Genuine. Your hearts are genuine."
I didn't have the words; I stayed silent, in my own thoughts.
He pushed the box towards me. "This was hers. I want you to have it."
"I can't—"
"Make an old man happy," he cut in.
I took the box in my hands and flipped the lid open. Inside were dozens of bracelets, neon colored plastic ones, thick bangles, bright friendship bracelets, and a few chunky gold chain ones. I couldn't control my smile. "It's like the 80s threw up in here."
He threw back his head in laughter. "She loved them. She always had a wrist full of bracelets, kind of like you." He pointed at mine. He knew I wore them to hide something, but he never asked, and I never offered. That's why we worked as well as we did.
I took a few out of the box and put them on, shaking out my hands to get them comfortable. I had a good twenty on each arm. At first, I did it to hide what was there, and then it became habit to wear them. I was fully aware that they probably bought more attention to that area than if I didn't wear them at all. But like I said, habit.
"Are you sure you don't want to keep them? I mean, the sentiment is so much more valuable to you than if I were to have them."
He shrugged and took a swig of his beer. "What am I going to do with it, Amanda? Give it to my daughter? You're pretty much it for me."
My chest tightened at his words. Looking down at the box in front of me, I cleared the lump that'd formed in my throat. I wanted to tell him how much his statement touched me, and that it went both ways, that he had become like a father to me. I wanted to tell him how much these Sunday dinners meant to me.
