CHAPTERONE
Hendrix
Everything in Californiawas either green or dead.
That didn’t count the people or buildings, of course, but the trees. No one had yards unless they were exceedingly rich, which wasn’t the worst thing in the world, but the change from Brixton to Los Angeles was jarring. And that was on a good day.
It had been months since I moved to the West Coast. So much time had passed, my ex-boyfriend Rome and I had even begun to rekindle a tentative friendship with each other. Losing Rome as a partner was a mutual decision, even if I’d been the one to instigate the final call. While I knew—we both knew—being nothing more than friends was the right space for us, the loss of him had been hard.
Rome and I spent two years together, sharing beds and sharing lives, and I’d loved him. I still loved him, but in a different way. More than that, I was thankful for him. Because Rome had tiptoed into my life and we’d had great times together, he’d also shown me what I wanted from a partner. What I wanted was…not him. He’d always carried a torch for his ex-boyfriend, Max, and knowing they were reunited made me happy, if not a little mournful because I wanted that too. That companionship, that intimacy, that safety.
But every time I tried to be happy, my eyes caught sight of a palm tree, green and sharp against a bright blue sky in the middle of November, and I just…
I missed home.
The nights were more bearable and since California didn’t know anything about seasons beyond all-year-round-summer, I found my favorite time of day to be after work, after dinner, on a shitty plastic patio chair in the back yard of the house my company was renting for me until I found a place of my own. The patio set on the small concrete pad at the back of the house looked like it had been around since the 1980s. In fact, I vaguely recalled my parents having one quite similar to it, with the metal chairs and the thin white strips of plastic making the seat.
I sat in one chair with my feet propped up on another, a glass of red wine in my hand. There wasn’t much to look at because the yard couldn’t have been more than a few hundred square feet in size. Surrounded by six-foot tall, wood-planked fences, the whole space felt more like a prison than a recreational refuge, but I couldn’t see palm trees so that was a win.
“I think I hate it here,” I muttered to myself.
I missed the familiarity of small town life. I missed my friends. I missed the coffee shop that knew how I liked my tea. I missed the weather. I missed my bed. Though, it wasn’t mine anymore. I’d sold off what I didn’t want to bring with me before the move because my work’s generous relocation budget had enough set aside to not only rent me this place, but also buy me whatever I needed once I was out of the house.
The real estate market in Los Angeles was intense, though, and I didn’t think I was in a position to buy so readily and paying rent felt dirty. I’d take advantage of the corporate rental for as long as HR would allow. I had a year total, but I was already a quarter of the way through it. I knew I had to get my life together and get my head on straight. This was my new life, whether I liked it or not.
“But the weather is…not horrible,” I said, leaning back and closing my eyes.
One of the plastic strips that made the seat of my chair crumbled, splitting apart beneath the back of my thighs. The plastic had finally given way, and it was a quick chain of events after that. One strip crumbled, then two quickly snapped, unable to bear the re-distribution of weight. Three after that, and then the seat beneath me all but evaporated, sending my ass straight through to the concrete below. The collapsed chair sandwiched me in half, wine glass flying out of my hand and shattering against the ground.
“Shit.”
“You all right, buddy?” a voice called from the other side of the fence.
“I’m fine. It’s fine. Just…” I trailed off, busy trying to extricate myself from the tangled mess that had moments before been my chair.
“Doesn’t sound fine.”
“My chair broke.” I braced my arms on the metal arm rests and tried to push down, levering myself out of the seat, but that only unbalanced the weight, causing the entire chair to fall onto its side, taking me with it. “I’m fine.”
“You sound like you’re really exerting yourself over there. But whoever made this fence did a really good job and I can’t see you through the cracks.”
That was a small miracle.
“I’m really fine.”
“I can drag my chair over and hop the fence if you need help. You really sound like you need help, buddy.”
“I’m not your buddy,” I shouted, finally managing to extract myself from the tangled mess of the chair. “You sound like you could be my kid.”
“You have kids?”
I sighed, kicking the chair off the concrete and into the grass. “I don’t have kids.”
“Then how do I sound like someone who doesn’t exist?” The neighbor asked, every word out of his mouth colored with the hint of a laugh.
“I don’t need your help,” I snapped, my attention falling to the red wine stain and the shards of glass. “And I’m not your buddy.”
That drew a laugh out of him and he slapped his hand against the fence twice. “Alright, buddy. Good luck then.”
