When the front door latches, the stillness of the house hits me. No family, no chaos. I’m alone. My heart clenches, and a long-forgotten ache crawls over my whole body. This feeling wraps around me like a wet blanket, cold and clinging to every surface it touches. This was my home for over a decade, it’s the longest I’ve ever lived anywhere, and now it’s empty. No one lives here anymore.
Walking to my childhood sanctuary, I’m nearly knocked over by the twenty-pound furball who pushes past to beat me to the top of the stairs. He cocks his head to the side and his mouth hangs open. Is he smiling?
Once at the top, he trots away and pushes a door open with his nose. The one that conceals my childhood bedroom.
The dog takes a running leap onto my bed. “Get off.” But the dog huffs, digs a little on the blanket, and circles around until he finally lays down in the center of the bed. Jerk-ass dog leaves me with no space.
Nonna never changed my room. It still has the old posters hanging on the wall and the dinosaur of a computer on my desk. Living in Nonna’s house meant I would never be hungry, that I would get slightly less criticism than the other kids, but never praise, and technology peaked before Y2K. Still, she loved me. I was cared for. When I moved out, she didn’t talk to me for three days, but she finally caved when she sent Aunt Dawn over with baked ziti.
I sit on the edge of my bed, and the dog huffs a little when I invade his space. “It was my bed first.” But the dog doesn’t care.
My cellphone has one missed voicemail. Nonna’s name flashes on the screen. If I listen to it, it will be the last time I hear her voice. What if she made the call as the plane was going down? Do I want to hear her cries of terror?
But the timestamp is earlier than the explosion. My thumb moves of its own accord, and her voice fills the room. Kingston perks up when he hears her voice and then puts his head down.
“Nico, don’t forget to bring in the mail and water my plants. The spider plant has been living in the kitchen for twenty-five years now. Don’t be the reason it dies. I love you and I’ll call when I get settled.” She pauses, but her voice catches with a hurried urgency. “Oh, there’s a girl who comes by the house a few times a day. She walks Kingston. Have you met him? There’s pictures all around the house, surely you had to know I have a dog. Anyway, her name is Jenny and she’s a fucking delight. Don’t shoot her.”
Then the call ends.
I’ve got to keep her dog and her spider plant alive? Fucking hell. That’s too much responsibility for one man to handle.
Chapter Three
Jenny
My shoes are too tight, and my bra is cutting into my ribs. I check my phone for the tenth time. Three dancing dots appear on the screen. The same ones that’ve been there the other nine times. I was supposed to be at a girls’ night. A bachelorette party for my former roommate. But so far, it’s a party for one. And it ain’t the bride-to-be.
I didn’t even want to go out. In fact, even though I always want the invitation, I don’t always want to go. Especially tonight. After the day I had, I kinda wanted to lay in bed, watch sad movies, and let the emptiness of the world hug me.
Nonna wasn’t my grandma, but I was closer with her than anyone in my actual family. I moved out here a few years ago when my dad got remarried. His new family didn’t want me around, and he went right along with them. And it wasn’t one of those overthinking situations either. No, they flat out said, “We don’t want you here anymore.”
At least they gave me a check to start my life anew on a different coast. New home, same old me.
Five years later, I’ve made a few temporary friends here and there, lots of co- workers, and a roommate I met online, but no one I really connected with. People come in and out of my life like one-hit wonders on the radio—catchy and entertaining, but quickly forgotten. I couldn’t be myself with any of them.
Today at Nonna’s house, I let my mask drop. Showing my real self to strangers. But I think having a gun waving in my face had something to do it with. Definitely not a situation I want to be repeated, even if it leads to new introductions.
My martini is looking sad—half drunk with a solitary olive floating at the top. I’m not a fan, but I want to look mature tonight. Fancy. And I guess I look the part, but it doesn’t feel like me.
A pretty redhead bounces over to the bar. She’s shorter than me, but the four-inch heels compensate for it. The bartender instantly turns around when she comes over. “Hey, Waverly.”
“Hey, Dylan. Picking up an extra shift?”
Inference skills activated: She’s his friend, or a regular at this place.
I’m trying to dissect this interaction when my phone buzzes.
Roommate: Hey girl. We decided to skip the bar tonight. I wanted a quiet night. I guess you aren’t on that group chat.
Me: Oh, I could swing by…
Jesus Jenny, take the hint. They don’t want you.
Three dots
Roommate: No, it’s okay. We want to keep it low key, and you’re kinda a lot. But see you at the wedding.
I toss my phone down. My fear of rejection has been activated. Don’t cry. Don’t be the sad girl crying at the bar. Sure, the abandonment trigger has gone off in my brain. The ‘no one likes you’ chorus is loud. Intrusive thoughts are little fucking assholes.
