A second later, she’s slamming the door shut. I don’t hear a thank you or a goodbye, but I see her mouth move and assume the words passed her lips. She can try being an ass all she likes. Underneath all the shitty attitude, she’s still the same girl who taught Lena her ‘please and thank you’s over imaginary tea and crumpets with their stuffed animals when they were little.
I know that’s how the lesson went down because Lena held onto Mrs. Harriet well into adulthood. A stuffed cat, so old and so thoroughly loved, she was missing an eye, and her tail was little more than a tuff of white stuck to her ass. Anytime we harassed Lena for hanging onto that rag of a toy, we heard the tale. Wasn’t until she got pregnant with Remmi and went on a massive sanitize everything kick, that Mrs. Harriet found her way to the garden. Where she was lovingly buried under a bed of tulips.
Liz isn’t the only freak of nature in that family.
I lower the passenger side window and call out, “You going to let me know when you’re headed back?”
She slows her steps. For a second, I think maybe she’ll keep going, disappear inside like she didn’t hear me. Then, right beforeshe reaches the sliding doors, she turns around. “Does it matter when I’m headed back? One way or another, we’re going to cross paths. We’ll be sharing an address before the week is over.”
I mutter a few choice words under my breath. No need for her to realize she’s driving me crazy already. That is her goal, after all. “You’re not interested in being picked up from the airport?”
For a second her face lights up. Then, she twitches her nose, like she’s been reprimanded. If I had to guess, all this silence I’m getting is due to a stern talking to she’s giving herself inside her head.
Finally, she opens her mouth again, “Fun though it would be to ask you to come get me from the airport, I won’t be flying back.”
“You’re driving?”
“I am.” Her gaze moves sideways, like she’s looking for my hang up with this newest announcement. “I have a car. And I can bring more stuff with me this way.”
“That’s a long drive.” I shouldn’t care. I probably don’t care. “Are you going to ask a friend to tag along?” I do care. Fuck.
“Sure.”
“Liar.”
“Whatever. Can I go inside, or what?”
I shake my head. “Like you care if I say yes or no either way.”
“There is that.” She smirks, turns and gives a backward wave as the doors close to swallow her whole.
While I get to come to terms with the newest murky charcoal layer of my grey-black reality. Liz is making a forty-hour drive across the country by herself. In a shitty, old-ass sedan she's had since she first got her driver's license. Less than a month after her sister and my best friend were killed in a car accident. Seems reasonable. And not at all like I should let it mess with my head.
At least I won’t fucking know when she’s doing it. Given she’s determined to go it alone until it’s absolutely necessary to include me in things, I doubt she’ll be in touch until we’re both staying at Serendipity Ranch.
Lena named it that.
We’ll never be able to change it.
It’s a bittersweet thing, having them tied so intrinsically into every fiber of my life. Our lives. They’ll always be with us. And we’ll never be able to escape their absence.
I sigh out loud, trying to shake free from another endless spiral of thoughts leading nowhere but down. Liz is on her way home to dismantle her current life. Might as well start doing the same on my end.
My mother is as good a place to start as any.
I glance at the clock. It’s close to noon. On a Monday. Right around when she’ll be showing up at The Raleigh, my father’s first bar and the only one my mother frequents for lunch because it’s the only place on earth that serves grilled cheese sandwiches like my father used to eat. Prepared with three different types of cheese, guacamole, pretzels, and a fried egg in the middle.
I don’t know how many beers it took to come up with that concoction, but it’s been on the menu since before I was old enough to read. The Earl-led Cheese. Named for the first cook who was willing to throw that abomination on a plate. Not my father, whose name was Peter. No one wants to eat a Peter-ed sandwich.
Hence, come noon, that’s where my mother will be, having an Earl-led Cheese, and for a few bites, feeling like my father’s still around.
I should get there right around the time she’s being served. Whether that will end up working in my favor or not, remains to be seen.
In any event, I take the onramp and head for downtown. Less than twenty minutes later, I’m pulling into the parking lot, parking my truck in the very back under the maple trees lining the lot, and walking inside.
“Thought I might find you here,” I greet her, waving at Carl behind the bar as I pull out the stool beside my mother and join her.
“Oh?” As expected, she has a grilled cheese sandwich sitting in front of her. Untouched, steam still rolling off the crisp, golden crust. “I must admit, I’m a little surprised to see you out and about today.”
