Page 11 of Silver Linings

six

. . .

I’m walking to work, Hozier crooning through my earbuds, when I feel my phone buzzing in my back pocket.

Mom.

I stop in my tracks and stare at my mother’s face beaming back at me from the caller I.D.

I’ve been dodging my family’s calls since I moved back to New York, and I don’t break that habit now as I stare at the screen, waiting for the call to go to voicemail.

A knot forms in my throat, making my mouth feel thick.

It’s official—I’m the world’s shittiest son.

It makes me the worst sort of coward, to move across the country without giving them a reason and then not answer their calls.

I just can’t stand to hear their disappointment.

It’s selfish, but I can’t face them yet.

I pocket my phone once the call drops and finish the last few blocks to work while trying to shake the lingering feeling of anxiety I always get when I’m faced with the reality of my family. How fractured I left it.

I run down to the basement to my office to grab the supplies to start on Silver’s ceiling damage.

I turned off the water pipe the leak was coming from so the water wouldn’t continue to drip through and onto her bed.

Luckily for both of us, it was a pipe connected to an apartment that was having work done.

No one knew there was a leak, so the outside contractors were running water pretty frequently for a couple weeks.

That leak was right above Silver’s apartment, soaking into the wood and drywall until it all came bursting down.

As I make my way up to the fifth floor, I solidify my resolve and pray to the universe that this time when she answers the door, she has on more than a towel. I knock on the door to her apartment and take a step back while I wait for her to answer.

“Just a minute,” she shouts just before a loud thudding and, “SON OF A B–”

The door flies off its hinges, and then she’s standing before me, looking wild and beautiful and very out of breath.

“Are you okay?” She is thankfully dressed, though today’s outfit of painted on workout leggings that hug her hips in a way that should be illegal and a cropped band tee is almost as bad as the towel.

“Yes, perfect. Just tripped over my dignity on the way to the door.”

I stare at her, unsure of what to say. Her wild hair is piled on top of her head in a haphazard bun with what looks like a…paintbrush sticking out of it?

“You have something in your hair.” I point to her platinum nest.

“What?” She pats around her head until she feels the brush. “Oh, that’s just my eyeshadow brush. I was doing my makeup when you knocked.”

We’re staring at each other, me on one side of the door and her on the other.

“Can I come in?”

She snaps back to herself and shoots me a smile. “Sorry, I got lost in thought for a minute. Come in.” She motions me forward while stepping out of the way. I take an exaggerated step over the threshold, and she cocks her head to the side, giving me a questioning look.

“I didn’t want to step on your dignity.” I smirk and walk further into her apartment. Much like it was the first time I was here, the space feels warm and inviting, with its intricate crown molding, colorful rug, pink couch, and bookshelves lining the walls.

“I need to spend some time in the affected area. Is that okay? I don’t want to be in your way while you go about your day.” There, that sounded professional.

“I’m working from home today, so I can just stay in the living room while you work.”

That would be preferable. Out of sight out of mind.

“I’m going to get started. Is it okay if I head into your bedroom?”

“Yeah, of course. I’m just going to finish getting ready in the bathroom, and then I’ll get out of your hair.”

I trail after her into her bedroom and survey the landscape like I’m looking for bombs in the form of red lace.

I’m equal parts relieved and disappointed.

I’m not sure what’s going on in my head, why it feels so jumbled when she’s around, but all I need to do is finish this job, and then I won’t have to see her so often.

I tell myself it’s just because it’s been awhile , my body reacting to being attracted to someone for the first time in years, and it’s sending very mixed signals to my brain.

I head over to the far part of her bedroom and set my tools down on the oak floors. Looking around, I see Silver leaning over her bathroom sink, her paintbrush in hand, and a look of extreme concentration on her face.

She looks up, and our eyes lock through the mirror’s reflection. She shoots me a smile, one full of implications. I caught you looking. Do you like what you see?

I clear my throat and look back towards the ceiling. “I’m gonna move your bed so I can strip the ceiling to dry it out. Is there anything you need to get from over here,” I motion to the section of her bedroom that looks like it occasionally doubles as an office, “before I block your path?”

“Just my iPad.” She sticks the brush back in her bun and sways over to her corner desk to grab the device. “I’ll be out in the living room if you need anything.”

I nod.

She leaves me in her bedroom, and I shift her furniture before getting to work, stripping back layers of paint and sheetrock so beyond salvaging, it’s better to gut it all and replace it with fresh material.

If I look deeply enough, I know there’s a parallel between the damaged ceiling and the last two years of my life.

I’m the one who needs to be gutted and have my insides replaced to become a different version of myself, a shiny new edition that doesn’t taint everything and everyone around him.

A version that doesn’t feel like it’s been through multiple rounds of a meat grinder.

I cut into the wall and tear a piece out, dropping it in a ruined heap on the floor.

It’s around lunch time, and I’ve almost fully gutted the section of the ceiling containing the damage.

It was a hell of a lot worse than I thought, and I’m drenched in sweat and debris as I climb down the ladder to grab the bottle of water Silver brought me a half hour into starting.

I guzzle it down as I raise my shirt to wipe off the sweat coating my entire face.

“Hey, do you want something to ea— wow .” Silver halts her steps as she walks through the doorway to her bedroom, mouth gaping like a cute fish. I smirk because, while I didn’t mean for her to see me lift my shirt, her reaction certainly gives me a bit of an ego boost.

“Mouth closed, Sunshine. You’re starting to drool.” She snaps her mouth shut and looks up at me with a challenge in her verdant eyes, arms crossed over her chest.

“Well, I don’t know what else you expect from me. I’m a warm blooded woman with twenty-twenty vision, Harvey. It’s like putting a slab of steak in front of a lion.” I swear to God, I hear her whimper, and a tingly sensation shoots straight south.

“I apologize. I didn’t realize my bare stomach would cause such an uproar.”

“I’ll be alerting the church elders as soon as you leave. Expect a riot of pitchforks at your door in no more than two hours.”

I can’t help the light laugh that bubbles out.

It takes a second to register that it came from me, the sound as foreign to my own ears as it must be to her.

From the look on her face, you would think she won the lottery.

But whatever glee was on her face a minute ago fades once she looks towards her mangled ceiling.

Silver takes a step closer to the damage, and I have to fight the urge not to pull her away from it in case any loose debris falls. I lock my arms firmly behind my back.

“I’m going to cover it up while it dries so you don’t have to worry about any material falling.”

She just nods, top knot bouncing with the movement.

“I made lunch.” It’s such a complete one-eighty to what we were talking about that I’m caught off guard before I realize she means for me. She made lunch for me.

“You shouldn’t have done that.”

“It’s not a big deal. I was making food for myself, and I tend to make more than I ever need. Come on, it’s ready.”

Logically, I know I should turn her generosity away and leave for the day, but I find myself following her to the main living area and into her small galley kitchen, where I notice two baguette sandwiches. She reaches over into the refrigerator, grabs two bottles of water, and hands one to me.

“Thank you, for lunch and the water.”

“Don’t mention it.” She hands me a plate before hopping up to sit on the counter and digging into her own meal.

I take a bite then throw my head back and stifle a groan. “Jesus.”

Yeah, this is definitely better than the decade-old ramen packets I was going to eat.

She giggles to herself, the sound fizzy and light like bubbling champagne. “I know. It’s my Nan’s legendary chopped sandwich. She taught me how to make it when I was a teenager.”

“Chopped sandwich?”

She swallows a bite. “You put all the ingredients on a cutting board and start whacking away like a woman who’s ended up on an episode of Snapped.”

“Graphic,” I grimace.

She continues without hesitation. “Then, once everything is chopped and mixed thoroughly, you put it on your bread of choice. But Nan is adamant it’s always best on a fresh baguette, and I never argue with her.”

She speaks of her grandma with such fondness, it makes my chest ache a little bit.

“Are you close with her? Your nan,” I ask, knowing I shouldn’t.

A soft smile brightens her face. “She’s my best friend. Well, her and Kena. I miss her every day.”

“I’m sorry for your loss.” I’ve stepped in it; me of all people should know the delicacy around familial loss. It’s been all I’ve known the last two years.

“Oh, she’s not dead! She’s just living a promiscuous life in Florida now, so I don’t get to see her often anymore.

She raised me for most of my life.” There’s a brief sadness that flits across her features before it’s gone.

There’s a story there, one I have no business being curious about.

“When I started college, she decided to retire down south, and I lived here.”

“Well, please tell her hats off to the chef.”

“Why? I’m the one who made it while she gets sunburned on her ass today at the beach.”

I snort around another bite.

“Did you just move to the city?” She hops up on the counter as she takes a sip of her water, legs swinging back and forth.

I track their movement as they swing like a metronome, hypnotizing me, and then catch myself. “I went to college here but moved back home to the Seattle area after. I’ve been back for just over a month now.” That says enough without saying much of anything at all.

“How mysterious.” She eyes me skeptically, like she can sense there’s something I’m hiding. “Let me guess. You walked in on your lover slathering honey all over your boss, and you were so devastated, you had to change your name and skip town.”

“My boss was my sixty year old father.”

“Ooooh, age gap. Nice .” She waggles her eyebrows suggestively, and heat creeps up my neck. She notices the flush spreading over my skin and smiles like the cat who got the cream. I think she likes making me flustered.

“Do you usually say everything that comes to your mind?” I think I like that about her.

People tend to hold everything close to their chest, like the slightest bit of vulnerability is equal to embarrassment or shame, myself included.

My father taught me well. Since my brother’s accident, I don’t open up at all.

What right would I have, seeking comfort or absolution after what I did?

Most people in this world wouldn’t open up to you unless you gave them something in return. Not Silver. She seems to be an open book, unaware or unaffected by people’s perception of her.

It’s refreshing, like the first dip into the ocean after lying in the sun all day.

“Almost always.” She looks extremely pleased with herself, smiling over at me while she sits on her kitchen counter, swinging her feet back and forth.

The sight is so cute, my mouth involuntarily twitches up, which is exactly a thought I do not need to be entertaining.

“So, was I right?” I must look confused, because she clarifies a second later.

“Were you jilted, and that’s why you’re back in New York? ”

I clear my throat, throwing up my guard. “No.”

This is veering towards territory I do not want to talk about or expand on.

I start fumbling around her in the tiny kitchen, desperate to avoid this topic and her stare.

I set my cleared plate in the sink after rinsing it off and look everywhere but her earnest eyes, knowing somehow, it will be hard to look in them and have to lie.

There are things I can’t talk about, things I haven’t been able to broach for two years now.

So, I do what I’ve learned is the easiest course of action when uncomfortable. I run.

“I’m going to tarp your ceiling so nothing will fall on you while everything dries up.”

Silver looks like she wants to say something, but I turn on my heels and walk back toward her bedroom, finish today’s work, and high tail it out of there without so much as a backward glance.