Sweet Talk by Cara Bastone
Chapter Twelve
Jessie
I’m elbow-deep in tepid bathwater when my phone buzzes in my pocket. I immediately dry off and make a grab for it. It might be Pops and, yeah, it might be Eliot. It’s the little things that are bringing me joy these days.
I frown at my phone because it’s not a phone call, it’s a text, and it wasn’t who I was hoping it was from. It’s from my cousin Tasha.
Need some backup, it reads.
I groan when I look at the picture attached to it. It’s my brother, Jack, passed out on her living-room floor.
This is absolutely not what I need right now.
Be there in an hour, I text her back. I can’t leave before I unclog this tub for my neighbor, Miss Cynthia, and Tasha’s apartment is a few neighborhoods up in South Williamsburg so I’ll need a little time.
She texts me back a thumbs-up and I send up a silent prayer of thanks that Tasha’s living-room floor is the one that Jack picked to pass out on. We’re not that close but she’s always been really kind about the type of drama that seems to be written into Jack’s DNA.
I finish snaking the drain and then quickly wash up.
“All done, honey?” Miss Cynthia asks as I walk through her kitchen.
“Yup, should be good.”
She gestures toward a plate on the table in front of her. My payment for getting out of bed at 6:45 a.m. to fix her bathtub is a double-decker sandwich on toasted rye. Since I’ve moved in here, I’ve learned that her sandwiches absolutely kick ass. But that wasn’t what had me answering the door this morning. It was knowing that Pops wouldn’t have even made her knock twice. He’d have been answering the door on the first knock.
Gotta take care of the neighbors.How many times has he said this to me over the course of my life?
I’ve never lived anywhere but Queens or Kings County, and neither has Pops, but he’s convinced that if you’ve never broken bread with the people next door, then you’re not doing New York right.
After Mom left and our family unit went from four to three, Dad started taking extra care to connect with our neighborhood. I think he was under the impression that if we took care of them, they’d take care of us. And maybe he’s on to something. Because Miss Cynthia’s bathtub is in full working order again and I’ve got a breakfast sandwich to go.
It’s a gorgeous spring morning, and I’d love nothing more than to take my bike up to Tasha’s, but I’m assuming I’m going to have to drag my brother’s drunk ass home. So, instead, I grab the keys to Pops’s van and fight traffic north.
Forty minutes later Tasha answers her door with a grim little smile. The smile is for me. The grimness is for the state of my miserable brother.
“Dammit.” I can’t help but sigh when I see him. He’s in the exact same position he was in in the picture Tasha sent me so I’m assuming he hasn’t moved at all for the last hour. “He passed out like that?”
“Yeah. He was absolutely blitzed when he showed up at my door.”
“Why’d he come here?”
Any trace of a smile leaves her face now and she looks like she really doesn’t want to tell me. Her lack of response gives me all the answer I need.
“He was hitting you up for money, wasn’t he?”
She gives me a single nod.
Tasha runs a really popular relationship and sex advice podcast and has become something of a minor celebrity over the last few years. She’s definitely our most successful family member, but it’s not like she’s rolling in it or anything.
“Tell me you didn’t give him any.”
“Of course not! Especially not while he was this drunk. If he still needs it when he sobers up then—”
“He doesn’t, Tash. He doesn’t need it. His job pays him more than enough for anything he could possibly need. And if he needs more, that means he pissed his paycheck away or he’s working up some sort of scheme again. Don’t give him any.”
She chews her lip. “I was just wondering if your dad’s care facility was putting some strain on you guys.”
“It’s not putting a strain on Jack.” The words aren’t bitter in my mouth. Just heavy with sadness.
“You’re paying for all of it by yourself?”
I shrug, not wanting to get into it. “Pops is on Jack’s insurance from work. So, as long as Jack keeps his job, then we’ve decided to call it even. We’re all doing our part.”
She looks like she wants to argue with me on that one, but Jack starts stirring and for the next fifteen minutes, he gets all of our attention while we drag him up off the floor.
I’m strong, and so is Tasha, but it is a holy miracle that we manage to schlep my ridiculous brother down the stairs of her walk-up and into the van. He’s a groaning rag doll as I buckle him into the back seat. My muscles are burning, my toes are stubbed, I’m sweaty and frustrated, and tears start pricking at the back of my eyes.
“Tash, I’m so sor—”
“Don’t apologize,” she cuts me off, a hand on my shoulder. “If you apologize for his behavior, that means that you’re taking some responsibility for it. And the only person who should be taking responsibility for it is this dumbass. When he sobers up, tell him he owes me an apology.”
“I will.”
She gives me a quick, tight hug and watches from the curb while we drive away. Tasha is good people.
It’s after I’ve driven three blocks back toward Pops’s apartment that I remember I can’t, under any circumstances, bring Jack there. He burned that bridge to the ground. He can never go back there. Which means that I have no other choice but to bring him back to his place. Which means I’m gonna have to see . . .
“Dammit, Jack! You absolute asshole!” I pound once on the steering wheel and glare at him passed out in the backseat.
I make it to Jack’s half an hour later and park up on the curb in front of his basement apartment in Queens. I pound on the door of his apartment, wanting nothing more than to get this over with as quickly as possible.
Trent, Jack’s roommate, opens the door with no shirt on. Because apparently he’s still allergic to shirts.
His eyes widen and then go sly when he sees it’s me. “Hey, girl.”
He thinks I’m here for him. I’d rather be scuba-diving through puke. I should probably mention that Trent is an ex-boyfriend. A recurring one. But the last time we broke up three years ago, I swore it was the last time, and it’s stuck. I know he’s just waiting for the day I come tap-dancing back to him, but see the aforementioned puke reference. It’s never going to happen.
“Your roommate is passed out in my van. Come get him.”
I turn on my heel and walk back to the van, yanking the sliding door open and unbuckling Jack. Trent appears at my side, stomping the back of his heels into some boots and tugging a tank top down. Tattoos cover almost every inch of his chest and arms, even more than when we were dating. At a glance, I can see two different girls’ names that didn’t used to be there. I don’t check to see if he’s still got my name on the opposite shoulder. I honestly couldn’t care less.
To Trent’s credit, he doesn’t complain as he single-handedly heaves Jack into the house. I stand at the front door and watch as Jack crumples back onto the living-room couch with a groan. My work here is done.
“Thanks,” I say to Trent, because I honestly couldn’t have dragged Jack into the house by myself. “Later.”
I’m at the driver’s side door of the van when Trent catches up to me.
“Hey! Where are you going so fast? Stay for breakfast.”
Unless he’s undergone drastic changes in the last three years, breakfast is likely going to be rubbery scrambled eggs covered in ketchup. I point to Miss Cynthia’s wrapped-up sandwich in my front seat. “I’m good.”
“All right, stay for coffee, then.”
“Trent, I’m really good.” I slide into the front seat. When I roll down the window, he’s standing there with his arms crossed just glowering at me.
“You should come around more,” he tells me. “Your brother’s been having a tough time.”
I know that Trent’s telling the truth, but he’s always been good at telling the truth in the most painful way possible. He’s honest, but not kind. That’s probably why we were so drawn to one another back in the day. We used to have that in common. I, on the other hand, have been working on the kindness part these last three years.
“I’ll call him this week.” I start the van, but Trent puts one hand on the rolled-down window to keep me from driving away.
“He thinks you hate him.”
That takes some of the wind out of my sails. I don’t hate my brother. I could never. It’s true that even before Eliot came into my life recently, I’ve been taking some steps back from Jack. I love him forever. But the man is draining. Frustration is boiling in my gut right now, and Trent is the very last person I want to be talking to. “That’s ridiculous. I’ve just needed a break from his drama for a while.”
I realize a second too late that I’ve said that very same sentence before about Trent himself. To his face. When we broke up.
His face pulls tight. “Sounds familiar.”
“Yeah? Well, I’m sorry that it’s true.”
Trent steps back and lets the car go. He’s shaking his head as I drive away. I’ve gotten the last word and I wish I hadn’t. I didn’t go there to fight with Trent. Especially because he’s got this twisted idea that fighting is quote-unquote “our thing.” He seems to think that whenever we fight with one another it’s keeping our spark alive. In reality, it just exhausts me. And makes me sad. I’m friends with a few of my exes, and considering Trent is Jack’s best friend, it would be nice if the two of us could be friends, too.
But I just don’t see that happening. He’s too combative. Too convinced that we’ll get back together someday. And if I’m being honest, he’s too mean. He’s got his soft moments, but when he gets mad, truly mad, there’s nothing he won’t say to win an argument. I’m never going back there again.
As I’m driving, I switch off the radio and just think. Ever since I took over Pops’s job, it’s the rare moment when I get to just think. There’s always someone calling me needing this or that, or I’m hauling ass up to his care facility to spend time with him. It’s nice to just let my brain wander wherever it wants.
My crush taps a high heel against the floor and gaudily shuffles a deck of cards to get my attention. Of course my brain goes there. I can’t help but think of Eliot. A ridiculous fantasy enters my brain. It’s Thanksgiving, and I’m sitting at the table with Pops, Jack, and Trent, like we usually do. Only this time, there’s another person at the table. Eliot is sitting next to me.
I almost laugh at the absurdity. I mean, Pops would like Eliot a lot. I’m sure of it. For starters, Pops likes anyone who’s nice to me. But Pops especially likes people who are goofy, not too self-serious, easy-going. The way Jack used to be.
It would be fun to have Eliot and Pops in the same room. But what about Eliot and Trent?
“Ha.” I can’t help but say it out loud. Trent would burst a blood vessel if I brought clean-cut, beautiful, white-toothed, friendly-smiling, polite, generous, sweet Eliot around. When I’m talking to Eliot, it’s like a fluffy white cloud surrounds me. I imagine having that Eliot cloud when Trent is near. Would it be like protective gear? Would it keep me from getting singed? I don’t know him all that well, but I bet Eliot would love to be that person for somebody. He would love to be their cloud of protective happiness and support. It sounds like heaven.
My smile fades. Because I imagine the last combination of people: Eliot and Jack.
That’s the one that no matter how I imagine it, will never work. They can never be in the same room together. Eliot can never figure out who my brother is.
I rest my head on the steering wheel at a stoplight.
If Jack hadn’t done what he did, would I have already told Eliot who I am? Would we have already made plans to meet up? Would we have gone on a date? Kissed already?
Would I have a future with this guy I have such a monumental crush on?
I park the car back at Pops’s apartment and pull out my phone. I go to Eliot’s contact information and just look at it. My urge is to call him.
But I shouldn’t. I know I shouldn’t. There are only very small parts of Eliot Hoffman that I’ll ever be allowed to have. And honestly, I should learn to be grateful for what I’ve got.