Don't Kiss the Bride

A long time ago, this house was home to what I thought was a happy family. But laughter turned to yelling, which led to divorce. My dad moved out when I was seventeen and Erin was nine. I spent most of my time partying. I drank a lot, got high a lot, and got into trouble a lot. I moved out when I was eighteen. Five years later, my mom was battling cancer and I left my dingy apartment to move back in—with the promise of getting my shit together to take care of her and my sister.

My mom got better, but Erin turned into a bit of a wild child that our mother couldn’t handle. Wanting to be the cool older brother, I became more of a friend, and I let my sister’s antics slide.

Then she was gone.

My mother sank into grief, then met a man who swept her off her feet, as the saying goes. She wanted a new beginning. Away from this town, this house, and anything that reminded her of her past—including me. She signed the house over to me and left the next day, becoming the third person to disappear from my life.

If I’d been there for my sister like I should’ve been, maybe she wouldn’t have disappeared. Our mother wouldn’t have run away. I wouldn’t feel guilty, worthless, and abandoned. Who knows, maybe I wouldn’t have a fear of relationships and I’d be living in this three-bedroom, two-and-a-half bath house on two acres with a wife and kids, and my mom and sister would be coming over for Christmas dinner.

I jump on my motorcycle and ride to my favorite place in the mountains, trying to forget about the empty pink room, but the voice is still in my head, just like it has been for the past week. What started as a crazy idea has taken on a life of its own. The more it sits in my brain marinating, the less crazy it seems, and the more right it feels

I can make things better.

I haven’t talked to Skylar since I saw her at her house a week ago. I’ve seen her walking to and from the school parking lot, and we’ve waved at each other. But that night, guilt stalked me all the way home from her house. It’s been hanging around ever since. Watching me. Staying out of sight, but making its presence known.

Even the hot shower I took when I got home that night couldn’t wash away the stench of rotting food—or whatever the hell that smell was—out of my nostrils. Sleep didn’t banish the images of the deadbolts, the piles of trash, and the sadness and anxiety in Skylar’s eyes.

It all felt so gross, hopeless, and wrong.

And ultimately, not in any way, shape, or form is any of it my problem or concern.

But just like when I discovered Cassie—a tiny, dirty puppy all alone at an empty job site—I can’t get myself to walk away. I tried with the puppy. For three days I watched her stumbling around in the leaves. I ignored her whimpers and her huge, sad brown eyes, assuming she could take care of herself, or someone else would step in and help her. That didn’t happen. Finally, I snatched her up to take her home for the night because it was chilly, and I was afraid she’d freeze.

One night, my ass.

That was four years ago.

I pull my phone out of my pocket and send Skylar a text.

Me: Hey, Sparkles.

Skylar: Hi Lucky.

Me: Are you at work today?

Skylar: Yes, I am. Are you the job police? ;-)

I laugh and type back:

Me: No. ;-) Can we go for a drive when you’re done with work?

Skylar: You want to drive my car again, don’t you?

Me: LOL yeah. But I also want to talk to you.

A few seconds pass before she replies.

Skylar: Is it something bad?

Me: No.

Skylar: Okay. If you want to come to the shop at 3:30, we can go for a drive.

I wait in the parking lot, smoking and leaning against the hood of her car. I don’t want Rebecca to think something’s going on between me and Skylar, but I really want more of those gooey chocolate chip cookies.

Me: Any chance you can snag me some of those cookies? ;-)

Skylar: LOL. Sure! I’ll be out in five.

She comes out right on time, still looking a little pale, but more energized than the last time I saw her. Today she’s wearing her fringe moccasins, jeans fashionably ripped from mid-thigh to her knee, and a fuzzy black sweater with little feathers that looks like a crow exploded on it.

This chick has the weirdest, coolest clothes I’ve ever seen.

She approaches me with a big smile and hands me her keys along with a little blue bag of cookies.

“I feel like you only want to see me for my car and cookies,” she teases when we climb in.