Page 84 of Ink & Desire
“Because I would have sat beside you instead of across from you,” I say, my voice low and husky. “And I’d have tried to get you off in front of all these people without them knowing.”
Her eyes widen slightly, and she sucks in a breath. My name is a whisper on her lips, and I can’t help but close the distance between us for a kiss. It’s far less of a kiss than the one I’d like to give her right now, but it’ll have to do for now. She tastes like syrup and sunshine, and it makes me want to deepen the kiss until we’re both panting for air. But I remember where we are and reluctantly break the kiss, leaning back. Avery’s slightly dazed expression almost makes me laugh.
My phone buzzes where it rests face down on the table beside my plate. I turn it over to see Henley’s name on the screen. After a second’s hesitation, I hit the button to silence the buzzing. I don’t normally ignore phone calls from my sister, but I’m enjoying my morning with Avery, and I don’t want to interrupt it. Not even bytalking to one of the few people I actually like. Avery doesn’t comment on the phone call, but I see a small smile playing at the corner of her mouth as she sips her water.
I pick up my fork to finish eating, but my phone begins to buzz again. I see Henley’s name a second time and look up to see Avery’s knowing expression.
“Answer it,” she says. “I don’t want your sister to hate me because you won’t talk to her when I’m around.”
I smile. “Actually, she likes you,” I say, picking up the phone. “Give me a minute to see what she needs?”
She nods as I stand and make my way through the tables and out to a less congested area of the sidewalk.
“This better be good,” I say as a greeting.
“Nice of you to answer the phone,” Henley says, her voice bordering on angry.
“I was busy,” I say. “What’s up?”
“It’s Mom,” she says, the two words killing my good mood immediately.
My jaw clench is completely involuntary, as is the eye roll. “Yeah, she already called me this morning. Tell me you didn’t give her money, Hen.”
“Corbin, I’m worried about her,” Henley says. “She sounded really bad when we talked. Depressed.”
I work to reign in my temper. It’s not Henley’s fault she doesn’t know how awful our mother really is. I spent most of her childhood protecting her from it. Hiding the worst of it from her. When I moved out at 18, I made it seem like it was my idea for my 13-year-old little sister to come live with me. In reality, my mother had beenso drug-addicted during my last year of high school that I’d known she couldn’t care for Henley without me there. The truth was, she couldn't even take care of herself. After Henley and I left, she got evicted from the shitty apartment she was living in. But not before the electricity and water had been turned off due to lack of payment and she’d been arrested for shoplifting groceries.
Those first couple of years had been hard, but I’d somehow managed to keep Henley in school and keep a roof over our heads. Looking back, I still don’t know how we survived. I know I was hungry a lot back then. But she never was. I made sure of that.
“Henley, she’s always like that,” I say. “I’m sure she’s fine.”
“She wants to see me,” she says. “For my birthday. She remembered.”
“I know,” I say. “She told me.”
“Were you going to tell me?” Henley sounds defensive and maybe a little angry now.
Sighing, I run a hand through my hair. “Yeah, Hen. I was going to tell you later today. I just had things going on this morning.”
There’s a long pause before Henley speaks again. When she does, the anger is gone. It’s replaced by something that sounds more like resignation or sadness.
“Corbin, I know you don’t like her,” she says. “And that you don’t want to see her. And I respect your choice on that. But you can’t make mine for me anymore.”
She’s right. I know she is. But it doesn’t make the truth rankle any less.
“I know,” I say. “I’m not trying to make your decisions for you. I just don’t want to see you get hurt.”
“You don’t know that’s what will happen.”
She’s wrong, though. It’s what always happens. Mom comes back into our lives and pretends to be interested. She says she wants to be involved. She wants to be present. It lasts for a month or so before she falls off the wagon again or gets arrested or is found unconscious or incoherent on a city bus. I’ve had calls from hospitals, churches, and police stations all over Boston over the years. One of these days I’m afraid I’ll get a call to come identify her body after she overdoses or pisses off the wrong dealer.
The worst part is that there’s a small part of me that knows I’d feel relieved if it happened. Those are the moments when I hate myself the most. And no matter what my mother has done to me, I don’t want Henley to end up the same way. I don’t want those dark thoughts to be part of her life. But I know I can’t stop her from seeing our mother if it’s what she wants to do. So, no matter how much I know it will hurt later, I can’t keep protecting her from the truth. And that pisses me off more than anything else.
“You can see her if you want to, Hen,” I say. “It’s your choice. I won’t stop you. But I don’t want to see her anymore.”
“Are you mad at me?”
Her voice is small and reminds me of when we were kids and she used to intentionally drive me crazy. I’d eventually yell at her to go away and leave me alone. She’d sulk for a few minutes before coming back to my room and asking me in her tiny voice if I was mad at her. Which meant I could never stay mad at her for long.