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Walt
Everieisstillpulling away. I can’t prove it because she’s been busy with the play. She says all the right things when we’re together, but there’s still a vacancy in her gaze that bothers me. Tucker tells me not to push too hard, but I feel like I’m moments from locking her in my room until she confesses.
Almost three weeks is far too long to keep me in the shade; I can’t say dark because she’s been the master of half-truths lately. She explained that her jealousy lied in not knowing the old me well enough to provide comfort when I was lost, but I need her to focus on the Walt that’s in front of her.
My gut tells me her issues run well beyond a moment of jealousy since it was a slight moment that feels like it happened damn near a month ago. I’m just counting down the days the play will be over so I can deep dive.
The sun is making it impossible to stay asleep. I’d gone to bed alone. She must have climbed in with me in the middle of the night. Her body warms my side, and I can smell her shampoo. Normally, I’d roll over and make her regret being away from me for so long, but I’m not in the mood. The emotional barrier is fucking with my libido. I need to expel my energy differently. Rolling over, I throw my legs over the side of the bed and stand, allowing the sheet to fall off my naked body. I stop to frown at the sunny day while I stretch. Finally, I run my fingers through my hair, gathering it as I move towards the bathroom. I have it in a topknot before I make it inside.
My mind races as I groom myself, but I don’t allow it to linger on one thing. I step into my underwear and am pulling on my shorts when Everie comes in to pee. I still get a kick out of seeing her red hair, even if it’s just an internal thrill.
She watches me as I leave, but I have nothing to say. I’m not giving her the silent treatment, but I don’t have the energy to engage. I want answers she’s not ready to give and I feel like if I speak, I’ll go back to the issue.
My mood is not completely dark. It’s in the gray area where things are feeling heavy, pulling me into one of those moments where I just exist. The girls look surprised when I pass, making me realize I didn’t even bother with putting on a shirt. Rowe looks up from some paperwork and he purses his lips as if he recognizes my state of mind. I hate it. Not because he can read me, but because I’d prefer for him to have a happier life to where he couldn’t recognize the feeling. He tilts his head towards the stairs that lead down to the gym. I give a slight nod in acknowledgement but pass without much comment to any of them.
I need to fight my way out of my mood. Mayhem isn’t available in case my girlfriend plans to slip out like she’s been doing all this time. Soon, I find out why Rowe motioned towards the gym. My other half just finished changing clothes.
Whit looks at me and moves into the ring, holding the rope for me to follow. I secure my last glove in time to barely dodge and be clipped by one of his blows. My smile breaks out because I somehow remember that we used to do that with each other. There is no such thing as a fair fight in reality.
I dance around the ring, cracking my neck as I plan my attack. We size each other up and as if we’ve reached some unspoken agreement; we opt to all-out brawl. I don’t know how long we’ve gone at it before the small crowd formed. With the size of the mansion and all the possibilities beyond these walls, one would think the six of us would have nothing better to do but be up under each other.
A glimpse of red hair was enough of a distraction for Whit to kick me square in the chest and knock me on my ass. I stare at the ceiling for a moment, pissed that I dropped my guard so easily. I growl as I jump up to resume the fight. Some of my hair escaped when I fell, but I push it out of my way and return my focus to my brother, pushing everything else away. The way I squint my eyes at him tells him to do his worst. He raises an eyebrow in a silent challenge, and we attack each other again.
Neither one of us stops until we’re too exhausted to continue. We fall on the mat, gasping for air. Eventually, we glance at each other and laugh a little.
Rowe comes into the ring with two bottles of water. “You two need to cool down after your geriatric showdown.”
Whit throws a glove at him, pulling out a grunt from Rowe when it hits his chest.
“We’ll fight next, you little rat,” I tell him between breaths.
Rowe clutches his chest like he’s touched as he lowers himself between us on the mat. “He calls me a little shit and you call me a little rat. I’m beyond touched by these thoughtful nicknames.”
“How about I just stick with Rowe-lee Poly?” I tease him with his childhood nickname.
He balks and looks in Sparrow’s direction. “Rat or little shit will do.”
Leave it to my son to be the one who makes me laugh and somewhat lifts my mood. I sober quickly because I know without looking that Everest is gone again.
One good thing about the past few weeks is I’ve had time to rediscover my love for music. Especially George Michael. He, according to Whit, was by far my favorite artist. As I hum along while Whit and Moonlight make lunch, I can see how I felt that way.
Father Figure filters in and I feel like dancing. Since my partner isn’t currently acting like one, I grab the closest person. I spin Sparrow, then dance with her as I sing along with the song. I’m sure if I looked at her face, I’d see all of her teeth based on the way Rowe is staring intently at her, possibly counting all of her infractions.
I dip her towards the end and spin her to Rowe. They’re stuck in the middle of a stare down as I dance alone to Everything She Wants. Halfway through, I realize Whit is singing it with all his soul. I can see how this song speaks to him. That is another thing I hate, the idea that he endured a terrible marriage because his ex-wife was obsessed with me. It still feels like it’s all my fault.
“Great. It’s an old man dance party.”
Whit points at Rowe. “I was waiting for your next dig so I could present this moment.” He’s almost to the television when it turns and looks at me. “Tell me if you remember this, Walt.”
Whit starts a video, and it’s us singing Tearing up my Heart with a five-year-old Rowe dancing and singing his heart out. Both Moonlight and Sparrow coo about how cute it is, but Rowe is not convinced.
Whit cuts it off after a snippet of It’s Gonna be Me started. “Aww man! Too bad y’all probably can’t still do it, anyway.”
We all look at Sparrow like she’s lost her mind.
“Of course, we still know it. What kind of question is that?” I ask as I reach for the remote control.
“I’m with Sparrow. Impossible. Rowe isn’t going to cooperate,” Moonlight adds with a shrug.
Rowe looks at them. “Push play, Zombie Dad.”
He pushes his white hair out of his face and rolls his shoulders like we’re prepping for a big game. We get in place as I marvel at how the brain works. This I remember, but not big stuff. Rowe starts off doing Justin Timberlake’s part while we dance to the music, hitting all the moves in the choreography. We switch positions like they did in the video, so I can do JC’s part. We’re having fun, getting into the song as the girls’ cheer like they’re at an actual boy band concert. When we switch so Whit can do Justin’s other part, something compels me to look back. Everie is off to the side doing the choreography with such a serious look on her face one would think she’s giving an actual concert.
The unexpected sight has me stopping to laugh at the cuteness of it all. She looks at me with big eyes and backs out of the room to disappear somewhere in the mansion again. I stand in the same spot with my hands on my hips, wondering if I should go after her or let her be. My normal programming would have me running in the direction she just disappeared, but today it’s just a reminder that I’m tired of doing all the chasing.
