The Families in Rossford

THE PRESENT YOU NEVER OPENED

CONTINUED

When Brendan finally woke with a fuzzy mouth, he turned around and looked at Sheridan, mouth wide open, sleeping on his back.

“Sheridan,” Brendan nudged him. “Sheridan.”

His friend stretched and muttered, “Hate sleeping in clothes.”

“Yeah,” Brendan shrugged. A light blanket was thrown over the both of them and he was in jeans and a tee shirt.

“Did we kill that entire bottle?”

Sheridan climbed off the bed and staggered to get his balance.

“Bren, we killed two bottles. Shit. I have to pee.”

“Well you know where the bathroom is,” Brendan told him as Sheridan went there.

Brendan decided it would be a good thing to make coffee and he remembered leaving some here three years ago. As Sheridan peed loudly and groaned, Brendan turned on the faucet and stumbled to make the coffee.

By the time Sheridan came out, Brendan informed him, “We’re gonna have coffee in a very few minutes.”

“You’re always taking care of me,” Sheridan said. “Even when I’m supposed to be taking care of you.”

He threw his arms around Brendan and half collapsed against him.

“I love you Bren. You know that right? You don’t ever have to feel alone cause I… I just fucking love you.”

“And I love you too, Sheridan, but you gotta get off me.”

“Too much emotion?”

“No, too much chocolate cake. I need to get in the bathroom. I hope there’s aerosal.”

“You’re so sexy,” Sheridan told him as Brendan went to the bathroom and shut the door.

The pot percolated and the smell of very old coffee filled the kitchen.

“I’m so glad I went in there before you, man,” Sheridan murmured.

“Sheridan!” Brendan called from the other side of the bathroom door. “Sheridan!”

Sheridan came to the door and said, “You need paper?”

“No… well, yes. Now that I think of it. Just leave it at the door. But the point is… I really appreciate you. I mean, I’m glad we’re… whatever we are.”

“Friends.”

“Yes. Yes,” Brendan said, reflexively. “But I always treated you like a little brother, and now we’re grown ups together. You know. We’re more than friends.”

“Yes, Bren,” Sheridan said. “Yes we are.”

Because he didn’t know what else to say, he said, “I’ll go and get you that paper.”

“Well, I don’t know if farmers eat like that or not,” Kenny said, “and I suspect you’re probably right and they don’t. But I gotta tell you; that was one good breakfast.”

As the waitress was coming back, she said, “Can I get you anything else? Was it all to your liking?”

“My colleague was just saying that this was one great breakfast,” Milo told her. “And I agree. I think all we need is the check.”

“I’ll be right back with that in a minute.”

“We should have told her to split it,” Kenny said, ruefully as she departed, but Milo said, “Don’t be crazy. I got this.”

“You’re a great friend.”

“Yes,” Milo agreed. “Yes, I am. And don’t you forget it.”

“I think what I really needed was just to talk about things. That always makes stuff better.”

“So, I would ask you what you’re going to do. But…”

“I have no clue,” Kenny said.

“That’s what I thought.”

“Here’s your check,” the waitress said. “Have a great day, guys.”

“We’re going to have to tip her well.”

“You’re going to have to tip her for her ass,” Kenny reminded him. “You already said so.”

“Is that twenty percent plus ten? I think that’s a fair ratio.” Milo said, opening up the little book with the check.

When they had paid and Kenny told the boy as the front desk to have a good day while Milo took a mint for himself and his friend, they turned around and nearly stumbled into the people entering.

“Shelley Latham,” Milo said in a voice that always disconcerted her. “And this is your lovely mother? And your uncle?”

“That’s right,” Shelley said. “Mother, this is Milo. His wife is best friends with Claire.”

“Good to meet you, Milo,” she said.

“And you,” Milo returned. “And you must be Sean,” Milo said.

“Yes,” Sean said. They all seemed so nervous around him, Milo thought.

“You already know my friend, Kenneth.”

“Yes,” Sean said. “Yes, we met the other night.”

“It’s good to see you again,” Kenny looked a shade paler than usual.

“You too Kenny. I hoped I’d see you again.”

“You can,” Milo interrupted.

“Wha?” Kenny began.

“We’re going to the movies this afternoon.”

“I wouldn’t want to horn in—”

“We have an extra ticket.”

“We—” Kenny began.

“Please come,” Milo continued. “Show starts at three.”

“I’ll…”

“Say you’ll be there,” Milo said.

“Fine,” Sean decided. “I will. I will be there.”

“Where?” Kenneth said, looking at Milo, face red.

“At the playhouse. On Demming.”

“They have movies at the playhouse?” Erin Latham said.

“No. It’s a play.”

“You said a movie,” Shelley said.

“I was wrong,” Milo told her. “It’s a play. It’s at three.”

He looked at Kenny and then said, “Now, let’s go.”

“We had a slumber party,” Brendan said, sounding a little bit like a kid.

“I haven’t had a slumber party since I was fresh and virginal,” Sheridan said.

“You and me both, kid,” Brendan told him, sipping his coffee.

“So what else do you want to do on the day after Christmas?”           

“I don’t want to do a thing,” Brendan said. “I guess we could straighten this place up.”

And then Brendan said, “Excuse me, I just roped you into helping all day.”

“Brendan, I have nothing better to do.”

Then Sheridan said, “Let me phrase this different: I would love to help you put your place together. Uh—” Sheridan interrupted himself, frowning.

“Wha?” Brendan put down his coffee cup.

Sheridan tossed the packet to him.

“It’s your Christmas present. You never opened it.”

“Oh, my bad. Here I go,” Brendan sat up and began unwrapping the present.

“Oh, snap! What’s this?” Brendan held the gift away from him, but by his smile he clearly knew what it was.

“It’s a journal. I thought you’d like it.”

“But how did you know?”

“I’ve seen you scribbling away lately. Sitting around filling steno pads. I know you write lots of stuff, and I thought that this would be a good place to put it in.”

Brendan put the journal away carefully, and folded his legs under him.

“Thanks, Sheridan. Thanks a lot. Can I tell you something?”

“Yeah, Bren.”

“I didn’t think anyone noticed.”

“I noticed.”

“I would like to write.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“I’ve been doing it a while. Only… it’s Layla’s thing so…”

“Brendan,” Sheridan said, “it’s not anybody’s thing. If you want to write, write.”

Brendan smiled at him and said, “Not even Kenny knows.”

“Whaddo you do? Poems?”

“Sometimes,” Brendan said. “But… I want to write a book. I really would like to write a novel.”

“Any ideas?”

“Yes. I have a really big idea. I have a story in my head that I never tell anyone about.”

“Would you tell me?”

Brendan thought about it and then said, “No.”

“Oh.”

“No,” Brendan shook his head. “What I mean is… I would rather write it and show it to you than just talk about it.”

“Alright,” Sheridan nodded. He said, “That’s so cool. I don’t have anything like that. I don’t have stories going on in my head.”

Sheridan stood up and then turned around and said, “You know what, Bren?”

“What?” Brendan sat back and looked at Sheridan.

“I’m going to be your muse.”

“Are you going to take off your clothes now and pose?”

Sheridan laughed and then jumped across the room and hopped on Brendan.

“Hey!” he cried. “Look, you’re a grown man now. There’s weight to you.”

Sheridan remembered something and said, “Let’s go to the show today?”

“Movie?”

“No, play. There’s one this afternoon. You, me, Layla and Will. How’bout it?”

Brendan nodded.

“I like it. Should I bathe?”

Sheridan bent down and sniffed him.

“That’d be preferable.”

“This has been the longest fucking train ride,” Maia said as the train slid along the tracks under Van Buren Street and then went into the darkness.

“You should have been on it since South Bend,” a woman across from her said.

“Damn,” Maia murmured. “No doubt.”

“Did either one of you hear the conductor say get your bags?” Laurel said.

“We’re at the last stop.”

“This is the last stop. All riders must disembark at the Randolph Street Station,” the conductor called.

As the train came to a halt, Laurel yawned, stood up, pulled down Maia’s bag and then hers and said, “Let’s slither on to the door.”

They arrived at the doors with the other people eager to get off as the train came to a rest, and then the doors slid open and Laurel headed out, making sure Maia was behind her as they went up the underground platform.

“How do we know Melanie’s family?”

“Uh… I really don’t know,” Maia said. “I guess they’ll look like her.”

“You don’t know?” Laurel said. “You never even found out. You haven’t seen these people?”

“Oh, damn, relax, Lara.” Maia reshifted her bag and said, “Plus, I’m supposed to call Dad the moment we’re off the train, and then she said, “Holy shit.”

“What?”

“Over there?” Maia gestured with her free hand. “You can’t miss ‘em. It’s like something out of Fiddler on the Roof.”

Laurel didn’t know what her cousin meant, but then she did. She did because in the middle of a swarm of very ordinary looking people were three boys in black suits and hats with, yes, holy shit, fringes hanging from their shirts.

“They… can’t… be,” Laurel began.

But even as she said that, the smallest of the boys began waving a sign and the sign said: “WELCOME MAIA AND LAUREL.”

Maia looked at Laurel and Laurel said, “It’ll be something to write home about. You know?”