Have Me Forever by Ally Blythe
2
Noah
Angel’s boyfriend sits at the counter, vomit soaking his shirt and pants. His usually bronzed complexion is pale and clammy looking. How much has he had to drink?
I ask, but I don’t get a response, only a glazed, faraway look. Okay, that tactic won’t work. I place water in front of him, then look down at my shirt, and my floor, which is also covered in puke.
“Stay there. I don’t want you slipping on the floor. I’m going to change and bring you something as well.” I wait until he nods in acknowledgement before hustling to my room.
Stripping out of my clothes, I change quickly and grab another shirt and some basketball shorts. I bundle the dirty laundry under my arm and throw it in the wash before heading back to the kitchen, where I find Elias in the same pose I left him. It makes me chuckle despite the less than stellar circumstances. “I didn’t mean literally stay in the same position.”
The comment brings some color back to his cheeks, a line puckering between his brows. “Right.”
“Here’s a change of clothes. Leave yours in the bathroom and I’ll throw them in the wash. How are you feeling now?”
“Not great. I’m still a little dizzy, and my stomach’s cramping again. I, uh, don’t think I’m gonna throw up again, at least.”
“That’s good.” I grab the paper towels and kneel next to the puddle, scooping it up before tossing it in the trash.
“No, let me do that.” I watch as Eli rises, unsteady on his feet, trying to get to the mess on the floor.
I scoop another pile. “Go change.”
He pauses, his eyes widening, a flush creeping down his neck. “O-okay.”
I toss the last pile into the trash before spraying the floor with disinfectant. I can’t help but wonder why he drank and smoked so much tonight. Whenever Angel has people over, he tends to avoid that part. At least, he has in the two years I’ve really known him. I don’t blame him, either. His parents are overbearing, and keep him on a tight leash even though he’s in college. As long as I’ve known them, they’ve kept all of their children under strict watch, especially the oldest and Eli. And they look down on me because I don’t do the same with Angel.
Regardless of my feelings toward his parents, I like him. He’s always polite, respects my daughter, and keeps her out of trouble. Unfortunately, she’s good at getting him to cave. Which is probably why I have a cross-faded twenty-year-old changing out of clothes he puked on in my bathroom. I refill his water as he walks back into the kitchen, sliding onto the stool, his feet planted firmly on the ground.
“Mr. Baker.” His voice sounds raspy, deeper than normal, as he says my name. I watch him as he sways in his seat, placing his palms against the island, as if he’s trying to settle a rocking boat.
“Yes?” I respond when he adds nothing. He seems more coherent now. Tipsy still, but less sick.
He shakes his head to clear it, wobbling on the stool, then gives me his full attention. “I read all the books from last year.”
I tilt my head, unsure of what he’s talking about. “Hmm?”
“Oh. You probably don’t remember.” His chin lands in the crook of his arm, which is resting on the counter, making him look dejected. “From the last conference. That list of books you told me about. It’s okay if you don’t remember.”
Ah, the list of books I tried to get Angel to read last year. I hoped she would read one. Just one. After she told me reading was lame, I ended up giving the small list to Elias. He must have thought I made it for him. “No, I remember. You read all of them? There were at least fifty.”
He nods his head, widening his stance on the floor in an attempt to steady himself. “My favorite was the high fantasy one with the dragon, and uh, the guild. I’m trying to remember the name. I swear I read them all.” That same hand he’s resting his head on snakes around, covering his mouth like he didn’t mean to share.
I suppress a grin at his antics, his happy frustration infectious. He’s so eager, and it’s endearing. It’s also nice knowing he read the books I suggested, it’s more than Angel’s ever done. I wonder if he’s ever read mine.
The doorbell rings before I get the chance to ask, so I check him again to make sure he’s okay, and head up front to grab the pizza.
When I return, he’s sitting exactly as I left him, though the water is gone. I grab a plate, throw a slice on it, and refill his water, placing it all in front of him. I order Elias to eat. He inhales, his face pinching into an unreadable mask. I repeat myself before he listens. I throw another slice on his plate, then make my way to the pool area, calling the rest of them inside.
Pizza disappears as the vultures descend. I watch them eat, looking content with the world, acting like a bunch of dumb teenagers. At twenty, I had a toddler to take care of. While she’s been the greatest blessing, it isn’t what I want for her. The sight makes me smile, knowing she’s enjoying life, not having to grow up too soon.
“Dad,” Angel calls out, irritation lacing the syllable. “You can leave now.” She rolls her eyes, a habit she got from her mother. I love my daughter, but that move grates every time I see it. “I’m sure you have a book to write, or read, or something.” She quirks a brow, clear dismissal in her tone.
I put my hands up in surrender. “Alright, I’m going.”
A quiet voice cuts through the chatter. “Ang, come on. He let our friends stay and bought us dinner. If he wants to eat, let him.”
I scan Elias as he argues with Angel, something he rarely does.
She pinches his arm to silence him. He flinches, but otherwise ignores the gesture. I don’t want to cause a fight, and there’s no reason for me to be in the kitchen with them. I should be in my office, preparing for my meeting this evening. Elias grimaces, so I squeeze his shoulder to show my thanks. My mind’s already focused on my book as I turn from the group, but I swear he leans further into the touch and I wonder why.
“I get it. I’m cramping your style.” She brushes me off when I try to kiss her hair. I can’t say it doesn’t sting, but I get it. Parents aren’t cool.
“I’ll take that forehead kiss, Mr. Baker,” a young girl giggles. She waggles her brows, sending a crawling sensation down my spine. I know I’m younger, but that creeps me the hell out. I’m old enough to be her father.
“Dana, I already told you to shut the fuck up,” my daughter hisses.
I grab a few slices and water out of the fridge. “I thought you were leaving?” she says.
Sheesh. Right to the heart. “I’m going. I’m going.”
***
I get back late that evening, the meeting with my agent replaying in my mind. If I write through the night, I’ll be back on schedule to publish my next book, which is good, but my writer’s block has been in full swing lately. Maybe having attended the convention will be the key to getting my creativity flowing. I’d love to talk through my ideas more, maybe over a glass of wine, but my friends Tony and Beth are out of town.
One blessing is that everyone seems to be passed out in the living room, or about to nod off in front of a movie blasting through the surround sound. A relatively quiet night for Angel.
There’s more beer scattered around, along with paper plates and water bottles. I do a headcount, noticing my daughter and one or two others are missing. Elias is asleep on the floor, piled among blankets and pillows with one of my current students, Violet Hartford, asleep near him.
I make my way over to check on him, seeing if he’s recovered from earlier. His chest rises and falls evenly, and he’s not surrounded by a puddle of puke, which is a good sign. I step over him, intending to look for Angel, when I see his face. Someone took a marker and drew all over him, a dick going down the length of his face. I shake my head at the immaturity, my jaw tensing, and grab a towel from the kitchen, along with a water bottle and his clothes. I set it all near him, hoping that will be enough to help when he wakes up.
Then, I take the stairs two at a time, in search of my daughter. I knock on her door lightly and hear a groan. Crap, I didn’t mean to wake her. I just didn’t expect her to be asleep already. She must have headed upstairs when Eli passed out so she could get some sleep in her own bed. The door clicks, barely inching open as she rubs her eyes. When she notices that it’s me, she steps out of the door, closing it firmly behind her. “Hey, honey. I didn’t mean to wake you. I just wanted to make sure you were okay since I didn’t see you downstairs.”
“Well, as you can see, I’m fine.” I’d love to talk to whoever told me pre-teen girls were the peak of difficulty. They clearly didn’t talk to nineteen-year-olds.
“Right. Good. I’m headed to bed. Sleep well.” I pull her in for a hug and she pushes me away. It makes my heart ache, and I wish our relationship was different, but I know I wasn’t there like I should have been. I wish I knew what I could do to fix it. “I love you.” I try to tell her every chance I get.
She opens her door, slamming it in my face, leaving me waiting for a response I know I’m not going to get.