Jem

I’M GOING INSANE. I know it was the right choice, to leave and never look back, but I’ve never felt this way in my entire fucking life.

Sure, I felt like shit seeing my mother slowly lose herself to the pills, but that was low dosages of disappointment over a long period of time. Until I became numb. But this particular kind of hurt—it’s unfamiliar. It’s a knife to the chest, over and over and over— and I fucking hate it. I want it gone.

I’m driving to the garage, because I need to make a couple more fixes to Trent’s car before I hand it back to him. It was a nice ride, but honestly, I’m glad I don’t have to keep it. Because every memory of it is now etched with the memory of Indigo, too. Like the ink in my skin.

And keeping this car any longer would mean seeing her again in my mind, on replay. See her asleep in the passenger seat. See her in the rear-view mirror, pulling on her sweater. See me stopping the car so she could get the flowers off the side of the road. I glance to the back. Those fucking flowers.

I pull into the garage, grabbing the stupid soda cup that house them. I’m crushing the cup in my fist and halfway to the trashcan when I stop. Take a breath. And look at the purple flowers one last time.

And I can’t do it.

I can’t throw this shit away.

Guess I’m keeping them. Which is great and all, except for one minor problem: I have no damn clue how to actually keep a plant alive. Yeah, I buy flowers for Ma, but she takes care of them after that. So keeping these flowers is just prolonging the inevitable. And I’m pretty sure watching them slowly wither and die is far more depressing than just chucking them away.

Eli notices me mid-deliberation at the entrance of the garage, and he wipes off his hands as he heads over. “What’s that?”

“Can’t you tell?” I mutter, glancing down at the flowers, that, despite the crushed paper cup, are unharmed. Then, lifting my gaze to him, I ask, “Do you know how I’m supposed to keep them alive?”

“Pfft.” Eli shoots me a disbelieving look. “No. I’ll ask Logan—”

“No,” I say, “Eli, don’t—”

But it’s too late. Eli’s already beckoning Logan over and then Ace is following Logan, and Mason is lifting his head from the other side of the garage to see what all the commotion is about, too. And before I know it, the entire garage is gathered around me like it’s a fucking parade.

“He wants to know how to keep flowers alive,” Eli murmurs.

They all stare quizzically at the smashed cup in my hand.

Logan frowns. “Just get fake ones. You won’t be able to tell the difference, man, trust me—”

“Since when are you a flower person?” Ace mutters.

“Do you have water?” I ask no-one in particular.

“I have Gatorade,” Ace mumbles.

I roll my eyes. “I can’t put Gatorade on them, Ace, Jesus. Fuck.”

“Actually, no,” Ace says, “I read somewhere that the electrolytes help.”

“You don’t even read,” Logan murmurs.

Ace contorts his features. “Yo, shut the fuck up?”

“All of you shut the fuck up,” I bark, “you’re useless and annoying. Get out of my face.”

Obviously, none of them actually listen.

“I work here,” Eli mutters.

“I’ve been reading up about vibes and shit,” Ace says, “and your aura is disgusting right now.”

I clench my jaw. “My aura is also two seconds away from hurting you, Ace.”

“—And you don’t read.”

“False and false,” Ace says, “I do read, Logan, and auras aren’t in the physical.”

“Where’s your ring?” Mason asks, suddenly, narrowing his eyes on my hand.

Why is this fucker so perceptive? And how did he notice that one of my rings are missing so quickly? I lift my hand, flipping it. “They’re all here.”

He shakes his head. “Not the one you wear all the time.”

I shrug. “Guess I lost it.”

“You know,” Eli says, “I don’t think you did.”

“Yeah,” Logan chips in. “You wanna know what I think? I think you gave it to someone. In exchange for those stupid flowers.”

“They’re not stupid,” I say, giving him a flat glare.

Ace grins, catching on to whatever little game they’re all playing. “Is this about Indigo?”

“No,” I mutter, “Stop talking, Ace.”

“Nah, I never thought I’d say this,” Logan says, “but keep talking, Moreno. Who’s Indigo?”

“Wait, seriously?” Eli says, “You’re still seeing Indigo? I thought that was a once off thing.”

“Who’s Indigo?” Logan asks again.

“Yeah,” Mason says, with a small smile. “Who is she?”

“Hmmm.” Ace grins, pretending to think about it like there’s a myriad of girls he knows that have the same name. “Indigo, Indigo, Indigo.”

I groan. “Shut the fuck up. All of you. Quit saying her name. Just—stop.”

The cup in my hand in my hand is somehow getting crushed in my palm again, and taking a deep breath, I set it down on a shelf behind me, hoping the flowers are damaged beyond repair.

When I turn back to face them, they’re all silent, for once. Except they’re just all staring at me like I spouted another arm or some shit. Even Mason, who doesn’t usually entertain this kind of crap, is glancing at me questioningly.

“What,” I bark.

They’re still silent until Logan speaks up. “What’s up your ass?”

“Nothing,” I say, “Why?”

“You’re always chill,” Eli says, “Laid back. Never like . . . this.”

“So fuckin’ spill, man,” Logan murmurs. “What happened?”

I take another long sigh, and because this is already going further than I’d have like for it to, and my nerves are tightly coiled up at my every pressure point, it would be great if it could all just end. I tell them everything. Except things they don’t need to know. So it’s just the bones of the story, really. When I’m done, there’s another silence.

And then Logan laughs.

He laughs.

I shoot him a look, but when I glance at Mason for, I don’t know, some sort of consolation, he’s trying to hold in a smile, too. I crack, snapping at Logan, who’s still at it. “What the fuck are you laughing for?”

Logan barely sobers. “I’m sorry man, but it’s just . . . brutal. You warn us not to feel too much for one girl and then the one time you do, she has a boyfriend. It’s —”

He starts laughing again. And this time, the Eli joins. Okay, I guess I deserve it. I have told them, on multiple occasions, not to bother with relationships. And I can’t count the number of times I suggested that the solution to all Logan’s problems would be getting laid.

“Okay, quit it,” Mason murmurs, “Back to work. We need to be done by five and we’re behind.”

“Hold up,” I say, “So I tell you assholes everything and no one has anything constructive to say? You all just shit on me for no fucking reason?”

For what seems like the tenth time today, they’re silent.

“What do you want us to tell you?” Eli says.

“If you wanted her that bad,” Ace says, “maybe you should’ve fought for her. But what do I know, right?” He glances at Logan with a small smile. “I don’t even read.”

“No,” Mason says, giving me a hard look. “Don’t listen to him. You did the right thing. It fuckin’ sucks man, but there’s nothing you can do. Just forget her.”

I nod. Forget her?

Easy.

*

I GET DONE AT THE GARAGE, and I’m back at the apartment when my phone lights up with a call from my father. I huff a breath. Like this day could get any worse. But ever since I told him to stop calling after a fight we had, he actually listened, so calls from him are rare now. I figure it must be important, so I answer the call.  “Hello.”

“Jem?”

“Yeah?”

My father’s Southern accent slips into his words. “Son! How are you?”

“Fine,” I say, tired. “Why’d you call?”

“Do I need a reason to call my own son?”

“. . . Yes.”

He sighs on the other end. “All right, then. I guess I’ll get straight to the point. Thanksgiving’s coming up. The girls miss you. Do you’ll be able to make it?”

 “Dad,” I say, “Thanksgiving isn’t for three months.”

“Yeah,” he says, “Well? Are you coming?”

“I don’t know,” I say, “Flights aren’t cheap.”

“I’ll book you one.”

I can’t deny that it’ll be nice to see my sisters again, but I also can’t leave mom alone. And I need to get in the work hours. The prize money from the race helped, but it didn’t clear my heavy balance.

“I don’t know, Dad.”

On the other end, I hear my sister, Kendall, say, “Are you telling him?”

There’s a short, muffled silence before my father returns to the call. “What was I saying?”

I frown. “What are you supposed to be telling me?”

There’s silence again, before he says, “Don’t worry about it.”

“Dad,” I say, “I don’t really have time for this. I heard Ken in the background. So will you get to the point?”

My father sighs deeply. There’s a beat before he says, “Jo and I are getting married.”

I’ll admit, I was half-zoned out. But fuck, if his words don’t bring me back to life. Jolene is my dad’s girlfriend. I’ll admit, I tried to hate her, but she’s actually nice, so my hate-trip didn’t last long. It doesn’t really help that my sisters love her, either.

I steady my voice. “What.”

He sighs. “I wasn’t supposed to tell you like this, but you haven’t visited in months, and the next time I could possibly see you would be Thanksgiving, and that’s three months away. And Kendall has been bugging me to tell you for a while…”

I clamp down on my jaw. “How long has it been?”

“Since?”

I exhale, telling myself not to blow up on the call. “Since you knew you were going to marry Jo, dad. Christ.”

“Oh.” His voice is small. “Two months.” I don’t say anything, so he chooses to fill the silence. “I thought you’d be a little happier for me.”

I want to be happy for him. Because he’s a good man, despite everything. He would be paying for Ma’s hospital bills right now if I hadn’t been so fucking stubborn about it after that fight. But I’m picturing him marrying Jo, and all I can see is my mom in her hospital bed, without a single clue how much of her life she’s missing.

“What am I supposed to tell mom? She thinks you still love her.”

He’s quiet for a while. Until he says, “I do still love her. She’s the mother of my children. I’ll always love her.”

I scoff. “She doesn’t know about Jo.”

“She doesn’t seem to know about her two little girls, either.”

“Fuck you,” I hiss.

“Jem.”

“No, really, fuck you, dad. Because you don’t know anything. Because every time I visit, she always, always asks about Gianna and Poppy. And every time, I have to make up some shitty excuse because you never let them come.”

“C’mon Jem, you know that’s not fair. The girls are in school—”

I cut the call. I need a smoke. A drink. I need to fuck someone. Anything to get this out of my system. But I don’t do any of these things. I find any empty ceramic pot that we don’t ever use and transfer the purple flowers into it, soil and all. I water them, not too much, and set the pot on my windowsill. And then I try to get some sleep.

*

a/n:

well. i had a bad week and am on the cusp of another existential crisis but i am alive!!!

until the next chapter,

stay gold,
yuen

find me on instagram, twitter, and spotify: yuenwrites.