Life In Reverse Read online

  Typically, I’d linger in the shower. In fact, Avery’s comment is not unwarranted. I’m known for spending an exorbitant amount of time in here. Today, though, I can’t afford it. I scrub myself clean as quickly as possible before tossing on a pair of jeans and one of my favorite Mickey Mouse t-shirts. I leave my hair down in loose waves.

  I’m just about to head downstairs when I double back and grab the Mickey Mouse charm from my dresser. My father gave it to me for my tenth birthday. I stare at the inscription on the back—my little creator, and my chest fills with warmth. My fingers rub over the words before I place it in the zippered pocket of my purse.

  “Emberrrrrrrrrr,” Avery screams, and I bolt down the stairs.

  “I’m here, I’m here. Geez Louise.” I loop my purse over the back of the chair and sit down next to Avery. Fabric swatches cover the table and Mom collects them, dropping them in a nearby wicker basket. “Whoa, what is all this?”

  She places two glasses of orange juice in front of us. “Those are the colors I’m deciding on for the Kensington remodel. She said she wanted Pottery Barn colors so I’m looking at greens, burgundies, and golds.”

  “That’s so boring, Mom,” Avery scoffs, stuffing a piece of bagel into her mouth. “How about black on black?”

  “That’s called goth, Ave.” I snort. “Highly doubt the Kensington’s are into that.”

  She leans closer and cups a hand over my ear. “I’d like to find out what Scott Kensington is into. I can tell you that.”

  “I heard that, Avery.” Mom’s tone is stern as she peeks over her shoulder and raises a sharp, black brow. “I’d like you to stay away from those Kensington boys. I hear them all the time when their mother and I are discussing design ideas.”

  “Mom,” Avery sneers, because she can’t help adding fuel to the fire. “I’m twenty-two, not fifteen. You kind of don’t have a say anymore.”

  My mother’s full body emerges, her arms poised across the jacket of her black suit. Her oval-shaped face set in a scowl. “You’re still living in this house for a few more months, so I still have say. And what I say is they have quite the mouths on them.” She spins on her heel, wielding what little control she thinks she has left over my sister and disappears into the living room. Avery and I look at each other and bite back a laugh.

  “I hope so.” Avery mouths with an exaggerated expression.

  “Speaking of which…,” Mom pops back in and takes a seat across from us at the table, “Mrs. Kensington told me the house down the street and the colonial around the corner sold. I guess she saw moving trucks this morning. Perhaps they might be able to use some of my design magic once they get settled.”

  “Yes. Maybe you can give them tips on shaping their bushes, too.” It takes a second for me to absorb Avery’s words, and then I practically spit juice into my cereal bowl. Our mother gives her a one-eyed glare.

  “Avery, sometimes I wonder.” She smiles, tossing a dishtowel at her face. “I really do.”

  “SO HOW WAS work today?”

  “Work was… whoa.” Avery cocks her head, straight blonde hair hanging over one shoulder as she tries to get a good view of whoever is standing beside the moving truck.

  “Avery. You crack me up. You can’t see anything from here.”

  She pinches my arm and snorts. “You know I’ve got bionic vision when it comes to guys. I can certainly see that whoever that is… has a great ass.”

  “I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear you say that Avery Bennett,” our mother chimes in from behind. “I’ve got a wonderful idea though.” She steps in front of us and hands Avery a broom and a smile. “Why don’t you finish sweeping the kitchen floor and then you two can make some brownies and bring them over to our new neighbors.”

  Avery takes the broom, a frown pulling down her lips. “Brownies? Mom, we’re not nine years old.”

  Mom holds the door open, waving a path with her hand. “There’s no age limit on welcoming someone to the neighborhood. Let’s go smarty pants.”

  “I can’t wait to get out of here,” Avery grumbles. “Let me loose in New York City.”

  “I’ll be right in,” I call after them, hoping Mom didn’t hear her comment. “I’m going to clean up some of this stuff.” I bend down to scoop up Mom’s gardening tools from the grass, but not before I catch Avery’s waggling brows as she disappears into the house.

  Navigating my way around the garage is a bit of a challenge. Piles of fabric and design books lay on the floor while Dad’s tools litter a countertop covered in sawdust. Bundles of wood from a new project he’s working on scatter the ground and it makes me smile. Dad is always dabbling in new ideas, but never manages to finish one thing before he moves on to the next. This last notion shouldn’t make me laugh, however, it does. My parents divorced five years ago but remain the best of friends. Because of that, evidence of Dad is still everywhere. Today is Wednesday, and every Wednesday he comes over and has dinner with us. This is aside from the rest of the time we spend with him. I’ll admit that it’s a strange setup. But it works for them and Avery and I couldn’t be happier they’ve remained close. It used to give us false hope. Now we understand and have settled with it.

  I set the pruning tools down on the wooden counter. A picturesque rendering of a new design for our backyard snags my attention. We live in a craftsman-style home in Eastmoreland that, as far as I’m concerned, is already fairly picturesque. My mother, being a visual person, has bushes trimmed to perfect ovals and tulips in every color dotting the brick path surrounding the house. I told her I’d much prefer Mickey Mouse-shaped bushes but she didn’t go for it.

  Sifting through the dusty maze, I find my way back outside. It really is a beautiful day. The sun shines bright in a cloudless blue sky. It makes me want to get in the car and drive, the wind on my face and freedom within my grasp. I really do know how Avery feels. Still, I worry about Mom.

  I lift my arms above my head in a catlike stretch and make my way to the front door, stopping only when I see someone in black running shorts on the sidewalk. He’s bent over at the waist and I try not to stare, but muscular calves and a flattering behind give me pause. Asses aren’t really my thing, though. That’s Avery’s department. I much prefer eyes.

  Take Exhibit A—the eyes that catch me gawking from a distance. Mortified, my cheeks flame but luckily he’s too far away to notice. He waves and I lift my hand to return it, fleeing into the house like Cinderella leaving the ball, sans the glass slippers.

  Avery has her ear buds in and she’s humming along to, I’m guessing Taylor Swift, as she sweeps the floor and attempts to dance at the same time. I sidle up next to her and pull the white cord from her ear. “You might want to get started on those brownies right away.”

  “What are you two whispering about?” Mom shuffles into the kitchen carrying a new batch of fabrics. She drops them on the table and tilts her head with interest. “It looks very conspiratorial.”

  “Here are my three favorite girls,” Dad calls out as he enters the room, holding a slab of wood and a piece of paper. He’s wearing his favorite jean overalls and his dirty blond hair sticks out in all directions. “Who wants to help me build a birdhouse?”

  Avery and I burst into laughter and she reads my thoughts when she says, “Dad, you’ve already got three unfinished ones in the garage.”

  “Ahhh,” he lifts a finger in the air, “but this one is very special. It looks like a Chinese pagoda. Lots of areas for the birds to feed. This is the winner right here.” He crinkles the paper and his thick sandy eyebrows rise with his smile. “Any takers?”

  “Actually,” Avery pipes up, “we were just getting ready to make some of those Ghirardelli fudge brownies to take to our new neighbors down the street.” She nods her chin at Mom. “Upon Mom’s insistence, of course.”

  Mom returns a knowing smirk and narrows her soft green eyes. “Of course.”

  “Right. Okay,” he answers absentmindedly, reminding me of the nutty professor wit
h his black-rimmed glasses and quirky smile. “Well, maybe I can double back when it’s time to paint it, huh Em?”

  “Sure, Dad.” I give him a thumbs-up. “Hit us up then.”

  “Whaddya say, Dolores?” He sets the wood down on the center island and plucks a stale doughnut from the box.

  “I can’t,” she responds, distracted by colors and texture. “I have to get these fabrics in order for my client tomorrow.”

  “All right.” Dad sighs dramatically around a cloud of sugar. “I’ll just go it alone.” He lets out a chuckle and rubs his small potbelly. “See you pretty ladies later.” He shoves the rest of the doughnut in his mouth, white powder sticking to his lips. “Oh, and save some brownies for me,” he calls over his shoulder on his way to the garage.

  I walk to the counter and pour myself a cup of coffee from the Bonavita coffee maker Avery and I bought Mom for her birthday. She had been eyeing it during one of our trips to Williams-Sonoma. It was kind of a win-win for all of us. Both Avery and I are coffee fanatics, except she takes hers black while I like mine with cream, heavy on the sugar. Mom loves making iced coffee while Dad is the odd man out. He is fanatical about tea.

  “Anyone for coffee?” I sing out, and Avery peeks over my shoulder as I’m spooning the sweetness into my favorite mug.

  “Coffee, yes. I wouldn’t call what you’re drinking, coffee. Why don’t you just eat a pound of sugar and get it over with?” Even though she’s correct, it doesn’t stop me from flicking her shoulder and sticking my tongue out. I can’t be the mature one all the time.

  She reaches over my head, pulling ingredients down from the cabinet. “Now let’s get started on those brownies. I’m hankering to get a better look at that…,” her chin subtly scrapes her shoulder to check for Mom, “ass.”

  I’M IN A hole. I’m not sure whether I fell in or crawled in at this point. But it doesn’t fucking matter. I’m being suffocated by my memory. However, as my lungs tighten and my breathing stalls, I welcome it. Because it terrifies me to forget.

  The sound of Dad whistling from the living room makes my jaw stiffen. Of course he’s happy. He got a huge finance promotion and a transfer to the Portland office; a perfect location for a short commute and more distance between us and Mom. Then again, maybe that was the whole idea. The thought makes me clench my fists at my sides, gearing up for yet another stand-off with my father.

  “Hey, Vance, can you get the rest of the boxes from the lawn?” he calls up the stairs. “I have to run out for a bit.”

  Not a good time to ask me since I’m seething with hatred for him. I’m not interested in lifting a fucking hand to help. Why should I? I don’t understand how he can be so cheerful when Mom is wasting away in that place, her life no longer her own.

  I know it doesn’t sound like I’m a good person. But when it comes to Mom, all bets are off. I won’t tolerate bullshit. Excuses. Tossing the word love around. It may not mean anything to him, but it means everything to me where she’s concerned.

  “Can’t right now, Dad. I’m a bit busy.” I know he can hear the sarcasm dripping from my voice when I catch his frustrated sigh. Oh well. The door slams and I breathe out my relief as I continue to paint on the wall above my bed. Exhaustion sticks to my limbs when I scan the cardboard boxes filled with books that still need to be shelved. I’m tired as fuck and want to collapse on my bed and sleep it off.

  The doorbell rings and Julian yells out, “Hey, Vance. Get that, will ya?”

  Paint splatters on my bed frame and I mutter a curse before shouting back. “I’m not living to serve today, get it yourself.”

  “I like it better when your head is in those books of yours. At least you keep quiet,” he utters as he walks by, and I chuckle. As much as we rib each other, Julian is by far my favorite person in this world aside from our mother. Strange as it may seem, I’ve always looked out for him, though he’s a year older than me. He’s kind of an easy target. He’s just too—nice.

  I’m just about done with the last letter when I hear muffled female voices from downstairs. Considering we know absolutely no one here, I have to wonder who it is. Since they’re of the female persuasion, I owe it to myself to at least scope out the premises.

  I drop the paintbrush in the bucket on my desk and wipe my hands on a nearby towel before hopping off the bed. As I draw closer to the hallway, the smell of chocolate finds its way to my nose and I realize I’m pretty fucking hungry.

  The voices are light and airy, friendly, though I’m not interested in making any friends here. This was never my idea to begin with, and the fact that I’m forced to be here pisses me off. Okay, maybe forced is too strong of a word. No one forced me. I’m a big boy. But no one told me it would be this hard to find a job after I graduated college either—especially in technology. It makes no fucking sense after sending out a shitload of resumes and several interviews. Now I wish I’d listened to Julian when he told me to get a part-time job in college to save money—among other things. Why the hell did I assume this whole thing would be easy? I need something to be easy right now.

  As I get closer to the stairs, I remain hidden but catch a glimpse of the girls standing next to Julian. One of them is, holy shit, pretty hot; all long legs and big tits, with straight blonde hair and from what I can see, a pretty nice ass. And she seems to know it, too. But it’s the Mickey Mouse t-shirt and red Converse sneakers on the girl standing next to her that catch my attention. I almost laugh because it’s so ridiculous. But she’s cute. Rosy cheeks, wavy brown hair cut to her shoulders, lots of gentle curves—sexy, in a girl next door, unassuming way. She doesn’t appear as happy as the other one to be here. Whoever they are, they look like total opposites.

  “So you brought brownies,” Julian’s tone carries, “and you’re sisters. I like it here already.” He chuckles and the blonde laughs. The other one stands there with a half-smile fiddling with what looks like a hair tie between her fingers. Of course they’re charmed. Because Julian has been known to charm a girl—or fifty. He’s charismatic, and from what I hear girls say, pretty good-looking. I’m his brother so I don’t pay much attention to that shit.

  He’s definitely imposing though. At nearly six one, he has a solid build from all the sports he plays and one of those toothpaste commercial smiles. I watch him drag a hand through his short brown hair as he eyes the quiet one, gunning for some kind of reaction. She’s not biting, though.

  He turns his head and spots me. I’m about to duck around the corner when he calls my name. “Vance, get down here. We have company.”

  Shit.

  I hesitate a beat, tugging on the hoop in my ear. But his insistent stare causes me to take my ass downstairs even though I’m not in the mood to socialize. “Hey.” I nod my chin at the girls. Again, the blonde chick is all smiles and the other one hardly looks at me—until I get closer. Then her gaze does a quick scan of my face, landing on my eyes—and she appears dazed. She snaps out of it quickly when her sister elbows her. Weird.

  Julian clears his throat. “I’m Julian… Davenport, that is. And this is my brother, Vance.”

  The blonde is the one who speaks. No surprise there. “I’m Avery Bennett, and this is Ember. We live at the end of the road on the cul-de-sac.” She points out the window. “The blue house with the white shutters and the bushes trimmed in perfect circles.” Her sister giggles and I don’t get the joke, but I do realize it’s the first loud sound out of her since she’s been here.

  Let’s see what else I can get out of her. Because I’m in a poking mood.

  “Ember? What kind of a name is that?” My brother knocks his shoulder against mine but it doesn’t dissuade me from my line of questioning.

  Bubbly laughter is cut short as she raises a brow and deadpans, “Same kind of a name as Vance, I suppose. But then again,” she adds with a flagrant flick of her wrist, “what’s in a name?”

  I’m not usually at a loss for words, but that gives me pause. She’s donned in Mickey Mouse attire and quot
ing Shakespeare. That’s fucking strange.

  “Touché,” I counter, for lack of anything snarky as her deep green eyes bore into mine and we have some kind of odd, mental standoff. I don’t know this freaking girl but I find myself becoming increasingly pissed off for no apparent reason. Then again, it doesn’t take much to piss me off these days.

  My brother coughs as if he can sense my heightened aggravation. “So who wants a brownie? These smell amazing.”

  “This is the best time to eat them. They just came out of the oven a few minutes ago,” Avery offers as they follow Julian into the kitchen. I stay behind Ember and cackle to myself when I notice the embroidered Mickey Mouse on the back pocket of her jeans. She must’ve heard me because I’m on the receiving end of a one-eyed glare over her shoulder.

  “What?”

  “I didn’t say anything.” Her expression suggests she doesn’t believe me but I really don’t give a shit. I don’t have time for this. “Listen, I need to get back to unpacking. See you guys around.”

  “Welcome to the neighborhood,” Avery yells out as I walk up the stairs, and Ember laughs.

  I don’t like her.

  AVERY LINKS HER elbow with mine and gives me a tug as we make our way back to the house. “Holy shit, those guys are hot. They’ll definitely raise the property value around here, don’t cha think?” I swear my sister has a one-track mind. It’s a wonder she can focus on anything else.

  “I guess so. The shorter one seems a bit cocky. Oh, and broody.”

  “The shorter one?” She teases. “They were both giants.” She purposefully bumps into my shoulder. “Anyway, I saw you checking him out.”

  “No.” I shake my head in protest. “He had nice eyes. That’s all. Besides, any good looks he had disappeared the moment he opened his mouth. He seems like kind of a jerk.”

  “A sexy jerk with an earring,” she throws in. “Not to mention a great bod.” She huffs out a sigh, the heaviness of it hitting me in the stomach as I mentally prepare for what she’ll say next. “You have to get back in the game sometime, Em. It’s been… a long time since you dated anyone.”