Broken Things

There was asprin on the table, and guilt set deep in my gut.

My mouth was dry and my headache was massive, so I found the strength to push my way out of bed, taking the bottle of pills with me. The door made a creaking sound when I pushed it open, and I poked my head out to look this way and that, checking the coast was clear. The sunlight was nearly blinding and I squinted into it. No sign of Harry.

My feet hit soft carpet and I lightly stepped across the hall in the direction of the bathroom he’d shown me the night before. I couldn’t be sure if he was still sleeping or not, but I didn’t want to be responsible for waking him, especially when hazy memories of the night before were just beginning to surface.

I shut the door behind me and turned on the light. My first order of business was throwing back two of the pills, which I did with ease. A moment later, I was digging through closets and cabinets, looking for towels. When I’d located them, I set two of them out before stripping down and turning on the shower.

The water was hot immediately, unlike the shady plumbing job we had at the apartment. I stripped down and pulled open the glass door, stepping into the steam and water. It beat a soothing patter into my back, a heavy water pressure I appreciated immensely compared to what I was used to.

All there was to use was men’s 2 in 1 shampoo and conditioner, and I sighed as I flipped open the top and squeezed a quarter-sized dollop out onto my hand. It lathered easily into my hair, and I breathed in the smell of Harry before getting to work scrubbing down my body with a bar of soap. I made mental note to go out and buy my own shower products, as well as my regular beauty supplies. And clothes. Clothes were pretty high up on the list, as well.

Until then, I’d have to put back on the tee-shirt and sweatpants Harry had lent me the night before. Maybe I could work my hair into a braid and make myself more presentable for a trip to Walmart on the budget I’d set for myself. Or maybe I’d splurge a little of my inheritence money at The Grove. Time could only tell which I’d be in the mood for.

I still felt pathetically hungover, and my balance was unsteady yet. More than anything, I needed something in my stomach to soak up the excess booze and acid that resided there. I hopped out of the shower, dryed off, and put back on the clothes I’d slept in. I dug around in the cabinets until I came across a brush. Smiling in victory, I raked it through my hair until it fell in a stiff curtain on either side of my shoulders. It would have to do.

After gathering up my towels to transport to my new room, I pushed open the door and made my way across the hall. I paused as I set the wet, folded towels on the floor near the entry. Downstairs, the clanging of pots and pans gave away any hope I had that Harry would still be sleeping.

Damn.

Swallowing my pride, I slowly made my way down the hall. The stairs creaked beneath my weight, but it was too quiet to be heard with the cacophony that was happening in the kitchen. I peered into the open living room, able to see half of the kitchen at the far end of the. I expected to see a head of curls and some joggers, but what I saw instead had me pausing in my tracks.

As if sensing my presence, Gemma turned in her stool at the island, her eyes zeroing in on me. “Morning,” she greeted with a judgmental purse of her lips.

As if I wasn’t ashamed enough.

“Harry made omelettes. Join us,” she continued. I bit down on my lip, tucking my wet hair behind my ear before stepping forward cautiously into the kitchen.

Harry glanced at me for a moment over his back before returning to the task at hand, which was folding an egg over cheese and spinach. Shamefully, I focused my eyes on my hands as I took the seat beside Gemma, who was already digging in to eat.

“Sorry to hear about your apartment,” she told me around a mouthful of egg and cheese. “Harry will be in the studio all day, so I thought maybe we could go out and grab whatever you need.”

“That sounds nice,” I answered truthfully, running a hand through my hair as I continued avoiding the gaze of any of the people in the room. The words had no longer left my mouth that an omelette was placed in front of me, a fork haphazardly thrown on the plate.

“Thank you,” I mumbled as I reached for the fork and got to work.

“Feeling better?”

It was the first words Harry had spoken to me since the night before. There was no venom in his voice, but he didn’t sound warm, either. I’d royally pissed him off, and he was still upset, but it didn’t stop him from taking care of me when I’d needed him to. I was undeserving.

“Not really,” I told him truthfully, reaching across the island for the carton of orange juice. Harry had set me out an emptly glass.

“Well you look like hell,” Gemma snorted. I shrugged as we fell into another silence. With my eyes focused on my breakfast, I could still see from the corner of my eye Harry’s body leaning against the counter, his arms folded over his chest. Gemma finished up her food and slid the plate away.

“I certainly hope you’re done moping by the time we get going,” she declared. “I’m the one who just flew seventeen hours in with massive jet lag, thank you. You could at least pretend to be excited to see me.”

I finally looked up at her, a small smile playing at my lips. Despite the fact that it had been approximately four years since I’d seen her last, she was still the same Gemma I remembered. Always teasing and a bit sarcastic, she had never been afraid of saying what she was thinking. It was a trait I always admired about her, when it wasn’t pointing at me.

“I have to go,” Harry said from across the room, pushing up from where he had been watching the two of us interact. “I’ll see you in a few hours.”

He crossed the island to give Gemma a quick kiss before flying from the room. I finished my last bite of omelette as I watched him go. Chugging down the rest of the orange juice, I took my plate and cup to set in the dishwasher.

“Fifteen minutes,” I told her, and she nodded as I began in the direction of the guest room upstairs. Bounding up the stairs, I ran about my room. With my hair drying naturally, there wasn’t much I could do in the way of beauty, besides applying eyeliner and mascara that I had stowed away in my purse the night before. Just as I realized I had absolutely nothing to wear unless I was to squeeze into the sweaty dress I’d worn at the club the night before, there was a light tapping at the door. When I turned, Gemma stood there with a skirt and blouse in hand.

“I think it ought to fit,” she shrugged, and I breathed a thanks as I accepted them from her hands. She offered me a smile before turning away and heading back in the direction she’d just come from.

The blouse was a little large, especially in the chest area, but I tucked it into the skirt and made do. My hair was just beginning to wave, and I shook it out one more time before slinging my bag over my shoulder and making my way back to Gemma, who was sitting patiently in the main room.

“Ready?” she asked. I confirmed with a nod of my head, and she led the way out the door, entering the security code on her way out. Her rental car was parked down the street, a journey made infinitely more difficult by the blinding sun and my nausea-inducing hangover. When I pulled open the door to the passenger seat, the car was still cool from when she’d arrived this morning.

“Where should we begin?” she asked.

I shrugged, indifferent. Mostly, I was glad she was taking me anywhere. Besides that, I knew I was probably in for a chat I wouldn’t be looking forward to. Gemma had never shied away from her thoughts or feelings, and I knew she was working me toward something awful. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have been so nice.

Starting the car, she plugged in her phone and turned on Paloma Faith’s new album. My mum used to love her, and I recalled more than one time dancing with her to New York in the living room. Even after the chemo had started to take its effect, she’d muster all she could to give one good performance. I’d go along with it, secretly watching every step she took for a sign that her body was beginning to fail her. Her legs would shake, her step would falter, but not once did she ever pretend to be anything but okay. Afterward, she’d fall back to her place in the recliner in a fit of laughter, and take a sip of water, like it was nothing. My mum was the strongest woman I ever knew, and continued to be up until the day her heart stopped beating.

Gemma drove on in silence, mouthing along good-naturedly to the music playing. I hadn’t heard it, didn’t have much taste for Paloma anymore since I had no one to share it with, but it wasn’t unpleasant. Mostly, I clenched my eyes shut in the hopes that it would make the hangover go away. When it didn’t, I sighed and let my head fall against the window until the ride was over.

It seemed Gemma had made the decision for me that The Grove would be a good place to start as far as recovering my wardrobe went. I mentally did the math in my head, subtracting dollar amounts from the whole of my inheritence that was stowed away in savings. I’d have more than enough, but it still left me feeling uneasy knowing I’d make a decent dent in it.

She parked in a nearby garage, stepping lithely out the door and shutting it behind her. I always felt a sort of kinship with Gemma, the no-bullshit way she lived her life, but I also couldn’t help but feel apart from her as I observed the graceful way in which she moved. She’d changed since I’d last seen her, in her Holmes Chapel home with Anne. She had more of a taste for fashion than I remembered, and her hair was always changing from what I could see in articles online. Both she and Harry made friends with Lou Teasdale, who must have instilled this in both of them.

Despite Gemma being the same girl I’d met years before, I still felt uneasy as I kept pace beside her. Her oval sunglasses slid over her eyes when we hit the main shopping area, but from the side I could still watch her irises moving this way and that as she surveyed the area.

“Topshop?” she asked, and I nodded my agreement. Together, we pushed our way through the crowd and into the store. The blast of air conditioning felt like a breath of fresh air, and I sighed in relief.

She let me choose where I wanted to go, trailing behind as I got my bearings and headed to the section that seemed the most me-like. My wardrobe mostly consisted of band tee shirts and high waisted pairs of shorts as of late, but I was feeling more trendy and browsed the boho section.

“It is really nice to see you again, Sawyer,” she finally said after a few moments of following me in silence. When I made no response a heartbeat later, she continued. “I know you’re feeling uneasy around me right now, but I did miss you.”

Turning to her, I offered a slight smile.

“I missed you, too.”

“And because I missed you and care deeply about you, we’re going to have a chat about your budding alcoholism.”

“Dear God,” I groaned, letting my hand fall from a cropped top I had just been considering. “Can we at least wait until lunch?”

She half-smiled and threw an arm around me. “Don’t think I’ll forget.”

“I won’t hold my breath,” I muttered in response, and she laughed before turning around and pulling a lacy dress from a fixture behind us.

“Try this.”

I snatched it out of her hand dramatically, folding it over my arm before turning on my heel to continue my search. She rolled her eyes like she always did when I was being stubborn, but left me alone to browse the store.

My fingers ran the expanse of a rack, stopping every so often to pull a blouse or a skirt in the right size. Once I’d found a reasonable amount of things to try on, I made my way over to the fitting rooms, where I zipped and unzipped garments until my fingers felt numb.

“Sawyer?” I heard Gemma’s voice call down the row of cubicles.

“In here,” I replied, sticking a hand out through the curtain so she could better find me. A moment later, she pulled the curtain apart to join me, and I frowned.

“Glad we’re not shy,” she commented with a cheeky grin. I continued to glare at her unamusedly as I hauled a dress the rest of the way down on my body. “Here,” she said, guiding me to turn so she could help me with the zip. She stepped back a moment later, studying my reflection in the mirror much like I was. The lace dress fell mid-thigh, hugging my body comfortably. The off-white lace detailing was a nice compiment to my complexion.

“You’d drive Harry mad,” Gemma said softly.

“I don’t dress for Harry,” I answered cooly.

“Well of course not,” she huffed. “But if you’re going to wear anything, you might as well have some fun with it.”

I reached around to unzip the dress, pulling it off. She crossed her arms over her chest as she watched me strip down to my underwear.

“Don’t let my comment stop you from getting it.”

“It’s not going to encourage me to get it, either.”

“So just buy it because it looks good on you, then.”

“I’ll think about it.”

Realizing this was all she’d get from me, she sighed and picked the dress from the ground. It was inside out, and I wragled back on the clothes she had lent me as I watched her reflection un-tangle the dress to hang up again. I had a definitive pile of yesses and no’s, and I took the yes pile in my hands. Gemma eyed me warily before I held out my arm to accept the dress. I ignored her smile of triumph as I made my way to the registers.

The total of my purchase was nauseating to hear. Gemma patted me assuringly on the back as I handed over my credit card with a grimace. We probably should have started at Forever 21, but Topshop still reminded me of home and the quality was better. I hoped not to be returning anytime soon.

Gemma suggested we drop off my haul at the car before going to lunch. Despite the fact that I wasn’t the slightest bit hungry, I followed her lead, knowing it was better to get it all over with rather than to put it off any longer. When I had rid myself of my copious amounts of bags, she led the way to a nearby restaurant she was familiar with. I had no room to protest.

It was an Italian bistro, and though it smelled warm and welcoming, my stomach turned at the idea of food. When we were sat, I opted for a pink lemonade and to pick at the basket of garlic bread sticks that were brought to the table.

Gemma took her time looking through the menu, and I did my best to ignore the fact that she was probably planning out everything she wanted to say to me with a bulleted list in her mind. I focused instead on watching the crowds pass us by near the windows, blondes in sun dresses with perfect curls and pristinely glossed lips. I wondered about their lives, what they were studying in university, what parties they’d find themselves at later that evening. I wished I could be like them. Instead, I bit my nail down to the quick and brushed a hand self-consciously through my natural-dryed waves.

“He’s worrying himself sick about you, you know.”

“Well that’s big of him,” came my quick reply before I could think better of it. A moment later, once I realized what I’d said and who I’d said it to, I closed my eyes and took a breath, bracing myself to look at Harry’s sister.

She had her lips pursed in disapproval.

“He’s worried about me, so you’re worried about me,” I stated, a confirmation. I furrowed my brows when she shook her head.

“Don’t do that. Don’t do that disassociative thing where you try to make it look like you don’t matter to anyone. You’re family, Sawyer. Not only to him, but to mum and I as well. Did mum not show up to the service? Did she not call to check in on you?”

I bit down on my lip, unable to meet her eyes any longer. It was true that Anne had quietly sat in the back row of mum’s funeral, careful to keep a distance so as not to upset me further, but showing enough of a presence to let me know she was there. Her phone calls were much easier to ignore, and I deleted them immediately in a half-assed attempt to erase some of the guilt I felt at shutting her out because it’s what her son had done to me.

“I think you should see a therapist.”

I nearly choked on my water.

“What?”

“You need to see a therapist, Sawyer. I know you’re angry at Harry, but I think you’re also angry about what happened with your mum and some of it is being misdirected.”

“So you think I’m crazy?”

“Of course not,” she dismissed. “But I think you’re in a lot of pain and you don’t know how to handle it. If you keep self-medicating like this, Harry’ll be holding your hair back as you vomit in the back seat of a tinted SUV.”

The waiter chose that moment to bring Gemma her salad, and she smiled warmly at him as she unfolded her utensils. A moment later, he disappeared again, and her attention was back on me, even as she stirred the dressing into the greens.

“On top of that, you have to stop treating Harry like shit. He’s doing his best, given the situation.”

“Given the situation he made for himself,” I muttered bitterly. Gemma frowned.

“Harry’s living with a lot of guilt, too, right now. And I think he still believes his decision would have been the right one if the situation with your mum had been different. But he didn’t know that, and now he blames himself.”

I leaned back in my chair, crossing my arms over my chest as Gemma raised a forkful of lettuce to her lips. She took a few more bites, and I tried to process exactly what it was she was saying to me.

“You sound a lot like Declan,” I finally managed. She nodded to herself, smiling fondly.

“Smart lad. Which reminds me to tell you Colin begged me to bring him with me. He’s desperate to see you, but still in school, you know. Aside from that, from what I’d heard from Harry, I thought it best he not see you right now.”

I took a deep breath, the idea of Declan’s younger brother making my heart ache. I made mental note to give him a call. He was the one person I regretted having to leave behind in Holmes Chapel.

“Sawyer, do you care about my brother?”

The question caught me off guard, and I asked her to repeat herself to make sure I’d heard correctly. I’d been busy thinking of Colin’s dirty blonde hair, the way he’d shake it out like his brother’s despite the fact that it lay flat where Declan’s had a curl to it. I missed his smile, his open arms, and his penchant for showing up on my doorstep with my favorite tea for the weeks after my mum died.

“Despite what he did, do you still care about him?”

If I didn’t, it probably wouldn’t hurt this much. After a moment, I allowed myself to nod.

“So if you can’t motivate yourself to get help for your own sake, know one thing: he’ll take the fall for you. If this goes south and you’re unwell, it’s going to hit him harder than it hit you when he left. It’ll affect his career, it’ll affect everything about him. He wants to be there for you now, so let him.”

I let this sink in as Gemma finished her meal in silence. She paid the check, gathered her bag, and led the way back to the car. There, she turned off the radio and hummed to herself as she dropped me off back at the house.

“Aren’t you staying?” I asked. She shook her head.

“I have a few friends I’m visiting, but I always stop in to see Harry when I’m in town. I’ll see you soon,” she promised. I offered her a slight smile, and she rolled her eyes before reaching over to give me a hug over the center console. “Be strong,” she told me when I’d untangled myself from her. I nodded before pushing open the door and collecting my bags from the trunk. A moment later, her car was growing smaller as she drove down the street.

The sun was just beginning to dip lower on the horizon as I trudged up to the keypad and opened a note I’d made with the code on it. Gemma had given it to me in the car, and it was appreciated since it seemed Harry hadn’t made it home yet.

The gate opened silently, sliding apart wide enough to let a car through even though it was just me and sixty-odd bags. My arms ached under the weight of the clothing I’d purchased as I entered yet another code to get into the garage. I didn’t yet have a front door key, and made mental note to ask for one at the earliest opportunity.

Pushing into the kitchen, I let my bags drop to the floor before heading over to the fridge to pull out a water. My throat was dry, and it seemed I had yet to get used to the complete lack of humidity in California.

I wasn’t sure what I expected to find when I opened the fridge. I suppose I half-thought it would be empty, since I knew Harry did so much traveling. It made sense, though, to see it was filled to the brim with food and ingredients. Harry always liked to experiment with cooking, making up his own recipes as he went along. He had always been quirky like that, something that had drawn me to him in the first place.

My eyes fell on a package of thawed shrimp, and I tilted my head to the side. My stomach rumbled from my skipped meal at lunch, and I wondered if he had any pasta. Rummaging through cabinets, I found enough miscellaneous ingredients to warrant sauteed shrimp linguini and got to work.

It had been a long time since I’d cooked, and I felt rusty as I minced garlic and chopped basil. I had a pot of noodles boiling on the stove as I began to sautee the shrimp, dousing it in white wine for the flavor. Harry had a radio in the kitchen, and I’d turned it to an alternative station as I cooked, singing along with whatever I knew and listening intently to the songs I hadn’t heard. I was lost in Graceless by The National when I heard the front door open.

“Sawyer?” Harry called hesitantly.

“In here,” I answered.

A few seconds later, his head of curls poked into the room. His brows were furrowed as he surveyed the area, sniffing at the air.

“I’m cooking,” I told him.

“I thought you might be slaying a vampire,” he joked, nodding at the knife I’d been using to chop herbs with and the discarded remains of the garlic cloves. He smiled to himself as he pulled open the fridge and found a bottle of water. Leaning against the stainless steel door, his eyes alighted on the bottle of white wine and he frowned.

“For flavor,” I explained, following his gaze. I turned back to the pan and flipped the shrimp. “I’m laying off the booze a while.”

“Probably a good idea,” he agreed.

I could hear the water bottle crack as he squeezed it in his palm, taking a drink. I focused on stirring the noodles in the pot, watching the steam rise in wisps that disappated moments later.

“Here, let me help,” he said, and his voice was closer than expected. I jumped at the sound, which resulted in a splash of boiling water to my skin. I cried out in pain, letting the spoon fall to the floor.

Harry cursed lowly, grabbing a towel and wetting it with cold water before handing it to me. I watched as he turned down the burner so the shrimp wouldn’t overcook before disappearing into the living room. Further away, I could hear him digging through cabinets. When he returned, it was with a bottle of aloe in his hands.

“Thanks,” I muttered lamely, moving the towel out of the way. I reached for the bottle, but Harry was already squirting it onto my skin before reaching out with soft hands to gently rub it on the burn. A sigh involuntarily escaped my lips, startling the both of us. Harry bit down on his lower lip, his eyes flickering up to my face before they dropped back to the task at hand. He cleared his throat.

“I take it you had a good talk with Gemma?”

He said it with a slight smirk, knowing better than anyone the sort of things Gemma doled out when she had her mind to. I chuckled and he pulled his hands away, turning to the faucett to wash off.

“Your sister’s a bitch,” I said. “I forgot how much I love her.”

His initial frown upturned to a smile and he couldn’t help but laugh along with me. I turned to pick up the spoon I had dropped, and reached over to place it in the dishwasher. Harry had already replaced it with another and was moving on to turn off the heat on the shrimp. I reached out to help him, but he blocked the stove with his body.

“I’ll finish up. Least I can do after maiming you.”

“You’re right. We might have to cut it off with an injury like that,” I replied sarcastically, gesturing to the three small, red marks that had popped up on my skin. Harry rolled his eyes, but didn’t relent. I busied myself with getting plates and utensils instead.

“Did the spirit of Emeril possess you? Why are you cooking?” he asked conversationally as he strained the pasta.

“I dunno,” I shrugged. “I guess I thought I’d try to do something nice for you.”

“And why in the world would you do that?”

It was an attempted joke that fell flat. He frowned at himself and I ran a hand through my hair guiltily, leaning forward on the island as I watched him stir in the olive oil sauce.

“Because you’ve been incessantly kind to me and I’ve been awful to you,” I answered truthfully.

“Sawyer...” he began, but I cut him off.

“No, really. I moved to California to leave the past in the past, and instead I’ve let it consume me. I don’t want to do that anymore. I don’t want to be this person, so I thought I’d start with pasta.”

He shook his head to himself, a smile playing at his lips. I took pride in being the one to place it there.

“It’s that simple, huh?” he mused, doling equal amounts of pasta onto the two plates. Next, he scooped the shrimp up to place atop it. My stomach rumbled again at the sight, and I felt glad at having made dinner. I was ravenous, inhaling the scent as he passed me my plate.

“I’ve never been simple,” I commented as I twirled the pasta around on my fork. Harry nodded, allowing this, and I reached over to punch him in the arm.

“But I’m trying,” I finished.

“That’s all I can ask.”

We fell into silence, but the kitchen was anything but. The refrigerator hummed and the sound of our forks scraping against the plates filled the void where words weren’t used. When a song by The Airborne Toxic Event began to play on the radio, I smiled and hummed along, glad to be having a peaceful meal in a warm place and listening to a song I loved.

It felt like peace.