As he texted himself from my phone, I continued trying to place his face. Maybe he worked at the bank? I could swear I knew him, but a younger, clean-shaven version. It’d nag at me until I woke up from a dream, most likely about him playing with my cock. His phone dinged, confirming he hadn’t given me a fake number.
“Look forward to chatting.” Chatting or making out like teenagers? Wherever the night took us. He gave me another quick peck before he hiked up my pants. Like a true gentleman, he tucked my cock into my jeans and buttoned me up. With a zip, our trashy love affair had ended.
He flicked the lock and pulled open the door. Another patron glanced from him to me and back again. I waited for the snide comments, but he shuffled between us. He let out a long sigh. “Next time, use your back seat like normal sluts.”
It went on the list… that and a hundred other locations I wanted to bang… Dammit. I didn’t even know mystery man’s name. If I were going to feel slutty, I’d do it with pride. I straightened my back and widened my stance. I hope they could all smell the bourbon from his beard.
“Don’t forget to wash your hands,” I told the man. “You never know what goes on in these bathrooms.”
HUNTING FOR TREASURE
Jon: We sent her off to sea.
Evie: I can’t believe you set a boat on fire.
Jon: It’s what she wanted.
Evie: …
“I’m going to—” I sneezed again.
The dust had grown thick enough that we should wear masks. After spending hours in Mimi’s attic, I had little doubt the house wanted me dead. Amanda pulled a box from atop a shelf that hadn’t been dusted since the Second World War. Mimi might not be a hoarder in the genuine sense of the word, but she certainly collected a lot of things over the years. It would seem that if she tired of a possession, it made its way into the attic.
“Aww,” Amanda said, peering into the box. Graystreaks of dust lined her black t-shirt and covered her jeans. She lingered, letting the emotions wash over her before breaking into a smile. "Look at this!" she exclaimed, holding it up for me to see. I thought we’d have the attic cleaned today and move on to the bedrooms on the second floor, but I clearly underestimated Amanda’s love of treasure hunting.
“What is it?” I rifled through a captain’s trunk filled with old jackets. I shut it, pulled a stack of sticky notes from my pocket, and slapped an orange one on the lid. Orange for Twice-Told Tales. Gladys would have herself a giggle fest when she discovered all the junk hidden up here.
“It’s an album of pictures.” Here we go, another trip down memory lane. “Oh, it’s you… wait, no, is that your father?”
She climbed over a box of quilts, an old rocking horse, and a broken chair. We could turn the attic into an obstacle course. Every winner walked away with an allergy attack. The more she touched, the more dust I watched float through the air.
Amanda hopped on top of the trunk. “Is that your dad?”
I took the album to find a bust of my father in his Marine Corps dress blues. If not for the uniform, it could have been me in the photo. I flipped to the next page to see another of my dad in his uniform, standing next to my mom in a flowing white gown. Mimi had shown me the photos years ago when I would drive her to the cemetery. Birthday. Deathday. Like clockwork, we’d put flowers ontheir stones and then get ice cream and share goofy stories about them.
“They were so in love,” I mumbled. Dragging my fingers across the photos, I could almost feel the texture of her lace bodice. “He called her Honey. Every day. He’d say, ‘Honey, because you make everything in life a little sweeter,’ and she’d blush.”
On the next page, their faces were covered in cake, almost hiding the shock and laughter in their eyes. Off to the side, Mimi, bellowing hard enough, I could hear her roaring. Every photo attempted to capture the love they had.
“Do you miss them?” Amanda cuddled up to my back, arms wrapped around my waist and head on my shoulder. Everybody knew about the black ice and the car crash that killed them. Amanda was like the sister I never had and one of the few people who brought them up.
“I do. It’s been twenty years, but I still wonder what they’d be like today. I bet he’d still dance while waiting for the coffee to finish brewing. She’d still be cutting sandwiches diagonally because that’s how you say ‘I love you.’”
She gave me a squeeze. “I wish I had met them.”
Turning the page, I found a photo of the four of us in front of the Christmas tree. I wore antlers and a flannel onesie as I tore through a present. I was about to turn the page when Amanda poked the page.
“Do you still talk to her?” She asked about deceased parents with ease, but she danced around saying my sister’s name.
“Sort of. Holiday cards. Birthdays. After they died… Evelyn had very different ways of processing.”
Amanda kissed my neck before stealing the book out of my hands. She continued flipping. We’d never get the attic done.
“They’re so cute and in love.” My parents had that effect. “I see why you love happy endings so much.” She froze. “I didn’t mean?—”
“You’re right. Okay, yeah, they died. But damn, they loved hard. Someday, I want what they had.” I didn’t say it out loud, but I wanted my own honey, somebody who made life a little sweeter. Their death might have been a tragedy, but it served as a reminder. Just like Mimi, there were lessons they taught me, and some part of me feared I hadn’t been paying enough attention.
“Maybe mystery man is your honey?”
