Page 70 of Torn
Every week when I clean Tor’s house, I feel guilty that he pays me fifty dollars because his house is always so clean already. I wipe down his kitchen and bathrooms, do his laundry if any is lying around, clean out his refrigerator, and vacuum. Today I feel like I should try to do more to justify my fifty, so I clean all his windows and mirrors, and move as much of his furniture as I can to vacuum under it. In the corner of his bedroom is an old glass jug that’s about two and a half feet high with a big handle on the side. The jug is filled with mostly quarters and dimes that reach about three inches away from the top opening of the jug. It’s been in the same place for as far back as I can remember. I try to move it so I can vacuum underneath it and around it, but it weighs a ton. I can’t budge it for anything. He comes into the bedroom just as I’m cleaning it with glass spray cleaner and a cloth.
“Uncle Tor, what the hell is this thing?” I ask him from where I’m sitting on the floor next to it. “I wanted to clean around it but it weighs about a hundred pounds.”
He kneels next to me. “It’s a special family tradition. Do you want to know what it is?”
“Well, now I’m intrigued, so yeah, you hafta tell me.” I always want to know as much about Tor as possible because he’s not like anyone else I’ve ever met before.
“This bottle used to belong to my great-grandfather. He started putting coins in it when he was twelve years old, and when he fell in love with my great-grandmother, he dumped out all the change and that’s what he used to buy her engagement ring, because he didn’t have much money. Then he gave the jug to my grandfather, who did the same.”
I smile at him, happy that he shared such a close family memory with me. “Wow, that’s pretty cool. Did your dad do the same with your mom’s ring?”
“Yup, and then he gave it to me when I was fourteen. My brothers each have a bottle, too, but this one here was my great-grandfather’s, so it means a lot to me.”
Fascinated with the romance of the tradition, I stare at the jug, wondering how many quarters and dimes are in there. One time I guessed how many jelly beans were in a bottle for a class project and was only off by two, but this is way harder.
“How much money do you think is in there?” I ask with curiosity.
“I’m not sure. A lot. A few thousand at least.”
“Damn. That’s going to be a big diamond.”
He ruffles my hair and stands up. “I’m sure she’ll be worth it. If I ever get married, that is. The bottle’s almost full and I don’t exactly have anyone to propose to. I hope I don’t wreck the family tradition and end up with just a big bottle of money.”
“I seriously doubt that.”
My heart twinges with a slight beat of jealousy over the woman who will someday get to be Mrs. Toren Grace.
TOR
I see we haven’t been properly introduced. I’m the asshole who broke the fragile heart of a seventeen-year-old girl by telling her she can’t give me what I want and need.
The reality of it all is that I think she’s probably the only woman on the planet who actuallycangive me everything I’ve ever wanted, needed, and dreamed of. Somewhere the universe fucked up big and screwed up our timing. I should have been younger. She should have been older. We should’ve met as strangers, bumping into each other in some random way. As I stand under the shower and let the hot water spray over me, I can see in my mind how we should have met. She’d be rushing out of a cafe, on her way to the craft store to buy parchment paper and ink the color of night for her favorite fountain pen. I’d be walking down the sidewalk, and we’d crash into each other. She’d drop her purse, and I’d bend down to help her pick up her things. There’d be a penny on the ground, and when I hand it to her, our fingers would touch. She’d look at me with those big green eyes and that shy smile of hers that fucking shatters me, and that would be the start of our forever. She’d be wearing jeans with holes in the knees, an eighties band T-shirt, little leather motorcycle boots with pink socks peeking out of the tops, and that beanie on her head with the purple heart that would eventually become mine. Her sensual cuteness would captivate me, and I’d force up the courage to ask her out, afraid of never seeing this magical little creature again. She’d write her number on my hand in writing so beautiful that I’d never want to wash it off. Instead, I’d take a picture of it so I could keep it forever and call it “the day my wife gave me her phone number.”
Why couldn’t the powers that be have given us that scenario?
I wonder what made little Kenzi Valentine decide I was husband material when she was just five years old. And fuck me, I think she still believes that. I can see it in her eyes in the way she looks at me like I’m the only person in the world that matters, and it literally stalls my heart. She’s been committed to me in her ownway for twelve years, which is twisted irony considering that no one else has been capable of that.
Stepping out of the steamy shower, I wrap a white towel around my waist and head out to the kitchen to make my morning protein shake, and there she is, standing at the window in my dining room looking out at the backyard.
“What the hell are you doing here?” I ask, and then turn to the dog, who’s just sitting there acting like it’s okay for anyone to waltz into our house. “And why the hell don’t you bark when people come in? You suck as a dog.”
He wags his tail at me and gets up to follow me to the kitchen, with the still nameless kitten right behind him like a fuzzy shadow.
“When did you get all these pets? It’s like a zoo in here. My allergies are going to go crazy,” she says, turning away from the window to look at me.
“I asked you a question,” I repeat, taking my blender out of the cabinet.
“You’ve been avoiding me, so I decided to just come over.”
“That’s what happens when people break up, Syd. They avoid each other. Permanently.”
When I turn around to get milk out of the fridge, she’s leaning over the kitchen island, her cleavage spilling out of the tight black tank top she’s wearing. I ignore her lame antics to get attention. That shit doesn’t work with me.
“Tor, come on. We’ve broken up a million times, and we always get back together. Stop being a drama llama. We belong together.”
Sydni isn’t the one that got away; she’s the one that won’t go away.
I shake my head, pour milk into the blender with my protein powder and a handful of frozen fruit, and answer her with a sarcastic laugh. “No, we don’t. And you can’t just be coming into my house anytime you want.”