In the Absence of You (11 page)

She’d smile when I asked her that. Eyes softer, eyes the way they were when she trusted me.

“Sorry if that was intrusive, Emil. I have no right to ask about her,” Aishe whispers. Her apology cracks through my memories, and it doesn’t take me long to return to the now. It’s how my life’s been since Zoe left me. I bow in and out of memories and those goddamn fucking regrets.

Why? How did I let that shit happen?

“Nope,” I croak, my voice sounding unused. “The answer’s easy and no secret. You must not have researched me much, because it’s all over the Internet. Some girl who wasn’t Zoe gave me a blowjob.”

“You cheated on your girlfriend?”

“No…

“Yeah.” I sigh. “It’s complicated. Too fucking complicated to get over.”

AISHE

S
handor’s gaze contains
the simmer of importance I know so well. We’re back at the bus. It’s a quiet agreement that the rest of the crew doesn’t enter the band bus. Even so, Shandor is there when Emil and I return. He’s sitting with Troy, a beer in his hand and eyes on the door, ready when I step in.

My heart does one of those leaps people talk about. It’s big and worried, knowing he’s there for a reason I won’t like.

“Wanna take a walk?” Shandor asks.

“Aren’t we about to leave?”

“We’ve got a half-hour,” Troll says on the way past.

And that’s it; there’s nothing stopping me from learning Shandor’s news.

As we exit and trail over the one-lane road to a small lake, I think about our family. They’re constantly on my mind, despite how messed up and dysfunctional they are. I’m not a part of their thing anymore. Mom was the last one to stop realizing I wasn’t going to pick up the phone. We communicate via email, because it’s easier to keep them at a distance that way. In the beginning when she asked why I didn’t pick up her calls, I blamed time zones and cell phone bills. Used to traveling, she didn’t fight me on it.

“Chavali called,” Shandor says, and with it, the world stops turning.

“Chavali.” I see a rock by the water. It’s big and grey and what I need, something to plop my butt on before I topple over on my own.

“She’s been trying to get a hold of you.”

I roll my eyes, because this isn’t new. She’s tried to get a hold of me ever since she left. “I don’t understand. Why would she call you all of a sudden?”

“Because I answer my phone. She wants you back.”

“It’s not that easy!”

“You don’t think it’s time? You know where they are right now?”

I shake my head; I haven’t opened the last email from my mother. They’re usually full of updates, and though she doesn’t speak with Chavali, she usually knows where she is. “I don’t want to know.”

“What does ‘ostracized’ mean, Aishe?”

“What’s with all the righteous questions? Will you stop—”

“—taking stabs at your conscience?” he finishes quietly, and I turn and grab his shirt hard, etching warnings into him with my eyes.

Shandor curves his fingers around my fist. He stares back, unapologetic and waiting for me to wind down enough to listen. I want to scratch him. This isn’t new to him, so he’s calm but on the alert. When I have nothing to say, he loosens my grip on his shirt. Then he settles a cautious grip on my shoulder and guides me away from the water.

“All these years,” he murmurs. “Remember how close you two were? Your sister and you are so alike. Your stubborn minds, how you took your own paths.”

“Yes, but our paths are polar opposites. Me, I didn’t grab a goddamn rope and run into the woods to hang myself. I didn’t let my sister find me and struggle so hard to get me down that I had blue roses in my cheeks for three days after I narrowly survived. See, I’m not a callous, self-centered bitch.”

“Aishe. You don’t mean that about her.”

I start crying, what always happens if I think back to fateful nights. My only sister. How could she do such a thing?

“She turns twenty-one today, and no one has called her,” Shandor continues. “Her husband is the only one celebrating with her.”

“Ha!” I say through the tears. “She’s twenty-one, and she’s been married for six years. She beat the plague, didn’t she?”

“At the cost of her family, yes. You, at least—
We,
” Shandor corrects. “We chose to leave the community, but your sister didn’t even have the urge to break away from the clan, did she? And they never want to see her again.”

“I’m aware.” I turn abruptly and see Shandor’s windblown hair dance beneath his bandanna. “You know who Mom is grieving today? Not the loss of Chavali. You know what she’ll write in the email she’ll send me as soon as she wakes up?”

Shandor nods, sadness in his eyes. His pupils are so wide they almost eclipse the yellow of his irises. “She’ll say, ‘Today, your brother would have been twenty-one years old. He would have looked like your father.’”

A lump grows thick in my throat again, just when I’d stopped crying. It’s odd that you can be sad over a person who was never born. I guess it’s what happens when someone invents stories about him all the time. You form a picture of what he would have been like.

“It wasn’t easy to be the surviving twin when your mother wanted her boy more than another girl. Your mother used to cry in my mother’s lap, cursing God for taking Camlo from her and asking why Chavali was the one who survived.”

“Yeah. Well.” I cross my arms and keep walking, kicking pebbles on my way.

“Even newborns catch vibes. Can you imagine being the unwanted one?”

“Why are we talking about this? Jesus, Shandor.”

“Because Chavali isn’t in Europe. She’s in Oregon. We haven’t been closer to them since we left the family. They’ve got their camper parked at a campground in Linemell, less than a half-hour from our next show.”

I can’t speak anymore. I loved that child so much, my mini-me who toddled after me from the moment she could walk, imitating everything I did. She relished each moment I spent dressing her up in jewelry and silk, each caress and smooch. Chavali always looked beautiful, always clean and glowing with hair brushed shiny with my silver brush. Our father loved us both the same, but to Mom she never became more than a reminder of a son lost.

Mom was the one who insisted on the arranged marriage. It’s a common occurrence, but because of the plague, it’s not always executed. What is a girl to do when old traditions still live? My sister wasn’t a rebel, but her unhappiness over her young fiancé, Kaven, from three campers behind us, was bigger than even I, the other half of her heart, could have guessed.

Kaven didn’t look like us. Flaxen-haired and with muddy blue eyes, his skin was too pale for a Romani. His father, a widower of thirty-six, lost his wife to pneumonia when Kaven was a baby. Because of her mild ways and her husband’s position in our hierarchy, she’d been the only non-Romani accepted into our caravan. Kennick hadn’t found his love fire, but in Cynthia, he’d found peace until she died a few years later.

“I’ve told Chavali where the concert is, Aishe. They’ll be there.”

“No…”

“Yes, and I’ve talked to Troll. He’ll leave tickets for them at the door.”

“Ah
why
are you doing this?”

“Because you need to talk. She’s your sister, your only living sibling, all right? Enough time has passed—you can do this now. We don’t chat much with the rest of the
kumpania
. My brothers, our parents, the chieftain. It’s what happens when people give up on their clans. But with your sister it’s different. She has no one checking in on her, and she misses you so badly.”

“She’s got her husband,” I mock, mad about him. It’s his fault. He was there, igniting her love fire and ruining her relationship with everyone she loved. He made her tie a noose at fifteen years of age. Like everyone, I believe in the power of the love fire, but it doesn’t always make things right.

As soon as the blue roses disappeared from her cheeks, the two of them went against all that was right and true, and they got married in the closest city. Chavali didn’t have an opulent Romani wedding and a dress so colorful and expensive it set the family back months financially. No, Chavali eloped, leaving even me behind, and got married at a courthouse without her family.

Oh Chavali.

EMIL

M
y mind’s jacked up.
In thirty-six hours, we’ll be in Portland for our next show. Two hours before we go onstage, Bo and Nadia pick Zoe up from the airport, and I need more
Bleue,
her favorite cologne. I’ve had no reason to wear perfume since she left me.

Aishe is a bonfire, devouring me from afar unless I give in to lust and crook a finger at her. Since her shopping spree, she’s been wearing colorful hot-hot outfits meant to be ripped off, and her stare has been daring. She makes it clear she knows whom she wants, and I have a weakness for determined girls.

But I’m impatient. I can’t wait to see Zoe even if she ignores me or looks at me with contempt. Everything is better than never seeing her. I belt out songs in the back lounge, the only way to keep my impatience under control. I’m loud. Peeps leave me alone.

The bus bounces over a dirt road in the forest—some shortcut, I’m sure. Our driver likes to find those, which drives Troll up the wall. I steady myself against the window frame and roar out the chorus to “Bullshit,” about how chicks should never leave their man over single mistakes.

“Emil!” Troll shouts from the door.

I stop and turn. Watch him shake his head. “Take a break, man. Don’t destroy your voice.”

I sigh and press my forehead against the panel. “Dude.”

I need to do
something.

“Play video games. Read. Get drunk—anything. Just stop singing. Ragging out your voice isn’t on your checklist for the tour.”

I pop in my earbuds and listen to Bo’s scores for future songs. I hum along, leaving one of the buds askew so I can hear my own voice. “We got beer?”

“What, do I look like a butler?” Spine curved with his customary backache, Troll swings to me.

I snicker and splay my middle fingers up at him. “Three, please? One of the shitty Mexican ones, and a few of those designer brewery beers.”

Troll huffs, muttering something under his breath, and lumbers out. “Just keep it low. No yelling out songs. You can do that tomorrow night at the show.”

With Zoe in the audience.

I sing along, changing up the bass, which is nonexistent on this ballad. The door clicks shut behind me, and Aishe is there, in a long, green skirt and a skimpy top that makes her look fucking tempting.

“Three, you said?” She wiggles beer bottles in front of me, held by the necks and squeezed tight.

“Ha, you lifesaver you,” I murmur. She removes the cap of a beer, making it hiss invitingly. “You here to get me drunk?”

Aishe’s got a bold gleam in her eye. She bites the corner of her lip and slinks closer, knowing I’m studying her. Her feet are bare under that awesome skirt, with small toes peeking out. They’ve got nails shaped like perfect half-moons, and they’re covered in dark nail polish.

Impatience does weird things to a guy. Even with the best intention, it’s hard to hold back when someone, full of plans like her, steals up so near she can remove your earbuds and nurse you straight from the beer bottle.

I’m too tall for her to feed me comfortably, so I put my phone to a side and slump to the couch. She comes after me, scooting in behind the table. Most times, Aishe waits for me, but tonight, she cups my face, leans in, and then she angles the bottle up for another sip.

I watch her lips slide apart, revealing the tip of a pink tongue as she feeds me. It’s hard to stay away from her when she keeps invading my space. I hold a small sip of beer in my mouth and jut my chin at her.

She catches on. Sees that I’m not swallowing my beer. I don’t signal her closer, but she shifts her stare from my mouth to my eyes, looking for confirmation that she’s reading me right. I give her no such sign. Still Aishe, sexy Aishe, obliterates the last inch between us and finds my lips with hers.

Lazy, I don’t sit up from my reposed position against the backrest of the couch. I pucker my mouth, opening for her. Add pressure so the beer meets her teeth and sieves beyond. Aishe plays along. She sucks the beer in and deepens our contact once she has swallowed.

She kisses me, and I accept. The long, wide skirt with that tight waist billows over my lap as she straddles me and settles down. Sluggish, I knead my fingers into her middle and dip my thumbs under her top for warm flesh.

She knows I’m unredeemable. I can’t be more than a good fuck to her. I won’t spend energy on worrying, on repeating myself like she’s deaf, especially not when her hands move mine up to cover her tits.

I groan, because I’ve stayed clear of her for days. Aishe’s is a surprise attack, right when I need distraction the most, and she’s massaging my dick with her weight, undulating on me. I let go of her breasts to press her down harder. A small moan puffs from her, eyes already fluttering closed with need.

“You’re funny,” I whisper. “Why do you want me so much? Is it the sex?”

She nods, grinding her pussy on me, making herself feel good too. “I like you,” she manages. “A lot.”

From the blush on her chest, I’m guessing she’s about to come. I’ve never met a girl who reaches orgasms as fast as Aishe. I slide my hands down over her skirt and wedge my thumbs between our bodies, right where her clit should be. With a few strokes, I’ve got her sobbing out her first one.

I examine the ecstasy on her face while she’s lost in pleasure. Then I toss away caution, get up, wiggle the door to make sure it’s locked, and lift her skirt high so I can get rid of her panties.

“My turn,” I growl, horny from her climax. She pants, nodding, not coming down from her high. I widen her thighs on the couch and kneel between them, pulling my last condom from my wallet and threading it on. I plunge inside her. My relieved grunt mixes with her small whimper. She contracts around me, wet, welcoming, exactly how a girl should feel.

I work her hard, fast. Take a moment to shove her top up so I can rip her bra open at the front and watch her nipples pebble with desire.

“Again? Already?” I say when she starts to shake only minutes later.

“Yeah…” she whispers, trying to remain quiet.

“We’re stopping for pizza,” Elias announces at the door.

She contracts so beautifully around me I curse under my breath. It’s hard to hold off when she does that. Her head angles backwards, a whine at the back of her throat. I cover her mouth so Elias doesn’t hear. I don’t slow my pace while I yell back, “Okay.”

“Canadian bacon and pineapple on yours?” Elias insists.

I slow down to catch my breath. Draw back from Aishe so I can widen her lips between us and watch myself bathed in her juices. It’s a pretty sight. Her breath shudders when I rock back in again, just half the length so I can still watch us. “No, pepperoni and extra cheese. Oh and bell pepper.”

“Copycat.” Elias laughs. “That’s my favorite.”

I decide to come slowly and enjoy the experience. The more time spent doing something besides counting minutes, the better. I fill my hands with Aishe’s breasts and watch golden skin between my fingers as I push inward. “You gonna do another one?”

Speechless, she nods and lets her eyes sink closed. Her spine arches off the cushion. “Crazy girl,” I whisper to her. “Always in heat, aren’t you?” The pressure builds in me, and if she’s answering, I can’t hear her. Short, slow thrusts, a perfect glide into her body. Right when I come, I widen her sweet lips again, and stare as I give her clit a short, circular rub.

She yelps through her third orgasm, spasming and making me groan out my own climax.

I pull Aishe on top of me without removing myself. I still have her hooked deep, blanketing me with her hair in my nose. That spicy flower scent tickles me. I’m content with her relaxed in my arms.

I’m the kind of dude who needs a better half. When I don’t have one, I miss the girl I lost even more. Aishe is warm over me. Exhausted. I’ve given her pleasure and release, and she’s done the same for me. I pull up high enough to grab my beer and lie down again, leaving soft hands where they are around my neck as I take a few swallows.

I let myself dream of possibilities: what if she became my better half? She’s not Zoe. No one is Zoe. But what if I didn’t distance myself from her again? What if I allowed this ease, this relaxed bliss to last between us? I stroke long, silky hair away from her face. I like Aishe. I like her very, very much. Could I give her what she needs to be content as my girl?

“That was nice, huh?” I whisper, pecking her cheek.

Her answer is a whisper. She might not mean for me to hear it, but I do. “Yes. You’re amazing.”