SWT - Chapter 2

ASTON

Traffic congesting the interchange doubles what is normally only a half-hour commute for Tillie, and by the time we reach the old mining town of Crowley, heavy rain clouds have gathered across the horizon, blotting out the sun, making it feel a lot later than it actually is.

Trees blur past, broken up only by dilapidated barns and service structures. The further away from the highway we get, the more open it becomes. Cornfields stretching as far as the eye can see. Radio towers and steel stacks reaching for the sky like skeletal arms thrusting out from their graves. 

By the time Tillie steers us down a narrow residential street, the asphalt smooth and dark, looking freshly redone, the first drops have just started to fall, splashing the windshield.

It’s a stark contrast to most of the neighborhoods in Springville, another suburb of Philadelphia where I spent the majority of my childhood. First in the orphanage, then bouncing from one overcrowded group home to the next, before finally getting thrown into foster care at age five and moving in with the Baders.

While it’s fuzzy up until that point—undeveloped brains and all—it’s even murkier after that. At least for the first couple years…

“What kind of trees are these?” I blurt quickly, focusing intently on a droplet of water streaking down the window. Tracing it with my finger.

“Um, sycamores mostly, I think. We’ll have to ask Walt. I’m sure he knows.”

I hum in response, heart thumping in my ears. Sweat has gathered across my palms, and I rub them roughly down my thighs. Rough enough I’m surprised the friction doesn’t spark.

“You okay?”

I whip my head toward Tillie, eyes wide like I’d just been caught doing something I shouldn’t. “Huh? Oh. Yeah.” Her brow knits as she darts her gaze between me and the road. I wave off her concern. “Just not used to…cars.”

Really? That’s what you’re going with?

I expect Tillie to laugh, but if anything, her frown only deepens. “Right…” she murmurs, sounding miles away.

I turn my attention back to the road, unable to help myself from cataloging the differences. The street the Baders lived on didn’t have space for many trees. The houses were pressed too closely together. Not here though. This is the kind of neighborhood where kids play together in the middle of the road. Not the kind with crackheads shuffling along the sidewalk like zombies. 

A wiper blade squeaks across the still-mostly dry windshield as we ease into a paved driveway, one that leads to a sprawling red brick two-story.

It’s huge. Probably not by most peoples’ standards but compared to the Baders and the other homes I lived briefly in as a kid, it’s a mansion. It even has a covered porch overlooking a flourishing bright green yard that stretches across the entirety of the front. Big enough for another small house to sit.

This is going to look so pretty in the winter with Christmas lights…

My lips rise, and I don’t even bother waiting for the garage to fully open so that Tillie can pull in. The second she brakes, I’m flinging the door open and all but throwing myself out, my backpack clutched protectively to my chest. I ignore the slam of her breaks and the startled sound she makes.

All I can do is gape at my new home.

“Wow,” I breathe.

Eventually, I’m joined by Tillie, only vaguely aware of the garage doors closing. I didn’t even notice her pull in and kill the engine.

“Nice, huh?” she says, sidling up next to me. With the hand not dragging along my suitcase, she shields her eyes from the raindrops pinging down on us. “It was Walt’s mother’s. She passed away a few years ago.”

I gesture toward the bright pink hydrangeas lining the porch, blinking the moisture from my eyes. “Did she plant those?”

Tillie laughs. “You know it.”

It’s a running joke between us that she’s got a black thumb—can’t keep an indoor plant alive for the life of her. It’s one of the things we talked about—planned for—when it was decided I would come live here.

A garden just for me and me alone to grow and tend to. Something I’ve wanted for years.

Unfortunately, with winter right around the corner, that will have to wait until spring.

Who knows if I’ll even still be here by then…

She tips her head toward the front of the house. “Come on.”

The suitcase bumps noisily along the bumps and grooves making up the stone path curving toward the porch, light enough that it’s easily swooped up with one arm when we reach the steps. Meanwhile, I linger at the bottom, taking time to absorb everything.

“It’s so clean,” I find myself murmuring in awe as I turn in place.

No garbage bags crowding the porch—only dark wicker furniture with cream cushions.

No rusted metal or broken toys scattered across a neglected, weed-infested yard—only perfectly trimmed grass.

No newspaper or tarp taped over any of the windows. No bars…

“Yes, well,” Tillie says, laughing, as she opens the door. It’s black, like the shutters, with white windowed panels on either side. “Now that we have a sullen teenager who rarely leaves his room, it’s much easier to maintain.”

Teenager…

Yeah, I’m still reeling over the fact she actually is a mom already. But I’ll get to that whole reveal in a bit.

Inside, a brightly lit foyer welcomes my shuffling steps, and just like the exterior, I can’t help but compare it to the other homes I’ve lived in. Where I’d normally find peeling, yellowed, stained wallpaper—or worse, wood paneling—and crushed shag carpeting, instead I’m met only with gray paint and polished wood floors.

And the smell…

Like dryer sheets mingled with something more sweet and potent—leathery.

Just as the scent registers, I get an even stronger whiff when a set of French doors to my right open, revealing a tall, skinny man with thinning brown hair dressed in a gray tracksuit. He emerges from what appears to be some kind of fancy man cave with a leather recliner facing a huge flat screen against the far wall.

I stand up a little straighter as Tillie introduces us, pasting on an expression of polite indifference as I nod in greeting. It doesn’t escape me that Walter doesn’t extend his hand for me to shake, nor does it seem to escape Tillie, if the purse of her lips is anything to go by.

Ah.

Let me guess: somebody wasn’t fully on board with this whole taking me in thing.

Naughty, naughty, Tillie…

I, for one, couldn't care less what Walter here thinks. If anything, I’m relieved we’re not about to fake pleasantries. If it was up to me, he wouldn’t even be here. How someone as vibrant and wonderful as Tillie could end up with such a dud—his name is Walter, after all—beats the crap outta me.

I wonder if his son is just as lame as him…

“Is Eden in his room?” Tillie asks him, darting a look up the stairs, and I perk to attention. I swear she’s a mind reader sometimes.

“Yeah, he just got back a little while ago.”

Following her gaze, I’m unable to make out anything more than the curved banister overlooking the foyer. It’s a far-cry from the narrow walled-in stairwell at the Baders, with its uneven planks covered in that awful brown carpeting.

I wonder if these creak…

Tillie turns toward me, and I blink away the thought. “He works part-time at the library,” she explains. “It’s right down the road. Perhaps he can take you sometime, so you can get yourself a card.”

Nodding, I force on a small smile. “Sounds good.”

While Tillie chats briefly with Walt, who barely contributes, I only half-pay attention, not really absorbing anything as my thoughts wander back to what she revealed to me in the car.

In the two years I’ve known her, she’s never shied away from sharing tidbits about her personal life with me. Another thing that sets her apart from the rest.

Unprofessional and naive? Probably.

But I appreciated it, nonetheless.

Little did I know though…all this time, she was keeping a pretty big secret from me.

She has a kid. A son.

And not some snot-nosed toddler for me to get roped into taking care of, but a teenager who’s apparently not much younger than me. Sixteen, going on seventeen in a few weeks.

I can’t even be mad she kept this from me. It just goes to show she really is a good mom, just like I thought she’d be.

Although…I can’t help but feel this nagging pit in my stomach that tells me, hold up, wait a minute, put a lil sus in it.

Because let’s be a little real for a second: why risk this? Keeping his existence from me made sense. But bringing me into his life? Not so much.

And it’s been this thorn twisting deep in my brain ever since she casually dropped the bomb on me.

When it was just her and Walt taking me in, I didn’t question it—adults always think they have things under their control, despite what their instincts might say, and people like Tillie—the good, doting sort of people that are rare to find—often feel a need to…swoop in. Play savior. Fix me…

As if it’s just a given their little pet project won’t turn on them. After all, how could a grown-up possibly be undermined by a child? Or at least in the case now, someone decades younger than them, who is as clueless as a newborn to the workings of the real world.

But then again…maybe that’s exactly it. That false, deluded sense of invincibility, giving them a conflated sense of control.

You’d think, knowing now that they’re parents…Tillie, in particular…that their instincts would be much, much harder to ignore. That they’d be selfless enough to put their egos aside to not risk a child’s—their child’s, their sweet, innocent, flesh and blood’s—wellbeing.

Not dangle him in front of the monster like a candied carrot.

I look down at the floor, jaw working, as I tell myself there has to be a reasonable explanation. Something that justifies her confidence in putting me in her son’s path.

Because Tillie’s not like that. She’s not like them.

If anything, her only sin here is naivety. In her blind faith that I’m not as hopeless a case that deep down, past my fabulous exterior, we all know I am.

It’s not until Tillie squeezes my shoulder and says brightly, “Come on. I’ll give you a tour,” that I snap back to attention. Having not seemed to notice anything amiss, she hands my suitcase to Walt for him to take upstairs, and with a bright smile begins leading me around the main level.

I clutch my backpack, trailing her steps dutifully, nodding and smiling and commenting when deemed appropriate.

When we’re about to exit the living room, blue light radiating from the corner catches my eye. And all lingering doubts and questions that followed me through the house fade into the background. My excitement returning.

Lips rising, I rush over to the tank. “You have fish?” I crouch and dart my eyes around, searching for movement between the plants.

Tillie sidles up next to me, mirroring my position. “Just one. An angelfish.” She points to the back left corner, where a black and yellow striped fish the size of my palm swims out from behind a rock. “We’ve had a couple tetras and goldfish over the years, but they’ve all died, and we just never got around to replacing them.”

“Do you think he killed them?” I say, tilting my head as I stare at its beady little eye.

Tillie laughs softly. “No, it’s not likely. Angels only get aggressive when they’re feeling threatened, and we made sure to only get fish that they’re compatible with, who let him rule the tank. It’s why they don’t recommend having more than one. They can be very territorial. And you definitely shouldn’t house them with bettas. Something we learned the hard way when we brought this guy home.”

“Did he eat them?”

 She glances my way, blue eyes glittering with amusement. They practically glow and ripple from the reflection of the tank. “No, they’re over there.” I follow the kick of her chin to where a smaller tank sits atop a short bookcase. “We separated them before they could do too much damage.”

My eyes widen. “The bettas?”

She nods.

“But they’re so tiny…” I say in awe, glancing back at the angelfish currently weaving its way between strands of grass.

“And yet, see that silvery discoloration on his left side?”

“They did that?”

“One of them did.”

I smile at that. So fierce!

“Does he have a name?”

“Freddie.”

“Freddie?”

Smirking, she stands to her full height. “Freddie Mercury actually.” She gestures for me to follow her back down the hall. “Eden named him. He was ten at the time and was going through a Queen phase.” She lowers her voice and gives me a conspiratorial wink. “But don’t tell him I told you that.” 

Before returning to the front of the house, she points out the door leading to the basement. “One day, we’ll get around to going through my mother in law’s things. God knows, she kept everything. But if you can find your way through the maze, there’s a treadmill and heavy bag if you ever feel like working out.”

I make a face and look down at myself. “Are you trying to tell me something?” If anything I need to put on weight, not lose it.

She laughs, patting my shoulder as she steers me back toward the hall. “Exercise is good for the mind.”

“Pass.”

She just shakes her head and takes us back to the front of the house. As I suspected, the room to the left of the front door is Walter’s lair—Tillie’s word of choice, not mine. She doesn’t take me in there, just mentions it.

“He’s a very private person,” she tells me halfway up the stairs, turning her head just enough so she can roll her eyes at me.  “He’s like our son that way.”

“So, what you’re saying is, don’t go snoopin’ around?” I say as sweetly and innocently as ever.

At the top, she levels me with a narrowed, humored look. “Yes, that’s exactly what I’m saying, Aston.” She points out the bathroom, the linen closet, and her and Walt’s bedroom at one end of the hall. “Walt and I have our own private ensuite, so this bathroom here is all yours and Eden’s.”

Down the other end of the hall where she leads me, there are two rooms facing each other. Tillie pauses and turns to face me. “We respect privacy around here, Aston. Just as Walt’s study and Eden’s room is off-limits—unless invited in of course—so too is your bedroom. No one enters without permission, okay? Your things will be left alone.” Her mouth quirks and she steps back, not waiting for a response. Waving me on ahead, toward a door that’s been left open a few inches, she says, “Go on.”

Brushing past her, I push the door open all the way, revealing a perfectly square bedroom twice the size of my room back at Ashwood.

And that’s not the only thing that’s been doubled. For the first time in my life, I get to sleep on a mattress that isn’t a twin. One that looks to be at least twice the thickness of all the beds I can remember. 

Stepping inside, I drop my gaze to the carpet. Gray and soft-looking, it looks like it’s been vacuumed recently. It’s a couple shades darker than the painted walls, which are bare, with the exception of where there’s a window facing the front of the house. It overlooks a black, sloped roof that is partially obscured by the thick branches of a tree.

“We’ll go shopping tomorrow, and get you some curtains, bedding of your choosing…clothes…”

I start to smile, but then I remember—

“I don’t have any money.”

“Don’t worry about that right now.”

Well, if you insist…

Resuming my exploration of my new living quarters, I finally set my backpack down, dropping it on the bed as I pass by, making my way toward the closed closet doors. Walt is nowhere to be seen, but my suitcase sits against the wall where he must’ve parked it before heading back downstairs.

Throwing the bi-fold doors open, I sweep my gaze over the empty space, taking in the racks and hangers and shoe cubby just waiting to be filled up.

Meanwhile, from the hall, just outside my door, there’s a soft knock, followed by Tillie’s muffled voice. “Eden? Can you come out here?”

The closet and room’s potential forgotten, I whirl around just as I hear the muffled click and creak of a door opening. Straightening to my full height, I wipe my palms on my jeans, and nod to myself. Don’t be lame.

Tillie reappears, sidestepping to reveal the disheveled teenager shuffling awkwardly behind her.

I’m not sure what I was expecting. But the skinny, slouched, greasy-haired boy in ripped jeans with a t-shirt so big, it reaches his thighs, and a look of complete and utter boredom standing before me is not exactly giving killer queen.

I suppose I was just imagining someone a little more…put together? Maybe cool like Tillie with funky colored hair. Or a septum piercing.

Not that I’m judging!

Biting my lip, I lift my hand and wiggle my fingers at him in a wave. 

His brows slam together, and he side-eyes Tillie with a look I can’t decipher.

“Eden,” she says, squeezing his shoulder, “this is Aston. Aston, I’d like you to meet my son, Eden.”

The boy’s lips twist when he meets my gaze once more, and he kicks his narrow chin up in one of those silent sup, mans I’ve seen exchanged between the guys back at Ashwood.

So, I mimic it.

Supppppp.

And again, his face gets all twisted up. But this time, he quickly drops his gaze to the ground.

Oh well, A for effort and all.

Tillie claps her hands together, and I don’t miss Eden’s little flinch. Frowning, I only half pay attention to Tillie going on about dinner, as I wonder what that’s about.

He can’t be….scared of her.

This woman couldn’t hurt a fly.

“Aston?”

I snap my gaze to Tillie’s, eyes rounding. “Yeah?”

Her lips purse, and she spares a glance at Eden who shifts foot to foot, once more looking down at the floor. This time, though, he’s got his head fully tipped forward, making it so his long brown hair curtains his face, hiding whatever he might be thinking.

“I asked if you had any preference for toppings? I’m going to order a couple trays from Dino’s.”

“I’m good with whatever.”

She arches a knowing brow, silently calling me out on my bullshit.

I sigh dramatically. “Fine. Extra cheese.” As if she doesn’t already know this…

Grinning, she looks down at her son. “See? You two already have something in common.” I don’t miss how his shoulders stiffen at her words. “Extra cheese is what he always gets too.”

I narrow my eyes. She did that on purpose. Sneaky, sneaky…

“I’ll go do that while you get settled and get to know each other.”

And then she’s gone.

And it’s just the two of us.

Alone.

Cocking my head, I watch curiously as Eden doesn’t immediately bolt like I’m expecting.

Is he waiting for me to say something?

I dimly notice Tillie’s fading footsteps. When she descends the steps, I strain my ears, waiting for a creak that never comes.

I don’t know whether to be relieved or not.

Eden must have been doing the same thing as me—listening. Waiting. Only I don’t think it’s for the same reason as me.

When he turns to leave without a word, I find myself lurching forward. “Wait!”

Shockingly, he obeys.

With his back to me, he hovers just inside the threshold. “What?” he says in a quiet, clipped voice.

Locked in place, I look aimlessly about the room, and mouth, What the fuck do I say? as if the furniture might have the answer. I didn’t really plan this far ahead.

With a sigh, Eden twists to look over his shoulder, face bunched in a scowl. Eyes slitted. “I didn’t agree to this.”

I blink. “Okay? Good to know?”

He curls his lip in disgust, clearly not very impressed with me. Rude!

I cock my head, studying him more closely. Either Tillie conveniently left out the more…colorful aspects that make up moi. Or this kid has even less self-preservation than her.

Mumbling something under his breath, he looks down, his hair swinging forward to cover his face.

“What was that?”

“Nothing.” With a huff, he all but stomps across the short distance between our rooms.

Grabbing the knob of my door, I watch as Eden turns to face me just inside the threshold of his room, mirroring my position.

“Just…stay out of my way, and I’ll stay out of yours.” His eyes darken, cheeks flushing, and he glances down, thick lashes framing his high cheekbones. “And whatever you do, don’t you dare come in this room and touch my shit.”

And with that, he slams the door shut, not even attempting to be quiet about it.

A second later, music kicks on, loud, angry, and bass-heavy, vibrating the walls.

I wait a beat to see if Walt or Tillie will rush up here to demand what’s going on, but when I hear not a peep, I quietly close my door, before whipping around to face my new room, alone at last.

A slow, manic grin stretches across my face.

“Welcome home, Aston,” I whisper.