the things we do in the dark (+18)

23

To the Westminster family, August's mother was a ghost—better yet, a forewarning tale. August's father, Bo, and his mother, Camilla, eloped two months into their sordid romance. The couple had convinced themselves that they were star-crossed lovers kept apart by Bo's authoritative parents. Although this was partly true, Camilla was not who she claimed to be.

When she first met Bo, Camilla had told him she was born in Texas and raised by her aunt and uncle. But this was a lie. Camilla had immigrated from Mexico to the United States at eighteen as a permanent resident. Though her aunt and uncle lived in Texas, she'd become estranged from her family due to her wayward behaviour. She partied too much, stole from her parents, friends with deviants and for the life of her couldn't keep a job. This pattern continued in America, and with no familial support, Camilla was living off credit cards and fake cheques. She loved Bo, but his privileged lifestyle allowed her to pay off her debt and become a United States citizen.

Three months into the marriage, Camilla revealed to Bo she was fifty thousand dollars in credit card debt. The debt strained their relationship, but not enough to stop them from conceiving August later that year. 

What was the final nail in the coffin of their marriage was her notorious affairs with men and women. As one of the only openly sexually active women in the late seventies and early eighties, she was known as a bit of a nymphomaniac. Most people nowadays will classify Camilla as a sex addict. Her rendezvous' in Dallas, Austin, and Houston were well known. Camilla's infidelities left a lasting mark on the Westminster family name and greatly impacted August's childhood.

The more time August spends with his father, the more He feels like he's uncovering lost pieces of his past. August knows his mother is not entirely absolved from the deterioration of their family. Still, he believes his mother was justified regarding what happened in their marriage. The constant demonization of his mother didn't only have to do with her debt and wayward behaviour, but likewise, her background and race.

As August watches his mother and father awkwardly avoid one another at his birthday dinner, he realizes they don't necessarily hate each other. Yet, their often connecting gazes hold a deep sense of regret. This revelation makes August wonder about some of the mistakes he's made in the past months.

In honour of his 37th birthday, Devon planned a weekend getaway for August and select family members. Usually, his birthdays consisted of staycations with Devon's family and his mother. Due to the move from Maryland to Texas, this year, he's spending it with his father, stepmother, Jonah and Iverem. Despite their ongoing disputes about adoption, Devon still took the time to plan his birthday. Devon is always so thoughtful, kind and generous. So, why wasn't he in love with her? And most importantly, why didn't he desire her the same way he desired Iverem?

It's their first evening at the luxury camp. They're eating dinner on a ground-level patio. The dining room is enclosed by glass walls, overlooking the Austin desert's setting sun and wildlife. The hike and subsequent turkey hunting expedition the following day will surely be a test of patience for everyone, but so far, everyone has remained pleasant.

August glances at Iverem, who's deciding whether to eat the Texas Twinkies on her plate. A smile tugs at his lips but quickly disappears when Devon places her hand on his shoulder.

"Thank you guys for attending August's 37th birthday," she says, directing most of the speech to Camilla. "Before we move to the bonfire later this evening, honey, I wanted to give you an early birthday present."

The chef and several servers enter the dining room with a birthday cake, singing 'Happy Birthday.' Devon begins to clap, encouraging the rest of August's family to join. The birthday candles on his cake are bright, almost blinding. When he blows them out, he wishes for a different life—a life where he doesn't terrorize the women he loves—a life where he knows how to love people the right way.

His mother pulls him in for a hug as the group walks towards the bonfire. "Happy birthday, mijo," she says, kissing him on the cheek.

She entwines her arm with August's own. "Have you spoken to him yet?" he asks.

Camilla shakes her head.

"Why?" There's an edge in his voice that never existed before. August can tell his mother notices because her posture stiffens.

"Honey, you know why," she says.

"I don't understand why you can't talk to each other?"

"There is nothing I have to say." She moves away from him, slowly increasing her gait to catch up with everyone else.

"Stop being difficult," August says. He's practically chasing after her. "Why can't you just do it for me?"

She won't look at him. He takes this as a sign that the conversation is over.

The moon and stars have overtaken the sky. The bonfire rages, reaching the peak of the barren red canyon in front of them. His family sits on benches around the fire with beers and coolers, but August is itching for another kind of vice. Like a true addict, August pats his pockets. Shit, I should have something on me, he thinks. He feels the outline of a cigarette just before he gives up searching. Thank god.

"August," Devon chides him, reaching for the cigarette.

"I know," he says. "Let me have this tonight."

She shakes her head but doesn't say anything else.

August starts walking towards the red canyon. He lights his cigarette as he admires the cliff. To his left, he hears the quiet cry of an animal. August follows the sound, climbing up the rocky terrain. His boots do well on grappling the crumbling ground. Soon, August finds himself on top of a ledge.

The noise is loudest by a bush. Behind it is a white-furred coyote with brown spots and electric blue eyes. The pup gazes at August with its ears pinned back, baring its teeth the closer he approaches. When he puts his hand out to pet the coyote, it bites him and then scuttles into a farther bush. The bite stings for a minute.

Fucking asshole, he thinks.

"Enjoying your late-night hike?" Iverem says. She's taking in the view. Her demeanour is relaxed, unbothered. August prefers her when she's a wreck. He doesn't want to overthink why at the moment.

"Not as much as I thought I would," August says, checking out the puncture wound on his hand.

Iverem moves towards August. She grabs his hand. Suddenly, the pain disappears, and all August can think about is how her perfume makes his mouth to water. "What happened?" she says.

"Nothing," he says. Iverem scrutinizes his response. He feels giddy under her gaze. Unlike many of the women he's dated, she's critical of him. He anticipates the bite of her harsh words next, but she relents.

He slightly frowns. "Get on with it," he says.

"What do you mean?"

"What are you here for?"

Iverem drops his hand. A scowl mars her delicate features. "I'm not here for anything. I wanted to give you something."

She pulls a pocket-sized diary from her jacket and hands it to him. The book is bound in camel leather – a lock at the center keeps it closed. He runs the pages between his fingers. The paper is firm yet smooth to the touch.

"Instead of reading other people's journals, maybe start writing stories of your own."

Iverem looks everywhere but at him. Sometimes, he's too prickly for his own good. "Thank you," he says.

She smiles at him. August knows it's a genuine smile because he can see the wrinkles forming around her mouth and eyes. He realizes she loves him because the brightness and tenderness in her eyes can only mean one thing. And he loves her too because how could he not love a woman as beautiful, intelligent, tenacious, and headache-inducing as her? At the same time, there's this gut-wrenching guilt, this gut-wrenching knowing that the inevitable will happen.

However, he swallows all this down and says, "I want to see you tomorrow night."

Iverem cups his cheeks. She presses a soft peck on his lips, and he can still taste the spiciness of the jalapeños she ate for dinner on them.