London Undone Read online

  Reggie took her hand and squeezed before pushing it away. “I have to.”

  London watched her walk away, and all the emotions from the argument—confusion, shame, anger, resentment—collected in her chest. “Happy birthday.”

  * * *

  “Maybe I should have said yes when she was on stage and no when we were alone.” London stared into her vodka and soda. “At least then there wouldn’t be the public embarrassment factor.”

  “Sweetie, you were in shock,” Grant said. “Hell, we all were.”

  London had collapsed into a chair on the patio after Reggie left, and the guys swiftly pulled a table over and joined her. Her phone rang, and she lifted it to see if it was Reggie calling, but again, it was an unknown number. She let the phone drop on the table with a clatter.

  “What I don’t understand is why Reggie thought you’d even want to get married,” Tate said through a puff of smoke. “You’ve never wanted traditional anything, let alone something as huge as that.”

  “You don’t ever want to get married?” asked Thomas.

  “Not really,” said London.

  “Why?”

  “It’s just not my gig. I love Reggie, and I’m committed to her, but that doesn’t mean I want the government involved in our relationship. And I’m not particularly religious, so I don’t need the holy matrimony aspect.”

  “Ah,” Thomas said, “so you’re a cynic.”

  “Not at all. I believe in love, but I’m ambivalent about marriage. It’s too big a thing to do unless you feel strongly about it.”

  “That’s true,” said Thomas. He leaned his head against Grant’s shoulder.

  London’s phone rang again, and she glanced at it and sighed.

  “You gonna get that?” asked Grant.

  “No. It’s an unknown number. Probably somebody selling something.”

  “At midnight?” Tate asked. He grabbed London’s phone. “Hello? Yes, she is; who’s this?” He frowned and handed the phone to London. “It’s your sister.”

  “What? There’s no way it’s my twin. She doesn’t even have my phone number.”

  Tate put the phone in London’s hand. “I think it’s really her.”

  London hesitated, then put the phone to her ear. “Diana?”

  “London, is that you?” She sounded hoarse.

  “Yeah, it’s me.”

  “London.” Diana gulped. “It’s Mom. She died today.”

  Chapter Two

  London woke the next morning to the smell of coffee and felt the bed shift under the weight of someone sitting down. She thought of Reggie, but when she opened her eyes, it was Tate on the edge of the bed. The mug he held had steam rising from it, and he offered it with a gentle smile. She sat up and peered around the room in a dull daze that she mistook for a hangover. Something was off, but in the moments before she fully shook sleep away, she didn’t know what. When her eyes rested on the open door of the closet, she noticed it looked emptier than usual, and the previous night flooded back.

  She couldn’t take her eyes away from the closet. It mirrored the slightly empty, mixed up way she was feeling. Her mother was dead, and Reggie was gone, and she couldn’t shake the sense that she was displaced in her own home.

  Warmth filled her hands; Tate was holding the steaming mug to them.

  London took a sip. “Thanks for the coffee.”

  “No problem.”

  “Wanna go over to Hell with me? I just need a quick shower first.”

  Tate’s eyebrows furrowed, and he rested a hand on London’s back. “Do you really think you need to go to the shop today?”

  “Yes,” London said. “Before I leave for Keys Crossing, I have to make sure things are settled here. I’m not sure how long…you know, how long things will take.”

  She knew next to nothing about the circumstances of her mother’s death. Aside from details surrounding the day and time of the service, Diana hadn’t given her a lot of information. They’d both been distraught. It hadn’t occurred to London until after they hung up that she didn’t even know how Grace Craft had died, and in the too bright light of the morning, that realization made her lungs feel thick, and she concentrated solely on her breathing for several seconds.

  In the moments she’d allowed her thoughts to linger on her estranged family throughout the last few decades, she always fantasized about a phone call from her mother saying she’d been wrong, that she didn’t care about London’s sexuality; all she wanted was to have her daughter back. The daydreams ended with tearful reconciliations and promises to make up for lost time. As much as London knew it would never happen, she’d loved the fantasy. Now it was gone.

  What was almost as painful as that loss was the fact that she couldn’t turn to Reggie for comfort. How could things have gone so terribly wrong last night?

  “Well, one of the benefits of being self-employed is that I can go with you.” Tate blessedly interrupted her sad reverie. “Not only to Hell but to Keys Crossing too, if you like. Provided we’re taking your car, of course.” Tate’s career as a freelance web developer allowed him to take his work wherever he went. Strangely enough, most of the places Tate went, he visited on his bicycle. Part fitness buff, part minimalist, and part environmentalist meant he didn’t own a car.

  “Of course.” London looked again at the open closet and wondered what other empty spaces she might find around the condo.

  “Reggie texted me,” Tate said. “She said to tell you she’s at her parents’ house for a while.”

  The coffee curdled in London’s stomach, and she set her mug on the nightstand with a thud. Reggie had texted Tate. She was reminded of the time when she and Tate were in first grade, and Holly Davis passed a note to Tate explaining that she didn’t want to be friends with London anymore because London thought dogs were cooler than cats.

  “That’s big of her. Did she also break up with me through a text to you, or is she waiting until after the funeral?” London threw the covers back, got out of bed, and stalked toward the bathroom. When she opened the door, she noticed Tate had followed. “Do you mind?”

  “For what it’s worth,” he said, “I don’t think this is a breakup. She just needs some time.”

  London felt tears sting her eyes and blinked them back.

  “Sweetie, are you sure you want to do this? We can pack a couple bags, swing by my place and grab a few things, and be on the road. Things will be fine at the store while you’re gone.”

  “No.” London shook her head. “This is the way I want to do it. First Hell, then Keys Crossing.”

  * * *

  The Hell in a Handbasket sign was printed in large, cross-stitch letters in black with a red background. The logo emblazoned on the sign was a skull with knitting needles underneath in the place of crossbones. London and Tate entered through the customer entrance, and from halfway back in the store, Jasmine yelled, “Welcome to Hell!” She popped up from behind a display and laughed. “Oh, it’s you. I wondered who was coming in so early. We don’t normally see any customers in here on Sunday until after brunch, and I…” Jasmine’s voice trailed off as she moved closer. “What’s wrong?”

  London glanced at Tate, who took Jasmine’s elbow and guided her outside. Jasmine was barely five feet tall and probably ninety-five pounds after a large meal. Still, anyone who assumed she was frail ended up sorry. London watched them through the front windows. When she saw Jasmine cover her mouth and shake her head, she turned away and looked around the store to distract herself. It wasn’t in too bad a shape for Sunday morning.

  She looked down at the display Jasmine had been working on. It contained one of London’s favorite pieces she’d created this year: a small satin knapsack with the hand-embroidered words “Bag of Dicks” on it. Inside were a dozen individually wrapped gourmet chocolates in the shape of penises. She’d gotten the idea when she’d jokingly told Grant he could eat a bag of dicks.

  The shop was her baby. Long before she’d known the kind of succ
ess she’d have expanding, first to a huge online presence, then to some celebrities who ordered her handmade items for gifts and party favors, she’d had a dream to open this store in the Short North, Columbus’s edgy art district. People told her she’d be out of business in a year because there wasn’t a market for raunchy crafts. That was five years ago.

  London startled when she heard the door open. Jasmine opened her arms and folded London into a tight hug.

  “I’m so sorry, sugar,” Jasmine said, her voice muffled against London’s shoulder.

  “Thank you,” said London. She embraced the tiny woman and let herself be held for several minutes. It wasn’t until she felt a sharp pain in her lip that she realized she was biting it to keep from breaking down.

  “Now,” Jasmine said, pulling back, “what can I do?”

  “I need you to run the store.” London felt foolish. She’d come here under the guise of putting everything in place so she could leave town, but now that she was here, she just wanted some love from Jasmine before dealing with her estranged family.

  “You got it,” Jasmine said. “I’ll keep everything under control. I might bring Diego in to help me take pictures and post things to the online store, if that’s okay?” Diego was Jasmine’s son. He went to the Ohio State University and helped out sometimes for pizza and beer money.

  “Of course it’s okay,” London said “How are his classes going?”

  “Fine. They’d go better if he could leave the girls alone, but what do I know? I’m just his mother.” She shook her head.

  “Even if he left the girls alone, they’d never stay away from him,” Tate said.

  “Don’t I know it!”

  “He’s lucky to have you as his mother,” London said.

  Jasmine took both London’s hands in hers. “I am so, so sorry, London.”

  “It’s okay,” London said, blinking hard. “She stopped loving me a long time ago.” Her voice broke, and she wrapped her arms around herself. She could use another Jasmine hug, but she felt too vulnerable to ask.

  “I don’t believe that,” Jasmine said. “Mothers don’t stop loving, even when they don’t know how to talk to their children.”

  “Not all mothers are like you,” said London.

  “You trust what your Jasmine tells you,” she said and pulled London into another tight hug, as if she knew. Maybe she did.

  “I’ll try,” London said, knowing better than to argue, and acknowledging, if only to herself, that Jasmine was probably right.

  “And you,” Jasmine said, putting her hands on Tate’s cheeks. “You take care of her.”

  “Always.”

  * * *

  Tate looked out the window of the Holiday Inn and surveyed their view of the east end of Keys Crossing. “Jesus,” he muttered. “This place is like a giant, sealed-off time capsule. Nothing ever changes around here.”

  “Oh, that’s not true.” London folded her clothes and put them in the shallow drawers of the cheaply made dresser. “I heard Becky finally took over for her mom at Shelly’s Deli.”

  “Becky’s Deli? That doesn’t have the same ring to it.”

  “True. But I’m starving. Wanna go over and see if the sandwiches are still good?”

  “Sure.”

  Shelly’s Deli was two blocks away, so they walked. Tate was right; nothing ever changed in Keys Crossing. Hole in One Bagels was still there with its ratty sign, as was Brothers’ Barbers. They crossed Main Street with the same flashing yellow traffic light; there wasn’t enough traffic to warrant a light that also turned red and green.

  “These are the same menus,” Tate said after they sat at their table.

  “Honestly, I’m relieved,” London said. “Remember when Becky took home ec and almost burned down the school when she made that devil’s food cake?”

  “Now I do.” Tate laughed. “You’re right, it’s probably for the best if Shelly’s recipes stay intact.”

  After they ordered—a club sandwich and chips for Tate, a tuna melt and fries for London—Tate drummed his fingers on the table. “Have you talked to Diana since we got here?”

  “I called to let her know we made it to town, yeah.”

  “What about your dad?”

  London crossed her arms. “No, I haven’t talked to him yet.” Her already tender heart couldn’t endure what she suspected would be another blow after facing her unapproving father.

  “Okay. So are we just gonna wing it tomorrow when we show up at the wake?”

  “I don’t know what else to do. I haven’t seen anyone in my family in almost twenty years. Diana made it clear she doesn’t want me involved in the service or the planning. I’m kind of surprised she even told me Mom died at all.” London paused when she realized how loudly she was speaking. “I don’t even know why I came.”

  Her conversation with Diana upon her arrival in Keys Crossing revealed that their mother died after years of battling cancer that began in her right breast and traveled to her lungs. When London asked why she hadn’t learned of their mother’s illness earlier, Diana’s brittle answer came after a long pause. “You know why.” And London supposed she did. Who knew, Grace might have made requests to keep London in the dark.

  She had to push that thought aside because it made her want to run back to the safety of Columbus and the people who actually wanted her in their lives.

  “You came because your mother is dead, and it’s time to say good-bye.”

  “Good-bye.” London spat the word. “That’s all my family and I know how to say to each other.”

  “I know, honey. But this could finally give you some closure. You’ve mourned the loss of your mother for years. Maybe now you can mourn in a productive way and heal a little from all of this. It’s worth being here to at least try.”

  “London! Is that you?” Tate and London turned to the freckled, fair-skinned woman approaching their table. “It is you! My God, I barely recognized you with all that blue hair. Is that a wig?”

  “Hey, Becky. Uh, no, this my real hair.”

  Becky scanned London’s tattoo-covered arms and shoulders. Her gaze rested for a moment on the nose piercing before settling on her eyes. “Well, my goodness, aren’t you…colorful.”

  “Yes, I guess I am.”

  “I was so sorry to hear your mom passed,” Becky said. “She was such a great lady, just sweet as could be.”

  London’s face felt frozen. “Thank you.” She wasn’t absolutely certain Becky knew she’d been estranged from her family, but she had a pretty good hunch most people in Keys Crossing knew. It would have been big news in this small town.

  “Who’s your friend?” Becky had turned her attention to Tate, who paled a little.

  “Uh…this is my best friend, Tate.”

  “Have you been in here before? You look awfully familiar.” She said the last word as if it was spelled “fermilyer.”

  “I have,” Tate said, “but it’s been a long time. Years.”

  “I see. Well, I hope you come back again before more years go by. I’ll see you tomorrow at the wake, London.” As quickly as she came, Becky bustled away.

  “Jesus, Tate, I feel like such a shit,” London said. “I didn’t even think about how it would be for you coming back here or that you’d have to reintroduce yourself to people. I’m so sorry.”

  “It’s not your fault. I didn’t say anything because I didn’t want you to worry about it. I still don’t.”

  “But—”

  “No buts. Let’s get you through these next few days. I’m fine. I don’t care if Becky recognizes me or if anyone else does, for that matter.”

  “You’re amazing, you know that? I think I’ll keep you around.”

  Tate grinned. “Lucky me.”

  * * *

  Standing outside the funeral home when London and Tate arrived were Grant, Thomas, and to London’s surprise, Reggie. After London took a moment to hug them all, they stood together in a circle, giving London a chance to gather
herself before going inside.

  “Tate, can I have a smoke?”

  “Sure,” he said, exchanging concerned glances with the others. “If that’s what you want.”

  “What I want?” London mused, taking a deep drag and coughing a little. She didn’t even know what that was anymore, but it was feeling more and more like something she couldn’t have. She felt deflated, like a balloon with a slow leak. The more she tried to gather herself to deal with what was happening, the more she felt as if she was losing her grasp on everything in her life.

  “I didn’t know you smoked,” Thomas said.

  Grant shook his head. “She doesn’t.”

  “Excuse me! You can’t smoke here.” A squat man in a black suit had come outside and was pointing to a No Smoking sign just above their heads.

  “Sorry,” London said.

  The man folded his hands and said nothing as he watched her put out her cigarette on the bottom of her shoe.

  “Well,” London said, “I guess it’s time.” She was surprised when Reggie took her hand. Their fingers intertwined, and London gave a grateful smile when Reggie gave her a reassuring squeeze.

  London wasn’t sure what she had expected the inside of Fullerton-Rowe Funeral Home to look like, but it definitely wasn’t pale yellow walls and leafy green curtains. It seemed wrong for the place to look like springtime, the season of new life.

  “London?” A wispy woman in a charcoal gray pantsuit stood a few feet away. Two deep creases slashed the space between her eyebrows, and London imagined those were created from wearing many frowns, much like the one on her twin sister’s face right now.

  “Diana.”

  “That’s what you wear to your mother’s service?” Diana hissed as she marched toward them. “Blue hair and a dress with combat boots?”

  “And that’s what you say to me when our mother just died, and it’s the first time we’ve seen each other in almost two decades?” She shouldn’t have been surprised that this was how their reunion was starting, but her skin prickled, and her fists balled with shock and anger. How dared she?