Essential Yet Appealed -- Kristen Kim
Editor's Note: This was a submission to the Valentine's Day Contest.
“I’m coming home,” says Alana.
“No,” says Wren and hangs up the phone. She waters the plants and goes to bed.
“I’ve missed you,” says Alana, standing over the bed, a sleep paralysis hallucination sporting freshly stubbed toes and dusty hair.
“I’m sleeping right now,” says Wren, and rolls over.
The bed dips under Alana’s weight next to her. “I’m sorry,” she says.
Wren pretends to be asleep.
Alana is gone come morning. It isn’t a surprise, but regardless, it stings.
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“I’m coming home,” says Alana.
“Stop,” says Wren and hangs up. She makes sure the door is locked and pours herself a cup of coffee.
Alana knocks and knocks and knocks. Wren falls asleep at the kitchen table, hands over her ears.
She wakes up alone to an unlatched door. Los Angeles heat laps in through open windows.
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“I’m coming home,” says Alana.
“You aren’t,” says Wren. She falls asleep with her back to the door, fingers tapping on the frame in counts of six.
She wakes up in bed. The pillow next to her smells like dust.
“I don’t want you to,” she says, but no one hears her.
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“I’m coming home,” says Alana. Wren hangs up.
The plants are dying, and she leaves the windows open and the door thrown wide.
“What are you doing?” asks the boy who lives across the hall, peering in on her. Wren blinks up at him from the doorframe and scrubs a hand across her eyes to wipe the sleep away.
“I don’t know,” she says. She yawns.
“You should be careful,” says the boy. “And take care of yourself, geez.”
“Okay,” says Wren.
He appraises her. “D’you want some coffee or something?”
She follows him into his apartment and watches him fumble with the Keurig.
“Sugar? I’m out of milk, sorry.”
“No, thanks.”
He hands her the cup then makes one for himself, stirring in way too much sugar than can possibly be healthy. Wren looks at the photographs taped to his refrigerator door, wrinkled and fading.
“Who’s that?” she asks, pointing to one of the pictures.
He glances up at it. “My sister. Alana.”
Wren shoots a look at him. “I know someone named Alana. Well. Knew.” She shakes her head. “She died. Six years ago.”
“I’m sorry,” he says. “That, uh, that sucks.”
“Yeah,” she says. They finish their coffee in silence.
“Look, if you ever need anything, just knock on my door,” says the boy. “No offense, but you look like you could use a hand every now and then.”
“Thanks,” she says.
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Alana doesn’t call. Wren waters the plants. The boy across the hall brings her coffee and small talk. His name turns out to be William, and one day, they drive out to the local cemetery together.
“This is it,” says Wren.
“Good morning,” William says to the stone. “Nice weather, huh?”
The stone is silent.
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“My sister’s coming to visit,” William tells her when he brings her coffee one morning. “Do you want to meet her?”
Wren shrugs. “I guess so.”
That night, Alana calls.
“I’m coming home,” she says. It sounds like a promise.
“Not now,” says Wren.
“I’m tired of running, Wren,” says Alana, static through the speakers. “I want to come home.”
“I want a lot of things,” says Wren. “Life is hard.”
“Life. Spin a ten, get a speeding ticket.”
Someone knocks on her door.
“Is that you?” Wren asks, soft.
The line clicks dead, and Wren goes to open the door. It’s William. He’s wearing a coat.
“My sister’s flight is getting in in half an hour,” he says. “Shall we?”
Wren picks up her jacket off the chair by the door and follows him to the car.
William’s sister greets them both with kisses on the cheek. “It’s so nice to finally meet you,” she tells Wren. “My goodness. William’s told me all about you.”
“Likewise,” says Wren.
William’s sister has brown hair, and she smells like airplanes. Wren blinks away dust and adds a new number into her phone.
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“I’m going to be in town for a few weeks,” William’s sister tells Wren when William has gone off to work. She sits on Wren’s counter and drinks coffee and watches the cars go by outside. “I’m worried about William.”
“How so?” asks Wren.
“He hasn’t been sleeping, I think. Too busy, that boy. He’s been struggling since he broke off his engagement.”
Wren nods. “I feel that. I don’t think I’ve felt the same since before my last relationship ended.”
“Was it messy?” asks William’s sister. “Will’s was messy. He walked in on Kirk with another guy two months before the wedding.”
Wren thinks about it. “It depends on what you mean by messy. She overdosed, which isn’t really a clean way to go, I don’t think.”
“She died?” William’s sister runs a hand through her hair. “I’m sorry, wow. That’s terrible. How long ago?”
Wren shrugs. “Six years,” she says, and it tastes bitter in her mouth. “Her name was Alana, you know. That’s kind of funny.”
Alana, William’s sister, considers her. “Huh,” she says.
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Wren’s phone rings, but she doesn’t answer it.
In the morning, she glances down at the screen to find zero missed calls.
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Wren’s room smells like dust. She crosses the hall and knocks on William’s door. Alana opens it.
“Can I stay over tonight?” Wren asks. “Old ghosts.”
Alana lets her in. “Anything I can do?”
Wren shakes her head. “I think I’m going crazy.”
“What do you mean?” Alana asks. She coaxes a cup of coffee out of the Keurig and poisons it with six heaping spoonfuls of sugar.
“I keep getting calls from her.”
Alana frowns. “What does she say?”
“That she’s coming home. I’ve stopped answering.”
Alana puts down the cup. “Do you want to come home with me?” she asks. She smells like coffee.
Wren looks at her. “Okay,” she says.
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William drives them to the airport and kisses them both on the cheek. “Call me if you need anything,” he says.
Wren hugs him. “I’ll call you even when I don’t,” she says.
He smiles. “Keep my sister out of trouble,” he tells her.
“You’re the one trouble without me,” gripes Alana. They laugh at her.
They part ways, and Wren’s phone immediately buzzes. She glances down to see a text from William, a little ‘bon voyage’ punctuated with an airplane emoji.
“Ready?” asks Alana.
“Let’s go,” says Wren.
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They step off the plane, and Wren inhales. She wonders if the air is cleaner in Boston.
“Welcome home,” says Alana.
“Yes,” says Wren. She’s home.
“I’m coming home,” says Alana.
“No,” says Wren and hangs up the phone. She waters the plants and goes to bed.
“I’ve missed you,” says Alana, standing over the bed, a sleep paralysis hallucination sporting freshly stubbed toes and dusty hair.
“I’m sleeping right now,” says Wren, and rolls over.
The bed dips under Alana’s weight next to her. “I’m sorry,” she says.
Wren pretends to be asleep.
Alana is gone come morning. It isn’t a surprise, but regardless, it stings.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
“I’m coming home,” says Alana.
“Stop,” says Wren and hangs up. She makes sure the door is locked and pours herself a cup of coffee.
Alana knocks and knocks and knocks. Wren falls asleep at the kitchen table, hands over her ears.
She wakes up alone to an unlatched door. Los Angeles heat laps in through open windows.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
“I’m coming home,” says Alana.
“You aren’t,” says Wren. She falls asleep with her back to the door, fingers tapping on the frame in counts of six.
She wakes up in bed. The pillow next to her smells like dust.
“I don’t want you to,” she says, but no one hears her.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
“I’m coming home,” says Alana. Wren hangs up.
The plants are dying, and she leaves the windows open and the door thrown wide.
“What are you doing?” asks the boy who lives across the hall, peering in on her. Wren blinks up at him from the doorframe and scrubs a hand across her eyes to wipe the sleep away.
“I don’t know,” she says. She yawns.
“You should be careful,” says the boy. “And take care of yourself, geez.”
“Okay,” says Wren.
He appraises her. “D’you want some coffee or something?”
She follows him into his apartment and watches him fumble with the Keurig.
“Sugar? I’m out of milk, sorry.”
“No, thanks.”
He hands her the cup then makes one for himself, stirring in way too much sugar than can possibly be healthy. Wren looks at the photographs taped to his refrigerator door, wrinkled and fading.
“Who’s that?” she asks, pointing to one of the pictures.
He glances up at it. “My sister. Alana.”
Wren shoots a look at him. “I know someone named Alana. Well. Knew.” She shakes her head. “She died. Six years ago.”
“I’m sorry,” he says. “That, uh, that sucks.”
“Yeah,” she says. They finish their coffee in silence.
“Look, if you ever need anything, just knock on my door,” says the boy. “No offense, but you look like you could use a hand every now and then.”
“Thanks,” she says.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Alana doesn’t call. Wren waters the plants. The boy across the hall brings her coffee and small talk. His name turns out to be William, and one day, they drive out to the local cemetery together.
“This is it,” says Wren.
“Good morning,” William says to the stone. “Nice weather, huh?”
The stone is silent.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
“My sister’s coming to visit,” William tells her when he brings her coffee one morning. “Do you want to meet her?”
Wren shrugs. “I guess so.”
That night, Alana calls.
“I’m coming home,” she says. It sounds like a promise.
“Not now,” says Wren.
“I’m tired of running, Wren,” says Alana, static through the speakers. “I want to come home.”
“I want a lot of things,” says Wren. “Life is hard.”
“Life. Spin a ten, get a speeding ticket.”
Someone knocks on her door.
“Is that you?” Wren asks, soft.
The line clicks dead, and Wren goes to open the door. It’s William. He’s wearing a coat.
“My sister’s flight is getting in in half an hour,” he says. “Shall we?”
Wren picks up her jacket off the chair by the door and follows him to the car.
William’s sister greets them both with kisses on the cheek. “It’s so nice to finally meet you,” she tells Wren. “My goodness. William’s told me all about you.”
“Likewise,” says Wren.
William’s sister has brown hair, and she smells like airplanes. Wren blinks away dust and adds a new number into her phone.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
“I’m going to be in town for a few weeks,” William’s sister tells Wren when William has gone off to work. She sits on Wren’s counter and drinks coffee and watches the cars go by outside. “I’m worried about William.”
“How so?” asks Wren.
“He hasn’t been sleeping, I think. Too busy, that boy. He’s been struggling since he broke off his engagement.”
Wren nods. “I feel that. I don’t think I’ve felt the same since before my last relationship ended.”
“Was it messy?” asks William’s sister. “Will’s was messy. He walked in on Kirk with another guy two months before the wedding.”
Wren thinks about it. “It depends on what you mean by messy. She overdosed, which isn’t really a clean way to go, I don’t think.”
“She died?” William’s sister runs a hand through her hair. “I’m sorry, wow. That’s terrible. How long ago?”
Wren shrugs. “Six years,” she says, and it tastes bitter in her mouth. “Her name was Alana, you know. That’s kind of funny.”
Alana, William’s sister, considers her. “Huh,” she says.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Wren’s phone rings, but she doesn’t answer it.
In the morning, she glances down at the screen to find zero missed calls.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Wren’s room smells like dust. She crosses the hall and knocks on William’s door. Alana opens it.
“Can I stay over tonight?” Wren asks. “Old ghosts.”
Alana lets her in. “Anything I can do?”
Wren shakes her head. “I think I’m going crazy.”
“What do you mean?” Alana asks. She coaxes a cup of coffee out of the Keurig and poisons it with six heaping spoonfuls of sugar.
“I keep getting calls from her.”
Alana frowns. “What does she say?”
“That she’s coming home. I’ve stopped answering.”
Alana puts down the cup. “Do you want to come home with me?” she asks. She smells like coffee.
Wren looks at her. “Okay,” she says.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
William drives them to the airport and kisses them both on the cheek. “Call me if you need anything,” he says.
Wren hugs him. “I’ll call you even when I don’t,” she says.
He smiles. “Keep my sister out of trouble,” he tells her.
“You’re the one trouble without me,” gripes Alana. They laugh at her.
They part ways, and Wren’s phone immediately buzzes. She glances down to see a text from William, a little ‘bon voyage’ punctuated with an airplane emoji.
“Ready?” asks Alana.
“Let’s go,” says Wren.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
They step off the plane, and Wren inhales. She wonders if the air is cleaner in Boston.
“Welcome home,” says Alana.
“Yes,” says Wren. She’s home.