Kim Golden's Blog - Posts Tagged "milo"
30 Days, 30 Stories: Story #12
Ready for another instalment of 30 Days, 30 Stories? More fiction. Another excerpt from an unfinished WIP, Another Cup of Love.
Day Twelve: Honesty?
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“Milo!” Erin glanced over her shoulder. Her parents were still upstairs. Their voices filtered down to them as they gushed over the original crown moulding and baseboards. “What are you doing here?”
“I was in the neighborhood,” he said and kissed her. “And I found a little something for you on the way.” He was carrying a pale wicker basket filled with two bottles of wine and a bouquet of gerbera daisies. There were probably gourmet goodies hidden beneath the flowers.
Erin reached behind her and closed the vestibule door. “I’ve kind of got company…”
“Send them away,” he said, grinning. “I want to have you all to myself.” He set the basket on her console table and then pinned Erin against the wall. He kissed a trail along the curve of her neck and she moaned softy.
“We can’t…” She eased away from him reluctantly. “My parents…”
Then her father bellowed from upstairs, “Erin, baby, who’s at the door?”
Milo slowly pushed open the vestibule door. He stepped into her living room, the basket now in his arms again. Erin followed him inside and closed the vestibule door behind her. Her father was coming down the stairs now, eyeing MIlo curiously. When her father reached the bottom stair, Milo extended his free hand and introduced himself. “Hi, I’m Milo Hedlund. I’m a friend of Erin’s.“
“Charles Foster,” her father said. “And my better half, Estelle.”
“It’s nice to meet you.” He grinned at Erin. “You didn’t tell me your parents were coming for a visit.”
“It was kind of a surprise,” she said.
“So how long have you two known each other?” Her father asked. He glanced at the basket, then at Milo. Erin cringed inside. She knew her father was taking in Milo’s messy mop of hair, the slouchy chinos and tennis shoes and measuring him up by a standard that seemed unfair.
“We’ve been see-" Milo started, but Erin cut him off, quickly placing a warning hand on his arm.
“Milo’s been giving me advice on how to renovate this place,” Erin said quickly. Milo flinched at her easy betrayal. He shook her hand off his arm.
There was a weird pause then her mother said,”What a lovely gesture.”
Milo handed the basket to Erin,”I just wanted to congratulate Erin on all the progress she’s made.”
“I agree,” her mother smiled now. “It’s a lovely house, even with the work that still remains.”
“There isn’t that much left to do,” Erin said. She glanced at Milo. The smile he’d fixed on his lips was wavering.
“We’re about to have dinner,” Estelle said. “Would you like to join us?”
“I wish I could but I have to run” Milo said quickly. He smiled but there was uncertainty and hurt mingling in his eyes. “I promised my daughters we’d have dinner together.”
“Yeah, well, I’d better go,” Milo said. “Like I said, I just wanted to drop off the basket.”
He said a quick goodbye to Erin’s parents, then leveled Erin with a cold look. “I’ll see you around.”
Then he opened the vestibule door and headed into the small anteroom. Erin’s father took the basket from Erin and said, “I’ll put this in the kitchen for you, honey.”
Once her parents were headed for the kitchen, she followed MIlo.
“Milo—wait, don’t just walk away from me.” Erin hurried after him. He was already at the front door, his left hand gripping the shiny brass knob.
“I think you already showed me the door.” He said, evenly. “I thought we were going to be honest with one another. I thought that’s what we both wanted.”
“I do want that but you don’t understand.” Erin glanced over her shoulder at her closed vestibule door. The thick colored panes of stained glass formed a insulating barrier, keeping her mother and father from seeing the anger etched on Milo’s face. What would her parents say if she told them that Milo was the new man in her life. She could imagine her mother’s thin, disapproving smile. “My parents—they’re old school, they think it’s nice to have white friends but dating someone white—"
“I don’t believe it, you’re pulling the “It’s a black thing, you wouldn’t understand” routine on me,” Milo shook his head and laughed bitterly.
His words hit her like a slap. Erin pulled back. She couldn’t deny what he’d said. The very words had formed in her mind, just waiting to be used as a catch-all excuse. She shook her her head though, ready to deny that she would ever be so silly and insecure as to resort to the race card.
“I can’t believe you’re such a jerk,” she said instead, the words stating false and metallic as they slid over her tongue. Her stomach twisted and knotted at her dishonesty.
“At least I’m an honest jerk, then,” he retorted, keeping his voice low. “I haven’t lied to anyone about you—not my kids, not my parents, no one.”
He threw open the door and stepped out onto the front porch. The evening sun was just setting and the sky was turning a burnt orange that should have felt warm. Milo shook his head. Erin followed him out on to the porch. None of her neighbors were out, it was too chilly now for them to be out. She knew that some of them wondered about Milo. A few had been bold enough to ask and she’d simply said, “He’s my friend.” They never pressed, but she was certain that they had already figured out he was more than a friend. She said Milo’s name and he turned, the anger slipping away for a moment.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I just need to figure out…”
“Are you going to tell them tonight?”
She shrugged helplessly. “I need to prepare them, MIlo. It’s not that simple.”
“It is if you want it to be.”
Erin had one last heartbreaking look at him. His pale blue eyes flashed coldly at her and the intense look her gave her told her that there would be no easy way back from this point. Then he walked down the porch steps and stalked away from her. She watched, not trusting herself to follow him. She wanted to stroke away the tension knotting his shoulders. She’d caused it and yet it was still ingrained in her to want to soothe him. Was this what people talked about when they talked about love? Wanting to make the other person feel better? Wanting to take away their pain and replace it with something real, something tangible? He was at his car now. He didn’t look back. She turned away and returned to the warmth of her vestibule, closing the door behind her. She stood there for a moment, waiting for her eye to stop burning with angry tears and listening to her father discuss the merits of her new house with her mother. She blinked back the tears and breathed in and out deeply. Her parents would want answers too. They’d probably seen through her ruse. Lies were never worth the damage they wrought.
Day Twelve: Honesty?
-------------------------------
“Milo!” Erin glanced over her shoulder. Her parents were still upstairs. Their voices filtered down to them as they gushed over the original crown moulding and baseboards. “What are you doing here?”
“I was in the neighborhood,” he said and kissed her. “And I found a little something for you on the way.” He was carrying a pale wicker basket filled with two bottles of wine and a bouquet of gerbera daisies. There were probably gourmet goodies hidden beneath the flowers.
Erin reached behind her and closed the vestibule door. “I’ve kind of got company…”
“Send them away,” he said, grinning. “I want to have you all to myself.” He set the basket on her console table and then pinned Erin against the wall. He kissed a trail along the curve of her neck and she moaned softy.
“We can’t…” She eased away from him reluctantly. “My parents…”
Then her father bellowed from upstairs, “Erin, baby, who’s at the door?”
Milo slowly pushed open the vestibule door. He stepped into her living room, the basket now in his arms again. Erin followed him inside and closed the vestibule door behind her. Her father was coming down the stairs now, eyeing MIlo curiously. When her father reached the bottom stair, Milo extended his free hand and introduced himself. “Hi, I’m Milo Hedlund. I’m a friend of Erin’s.“
“Charles Foster,” her father said. “And my better half, Estelle.”
“It’s nice to meet you.” He grinned at Erin. “You didn’t tell me your parents were coming for a visit.”
“It was kind of a surprise,” she said.
“So how long have you two known each other?” Her father asked. He glanced at the basket, then at Milo. Erin cringed inside. She knew her father was taking in Milo’s messy mop of hair, the slouchy chinos and tennis shoes and measuring him up by a standard that seemed unfair.
“We’ve been see-" Milo started, but Erin cut him off, quickly placing a warning hand on his arm.
“Milo’s been giving me advice on how to renovate this place,” Erin said quickly. Milo flinched at her easy betrayal. He shook her hand off his arm.
There was a weird pause then her mother said,”What a lovely gesture.”
Milo handed the basket to Erin,”I just wanted to congratulate Erin on all the progress she’s made.”
“I agree,” her mother smiled now. “It’s a lovely house, even with the work that still remains.”
“There isn’t that much left to do,” Erin said. She glanced at Milo. The smile he’d fixed on his lips was wavering.
“We’re about to have dinner,” Estelle said. “Would you like to join us?”
“I wish I could but I have to run” Milo said quickly. He smiled but there was uncertainty and hurt mingling in his eyes. “I promised my daughters we’d have dinner together.”
“Yeah, well, I’d better go,” Milo said. “Like I said, I just wanted to drop off the basket.”
He said a quick goodbye to Erin’s parents, then leveled Erin with a cold look. “I’ll see you around.”
Then he opened the vestibule door and headed into the small anteroom. Erin’s father took the basket from Erin and said, “I’ll put this in the kitchen for you, honey.”
Once her parents were headed for the kitchen, she followed MIlo.
“Milo—wait, don’t just walk away from me.” Erin hurried after him. He was already at the front door, his left hand gripping the shiny brass knob.
“I think you already showed me the door.” He said, evenly. “I thought we were going to be honest with one another. I thought that’s what we both wanted.”
“I do want that but you don’t understand.” Erin glanced over her shoulder at her closed vestibule door. The thick colored panes of stained glass formed a insulating barrier, keeping her mother and father from seeing the anger etched on Milo’s face. What would her parents say if she told them that Milo was the new man in her life. She could imagine her mother’s thin, disapproving smile. “My parents—they’re old school, they think it’s nice to have white friends but dating someone white—"
“I don’t believe it, you’re pulling the “It’s a black thing, you wouldn’t understand” routine on me,” Milo shook his head and laughed bitterly.
His words hit her like a slap. Erin pulled back. She couldn’t deny what he’d said. The very words had formed in her mind, just waiting to be used as a catch-all excuse. She shook her her head though, ready to deny that she would ever be so silly and insecure as to resort to the race card.
“I can’t believe you’re such a jerk,” she said instead, the words stating false and metallic as they slid over her tongue. Her stomach twisted and knotted at her dishonesty.
“At least I’m an honest jerk, then,” he retorted, keeping his voice low. “I haven’t lied to anyone about you—not my kids, not my parents, no one.”
He threw open the door and stepped out onto the front porch. The evening sun was just setting and the sky was turning a burnt orange that should have felt warm. Milo shook his head. Erin followed him out on to the porch. None of her neighbors were out, it was too chilly now for them to be out. She knew that some of them wondered about Milo. A few had been bold enough to ask and she’d simply said, “He’s my friend.” They never pressed, but she was certain that they had already figured out he was more than a friend. She said Milo’s name and he turned, the anger slipping away for a moment.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I just need to figure out…”
“Are you going to tell them tonight?”
She shrugged helplessly. “I need to prepare them, MIlo. It’s not that simple.”
“It is if you want it to be.”
Erin had one last heartbreaking look at him. His pale blue eyes flashed coldly at her and the intense look her gave her told her that there would be no easy way back from this point. Then he walked down the porch steps and stalked away from her. She watched, not trusting herself to follow him. She wanted to stroke away the tension knotting his shoulders. She’d caused it and yet it was still ingrained in her to want to soothe him. Was this what people talked about when they talked about love? Wanting to make the other person feel better? Wanting to take away their pain and replace it with something real, something tangible? He was at his car now. He didn’t look back. She turned away and returned to the warmth of her vestibule, closing the door behind her. She stood there for a moment, waiting for her eye to stop burning with angry tears and listening to her father discuss the merits of her new house with her mother. She blinked back the tears and breathed in and out deeply. Her parents would want answers too. They’d probably seen through her ruse. Lies were never worth the damage they wrought.
