paint the town red like cinnamon

She looks around the bar, eyes drifting between soft cushions and mahogany tables. Her eyes drift down to her drink, whiskey on the rocks. While swirling the liquid absentmindedly, her gaze is brought back to the blinding light of a white tennis skirt and tank top, long slender arms wrapped around The Venus Rosewater Dish. The German is clutching it so tightly, Tashi can almost laugh. Anna didn’t deserve it, that’s why.

But before she lets her thoughts swallow her, she tips the glass and takes a large gulp of the whiskey. Her mouth forms a thin line, holding back a reaction. She’s always been able to hold her liquor. Biting her tongue and avoiding the cruel light of the TV, she looks around. Two other people in the bar. Makes sense, it’s almost 1 am. A young man in a suit, sitting at the bar, has a pint in his large hairy hand. He’s bent over, typing on an Iphone 4s, placed on the wet and sticky wooden bartop, with one finger. Behind him, an old lady is slowly sipping a clear liquid from a glass. Maybe vodka. Definitely vodka. Her wrinkled lips are overlined to the gods and there’s a pearl necklace hanging around her neck.

This pathetic excuse for entertainment is not enough. It’s getting loud again. Anna’s name. Anna cursing at her in German years ago. “Good luck champ”. The gasps. The doctor saying “I can’t promise anything”. Art whispering sweet nothings into her ear when things got very bad and very real. The firm but not unkind voice of the athletics director telling her about the withdrawal of her scholarship. Her mom shushing her softly as she sobbed in her arms during the 5 hour drive back home. “I want you to join my team because I wanna win.” Art’s shaky, shallow voice as he gave the eulogy at his grandmother’s funeral. Art’s soft “I need you”s she hears daily, between the rumbles of sheets and weak moans. Art’s grunts when he plays. Art’s mumbled “good night”. Art, Art, Art.

It makes her head spin. She tries to drown it in whiskey, taking another sip and looking out the window, hoping to find a distraction. A cat fight, a plastic bag being blown away by the wind. Anything that could stop those tears from falling. She hadn’t cried since their engagement. She wouldn’t cry now.

A person walks furiously past the window. Her breath hitches. It all happens so fast, the man’s steps come to an abrupt halt, he turns around. Patrick. Their eyes lock for a brief second. Piercing blue making her blood run cold. It seems like she blinks once and he’s there, inside. He doesn’t say a word as he sits down opposite of her. Their eyes lock and it seems to be the only thing needed.

He’d grown up. His boyish features have become sharper, in his eyes she can no longer see childish arrogance. There’s just cold, unwavering distrust. A slight stubble covers his jaw. His facial hair has finally evened out, she thinks. He’s leaning against the back of the chair, a surprising warmth filling his eyes for a second, then disappearing. She looks down at the glass in her left hand.

That’s when he sees it. The ring. He has to bite down a scowl. Too pretentious, too big of a rock for her delicate fingers. But a family heirloom. He’s heard the stories from Art, he knows. That’s why he doesn’t ask. And she couldn’t be more grateful.

She leans back as well, trying to exude all of what she’s lost. The good posture, the slight tilt of her chin - they should all mean confidence. But he knows her, *he is her*. It’s just a mask. Her fingers tremble slightly, causing the rock to catch the light and then be engulfed in the darkness of the bar once again. She hasn’t glared at him even once, which is certainly new. Tashi seems to be avoiding his gaze, for the first time, maybe in her life, looking scared and broken and hurt. Her brows furrow involuntarily as she looks down at her drink once again. She takes another sip.

“Didn’t know you did scotch.” He mumbles, trying to find a way to bring the fire back, or the ice, whatever comes. It’s uncharted territory, she’d always carried it with her, no matter what. But now, she seems empty, hollow, a shell of what she once was.

She doesn’t look at him. If she did, she’d see true desperation. He wants her to yell, to curse, to go for blood. Patrick wants to know that she’s not gone, that *he* hasn’t sucked the soul out of her. But all he gets is a quick once-over. Her eyes drift back to the TV for a second, and her expression tightens further. He looks over his shoulder briefly. Oh Tashi, he thinks. Now he gets it. If he could give her tennis back - he would. If he could give her the world - he would. But someone else has promised to do the latter.

Her hand drops from the glass and remains on the table, the neutral ground between them. If he didn’t know her, he’s think she’s making herself comfortable. But he does. It’s not a first step, but it’s an invitation for one. Which is the most you can get out of Tashi Duncan. He looks down at her hand, then back up to meet her eyes, no longer narrow and seething with anger. Just big and hurt. It looks unnatural, wrong. A wave of nostalgia washes over him. Why does he miss the way they hurt each other?

Lily had also always wanted a dog. She was only five years old when she forced her nanny to make a PowerPoint presentation about how much their family would benefit from a puppy. She’d picked the pictures and the animations and was extremely proud of it. Her parents weren’t so impressed when they were met by an exhilarated Lily at the door after a 14-hour flight. She was struggling to hold the laptop up, but her little fingers pressed the keys with rehearsed efficiency as she recited her speech. Once she broke out into song, Tashi had to put an end to it. That night, they had one of their big-girl talks. Lily listened with wide eyes as her mom explained how it was irresponsible for them to get a puppy when they traveled so much. The girl was too smart to deny that her logic made sense, but that didn’t stop a small, adorable pout from appearing on her face. That’s one of the main reasons Art wasn’t allowed to be present at this conversation. Had it been up to him, Lily would have a kennel and a half. But Tashi wouldn’t have it. So Lily got another plushy and a day at the zoo with her parents.

And with time, as her features grew more similar to her dad’s and her personality to her mom’s, Lily began dreaming bigger. She had many ideas, hopes, and plans. She thought about puppies less and less often. With school starting, she had so many books to read and so many pictures to draw.

She was now 7, and the hopeless dreams of owning a dog were long forgotten. Perhaps she had inherited her mother’s pragmatism or her father’s pessimism. It didn’t really matter. She was entirely over it, like any big girl could be.

It was an hour past her bedtime. The nanny was getting sick of reading stories, bringing water, and fluffing pillows. But Lily just wasn’t tired. How could she be sleeping when Mom and Dad were coming home soon? Her tiny ears picked up the soft purring of a car engine somewhere outside. Her eyes widened as a bright smile split her face. She almost ran into her babysitter and knocked down the mug of warm milk with honey that the woman was carrying. Loud pats echoed on the cold wooden floor, contrasting with the oppressive silence of the past two weeks since her parents had left. She stood at the door, chest heaving, big brown eyes gleaming with excitement.

The heavy door was soon pushed open by her father. The crisp night air hit Lily, and she shuddered. Dad froze with a slightly uneasy expression on his face, which was concerning, given the fact that he had just won the US Open. Lily had seen that with her own two eyes. She had kissed the TV, screamed, and jumped, while her grandma blew a whistle and clapped. But now he looked tense. She heard her mom let out a huff, then saw her poke her head inside, as if frustrated that Dad was too slow. She froze too. Tashi. Her mother, her rock, the ever-so-calm-and-collected Tashi Duncan was now nervous. They clearly hadn’t expected to see her there. But they should’ve known better. It’s Lily Donaldson we are talking about. 

Her tiny brows furrowed when she heard heavy breathing that was so very inhuman. Tashi let out a soft sigh of defeat and pushed the door open to reveal a scrawny dog. And a… scruffy man. That Patrick guy her dad had beaten in New Rochelle last month. She remembered Dad’s face after that match—something hadn’t been right, even then. But no one had ever explained. Mom and Dad had gone back to being funny and nice. And Lily had written it off as a result of the win.

Patrick’s expression was the calmest, as if he had expected to see Lily there. His hand dropped from her dad’s back and dipped into his pocket. She saw the way his eyes drifted between her parents’ backs with an *I told ya* type of glimmer in them, almost condescending. Mom and Dad shared a brief glance, out of their element for some odd reason. What had happened in New York? 

Wait… a dog? For a split second, her dream of a fluffy puppy flickered in her mind, but this thing? It smelled. And its fur was patchy. She almost fell for it. Keyword: almost. Her tiny arms crossed, and she gave the three of them a look that was a carbon copy of Tashi’s unamused expression.

“Are you having a new baby?” she asked, shamelessly. She had never been one to beat around the bush. Like mother, like daughter.

Taken aback, Art opened and closed his mouth. He was already fidgeting with the keys in his hand. She could see him swallowing thickly. The new guy was holding back a smirk and twisting the dog’s leash once more around his wrist. He had this weird air to him. Way too confident. Yet there was a glimmer of fondness in his eyes. He seemed to observe Lily with a mixture of amusement and true curiosity. Tashi knelt down to her level and shook her head.

“No, Lily bear, we’re not having a new ba—” Before she could continue with her rushed but shaky explanation, Lily interrupted her.

“Then what’s this?” A tiny finger pointed toward the big but skinny dog that had its nose deep in the nanny’s shoes by their doorway and was leaking a certain... smell. “Are you trying to get me to like you?” she said with impressive conviction. She wasn’t wrong per se. “Why would I not like you if you’re not having a new baby?”

Tashi looked down for a second, composing herself. Art was rubbing his neck anxiously.

“This is Rex, Patrick’s dog.” The singular wrinkle on her mom’s forehead was concerning Lily. She never had that unless something had happened. She would wait for an explanation first. Surely there was one...

“Rex?” Her tiny forehead creased, eyebrows furrowing. She had never been the patient type. Got it from her dad. “What’s it doing here? What’s he doing here? That’s the New Rochelle guy, isn’t it?” she said quickly, her lisp coming out once again. There went a year of speech therapy.

Tashi stuttered briefly. She almost corrected her lisp, but then she held back. 

“Well, yes. Patrick is staying with us for a while. Do you mind?”

Tashi’s voice had that slight edge, one that Lily knew all too well. She heard it when she hadn’t done her homework, or set her plate in the sink, or had left her easel in the living room. When she had made Mom irritated, but not angry. Yet the usual sternness was not present in her expression. Her eyes were ever so slightly wider, and she was holding onto Lily’s arms in a very strange way. Almost as if she were nervous. As if she were trying to get Lily to drop the entire subject, to rein in her curiosity. Her bottom lip jutted forward. But there was definitely more to the Patrick thing. The little girl’s eyes drifted between the three of them for a few seconds. She wanted to protest, to ask her questions, to get answers. But she decided to spare them the trouble. At least for tonight. She would be dreaming about it probably, or spending all night making up explanations in her head. The girl had never been able to just forget about peculiarities. But Mom and Dad looked tired. She freed herself from her mom’s hold and went to briefly hug her dad’s legs.

“Good job, Daddy.” He stared down at her, stiff and dumbfounded by her nonchalance, managing to only pat her back twice. With the corner of her eye she could see Mom glancing briefly at the new guy. Lily then pulled away and started dragging her feet toward the stairwell.

Her parents were frozen in their places, the Patrick guy was leaning against the doorframe, a smug expression on his face, and the weird dog had attacked the umbrella holder next. Lily rubbed her eyes.

“I’m going to bed. You guys are extra weird.” Before disappearing on the second floor, she mumbled, “I wanted a puppy. This thing smells.”