Mariah slipped back into her sweatpants. Her dirt brown hair hung loose, disheveled. She fumbled it back into a bun. Her hands trembled; her whole body trembled. Traces of cedar and leather cologne hung in the air, mingled with the stench of sweat. Mariah’s mattress sat on the floor, slightly askew. She tugged at the drawstrings of her sweatpants, taking a long, shuddering breath.
She emerged from her bedroom, resisting the urge to pull her hoodie over her head. Brent stood by the door, his hands stuffed in his pockets. He was back in his jeans and his football hoodie, his tawny brown hair ruffled.
Their eyes met.
Brent looked down at his shoes.
Mariah’s face felt hot. Her eyes bounced around the cramped room, the combined living area and kitchen of her dingy little trailer. It reeked of stale tomato sauce from microwaveable pizza and cigarette smoke from the curtains she’d bought secondhand. One of her daughter’s Barbie dolls, with matted blonde hair, lay on the floor near Brent’s feet.
Mariah’s throat had gone dry.
“You hungry?” She had to whisper. It was past one in the morning. Her daughter, almost four, was sound asleep in the other room. “You want me to make you some food or something?”
“That’s okay.”
“You haven’t eaten since you got here.”
“I’m not that hungry.”
“I was gonna make something anyway.”
“I really need to get going.”
“Please?”
Brent sighed.
Mariah slipped past him. She rummaged through the fridge, retrieved a frozen lasagna dinner and popped it in the microwave. “It’s no trouble,” she said. She stopped the timer before it could beep. “It’s the least I can do.”
Brent fished a few crumpled dollar bills out of his wallet. “Here,” he said. “For the food.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“Would you please just take it?”
“You fixed the whole freaking washing machine. You don’t owe me a thing.”
“That was nothing. It was just a minor repair, really.”
Mariah left the bills untouched on the counter. She divvied up the lasagna onto two paper plates. They ate in silence. Brent stood awkwardly by the counter; Mariah sat on the couch, her plate balanced precariously on her knees. She kept sneaking glances at Brent. Her lips tingled.
They waited tables at the same restaurant. Brent was a year older than Mariah. He was a senior in college, a business major, working for rent and beer money, instead of kids’ clothes, frozen dinners, and daycare payments. They’d met a few months before, when he first got hired. His first day on the job, he stepped in when Mariah screwed up an order and the customer started cussing her out.
“Take your break,” he muttered, narrowing his eyes at the guy. “I’ll deal with this asshole.”
“It’s okay. I’m used to—”
The guy was still ranting. Brent stepped in front of Mariah, shielding her.
“Seriously,” he said. “I’ll take care of it. Just go.”
Mariah slipped away, unable to stop a smile from tugging at her lips. The rest of the night, she kept catching Brent’s eye.
He smiled too.
Ever since, they’d spent their breaks sitting in the back parking lot, munching on sandwiches from brown paper sacks and just talking. Mariah had probably told him too much about herself. How she’d never graduated high school. How she’d run away from home when she was seventeen and pregnant, nothing left of her family but a smattering of bruises on her body. How her days were an endless blur, between her waitress job and her convenience store job and trying to get her daughter to sleep through the night.
Brent’s forehead had wrinkled with concern. “That’s got to be frustrating,” he said. “I can’t imagine having to chase some kid around all the time.”
Mariah shrugged, picking at her sock. “I don’t mind.”
“You look exhausted.”
“The washer’s shot,” Mariah said. “I was up late, soaking stuff in the sink and laying it out to dry. It was too late to go to the laundromat.”
“What’s wrong with it?”
“It just keeps sputtering and stopping every five minutes.”
“I can take a look at it.”
Mariah’s cheeks flushed. “No, that’s alright. I wasn’t trying to—”
“It’s no trouble,” Brent said. “My dad’s a technician. I can’t promise I’ll be able to do anything, but I can at least try.”
Which was how he’d wound up at Mariah’s place. The washer, back in order, churned faintly in the background. Mariah adjusted her sweatshirt. Brent hunched over the counter, poking at the lasagna with his fork.
He wouldn’t even look at her now.
“You want anything to drink with that?” Mariah asked.
“No, thanks.”
“There’s a soda in the fridge.”
“I’m good.”
“You sure?”
“Mariah…” Brent sighed. “I told you, we can’t…this isn’t… I’m not looking for anything serious.”
“I didn’t say—”
“I know you didn’t. But I have to get going.” Brent wiped his mouth on his sleeve. He dumped his plate of lasagna, only half finished, in the garbage. He grabbed his coat off the hook by the door.
Behind Mariah, a door creaked open.
Her daughter wandered into the hall, rubbing her eyes with her fist. Her short, dirty-blonde hair stuck out in every direction. She wore thrifted, mismatched pajamas, a clash of princess pink and electric green. Her face was angular, her blue eyes deep, like murky pools of rainwater.
“Aspen,” Mariah said. “What is it, sweetheart?”
Aspen didn’t answer. She frowned at Brent, blinking hard, as if unsure whether she was awake or asleep. “Who’s that guy?”
“He’s a friend of mine,” Mariah said.
Brent put on a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.
Aspen started complaining about her throat hurting and so Mariah went into the bathroom and dug through the cabinets. Shit. She’d forgotten to replace the cough medicine. The last couple days, her thoughts had been flooded by Brent. Great, just great. She probably looked like an awful mother. Mariah knelt down, trying to reason with Aspen, pleading with her to just go back to sleep.
Brent wandered back over. “Everything alright?”
“Yes. I mean no. I forgot the freaking cough medicine,” Mariah said.
“Oh,” Brent said. A pause. “Yeah, that sucks.”
Mariah hesitated. “Do you think you could run to the store and grab some for me?”
“Right now?”
“It’s just that I can’t leave Aspen, and it’s too late for me to bring her to the store,” Mariah said. “I’ll give you some money, of course.”
“I don’t know.”
“Please?”
Brent hesitated. He glanced down at Aspen, who’d stuck her thumb in her mouth, and who stared up at him, her blue eyes wide, inquisitive. “Alright, fine, I’ll try and find a gas station or something.”
“You’re the best,” Mariah said. She reached out to hug him, but he backed away.
“Just tell me what brand I’m looking for,” Brent said.
Mariah gave him a handful of dollar bills. She described the cough medicine and told him what aisle in the 24-hour gas station she thought it’d be in and watched from the window as he climbed into his car and pulled out of the driveway.
She half wondered if he’d even come back.
…
After Brent had fixed the washing machine, they’d curled up on the couch to watch a movie. As the credits rolled, they just sat and talked, same as always. The familiar ache of loneliness gnawed at Mariah’s insides. She’d stared at his lips for so long that he paused, and she looked away, a flush creeping up her cheeks.
“Sorry,” she said.
Brent just peered at her, his eyes crinkled. The silence hung in the space between them for so long that it grew painful.
Mariah cleared her throat. “Um, I was just… Do you wanna…you know?”
Brent took in a sharp breath, and Mariah’s cheeks burned.
“Never mind,” she said, wringing her hands in her lap.
Brent scooted the tiniest bit away from her. He drew back his hand, which a moment ago had rested on the couch cushion, near Mariah’s thigh.
“You don’t owe me for fixing the washer,” he said.
Mariah’s heart gave a pang.
“That’s not what I meant,” she said.
“I mean, it’s not that I don’t like you, cause I really do like you,” Brent said, stiffening up. His cheeks were tinged with red. “It’s just, I know you have a kid, and I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. I’m not trying to pressure you into anything…not that I don’t want to…I mean, only if you want to…”
Mariah’s lips twitched with a smile.
“I’ve got protection,” Brent said.
Mariah nodded.
And then she was wrapped up in Brent’s arms, and they were kissing, her nerves alight with energy. She’d never felt so alive.
“This is just for tonight,” Brent said.
Mariah kissed him again, and Brent put his hands on her shoulders, gently pushing her back.
“Mariah,” he said. “Did you hear me? This is just—”
“Just for tonight,” Mariah said. “I heard you.”
***
Brent returned, bearing the bottle of cough medicine and some change that he dumped on the counter. He lingered, his hands stuffed in his pockets, as Mariah gave Aspen the medicine and tucked her into bed.
“Well,” he said, once Mariah had finally shut Aspen’s door. “It’s getting late.”
“You don’t have to go,” Mariah said. “I mean, since it’s so late. You can stay—”
The words got caught in the back of her throat. Brent’s car keys dangled from his hand. Mariah crossed her arms, rubbing a hand up and down her forearm. She forced a smile.
“I guess you’ve got classes tomorrow and stuff.”
“Yeah.”
“But this…this was good,” Mariah said.
Brent didn’t say anything. He shifted from one foot to the other. He checked his watch. His hands hung at his sides, like he didn’t know what to do with them now.
“I don’t think we should’ve done this,” he said.
The silence stretched open like a gaping wound. Brent stared at Mariah with pleading eyes, as if hoping she’d agree. Mariah felt a hot flush creeping up her neck, and she willed herself not to cry over something so stupid. He told you, didn’t he? He told you from the beginning that he didn’t really want you.
“Um, okay,” she said, trying to keep her voice even.
“I’m real sorry.”
“I don’t need your apologies.”
“Right.”
Brent hesitated, opening his mouth to say something more, but then he shook his head. He opened the door and trudged out to his car.
Mariah watched him go.
She thought about running after him, begging him to stay. What’d I do? Is it because I’ve got a kid, is that why you don’t want me? He’d say of course not, he’d say it’s just that I’m so swamped with homework and shit, I’m not really looking for a relationship right now… Never mind that he’d crouched down behind her washing machine for free, and he’d had a condom ready in his pocket.
“You think I’m that fucking stupid?” Mariah shouted.
But he’d already turned onto the gravel road, his windows up, sealing her out.
There was a pattering of footsteps. Aspen came stumbling out, squinting under the bright lights. She swayed where she stood, rubbing her eyes, glancing around the room.
Mariah stared down at Aspen’s disheveled hair and the smudges of dirt on her cheeks. The cold nipped at the back of her neck, and outside, it was all murky darkness, where the headlights from Brent’s car had lit up the lawn just a moment before. Her chest tightened with anger.
“He’s gone,” Mariah said. She shut the door. “He’s gone and that’s all there is to say about it.”
Aspen just shrugged. She yawned, wandering over to where Mariah stood. She wrapped her little arms around Mariah’s leg, rubbing her cheek against the fabric of her sweatpants, closing her eyes.
Mariah’s shoulders drooped. She hoisted Aspen into her arms, cradling her against her chest. Aspen stuck her thumb in her mouth, and Mariah held her tight, ruffling her hair, trembling all over.
“It’s just us,” she whispered. “It’s just me and you, sweet girl.”
Aspen didn’t say anything. She just let out a deep sigh, wriggling a little in Mariah’s arms.
Mariah carried her off to bed, and she sang her to sleep, a soft smile plastered on her face, a sob stuck in the back of her throat. She kissed her on the forehead.
Everything’s going to be okay, she told herself, even though there was a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. Tomorrow, she’d have to face Brent all over again. She’d avert her eyes, and she’d wipe the emotion off her face. I don’t care, she’d say, if he tried talking to her. You hear me? I don’t give a damn about what happened last night.
Mariah retreated to her bedroom. She sat on the edge of her mattress, running a hand up and down her arm, digging her nails into her skin. Her body ached, her eyes were heavy, and she didn’t bother changing into pajamas. She grabbed her pillow and mashed it against her face, inhaling the scent of cedar and leather that still lingered there.
It had felt so good, just once, being touched and held and seen…
Mariah sighed.
She set the pillow aside. She tore off the sheets, tossed them in the hamper, and replaced them. She set her alarm, wincing at how little sleep she was going to get. She had to wake up early, as always, to shower, serve breakfast, deliver Aspen to daycare, go to work, go to sleep, and repeat.
Mariah climbed into bed, pulling the blankets tight around her body, the phantom of an embrace.
*****
Carrie McKinney is pursuing an MA in English at Indiana State University, where she earned her BA in English with a concentration in Creative Writing. She is the Vice President of ISU’s Creative Writing Society, and she served as Co-Editor-in-Chief for the 2024 – 2025 issue of Allusions, ISU’s award-winning student literary and fine arts journal. She’s previously had work published in Apricity Magazine and The Afterpast Review.
