Lamentation by Joe Clifford

house next door, but he never stopped by without a heads up. One of the reasons I kept renting from the guy; he respected my privacy. Then I remembered those junkie bikers from the shop.
    “Open up. I know you’re home,” Jenny said, voice muffled behind the door. “I can hear you tiptoeing around in there.”
    Christ, I was acting as fidgety as my brother.
    “What are you doing here?” I asked, flicking on the lights and opening the door.
    “That’s a nice way to greet someone,” Jenny said as she slipped past. She was bundled up head to toe, like a little kid with an overprotective mom on a snow day, button nose wind-nipped and pink. “I wouldn’t have to come out in the freezing cold if you’d answer your phone.”
    “Where’s Aiden?”
    “At my mom’s.”
    “You scared me,” I said. “I thought something was wrong.”
    “No, our son is fine. A terror. But fine.” She smiled weakly. “He dropped Brody’s keys in the toilet today. And then flushed.” She waited for me to say something. “Don’t worry,” she said. “We were able to fish them out.”
    “Glad to hear it.”
    She furiously rubbed her hands together. “It’s an icebox in here. Is the heat even on?”
    “Sorry,” I said, and reached behind her and cranked up the radiator. The old pipes sputtered and coughed like an old man with a chest infection. “Gas bills, y’know?”
    “If you need to take back some of that money, Jay—”
    “I’m good.”
    I kicked out a chair for her. Only had the one. Leg had broken on the other, and even though I worked with used furniture practically every day, I hadn’t gotten around to replacing it. Wasn’t exactly hosting a lot of dinner parties.
    “Have a seat,” I said. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” Which was a ridiculous thing to say, and her face screwed up, letting me know it. I didn’t understand how she could still make me so nervous after all we’d been through together. It was like, whenever I got around her, I instantly reverted to a fourth grade dweeb, stomach knotted, scared to hold hands on the jungle gym because my palms might get sweaty. It also made me defensive, which could make me sound like a dick. Plus, I was still pissed off about the move. I wasn’t going to bring it up first and give her the satisfaction. I’d just wait for an opening when it would do the most damage. I knew I should be bigger than that. But I wasn’t going to be.
    “Can’t I stop by and say hello?” she asked, peeling back the hood of her parka. For a moment, the way her long, brown hair fell so softly, her playful smile etched on pretty lips, it made me forget how angry I was at her for taking my son to Rutland with that dillweed hillbilly. In that instant, she was just that girl I had fallen in love with all those years ago, drinking beer on the banks of Coal Creek as the summer slipped away and we dreamt big.
    “I read about your brother,” she said. “How are you doing?”
    I went to the fridge, grabbed a beer. I held it up behind my back.
    “No thanks,” Jenny said.
    “Suit yourself.” I cracked it open and took a hearty slug, then wiped my mouth with the back of my sleeve and belched. It was the most bachelor thing I could think to do.
    “What are your plans?” she asked.
    “For what?”
    I started gathering dishes shellacked with food scraps and empty to-go containers off the table, dropping crusted pots and stained coffee mugs in the sink, soaping hot water to let them soak. The place was a pigsty. It stank. I hadn’t done laundry in a month. I balled soiled tees and chucked them in the corner. Then dragged the trashcan fromunder the sink and started dumping ashtrays and plastic lids overflowing with cigarette butts.
    Jenny crossed over and took my hands in hers. “What are you doing?”
    “What’s it look like? Cleaning up my apartment. You should be happy. You’re always bitching about what a slob I am.”
    She stared empathetically. “Talk to