K: "What's your favorite movie?"
N: "Hmmm...The Breakfast Club."
K: "I watched that shit once. I didn't see a muffin, a pancake, waffles; nothing. It's like those pornos where the dude says he has a pizza but I suspect there's really a pizza in the box."
N: "Who's your favorite serial killer?"
K: "Ya know, I'm always torn between-"
BEEP BEEP BEEP

I entered the kitchen, interrupting their bizarre game of twenty questions, and found Kiwi at the island with his coffee and going over building plans on his iPad pro. Nick was getting something out of the oven; the kitchen looking spotless and smelling like a tropical getaway. Come to think of it, the whole house looked spotless.
K: "Morning, princess. Come sit, Nick made muffins!"
T: "What a time to be alive. Did he clean the house too? It looks like Disney on Ice in here."
Nick turned around with my "I'll have a vodka and Xanax on the rocks" apron on, my skeleton hand oven mitts and holding a tray of still steaming muffins. This was seriously a sight that if you asked me five minutes prior, I would swear on my life I'd never see.
N: "I just wanted to say thanks for letting me spend the night. That was, no joke, the best sleep I've ever gotten."
He triumphantly shoved the muffin tin in our faces, silently urging us to take one.
I took one that I guessed was blueberry and took a bite. It tasted like being told you owe tens of thousands of dollars in child support but finding out the kid isn't yours before the first check clears. It tasted like being laid off on the day of the apocalypse, so it's a-ok.
T: "Nicky, this is amazing!"
K: "...I think this muffin is my soulmate."
N: "I watch a lot of cooking shows since I have to fend for myself. That Pioneer Woman really knows what's up."

I looked around the room and noticed he'd even dusted the baseboards and the chandelier, emptied the dishwasher, and mopped. I saw vacuum marks on the living room carpet, so I assumed the rest of place was as immaculate as the kitchen. If he was doing all this to butter me up, consider me a flaky-crusted blue ribbon winner at the county fair.
T: "So, Kiwi and I discussed your predicament and decided to let you stay for a month to get your shit together. I'm not gonna make you pay rent because you can't and Hitler would host a Passover brunch before you could or would ever pay me back. If you just wanna help with the cleaning, errands and meals if I'm ever too busy to cook. A month, though. You're seriously out in thirty days. I don't care if you didn't find a place, you're going back to your dad's house."
N: "That sounds great, T. Thank you guys so much. This is gonna change everything for me, you'll see."
He dropped the muffin tin and wrapped me up in a hug. It felt like I had my arms around a familiar stranger; not having embraced him since he was a much shorter teenager.
Kiwi pulled his glasses down and stared at Nick like a stern grandfather refusing to read the Sunday funnies to his young whipper-snapper grandson.
K: "You're welcome but you need to be looking for a job and a place. This isn't take a load off and relax time. I think it'd be a good idea to get a few therapy sessions in with Taylor, too. You're gonna go back to your old ways if you don't fix the wounds that make you act like this."
T: "...You've been hanging out with me too much."
K: "Yeah, I'm gonna call my mom and tell her I finally said something intelligent, then go brush the taste of brain cells out of my mouth."

Nick asked me to take him to his house, so he could pack what he'd need to survive for a month. We were on the way back, when he suddenly asked me to pull into an older looking apartment complex; claiming a friend lived there who had some of his clothes. We sat waiting in the parking lot for his friend to return home, listening to the spring rain hit the windshield. I decided it was his job to make conversation with me, since he blew into my lawn and disrupted my life; so if he didn't want it to be awkward, he could start flapping his chops.

I felt something on my arm, almost jerking away for fear it was an insect and certain death awaited me. Instead of a wasp with a stun gun, though, I saw Nick tracing his fingers over my tattoos and nodding his head approvingly.
N: "How many tats you got?"
T: "I think about forty now. It hurts so fucking bad, I don't know why I keep going back but I dunno...makes me feel pretty, I guess."
N: "Does Kiwi like them? I noticed he had a sleeve goin' on."
T: "He thinks I have enough, but I don't think he can even tell when I get a new one anymore."
N: "I gotta ask...what the fuck kinda name is Kiwi? Not to be rude; I know it's not his fault."
I felt the vinegar burn of my kombucha in my nose, almost spitting it all over the dashboard. His question cracked me up and caught me off guard, yet I'd been expecting it.
T: "It's a nickname, I promise. Why don't you ask him to tell you all about it over a cigar? He'd love a nice relaxing evening talking about himself."
N: "Yeah, that sounds nice. He seems like a good guy-"
His text tone went off, interrupting himself. He checked his phone and began undoing his seatbelt.
N: "My friend's back. When I get out, can you pull around the back of the building and I'll meet you out there?"
T: "...I guess, but why can't you just come out the way you-"
N: "-Thanks!"
He slammed the door and hurriedly walked towards the building.

I did as he asked, still not understanding why he needed me to pull around back. I must've been waiting for no more than fifteen minutes, when I looked up and saw Nick bolting out of the apartment building and making a mad dash for my car; one black leather jacket flung over his shoulder. That was the "bunch of clothes" he just had to have?
He threw himself in the car and began barking out orders, as he struggled to get his seatbelt on.
N: "Go! Start driving!"
T: "What the hell is going on!?"
N: "He's being fucking crazy, just go!"
I felt like I was having a heart attack, I was so frantic and flustered. I threw the car in drive and peeled out of there; making the tires screech. I felt my heart racing and my body temperature rising as I pulled on to the main road and almost immediately hit a red light.
T: "You better start explaining this instant!"
N: "I'm sorry! I walked in and he started accusing me of stealing money, when it was probably his bitch girlfriend."
T: "But why did you run away like you feared for your fucking life!?"
N: "He was flipping out and it got me all wound up, I don't know!"
He shut his mouth and stared mindlessly out the window, almost looking sad or mad at himself.
I couldn't decide if I had yelled at him a sufficient amount or if I should keep going and really bring it home. It made no sense to me, to react like that over an argument. Usually I would keep probing until I got an answer I was satisfied with but I chalked it up to Nick being weird from his upbringing, so maybe he didn't know how to appropriately respond to conflict and really didn't have an answer for me.

I decided to let it go and be lenient with him. He was emotionally fragilè and I did want to try therapy, so I thought until I knew everything wrong, it was best to not make it worse and make him shut me out. The rain had picked up, tapping on the glass and masking the silence between us. I drove up the street, to the new shopping plaza being built, so I could run in the liquor store. Our next door neighbors had get togethers every Friday and had invited us over, so I thought it'd be proper to bring another gift besides me.

I convinced Nick to come in with me, to get his mind off the squabble, and pick a bottle of something to share with Kiwi. I guess I wanted them to have a good relationship because I got the sense Nick looked up to him and I knew Kiwi was the only positive male influence he had at the moment.
I bought a bottle of wine from the carpeted section of the store, so they'd better be real damn appreciative, and started out the door with Nick.

As soon as we walked outside and I caught a glimpse of my car, I stopped dead in my tracks. My back tire was slashed to hell. It wasn't just a flat or I had run over a broken bottle by accident; it was fucking mutilated.
Nick ran over to inspect it, as I called Kiwi and roadside assistance. I tried to take a look at the store cameras but the shopping plaza was brand new and not even done being built, so "the cameras weren't up and functioning yet." How convenient.
I couldn't shake the feeling that Nick's fight and my tire were related. No one else's car had been damaged and what were the odds he had some blowout bonanza, ten minutes before my tire got a lickin'. But I didn't say anything. It was unlike me to be so hesitant to speak my mind, as you know. I tried to convince myself I was being paranoid about the ways of the world and was making up the sinister connection in my head because I always expect the worst of humans, but I think I was really just afraid of the answer.

I stood by the back door, fixing my jewelry in the microwave reflection and waiting for Kiwi, to go next door. I tried to not get all beside myselfy about the car and having to get a rental; looking forward to drinking until it was funny. Nick emerged from the pool area and came in the back door, looking like he'd changed from earlier, in an attempt to look good for the neighborhood. I had convinced him to come, just to get out and move around. I think he wanted to be more social and wanted to be liked but he didn't quite know how. He seemed confident in starting conversations but quickly fizzled out and would start talking about off-the-wall stuff, out of desperation to salvage the conversation and it turned people off.
I noticed his eyes looked absent and had no idea what he had been doing outside.
T: "Why do you look like the first part of a Zoloft commercial?"
N: "I don't know...still shaken up from this afternoon, I guess."
T: "What were you doing out back?"
N: "Exploring. You have a huge fucking patio area, I almost got lost. Wanted to see what activities there were to do out there. I get the feeling you don't trust me."
His allegation caught me off guard. Usually, I would rush to defend myself and automatically start pouring out apologies that I made him feel that way and that's not what's going on but I couldn't honestly say that.
T: "Well...it's not like you've got the best track record when it comes to being a stand up gent. Maybe I don't trust you but hopefully we can work on it so neither of us feels this way."
I felt like no matter what I did or said, I came off cold. I really didn't mean to but I wanted him to know if he was pulling any tom foolery funny business bullshit, that I was suspicious and he should quit while he's ahead.

People were still arriving at our neighbor's, Joe and France, when we got there. Joe was an Air Force guardsman pilot what have you, who worked at the base a few miles away. His wife worked in insurance and would only answer to "France", not Francis or Fran; like she would completely ignore you. Nice lady but if you're reading this, come the fuck down off your high horse, Fran.
We entered through the garage and saw everyone in the backyard, gathered around the several fire pits and fireplace huts that dotted the patio area. There were bowls of Cuban cigars and champagne flutes all over the house and a huge catering spread set out around the kitchen and surrounding rooms. Nick got himself food and told Kiwi and I he was going to mingle outside, as we headed to the bar to get a drink. I was proud of him for not hiding behind Kiwi and going to try to meet people on his own. If he was willing to try that, maybe he was serious about trying to changing and getting back on track. Small victories.

We had been there for maybe three hours and surprisingly, I wasn't drunk, but not for lack of trying. Joe was going around playing host, when he noticed Kiwi and I, at one of the fire pits, from afar. He made a face and nodded for us to meet him near the koi pond, away from everyone. I thought he was going to tell me the food I made was amazeballs, because I know it was, but that's not what happened.
J: "Hey, is your cousin ok?"
K: "Ok how? Mentally? I wouldn't stake my life on it but he's not a deadly threat like Ted Bundy or Oprah."
T: "What's wrong? Whatever he did, I'm so sorry! He's only staying for month! I'll pay for it!"
J: "I mean is he having any substance problems or health issues? Have you noticed anything off?"
K: "He's been through a lot, so he's kinda off. That's pretty much why he's here."
T: "Substance problems? You mean drugs?"
J: "He's passed out in the chair. He was nodding in and out for awhile, while I was talking to my sister over there, but he's out like a light now. The nodding and delayed reaction is what got me. Maybe it's not my place to say but that looks like heroin, in my opinion. I hope I'm wrong because that is a hell an addiction to deal with. I would find him professional help or he's gonna wreak havoc."