by Page Turner
Viv felt herself freezing in place, the blood beginning to boil in her ears.
“Karen though? That was a bit of a shock, I’ll admit it. It was hard enough when you took up with Penny,” Tenny continued, “but Karen, too? Really, Viv?”
“What about Karen?” Viv grumbled, feeling positively masochistic even asking. It was a weird sensation, to be so suddenly robbed of her power. As her mother sneered at her (or tried to, working against the natural paralysis of too many anti-wrinkle injections) from behind her teacup, Viv felt herself becoming a small child again. Stuck in the driver’s seat as her mom soliloquized odiously.
Viv had never quite understood why, but her mother had a way of rendering her helpless and passive, even as her mother said things that infuriated her. Once again, Viv found herself unable to speak in a situation where she would have let someone else have it.
“Whaaaat about Kaaaaren?” Tenny repeated, stretching out the words and laughing. “My dear, you let a crazy girl into your life. One who could very well steal your common law wife from you, the moment you drop your guard. How does that make any sense?”
Viv swallowed. This was not something she wanted to discuss with her mother. Not now. Not ever.
In the hallway, Karen fumed silently. None of what Viv’s mother was saying was true. Well, maybe the bit about Karen being crazy had some merit. Okay, there might be some truth there. She was different than other people emotionally. That said, “crazy” wasn’t a nice way of describing someone else. But then again, when was Viv’s mother ever nice when she didn’t want something in return? And it was true that Karen had struggled with her mental health. Not that Viv’s mother were one to talk, as she’d spent time herself on an inpatient psych ward.
So the “crazy” charge was mean and a bit of an odd allegation coming from Tender Lee (pot, kettle anyone?) but true enough.
But the rest of it was way off base. They weren’t just a bunch of failed heterosexuals. Women who couldn’t hack it at the one true goal in life of being transactional puppeteers of hapless rich men. Not everyone wanted to live like Tenny.
And Karen would never try to break Viv and Penny up. She’d never wanted to. She wasn’t a homewrecker. Karen loved their dynamic the way things were, with both of them in picture. It was an unconventional life, sure, living with two lovers who were also involved with one another, but it made her happy.
She thought for sure it made Viv happy, too.
But if that was the case, why wasn’t Viv defending her?
“Everyone blames me for the way you turned out,” Tenny continued. “A one-woman home for wayward girls.”
“Mom,” Viv said. It was her darkest, sternest tone. And it was all she said. It was a kind of warning.
“Ah,” Tenny said. “It would seem I’ve stepped way out of line.” She batted her eyelashes. “Forgive me.” She waved her right arm in an intricate pattern in the air.
A servant arrived carrying a plate of tea cookies. “Here, dear,” Tenny said. “Have a few. You’re practically wasting away.”
“Thanks,” Viv said, reaching for one.
“I can’t believe you waste a body like that on a couple of women,” Tenny said.
“Mom,” Viv said in that same tone.
“Oh dear, what came over me?” Tenny said. “So… how’s the detective life going? Any exciting cases lately? It seems like every time I talk to you, you’re working or about to.”
Viv smiled. Leaned forward. And started to talk about their current caseload. She wound up by talking about a case they’d just wrapped up, one where a man had accidentally locked himself in his own freezer but for a while had seemed like it might be foul play. And a few more cases that were seeming like they were domestic disputes that had gone horribly wrong.
Viv made sure to save their biggest case, the Snow White incident, until the end. She did her best to be a compelling storyteller, painting the scene of both her vision of the scene beforehand and the crime for her mother in vivid detail.
Tenny, who had been slouching and gazing idly up until that point as if her daughter was not talking about grisly murders but reading the phone book, came to life then.
“Really?” Tenny said. “The victims were tueys? That’s unusual, isn’t it?”
Viv nodded. “Very. Especially a pair of demotivators.” Viv recounted her own experience at the prison. The way she’d felt suddenly as though she were incapable of doing anything. It was as though she’d been up for days and had 100-lb weights strapped to each leg.
“Ah, so you became lazy all of a sudden?” Tenny said.
Viv nodded.
“Reminds me of when you were a teenager,” Tenny joked.
“Mom!” Viv said, but it was a light protest, like a joke between old friends.
Karen seethed in the entryway. She was glad Viv wasn’t being pummeled by her mom anymore but irritated that Viv hadn’t come to her defense when her mother had attacked her. And now it was as if everything were okay between the two of them. Like they were old pals.
Gross.
Karen briefly considered bringing it up later with her, but she knew how that would go. How it had gone the other times that Karen had questioned Viv’s relationship with her mother.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Viv had said in the past, when Karen had expressed concerns about Tenny’s effect on Viv’s psychological health.
“Well, I can’t say that I know what it was like to be raised by Tenny,” Karen had said, “but you know I didn’t have an easy time with my father.”
Viv had nodded.
“So maybe I have a bit of insight into what I’m talking about,” Karen had said.
Viv had rolled her eyes.
“And I know you hate when I play ‘the Empath Card’ –”
“I do,” Viv had interjected.
“But… Viv. I’m probably the only other person in the world who really understands how you feel when she treats you like that. I don’t just feel for you, I’ve felt it with you. And I’m not sure that relationship is worth it.”
Viv had frowned. “What do you know? You’re a fine one to give advice.”
“What do you mean?” Karen had said.
“I’m not going to listen to a quitter,” Viv had said, putting as much weight as possible on that final word.
If Viv’s intention had been to shut Karen up by any means possible, it had worked. It had stung. Karen had glared at her, combing her mind for something to say back. Karen had wanted to scream at Viv, but nothing had seemed profane enough. A simple “fuck you” or “go to Hell” could never convey the depth of the violation of being judged like that. It had almost seemed like it would take violence to communicate such a thing.
It was true that Karen had cut her father out of her life. That she didn’t talk to her him anymore. But to characterize that as quitting… well, that was a complete mischaracterization. Quitting implied something was easy. That something was a concession. A form of surrender.
Cutting her father out hadn’t been surrender; it had been an amputation. The hardest thing Karen had ever done. Painful, but necessary. Like sawing off an infected leg to save her own life.
“I didn’t quit,” Karen had said to Viv. “I amputated something that was killing me.”
Viv had rolled her eyes. “My mother isn’t killing me.”
“No,” Karen had said. “But she drains you. She empties you. She does that to everyone. You’re not any different.”
It had been Viv’s turn to feel profoundly wounded. “Look, Karen, you don’t have to be cruel. I get it. I know I’m not special to my mother,” Viv had said in a tired voice. “That’s a hope I gave up a long time ago.”
“That’s not what I meant,” Karen had said.
“Sure,” Viv had said. In a tone that meant that she didn’t really wa
nt to agree but wanted to end the conversation.
“I didn’t,” Karen had said again, deliberately.
“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Viv had said.
“What?”
“You and Penny are always doing this,” Viv had said, her voice weary.
“Doing what?”
“Saying mean shit and then adding on ‘that’s not what I meant,’ when you realize you’ve hurt me. You don’t get to decide what should hurt me and what shouldn’t. Your intent is one thing, but your impact is another. And one isn’t more important than another. They can co-exist. You can mean well but still hurt me,” Viv had said.
“I know that,” Karen had said.
“Do you?” Viv had challenged her.
“Of course I do,” Karen had said. She’d experienced it. “I’ve actually felt it before,” she had explained. “I’ve said something in good faith and actually felt the other person take it the wrong way. I’ve felt their pain.”
“I find that hard to believe,” Viv had said.
“Why? You know how my powers work,” Karen had said.
“I just don’t understand how someone who could really feel another person’s pain could ever cause it,” Viv had said. “You’d think you’d stop, knowing how it felt. And knowing you’d have to feel that pain with them.”
“That’s just the thing,” Karen had said.
“What?”
“If you don’t intend to do something, if you aren’t doing it on purpose, it’s hard to stop doing it. It’s literally an accident. And just because my toes hurt, too, when I accidentally step on yours, it doesn’t mean that I can just will myself to be less clumsy,” Karen had said.
Viv hadn’t known what to say, so she had stayed quiet.
“There’s a certain point where you just have to forgive someone,” Karen had said. “Let them be human.”
“Or psychic,” Viv had said.
“Or both,” Karen had said.
Karen thought about that conversation again as she seethed in the mudroom, waiting for Viv’s visit with Tenny to be over.
Finally, Tenny began to talk about her plans for later in the evening in that tone of voice that politely signals to a guest that they maybe should head out.
Karen took that as her cue to leave and quietly headed back out to the car to sit with Penny.
“Good visit?” Penny asked perkily.
“As good as could be expected,” Karen replied. This was, after all, Viv and her mother.
“I was kind of hoping she’d invite us in for once,” Penny replied.
“Viv would have to grow a spine for that to happen,” Karen said.
“That’s not very nice,” Penny said. “But I get it,” she added, after a pause.
The front door swung open, and Viv appeared. As Viv climbed into the car, neither Penny nor Karen asked her how the conversation had gone.
Instead Penny asked if either of them needed her to pick up anything on the drive home.
Karen proposed a series of snack options, while Viv shot each one of them down. Penny mentally prepared a driving route that would take them near a grocery store but not set them back too far if they couldn’t figure out what they wanted.
Viv and Karen never did come to an agreement. They were home without ever coming to a consensus.
Penny lingered in the car for a moment as Viv and Karen tore into the house, heading in opposite directions.
“I guess it’s up to me,” she said to the empty car.
The Interloper
Neither Karen nor Viv were up to making dinner after the visit at Viv’s mother’s house, so it was up to Penny to pick up the slack.
“Like usual,” Penny said to herself, when she was certain they were out of earshot. Passive-aggressive, but she didn’t particularly care. Something had to give, even if it had to give in private.
Being the perky, positive one was a role she mostly relished. She liked being the one with the even keel.
The one who was always unruffled. Resilient. But on certain days, it was a tough ruse to keep up.
Because of her powers, Karen had seen under her veneer many times. Karen knew the truth. And yet, Karen was happy to let Penny keep up the façade. In more positive moments, Penny attributed this to Karen being on her team and supporting her. “She doesn’t want to blow my cover,” Penny would tell herself.
Other times, it just seemed like an awfully convenient way for Karen to take advantage of her. To ignore the secret truth and just act as though Penny was as unflappable as she pretended to be. Act like Penny was always game to do chores. Like Penny never had down times or bad spells.
Today was one of those times. Penny grumbled as she rifled through the cabinets looking for a pot. Karen had of course just haphazardly put away the dishes –again—with no rhyme or reason.
“Viv would kill her… if Viv ever bothered to open the cupboard,” Penny said to herself. Because she couldn’t remember the last time Viv had cooked dinner.
“She’s been sick. New medicine,” a voice in Penny’s head said.
Except… the voice wasn’t in her head.
Penny spun around. Standing next to the sink was a stranger.
She felt a tight braid of fear in her chest. Who could this be? Who the hell was in her house? How had she missed the sound of the door closing, footsteps?
But then she saw the dirty fork sitting next to the drain directly behind her guest, and it dawned on her what was going on.
Ah yes, Penny told herself. It’s a spirit. Not a living person.
“I don’t think I know a single person who hasn’t been sick lately,” Penny said to the spirit. “Everyone’s working harder every day. Especially in this neighborhood… am I right?”
“Evoking pity’s an interesting strategy,” the spirit said.
“Strategy?” Penny asked.
“You use strategies when interacting with the undead. Gambits. I don’t know what you call them in your private thoughts, but that’s what they seem like to me anyway. I’ve seen you talk before to some of my friends.”
“Did you?” Penny asked. In her own head, she wondered if this were even possible. Spirits traveled of course, but she’d never heard of them engaging in this form of metacognition. As far as she knew, they weren’t capable of observing other scenes between the living and dead and reporting in on them later. This was the first she’d ever heard of such a thing. But she supposed anything were possible.
“There’s a lot you don’t know about us,” the spirit continued. “Even after all this time.”
“Like what?” Penny said.
“Why bother explaining?” the spirit said. “You’re clearly not a great listener.”
“That’s unfair,” Penny said.
“Really?” the spirit replied.
“Yes,” Penny said. “I listen just fine.”
“You might hear the words,” the spirit said, “but the ideas, well…”
“Well what?”
“Your mind is too full of your own beliefs. You’re too set in your ways to really learn from us is what I’m saying. Typical arrogance of the living. Like a child explaining to her parents how the real world works. Although I guess that analogy doesn’t work so well on someone without parents, does it?”
Penny winced in spite of herself. How did the spirit know about that? She rolled her shoulders, conjured her most unfazed expression. Then Penny frowned as pointed a frown as she could muster. “I suppose you’re just going to stand there and waste my time with riddles all night.”
“Tsk tsk,” the spirit said. “That’s a horrible tactic, too. I have all the time in the world. What do I care if you waste yours? You’re not going to motivate me that way, you’re not going to compel me to do anything with an argument like that. Sloppy, really, as an approach. You’re sli
pping. I do believe I’ve gotten under your skin, Penny Dreadful.” And then the spirit went a step further and said her other name, the one she’d been given when she was born. What some might call her “real name” if they were conventional thinkers, but Penny considered her fake name. Her dead name bestowed at birth and changed at the soonest possible opportunity.
Penny’s eyes opened wide. She couldn’t remember the last time a spirit had called her by her first name, let alone her full name. And she couldn’t remember the last time anyone had called her that other name. What in the world…
“Ah, maybe you’re listening now,” the spirit continued. “I have your attention, as you fleshy types like to say.”
Penny waited.
“That’s a funny premise, too, attention. You walk through life thinking that you’re perceiving each and every thing exactly as it is – especially you psychics –”
“Intuitives,” Penny corrected. Usually she didn’t bother, but this spirit was annoying her.
“Oh please,” the spirit said. “No one calls you intuitives. Outside of a few echo chambers online. You’re psychics. Or tueys.”
Penny sighed. Language had a way of evolving. After the word “psychic” became a slur, governmental forces had rebranded their classification system. “Psychic” was now fine for systems, institutions, and powers – why PsyOps was able to retain its name as the Department of Psychic Operations – but offensive as a label when applied to actual people.
Their proposed solution was to call individuals with psychic powers “intuitives.” Quickly, however, people began to call them “tueys,” which turned into an even better slur on account of it sounding an awful lot like a person spitting on the ground. Ever so occasionally, the most anti-tuey person would actually spit on the ground when saying it.
Penny expected a new culturally sensitive label to emerge any day now. It was only a matter of when. Language seemed to function that way. Anything could be weaponized. And with enough time and enough discrimination against people of the outgroup by people who were far too comfortable in their ingroup, well… it would be.
