Life's Too Short

by Abby Jimenez

  By the time I banged on Dad’s door, my panic had moved into anger.

  I mean, what the actual fuck? He crashes the car and he doesn’t think I’m going to find out about it? He doesn’t bother to call me and give me a heads-up, tell me he’s okay?

  When he answered, the smells of mildewy shower and festering garbage rolled out of the house at me.

  “Dad,” I said dryly as he stood there, red-eyed and disheveled. He didn’t look like someone who’d been in a car crash, but who knew.

  He squinted at me. “Melanie?”

  It hit me like a punch to the gut. I had to take a moment to compose myself to answer. “Dad, it’s Vanessa.”

  He blinked at me, and the light faded a little from his eyes. He pulled the door open and let me in, walking stiffly back to the sofa, where he lay down with a grimace.

  I closed the door behind me.

  God, the place was gross. Dad had always been a pack rat, but this was bad, even for him.

  I wrinkled my nose at a bag of rotting trash by the front door that someone had pulled from the kitchen but never run to the curb. It was leaking from the bottom and sat in a putrid brown puddle. As usual there were stacks of random stuff everywhere. Shit he saw on the curb destined for the dump that he’d brought home with the grandiose plan of fixing it or using it somehow. It was ridiculous.

  Normally I took off my shoes when I came into a house, but I wasn’t walking barefoot in here. “So, I see you’re shooting for a new personal best,” I said, stepping over a dirty, torn dog bed—which was interesting because Dad didn’t have any pets.

  He spoke from the sofa like he was in pain. “Vanessa, I’m in an exceptional amount of discomfort. Your sister has relieved me of all my Percocet, and my back is killing me. I didn’t sleep a wink last night. If you’re going to give me a hard time, I’ll thank you to let yourself out.”

  He’d injured his back last week tripping over something in the house. I told him to lock up the pills, which of course he didn’t do. I also told him to clean this place up, and he didn’t do that either.

  I walked to the sofa and stood over him with my arms crossed. “Are you wondering why I’m here today?” I asked. When he didn’t bother to open his eyes or answer, I went on. “The police stopped by my apartment. Apparently they found your car wrapped around a tree this morning? Empty? Do you happen to know anything about that?”

  He groaned and put an arm over his face.

  “Are you injured?” I asked, irritated. “Do I need to take you to the hospital?”

  “Fit as a fiddle,” he muttered.

  “So you what? Just crashed it and ran?”

  He didn’t answer me, and I kicked the footboard of the sofa. “Dad!”

  He sat up slowly, wincing. “All right, all right. You have my attention. Happy?”

  I glared at him.

  “It wasn’t me,” he said. “It was Annabel. I wasn’t even there.”

  I dropped my arms. “You lent her the car?” I stood there, my mouth agape. “Why the hell would you give it to her? She was probably high! And her license is suspended!”

  “You don’t need that government-issued nonsense to drive,” he said, waving me off. “That’s just Big Brother’s way of making money off us for something a ten-year-old could do. What’s next? Mandatory GPS trackers in our brains that we’ll have the privilege of paying yearly fees for? Human barcodes? No thank you.”

  I stared at him. “Please tell me you’re kidding.”

  “Why would I be kidding? And I didn’t give her the car,” he said, rubbing his lower back. “She took it.”

  “Without permission?”

  He squinted up at me. “She’s a grown woman, Vanessa. She hardly needs my permission to leave the house—”

  I gawked at him. “Wow. Just wow.” I shook my head, incredulous. “You know what? I’m done. You’re getting your shit together, Brent’s getting a job, and she’s going into rehab and not living here anymore until she does, do you understand me?” I jabbed a thumb into my chest. “I pay this mortgage. I make the payments on that car she just crashed. It’s registered under my name. I pay the insurance on it and the maintenance and now the repairs. And I do it so that you can get your life together and maybe Brent can have a way to get to a job if he ever decides to get one, not so Annabel can use it to endanger the general public. If you three think I’m going to enable this…this bullshit by continuing to fund it, you’ve lost your minds.”

  I started snatching empty soda bottles off the coffee table and clutching them to my stomach. “She could have killed someone,” I said, fuming, bottles clinking against one another. “You’re lucky all she did was wrap it around a tree.” I stopped and glared at him. “Did she take money? And don’t lie to me.”

  He looked indignant. “You cut her off. How else is she supposed to eat?”

  “How much?” I demanded.

  He waved a dismissive hand around. “Maybe a few twenties. And my phone,” he added. He bobbed his head. “And…”

  I waited.

  “Your mother’s wedding ring.”

  Fucking fucking UGH!

  I threw up my arm and stomped to the kitchen. I wanted to destroy something. Break a plate. Take a baseball bat to this whole fucking disgusting house.

  He followed me as I dumped the bottles in the trash. “You know, it wouldn’t hurt you to have a little compassion for your sister,” he said to my back. “Addiction is a disease. And a mother deserves to see her child.”

  I whirled on him. “I have compassion. That’s why I’m doing everything in my power to get her into treatment. And if you loved her, you’d be helping. She needs boundaries, Dad. There have to be consequences. And if you don’t give them to her, then you’re part of the problem.”

  His scruffy jaw set.

  I gave him my back and started to rage-wash dishes. “You know, just once I want to be the one to fall apart. I’m so tired of cleaning up everyone else’s mess.”

  The garage door off the kitchen opened. Brent came in.

  He lived with his boyfriend, Joel, and his family in the house across the street. He probably saw my car in the driveway and he needed something, as usual. God knows neither of us ever came to this hellhole just because.

  “So, the princess has returned,” he quipped.

  I shot him a look. “You’re on thin ice, Brent. Do not test me. And you have a lot of nerve blocking me from a phone I pay for, by the way.”

  He scowled around the kitchen and balled a sweater-covered hand over his nose. “Ugh, this place smells so bad. Anyway, I wanted to talk to you—”

  I scoffed. “Of course you do. What pyramid scheme do you want money for this time?”

  He made an indignant huffing noise. “First of all, it is not a pyramid scheme. It’s an actual business and I get to be my own boss. I just need an initial investment to build my inventory.”

  “Great. Another MLM. Even better.” I slammed a plate into the drying rack. “I’m not giving you a dime, Brent. You have a business degree. Get. A. JOB. A real one.”

  “I am not cut out for the traditional workforce, Vanessa, you know this! I hate everyone, food service is gross, and I’m not built for manual labor,” he whined.

  Dad stood somewhere behind me. “Your brother is a budding entrepreneur, and all he’s asking for is a little start-up money.”

  “Oh yeah? Then you give it to him.”

  “This family takes care of each other,” Dad said, going on unfazed. “It’s what we do. I took care of you and your sister when your mother died. Annabel and you took care of Melanie, and now you’re taking care of us. It’s the Price way. If we don’t have each other, what else do we have?”

  “You took care of us?” I laughed indignantly. “Is that what you call it?”

  “Look at you. You turned out great!” he bellowed from behind me.

  I slammed another plate angrily into the drying rack. “How dare you call your ‘fend for yourself’ parentin
g anything other than what it was. No money, our clothes smelling like mildew so we got bullied at school, nothing but expired food in the pantry. You bringing home some moldy sofa you found on the curb so we got bedbugs in the house and we got to spend Easter at Joel’s parents’ while you fumigated—”

  Brent looked at his nails. “That sofa was pretty gross…”

  “That was almost fifteen years ago,” Dad said. “How long are you two going to bring up that sofa—which was a gorgeous Victorian that just needed a little reupholstering, if you want to know. And expiration dates are myths. They just want you buying food you don’t need.”

  “Who’s ‘they’? Big Grocery?” Brent said sarcastically.

  I snorted.

  “I taught you resourcefulness,” Dad continued. “It’s an indispensable life skill, and you’re welcome for that, by the way. You owe everything you have to the way I raised you and you have me driving around in a used Kia. It’s an insult. And frankly it makes you look bad. The father of a famous Internet personality should be in something distinguished. Maybe a Lexus. Or that new C-Class…”

  I scoffed. “The car is done. You can Uber where you need to go from now on. And you clean this house and change the locks, or I’m done paying the bills. You can figure it out on your own.”

  And then my chin started to quiver because how the hell was this family going to go on when I was gone?

  I was the duct tape. The only thing that held this shitty piece-of-crap unit together.

  If I went, Dad would have to step up and take care of Grace, and I had only the barest faith that he would come through for that baby. I wouldn’t even bring her over here to visit, let alone live. He was such a mess he’d probably die under a garbage avalanche in the den, and they wouldn’t find his body until the neighbors complained about the smell. Annabel would end up overdosing trying to chase her high, and she’d never come back for Grace at all, and Brent would spend his inheritance on some get-rich-quick scheme and be broke and starving before my body was cold.

  I figured I had about a year. One more year if my hand meant what I thought it meant. And then I’d be gone and buried, and this shit show would continue without me with no one to curb it and they would all suffer horribly until the day they died.

  A sob burst from my mouth and I turned and slid down the dishwasher until I was sitting on the filthy floor, crying into my hands. And the worst part of all was I couldn’t feel the tips of my fingers as I was doing it.

  I could hear Dad coming to console me because the linoleum was so sticky his shoes were making Scotch tape noises as he stepped, and it just made me cry harder.

  It was like the whole Price family was headed for extinction. Faulty genes, predisposed conditions, and Murphy’s fucking Law.

  And poor Grace. An addict mother, a narcissistic granddad, a deluded uncle, and a dying guardian.

  I wailed, completely losing it, and Dad put an arm around me. “Why are you crying, pumpkin? Life is good! Annabel will be fine, and Grace has you to take care of her.”

  I wailed louder.

  I couldn’t tell him about my hand. I couldn’t tell any of them. Dad would completely unravel—if only to make it about himself. Brent would go full drama mode and who knows what it would do to my sister.

  God. Somebody should just adopt Grace. Closed adoption and run away with her. A nice couple who would spoil her silly, put her in fun sleepaway camps, and buy her a pony, and she’d grow up never knowing the dumpster fire of a family that she sprang from because none of this was ever going to change.

  Brent stage-whispered over from where he still stood by the garage door. “Okay, so, like, you know I want to comfort you, right? But I am not sitting on that floor.”

  I did a laugh-cry.

  I wiped my eyes on the sleeve of my shirt, drawing in a shuddering breath, willing myself to calm down. As usual I couldn’t afford the luxury of a proper breakdown.

  I would probably benefit from some therapy. Maybe another online support group at the very least. But what was the point in trying to fix myself when I probably wouldn’t even exist in twelve months?

  “So where do you think she is?” I muttered, putting my palms to my eyelids.

  “She texted me this morning,” Brent said like it annoyed him. “She’s fine.”

  “You know Annabel,” Dad said dismissively. “She always lands on her feet.”

  Brent scoffed. “She’s more like a cockroach than a cat,” he mumbled.

  I felt Dad turn to look at him. “That is your sister, young man.”

  “What? I’m not being mean! I’m just saying she’s indestructible. A nuclear bomb could go off and there’d be Annabel, scurrying around in the ruins unscathed, still wearing the Burberry scarf she stole from me, while insisting that she hasn’t seen it.” He crossed his arms. “I miss that scarf,” he added.

  I let out a long, tired sigh. “I reported the car stolen. Lucky for me, I happened to be hanging out with a criminal defense attorney when the cops showed up.” I wiped at my eyes with my palm. “You know, this stuff is public record, Dad. It can hurt my image. You have to be more careful.”

  “Is that the hot guy from the hallway?” Brent asked.

  I nodded wearily.

  “Good-looking guy,” Dad said. “Good job too. Lawyers make money,” he added. “It would be nice to have a lawyer in the family.”

  I snorted quietly. How convenient.

  Dad and I didn’t have the kind of relationship where his opinion of the men I dated mattered one ounce to me. Not that I was dating Adrian or ever would. That man wanted nothing to do with my hot mess. And that just made me want to cry too.

  I liked him. He was sooo my type. If things were different, if he was even remotely interested and I wasn’t staring down my expiration date, I’d jump on that body like a trampoline.

  The very idea of what Adrian probably thought of all this made me cringe. It was like every single day something humiliating had to happen to me in front of him, just because the universe needed a good chuckle. I did another choking laugh-cry and put my forehead to my knees.

  I had to get this family independent. I had to. I couldn’t enable any more of this irresponsibility. Soon I wouldn’t be here to help them clean it up. But I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t help Annabel unless she wanted to help herself. Brent was dead set on chasing rainbows. And Dad…

  I’d hoped the city’s intervention would have been a wake-up call. He was fined and placed on six months’ probation for the cluttered state of the yard. I know he was humiliated by it. But he wouldn’t stop collecting things. It had moved on from some sort of deep frugality to something else. He was saving trash. Some of the stuff he hung on to was literally garbage. And he was bringing it in faster than I could take it out.

  I sniffed and put my forehead into my hand. “Go take a shower. We’re going to a Nar-Anon meeting. Brent, you too.”

  They didn’t argue. Probably because they knew if they wanted me to keep paying for things they’d have to at least appear to be cooperating.

  I followed Dad to the living room and gave him two Aleve from my purse. We’d have to get another prescription—and a safe to put it in. He’d need a new phone too.

  When the water in the shower started, I did a quick clean of the house. Made Brent run the vacuum while I mopped. Threw a load of laundry into the washer. It wasn’t even one-hundredth of what needed to be done, but it was a start.

  A half hour later, Dad got out of the shower and came down the hallway dressed and clean as I was turning on the dishwasher.

  “Can we go to Perkins for lunch?” he asked, pushing up the sleeves of his sweater.

  I sighed. Dad was a good-looking man. He wore a white button-down shirt under his V-neck vest and he’d shaved. He had his glasses on. He looked like the kind of guy who lounged in a leather chair by a fire, thumbing through a novel. He looked like an educated, sophisticated gentleman who was ridiculously smart and too charming for his own g
ood—which in reality, he was.

  Sometimes I thought Dad’s intelligence was why he was the way he was. He was too smart to be blissfully ignorant, hyperaware of everything around him, absorbing the world like a sponge. He could have been anything. A doctor. A scientist. An accountant, like he used to be.

  Instead he was this.

  I couldn’t think of anywhere I’d rather eat at less than Perkins.

  And I took him there anyway.

  * * *

  I was gone for almost five hours. It was 2:00 when I got back. I’d checked in on Grace half a dozen times while I was out. Adrian kept assuring me he was fine and not to rush. When I finally got back to his apartment, I knocked on the door, and Adrian called from inside for me to come in.

  He was at the sink in the kitchen, running the water. He had his briefcase open on the kitchen table and some paperwork strewn about like he was trying to get some work done. I felt even worse now for stealing half his day off with my bullshit. He probably had things to do.

  “Hey,” I said, closing the door behind me. “How was she?” I glanced at Grace’s swing, but it was empty.

  “Good, until about twenty minutes ago,” he said, looking down at whatever he was washing. “She had a pretty bad diaper.”

  I came around the kitchen counter and saw that he had Grace in the sink.

  He was giving her a bath.

  My heart melted.

  He had a rolled-up towel in the sink to support her and a wet washcloth was balled up on the counter. He was rinsing her with a cup. He’d taken the travel-size baby shampoo from the diaper bag, and it was half empty.

  He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. “It went right up her back. It was even in her hair. I didn’t know they could do that. I almost threw the whole baby away and started over.”

  A laugh burst from my mouth, and I covered it with my hand. “I’m sorry, it’s not funny. I shouldn’t be laughing.”

  He smiled over the sink. “It’s okay. You did promise me adventure and excitement today.” He nodded at a trash bag on the floor. “Her dirty pajamas are in there. I was going to wash them.”

  I moved next to him and rolled my sleeves up. “Let me help you. She can be really slippery when she’s wet.” My arm pressed into his as I leaned over the sink with him.