by Vicki Grant
HILDY: I’m—
PAUL: You don’t have to say anything.
HILDY: I’m really sorry.
PAUL: That’s okay.
HILDY: The hand. That’s why you draw the hand.
PAUL: Yeah. I thought maybe if I kept drawing it, I wouldn’t be, like, haunted by it anymore. You know, sort of what they do to treat phobias? Make a person stay in a room full of spiders until they stop being scared of them. That’s what I was trying to do.
HILDY: Does it work?
PAUL: Maybe with spiders, but not for me.
PAUL: No, that’s not true. I’m not freaked out by it anymore. I mean, it’s her living hand I draw, not her dead one. It makes me feel like she’s still here. Kind of like it was with her clothes. I could smell her on them ages after the accident. I could almost pretend she’d just stepped out somewhere and she’d be back soon. But I had to move in with my uncle Hugh for a while after she died and he’d just got divorced and was living in this sad little one-bedroom and there was no place for anything, so I gave all her stuff away. I also didn’t want to look like a creep, smelling my dead mother’s clothes and everything. But now I’m sort of sorry I’ve got nothing left of hers, except what I draw.
HILDY: Do you still see your uncle?
PAUL: Not much. He’s a good guy and everything but probably even more screwed up than I am. And with even less money. Good for a laugh, but not the most responsible person in the world. Kind of like Mom. Must run in the family.
HILDY: Families… I’m starting to think they’re all complicated.
PAUL: Your mother signed the death certificate.
HILDY: My mother. She was the doctor?
PAUL: Yeah. I know. I was surprised, too, when I realized that. I recognized the name. And the eyes, I guess. She’s a nice lady. She’s like you. She wanted to fix my nose, too, but I wouldn’t let her.
PAUL: That was a joke.
HILDY: I’m sorry. I’m really sorry she couldn’t do some—
PAUL: No. No one could. Mom was long gone by the time we got to the hospital. Your mother just happened to be the person there to sign the certificate. A coincidence. No one’s fault.
PAUL: Not even mine.
HILDY: You thought it was?
HILDY: Is that why…
HILDY: I mean, the tattoo…
PAUL: Yeah. Kind of pathetic. Type of thing you do when you’re seventeen and think the world revolves around you.
HILDY: But your world does. Same as my world revolves around me. You lost someone you love. You have every right to a teardrop tattoo.
PAUL: “Every death of a loved one comes with a complimentary tattoo. This week only.”
HILDY: Sorry.
PAUL: No. Sorry. That was an asshole thing to say. I know what you mean. I just don’t need stranger’s eyes filling up with tears because my mother died. Thank you for your sympathy but would you mind moving out of my way. That’s kind of what I feel like now.
PAUL: Didn’t mean to sound so harsh.
HILDY: That’s okay.
PAUL: Just the way it is. I think about her every day but people don’t need to know that.
PAUL: Other than you. I’m glad you know. I’m glad I told you. And I’m really glad you didn’t cry.
HILDY: Well, I…
PAUL: Although, on the other hand, I’m kind of shocked. I mean, what kind of heartless monster doesn’t cry after finding out someone’s mother was killed in a tragic accident?
PAUL: Oh my god. And now she’s laughing. A new low.
HILDY: I’m not laughing.
PAUL: Actually you are.
HILDY: I’m not laughing because it’s funny. I’m laughing because you’re funny.
PAUL: Oh, I’m funny. The victim.
HILDY: And I’m funny. I mean, listen. Wait till you hear my worst memory.
PAUL: I can hardly wait.
HILDY: You’re going to crack up when you find out what memory I thought was just… so… terrible. After what you’ve been through, it’s—
PAUL: Before I met you, I didn’t even know what a preamble was. Now I live in fear of them. Just spit it out, would you?
PAUL: And stop laughing. This is supposed to be a terrible memory. I’m going to be pissed if it wasn’t at least semi-traumatizing.
HILDY: It was. For me, anyway. But it’s all about perspective, right?
PAUL: Just say it.
HILDY: Okay… This happened, like, a month ago. My grandmother’s birthday was coming up, and I thought I’d make her something. I’d seen this crafty thing on Pinterest about how you can decoupage photos onto driftwood. I know. Corny. But that’s the type of thing Nana would like for the cottage. Anyway, I’d gotten Mom to email me some family photos. We were all in the kitchen. It was a Sunday. Dad was cooking. Mom had just gotten off her shift and was doing the crossword. I had my laptop and was moving the pictures into iPhoto and I noticed something. You know how iPhoto will see a face and a thing will pop up saying, “Is this so-and-so”?
PAUL: Facial recognition. I’m not totally out of it.
HILDY: Well, it kept doing that with Mom and me. “Is this Hildy?” No, it’s Amy. Or vice versa. We were all laughing because Mom’s almost fifty. Then I noticed it was happening with Gabe, too, but instead of saying, “Is this Greg?” or “Is this Alec?” it said, “Is this Rich Samuels?”
PAUL: Who’s he?
HILDY: One of the ER docs Mom works with.
PAUL: Why would he be tagged in your family photos?
HILDY: There’d been a hospital party at our house a while back. Mom asked me to take some pictures and I’d tagged people for her. She always claims she doesn’t know how to do any of that stuff.
PAUL: She can sew someone’s leg back on but can’t tag photos.
HILDY: Yeah. Too “technical” for her. Anyway. Every picture of Gabe I looked at that day came up tagged the same way. I was like, “Wow, iPhoto is right. Ever notice how much Rich and Gabe look alike?” Then suddenly it was as if all the air got sucked out of the room. Dad went, “Let me see,” this really scary look on his face. Mom said, “I think I’ll go for a run.” Then Gabe went, “I’m starving.” Typical normal Gabe comment. No big deal, but Dad went nuts. Started yelling at him about stuffing his face 24/7 like he was some type of animal, and Gabe looked at me like what the heck, and I knew right then. Like knew. It was weird. I’d never even suspected before. I mean, people had always joked. It was like the four of us all belonged to the same little chess set and then there was this big GI Joe named Gabe we were trying to pass off as a missing piece. Mom had some story about her great-grandfather being a tall, dark, curly headed guy, and fine. Sure. Made sense. Or maybe made just enough sense. But now I think Dad must have suspected before…
PAUL: How come?
HILDY: I don’t know. I think of Dad and Gabe in the, like, good old days and I can’t help feeling as if Dad was trying too hard. They’d always done everything together. Same interests. Same books. And the tropical fish, of course. It’s as if Dad wanted so bad to believe Gabe was his that he did everything he could to make it seem true. Then facial recognition came along and it was as bad as getting the DNA results. He couldn’t pretend anymore. As soon as I blurted out the Dr. Samuels thing, they were done. Over. Dad stopped having anything to do with Gabe right then and there.
PAUL: So you bought Kong to make Gabe feel better.
HILDY: You’d think—but actually that was just Step One in my brilliant plan to “save the day.”
PAUL: Explain.
HILDY: Oh god. That makes it sound like you’re expecting something rational.
PAUL: I’m way past that point. Just go for it.
HILDY: It’s stupid but this is what I was thinking. Dad and Gabe had always talked about getting a King Kong but they’re expensive and since the deal was that Dad paid for the equipment and Gabe paid for the fish, it never happened. So I went out and bought one. I thought they’d be so excited by it that maybe… I don’t
know… they’d forget, or at least Dad would forget or manage to see past it or realize—news flash—that family is more than just flesh and blood but… Look, I know it was a dumb idea but I couldn’t think of anything else to do. It all just seemed so beyond my control… What?
PAUL: Oh my god. Kong.
HILDY: Yeah?
PAUL: Do you have him?
HILDY: No. You have him.
PAUL: I gave him to you. Remember?
HILDY: I don’t know why I’m laughing. This isn’t funny, either.
PAUL: I can’t believe after all that we went and left Kong in the cab. Should we go try and find him?
HILDY: Now? Where? We’d never find him. Forget about it. The cabbie just got a really, really good tip. A one-hundred-and-twenty-two-dollar fish on an eight-dollar fare.
PAUL: One hundred and twenty-two dollars!?! Tell me you’re kidding.
HILDY: No.
PAUL: I’m having trouble breathing.
HILDY: I know. I know. Don’t remind me.
PAUL: For a sardine.
HILDY: King Kong puffer fish, please, aka the key to my family’s happiness. What a joke.
PAUL: Don’t be so hard on yourself. It might have worked. Maybe once your Dad has a chance to get over the shock, he’ll be able to accept things and move on.
HILDY: “Move out” more like it.
PAUL: Meaning?
HILDY: My parents are over, too.
PAUL: How do you know?
HILDY: Long story.
PAUL: I got nowhere to go.
HILDY: Wow. The new you. Actually asking for a long story.
PAUL: Begging.
HILDY: Okay. You know that night I was supposed to meet you at the Groundskeeper? There was this big drama happening at home. Dad tried to sell the aquarium on Craigslist. He was drunk out of his mind and literally throwing fish onto the floor. That’s why Gabe took off and that’s why I was late to meet you. I went looking for him. I was in a total panic for a while but then it looked like everything was going to work out. I found Gabe. The guy who was going to buy the aquarium didn’t show up. Dad dropped the idea of selling it. Most of the fish lived. So part of me was thinking people just had to get it out of their systems and everything would go back to normal—but it’s apparently not that easy. You can’t just, like, do a juice cleanse and purge all your toxic feelings about having raised someone else’s kid.
PAUL: Lots of kids have stepparents who love them.
HILDY: This is different. Nobody tricks you into having stepkids. Dad got tricked and now he’s pissed and he’s done.
PAUL: You sure?
HILDY: Yeah. Right before I left tonight, Mom and Dad came to my door and did the old, “There’s something we have to talk to you about.” You should have seen the look on their faces. They can’t stand each other. I just hate to think what it’s going to do to Gabe. Especially if he thinks it’s his fault.
HILDY: I just realized my worst memory might still be waiting for me when I get home tonight.
PAUL: Mine too. But that’s never going to change.
HILDY: Sorry.
PAUL: For what?
HILDY: I can’t believe I even said that. Here you told me all about your mother dying and I’m still making a big deal about this. So much for perspective. At least my family’s still alive.
PAUL: It’s not a competition.
HILDY: I know but—
PAUL: Listen. When I was in the hospital that night, there was some woman in the ER next to me all burned to shit. And her two kids died in the fire and she’d lost everything she owned, too. I just lost my mother. Everybody loses their mother sooner or later. Imagine how much it sucks to lose your kids. So count your lucky stars. You got off easy. Your time will come.
PAUL: I cannot believe you’re laughing.
PAUL: Laughing? Seriously?
PAUL: You’re sick, you know that?
HILDY: You’re laughing, too.
PAUL: Now I am—but only because you made me. What are you laughing at?
HILDY: You. And your pathetic attempt to cheer me up. “Your time will come.” Talk about fail. Boy, you know how to heap on the misery.
PAUL: All her Italian shoes went up in the blaze, too.
HILDY: Stop. People are looking. I’m clearly exhausted or something. Oh, god. I even cry when I laugh. Do I have more mascara under my eyes?
PAUL: Don’t move… There. Why do you even wear mascara? You don’t need mascara.
HILDY: Guys are so naive. Believe me. I need mascara.
PAUL: I need more coffee. You?
HILDY: No. It’s probably the caffeine that’s doing this to me.
PAUL: I like it. Jerry! Two refills when you got a sec?
HILDY: You’ll regret it. Want to do the next question?
PAUL: Bring ’er on.
HILDY: This is the last one.
PAUL: No. We still haven’t done number twenty-eight. Let’s do that first. Thanks, Jerry.
HILDY: None for me, thanks.
PAUL: Sure?
HILDY: Yeah. Caffeine isn’t what I need to do twenty-eight. I need alcohol.
PAUL: Shall I call him back? Jerry’s probably got a bottle under the counter…
HILDY: No. I’ve got to face my challenges head-on.
PAUL: Okay. Let’s hear it then.
QUESTION 28
HILDY: “Tell your partner what you like about them; be very honest this time saying things that you might not say to someone you’ve just met.”
PAUL: Why would you need alcohol to answer that? You’ve just blurted out all your family scandals.
HILDY: That’s different.
PAUL: How?
HILDY: I don’t know. You reject me because you don’t like what my parents are up to, that’s one thing. You reject me after I tell you how much I like you, well, that’s personal. That’s like, the essence of me you’re rejecting.
PAUL: Your very essence?
HILDY: Quit making fun of me.
PAUL: I’m not. You’ve got nothing to be afraid of. Let’s hear your answer.
HILDY: You have to answer, too, you know.
PAUL: I know how this works. Want me to go first?
HILDY: No. I don’t want you doing that thing again when your answer’s so good anything I say will look stupid.
PAUL: When did I do that?
HILDY: The terrible memory question.
HILDY: Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god.
PAUL: You are unbelievable. Talk about competitive.
HILDY: I can’t believe I said that.
PAUL: Yay! The dead mother wins again! Hooray for me!
HILDY: I am so sorry. Thank you for having the decency to laugh about it.
PAUL: What’re you talking about? It’s not decency. I’m laughing because it’s funny. And if I was allowed to answer the question first and not ruin it for you, that’s one of the things I’d say. You’re kind of hilarious. At the core. I’m not talking one-liners. I’m talking your essence. It’s one big frigging hysterically funny mess.
HILDY: That actually doesn’t sound like a good thing. Is that your answer?
PAUL: No. You first. Things you like about me are dot dot dot…
HILDY: Okay. As you’ve no doubt gathered, I’m not the most experienced girl in the world, so it was easy to sway me with the obvious stuff but—
PAUL: What obvious stuff?
HILDY: Doesn’t matter. We don’t have to go into that.
PAUL: Sorry. Hand me the card. No. The question… See? Right here? “Tell your partner what you like about them. Be very honest…” That’s not picking and choosing. Start with the obvious stuff.
HILDY: I can’t believe you.
PAUL: Honor bound…
HILDY: Most of it I’ve already told you.
HILDY: Not that you needed to be told, of course.
PAUL: ATQ.
HILDY: You’re an excellent drawer. You’re smart. Funny. Good-looking. In fact, to be very honest, incre
dibly good-looking. Sometimes you’re so good-looking that it’s almost hard to look at you. When I think about you, I try not to imagine your face because it’s so distracting.
PAUL: That’s a good thing?
HILDY: No. Not strictly speaking, especially when you—as in, “I”—have papers due or need to remember to turn off the bath before water spills all over the floor.
PAUL: But it’s okay as long as you don’t think of my face?
HILDY: Pretty much.
PAUL: What do you think of instead?
