Smothered

by Autumn Chiklis

“PLEASE STOP TALKING.” Dad’s muffled yell emerged from behind the closed bedroom door. The ladies howled with laughter as I sank deeper and deeper into the couch cushions.

  I must have sucked down an entire bottle of rosé myself as this year’s Bachelorette kick-started her career as an assistant kangaroo wrangler by choosing Brad over Mark in a deluge of sand and tears.* Ugh. Lisa and Tyler are right: it’s not about the job, it’s about the image. It’s about the exposure. A college degree means nothing if you aren’t willing to dance a paint-covered samba in the middle of Times Square while juggling penis-shaped sparklers … and even then you’re competing with nudist protesters and janky Elmo. In fact …

  Maybe that’s the key to success! Maybe I need to become more Internet savvy! Having a brand means nothing if it’s not paraded publicly. After all, how is anyone supposed to know that I’m the Third Hepburn if my Instagram doesn’t make it obvious?

  Anyway, it’s just posting pictures and writing clever captions. How hard can it be?

  AUGUST 4

  10:05 A.M.

  * * *

  Coming from a person who has dabbled in string theory, I can confidently say that social media is the most complicated development of the twenty-first century.

  Nothing about it makes sense to me. When are you supposed to post? And how many posts should you post?? And of what? And with whom? Why is anyone supposed to care about the way my coffee cup looks against a brick wall?!

  Thank goodness I’m meeting Theo at the farmer’s market to do some shopping today. That should lift my spirits! Plus, I can finally rant about Tyler with someone who isn’t Mom. She’s been unusually perky as of late, and has even started calling me “roomie.”

  12:42 P.M.

  * * *

  Drat. I’ve been so consumed with Tyler and The Bachelorette and my wounded ego, I almost forgot that Mom still thinks Theo is a creepy hipster lunatic bent on killing innocents by the masses. Ugh. I don’t know what to do! I’m starting to lose faith she’ll ever accept him. Any-time I come close to confessing, Mom says something absolutely horrid like “buckteeth are only tolerable with an accent,” or “real men don’t wear V-necks.” Most recently, she hung a sign in my hallway reading:

  WARNING: NO MEN UNDER SIX-FOOT-FIVE BEYOND THIS POINT.

  Meanwhile, I suspect that Theo is starting to grow … well … suspicious. We spent our morning weaving through the farmer’s market, surveying various vegetables and making justifications for my disastrous rejection.

  “It’s the excuse that really gets to me,” I told him for the fifth time. “Overqualified? Please! I’m not overqualified for anything. Just ask Rosa! I’m twenty-two years old, and I still have someone changing my bedsheets.”

  “Right, of course,” Theo teased, closely examining a peach. “Because graduating with honors from Columbia makes you tragically stupid.”

  “Exactly!” I agreed, ignoring his sarcasm. “I don’t know what Tyler is talking about. I’m a total incompetent!”

  Theo chuckled, trading in the fuzzy fruit for another seemingly identical one. I let out an exasperated sigh.

  “I just feel so helpless,” I said, leaning onto the rickety plastic table. “It’s a total catch-22. I apparently don’t have enough job experience, yet somehow I’m overqualified for the jobs that would get me the experience. What, am I just supposed to be the perfect amount of mediocre?”

  Theo frowned, bringing the peach an inch from his face. “These feel a bit underripe,” he concluded.

  I snatched the perfectly good fruit from him and put it back with the others. “Earth to Theo!” I said, waving a hand in front of his face. “It’s your girlfriend here in the middle of a massive panic attack. Do you copy?”

  Theo looked me up and down incredulously. “If this was a real panic attack, you’d be whittling holes in your fingers with your jewelry,” he asserted. I stuck my tongue out at him and he smiled back impishly.

  “Okay! You want my undivided attention. Roger that,” he said with a firm salute. “So. We hate Tyler, and you feel helpless. How can I make it better?”

  I sighed again, bitterness dripping off me like a much-too-young Norma Desmond. “You can’t make it better,” I lamented. “It’s not your fault that I’m a complete loser.”

  “Louie, come on, you are not a loser.”

  “It sure feels that way.”

  “Don’t you think you’re being a bit dramatic?”

  “In what way am I being dramatic?” I asked, dramatically.

  Theo shook his head. “You’re living rent free. You got rejected from one job. This is hardly the end of the world.”

  He was right, which ironically annoyed me even more.

  “I know,” I mumbled, crossing my arms. “I just would like for my life to start already.”

  “You’re only twenty-two. You have plenty of time. Everyone goes through this!”

  “You’re not going through this.”

  Right on cue, Theo’s Apple Watch vibrated with yet another work email.* He let go of my hand to look down at his technologically enhanced wrist and frowned.

  “Jeez, the kitchen is a freaking beehive right now,” he said, squinting down at the tiny print. “This month is going to be a killer. We better get a family dinner on the books before my schedule fills up.”

  My stomach did a triple axel flip and landed in a weird pool of guilt/anxiety. Shit. The dinner! I quickly grabbed onto Theo’s arm to keep from any suspicious ring fiddling.

  “Oh, don’t worry about that! You’ve just been settling in!” I squeaked, my unease very apparent.

  Theo frowned. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’ve been here for two and a half months,” he said, using a finger to find the calendar app on his watch. “It’s time to meet your folks. Now, when are you all free? I can do the eighth or the fourteenth, or if weekdays work better—”

  I put a hand over his watch, suppressing whatever nervous giggles were trying to surface. “You know, right now might not be the best time. Dad’s so busy, he’s barely home these days! Also, my house is super messy. Also, we might have mold.”

  That’s enough, Lou. Theo cocked his head to the side, letting wavy locks fall into his face.

  “Your house might have mold?”

  “Maybe! Who knows? It’s hard to tell with these things.”

  Shut up shut up shut UP. One of Theo’s brows raised up so high, it was hidden by his bangs.

  “Louie, is there something you’re not telling me?”

  “WHAT?!” I yelled, laughter banging at the top of my esophagus. “Of course not! I just don’t want to expose your lungs to potentially dangerous bacteria!”

  The brow remained raised. Think, Lou, THINK.

  “Oh!” I exclaimed, the realization hitting me like a rock to the head. “Val is going away to summer camp next week!”

  Theo crossed his arms, not understanding my point. “So?”

  “So, I really wanted this to be a family dinner. With all of us. Together.”

  “There will be other dinners…”

  “Yes, but I want the first one to be special,” I said, giving his arm a firm squeeze. “She’s only gone for three weeks. Then we can have as many dinners as you want.”

  Theo ran a hand through his chin-length hair. “Are you sure? I can move some stuff around this week…”

  “I’m positive,” I said, putting a finger to his lips. “You know how close I am to my family! I want this to be perfect.”*

  Theo gave me one last suspicious look before shrugging and pushing his hands into his pockets. He gave my finger a small kiss, signifying my victory. “All right, I understand that. Just so long as your parents don’t think I’m stalling.”

  I shook my head furiously, declaring with complete confidence: “Trust me: it won’t even cross their minds. Now, help me take a picture of these berries that will increase my social media following.”

  * * *

  * * *

  AUGUST 5

  * * *
>
  Megan Mitchell

  Today was my last day in the Ay-bay-Bay! My AMAZING friends were so, so, SO sweet to throw me such a PERFECT going-away party. So, so, SO blessed to be moving to La-La Land to pursue my LIFELONG DREAMS!!! #friends #party #goingaway #adventure #LA #dreams #bestfriends #bestjob #bestlife

  253 , 13 , 10

  Sabrina Ward: We love you, Megan! <3

  Hillary Alvarez: Go get them, beautiful!

  Marianna Breton: I guess it really is the City of ANGELS!

  * * *

  * * *

  9:30 P.M.

  * * *

  Oh, joy! How could I forget? My favorite Miss Silicon Valley pageant winner is moving to town!

  As if I needed any more stress in my life. Now I also get to deal with the Queen of Passive-Aggressive Slights herself, sitting in her glorious West Hollywood castle on her royal throne of full-time employed-ness, rubbing it in my face with her scepter of unnecessary abbreviations and too many likes. Ugh.

  As if this weren’t enough, Val leaves for Camp Sycamore next week, which means I’ll have to fend for myself against the Mother/Mitchell Monstrosity … an experience I’m not sure my ego can survive. And to top it all off, I lost three followers on Instagram today because apparently I used the wrong hashtags.

  Can’t I catch a break?

  AUGUST 6

  * * *

  11:15 A.M.

  * * *

  Mom is right. Natasha is a completely ridiculous person who is depressing and wears way too much black.

  Somehow she now fancies herself a “truth crusader” because she’s publically perpetuating a lie that I fabricated in the first place. It’s incredible. If irony were a person, she’d be dancing the Tash Tango.

  Feeling very depressed. Can’t seem to shake the impression that I’m doomed to be a hopeless failure whose glory days are far behind her … even though my glory days were far from glorious. Being a balding caffeine addict should NOT have been my peak. I should just pack it in and apply to grad school, like Theo said, and collect random degrees until I’m so old and broke the only way I can possibly pay off my student debt is by dying.

  Speaking of grad school: Alyssa Carter starts classes at Harvard this month for a joint degree in law and government. Her “rough plan”—as she puts it—is to become a senator for the state of Vermont by the time she is thirty-five so she can eventually run for president by fifty.

  This is a lot better than my rough plan, which is to murder Megan and go to prison so I’ll at least have a set schedule with three carbo-loaded meals a day.

  AUGUST 9

  AUGUST 10

  3:33 P.M.

  * * *

  I never thought I’d say this, but I wish I were a teen again.

  I’d give anything to be headed to Camp Sycamore with Val today. Camp was easily my favorite part of summer growing up … It was where I discovered my love for the environment, where I planted my first tree, and even where I had my first kiss.* It’s three wonderful phoneless weeks of gardening, arts and crafts, DIY projects, and rope courses … Sure, it’s a millennial’s nightmare, but it looks great on college applications.**

  Mom, Dad, and I drove Val to the drop-off point and helped load her belongings into the bus. The Swaggin’ Six were already there, taking farewell Snapchats in their matching jean short-shorts. Mom cried as we said our goodbyes and waved theatrically as the buses left the parking lot, as though Val were on a ship headed for the New World instead of a bus to summer camp in Topanga.

  On the way home, Mom gasped dramatically from the front seat, nearly causing Dad to swerve into oncoming traffic.

  “Lulu! Did you see Megan’s Facebook post? She just moved to LA!”

  I pressed my forehead against the cool car window, trying not to get sick from the motion and/or Megan’s presence.

  “Yes, Mom, I did see it,” I said sharply.

  “That’s so great! Isn’t that great, Charlie?”

  “Who’s Megan again?” Dad asked, shooting a quick wink at me over his shoulder. I smiled broadly to myself from the backseat. I love you, Dad.

  “Oh, you know, Stacey’s niece!” Mom reminded him, landing a playful slap on his broad shoulder. “The one who went to Vanderbilt? Dark hair? Super fun? Oh, Lulu, she is such a good friend for you!”

  Dad slammed down on the brake for two seconds longer than necessary, causing me to bang my head against the window.

  “Jesus Christ! What the— Choose a lane, asshole!”

  “Charlie, that man has to be eighty-three years old.”

  “Then he should know how to freaking drive by now! Stupid son of a—”

  Megan this, Megan that, Megan, Megan, MEGAN. When did Megan suddenly turn into the Golden Child? It was bad enough when she was just cooler and skinnier than me … Now she has to be more successful than me, too? What’s the point of growing up geeky if you don’t have an awesome life to show for it??

  I need to do something, and fast. I can’t face Megan while I’m holding bubkes and she has a royal flush. There must be a job that fits all my criteria that I can apply for and be admitted to in the next week, right?

  AUGUST 12

  Alberto (H.E.L.P.)

  AUGUST 13

  9:20 P.M.

  * * *

  Help. Currently in the throes of a full-blown quarter-life freak-out.

  I spent the day helplessly scrolling through Craigslist for possible job opportunities, noting that I’m not qualified to be a gorilla-costumed street dancer with sign because I lack the necessary coordination. Meanwhile, Theo is catering a party at Charlize Theron’s house.

  Happy birthday, Charlize! Enjoy the tiny kimchi tacos! I’ll be here, spending my night deleting embarrassing pictures of myself that may tarnish my aspired brand off Facebook.

  AUGUST 14

  4:17 P.M.

  * * *

  I’m starting to wonder if Mom’s behavior could be deemed “cruel and unusual” in a court of law.*

  The two of us went on an afternoon walk to the juice bar, since Mom needed another four thousand steps on her Fitbit. Also, Lisa told us we just had to buy this new mushroom powder that tightens your eyelids or something.

  “They say mushroom is the new algae,” Mom explained, walking at a brisk pace. I nodded.

  “That’s cool. Does it taste any better?”

  “Oh, you don’t drink this powder. You snort it.”

  Of course you do. I shook my head as Mom performed an unconscious visual scan on me from top to bottom—a process that occurs every ten to fifteen minutes and usually results in a nagging comment. This time her eyes fixated on my greasy scalp, her nose scrunching up in disapproval.

  … Three … two …

  “Lulu, your hair looks oily,” Mom declared. “When’s the last time you washed it?”

  I sighed heavily. “Sunday.”

  “Sweetie, it’s Saturday.”

  “And?”

  “And it’s starting to look like you used car grease as hair spray.”

  I rolled my eyes, not nearly in the mood to take her criticism. “Please don’t get on my case. I’ll take a shower tomorrow.”

  “Fine. Just so long as you wash it by Monday.”

  “Why? What’s happening Monday?”

  “You’re going over to Megan’s!”

  My head snapped back so quickly, I almost lost consciousness. “I am? Since when??”

  “Since I told Stacey you were free on Monday.”

  “What if I’m not free on Monday?”

  “Of course you are! You don’t have a job!”

  Ouch. Mom tossed her perfectly clean blown-out lob over a shoulder.

  “According to Stace, you weren’t returning any of Megan’s calls, so I made arrangements for you.”

  “Don’t I get a say in making my own plans?”

  Mom waved her hand at me, as though this notion were ridiculous. “What’s the big deal? I thought you’d be excited! Megan is such a—”

&nbs
p; “—good friend for me,” I growled. “I know.”

  Mom pulled the tiny Fitbit out of her bra and checked the number, frowning. She started walking in zigzags to increase her step count.

  “I just think she’s a good influence, is all. She has a job, an apartment, she’s in such great shape … I like to see you around winners, Lulu.”

  I had a quick flashback to the time Megan did my makeup using a Sharpie instead of eyeliner. “Yup. Real winners.”

  “Plus, she’s always so cheerful and fun!” Mom gushed on. “And it’ll be good to have another friend in town besides Natasha. I know you like her, but she can just be so—”

  “Dark?” I offered from the list of commonly used Tash adjectives. “Unconventional? Eccentric?”

  “Yes,” she confirmed. “Also, kind of crazy.”

  Oh, you have no idea.

  * * *

  Theo

  AUGUST 16

  10:00 A.M.

  * * *

  Today’s judgment day.

  I’m supposed to be at Megan’s by noon, which gives me an hour and a half to eat breakfast, choose an outfit, take a shower, do my hair, get dressed, and leave while still giving me a fifteen-minute cushion for parking and any unexpected traffic. I have plenty of time!

  What’s for breakfast? Do we have any more cereal?

  10:10 A.M.

  * * *

  Rough start. Poured cereal into bowl, only to realize we are out of almond milk. Now I have to awkwardly shimmy the cereal back into the box and decide on something else to eat.

  10:15 A.M.

  * * *

  Why is there never any food in this house? The only breakfast options in the fridge include egg whites, half an apple, and a few scoops of some questionable yogurt.

  Oh, wait! There’s protein powder! I’ll just mix it with some water … That should be fine!