Smothered

by Autumn Chiklis

  No one could hear me. The whole restaurant had erupted into roars of excitement and gossip, more and more people livestreaming the fight from their phones. I sprinted toward Theo as fast as I could in Mom’s size 4 dress, wiggling my hips around like a discount Marilyn as I pushed through the rambunctious crowd.

  “DAD! LET GO!”

  This time he heard me. Both he and Theo froze as I reached them, panting from the effort and adrenaline. Mom sobered at the sight of me in her lacy dress, her giggles dissipating as I put my hands on Theo’s shoulders.

  “Dad, please let him go, this was a mistake!”

  “Louie, how did you—SHIT!” Theo tried craning his head up toward me, but yelped in pain. Dad finally relinquished his grip, letting Theo’s hands fly to the back of his aching, bow-tie-wrapped neck. I crouched down to table level, frantic.

  “Are you okay? Where does it hurt??”

  “I can’t turn my neck.”

  “I barely touched him!”

  “YOU THREW HIM ON THE TABLE!”

  “Everyone, CALM DOWN!” Jackie bellowed, her face as red as her hair. “Please, everyone, we all just need to relax…”

  “DON’T MOVE!” One of the restaurant critics jumped to the front of the crowd, his pinstriped sleeves rolled up to his pointy elbows. He rushed over to the table and gently laid a hand on Theo’s back, careful not to apply pressure. “Don’t move a muscle! We need to check to see if your spine is compromised.”

  “What? My spine is not—”

  “IS ANYONE HERE A DOCTOR?!”

  “Lulu, what the hell is going on?” Mom barged in, ignoring the critic. “What are you even doing here?”

  “She’s here with me!” Theo shouted back from his folded position on the table.

  “And who are you?”

  “I’m Theo!”

  “Theo? You mean physics friend Theo?”

  “Physics?!”

  Theo tried standing up, but Pinstripes grabbed his neck and held it rigidly against the platter of eggs.

  “OWWWW! What the—”

  “Someone go into the kitchen and get some ice!”

  “HE DOESN’T NEED ICE.”

  “Can everyone please put their phones away!” Jackie yelled.

  “Lulu, I’m confused,” Mom kept on. “You told me you were spending the night at Natasha’s…”

  “Natasha? OW! Sir, please let go of my head!” Theo pleaded.

  “Do you feel any tingling in your appendages??”

  “No!”

  “Are you seeing spots?”

  “Oh, for Christ’s sake…” Dad groaned.

  “Is Natasha at this party, too?” Mom asked, turning to the crowd. “Did you three come here together?”

  “I thought Natasha was still stuck in India!” Theo hollered.

  “Natasha is in India??”

  “I have ice!” Some girl in a pencil skirt handed a towel full of ice cubes to Pinstripes, who thanked her and pressed the wrap deep into Theo’s sore neck.

  “SHIT! JESUS, that’s cold!”

  “Breathe into it!” the man ordered.

  “You’re going to give me freezer burn!”

  “It’s better than a severed spine.”

  “This is fucking ridiculous,” Dad said, crossing his arms.

  “Do not make light of this!” Pinstripes threatened, pointing a finger at Dad. “I could have you arrested! This is assault!”

  “Assault? He kissed my wife!”

  “I thought she was Lou!”

  “You were trying to kiss Lulu?”

  “THERE’S NO NEED TO CALL THE POLICE!” Jackie shouted to the crowd, anxious to maintain order. “And will everyone PLEASE PUT AWAY THEIR PHONES?!”

  Suddenly Dad looked down at poor Theo with wide eyes, clarity finding its way into the creases of his hardened face. “Wait a second—you’re the boyfriend?”

  “You’re the WHAT?!” Mom shrieked, silencing the rowdy partygoers. I could feel blood rushing away from my brain and to my cheeks as Jackie seized the momentary silence.

  “THANK YOU! Now if I could please have everyone…”

  “Your boyfriend??” Mom yelled over Jackie as I stood with my feet nailed to the floor. “Did he just say your BOYFRIEND?!”

  Whatever poise I’d managed to fake earlier in the evening had disappeared entirely, making way for my usual mess of anxiety. I was sweating straight through Mom’s dress, turning patches of the navy to a sticky black. My makeup was smeared down my cheeks, and I could almost feel my hair starting to frizz. This was it. My clock had struck midnight. Cinderel-Lou was exposed, and the whole kingdom was watching as her gown turned into rags.

  “I—I tried to tell you—” I started, barely able to breathe.

  “She still doesn’t know about me??” Theo yelled out, all different kinds of hurt. “But you said—OWW! Son of a—”

  “Can you wiggle your fingers and toes?” Pinstripes requested.

  “Get off him or you’ll be lying next to him,” my dad growled. Pinstripes slowly removed himself from Theo, who immediately tried standing up straight, egg still smeared on the right side of his face. I rushed over to help him, but he quickly pulled his arm back, recoiling from my touch.

  “How long has this been happening?” Mom asked in disbelief. I went to answer, but Theo did it for me.

  “Almost eleven months.”

  “ELEVEN?!” Mom started pacing back and forth, the realizations hitting her one by one as my story fell apart like a Jenga tower. “So all this time you’ve been ‘seeing Natasha’ in Silver Lake, you’ve actually been lying to me and going to see Theo?”

  “I know it sounds bad, but—”

  “And you, Charlie!” Mom turned suddenly on Dad, whose frown had grown deeper than the hole I was trapped in. “You knew about this? You knew that our daughter had a secret boyfriend and you didn’t bother telling me??”

  Dad’s lip thinned into a tight line.

  “It’s not his fault!” I interjected, stepping forward. “He wanted me to tell you, but I couldn’t!”

  “But why?” she pleaded. “Why on earth wouldn’t you tell me? What have I done to deserve…” Mom gasped, hands flying to cover her face as it suddenly dawned on her. “Oh my goodness. I’ve been calling him … Oh no…”

  “Been calling me what?” Theo caught on. “What has she been—OW!” He tried turning his head to look at me, but a surge of pain kept him locked in place. Pinstripes extended an arm out with the towel of ice, which Theo took with his free hand.

  “I think this is something we should discuss in the car,” Dad said pointedly.

  “Oh, I’m not going back in the car!” Mom announced. “I’m taking an Uber home.”

  “No, wait, Mom, please—”

  She ignored me, swiftly turning on her heels and stomping out the front door in a huff. Hushed murmurs echoed through the restaurant as Dad quietly followed after her, shooting me a disappointed look before he stepped outside. I stood motionless, staring after them, unable to comprehend the shitstorm that had just hit the collective fan. Finally someone from the back of the dining room yelled out: “So, does this mean the drinks are free?”

  * * *

  Theo

  SEPTEMBER 20

  * * *

  Shelly Hansen

  After undergoing a series of unexpected life challenges, it has become clear to me that my priorities need a serious face lift. Does anyone know anything about feng shui? I am looking to rearrange my house to promote spiritual growth, family, and youth, if that’s an option. They say it’s how Julia Roberts and Oprah found their chai.

  17 , 5

  Lisa Van Williams: No fake flowers; lots of pink.

  Cathy Ryland: Tell me if it works! My office needs a pick-me-up!

  Inez Lopez: If you’re looking for chai, they make a great one at Starbucks.

  * * *

  * * *

  1:55 P.M.

  * * *

  HELP. I’m living in an actual nig
htmare. Theo wants time apart to “think,” Dad can hardly look me in the eye, he’s so disappointed, and Mom is acting like a modern twist on a forlorn Tennessee Williams character. She was already in a bad place before, but I think I may have pushed her to the point of insanity. Early this morning, I woke up to discover random articles of discarded clothing haphazardly strewn about the hallway and a low groaning emanating from Mom’s bedroom. I followed the suspicious trail of outfits/sounds to find her sitting cross-legged on the floor in her leopard-print robe, surrounded by piles of dresses and pants and shirts, tightly clutching a single Prada high heel to her chest. She was flanked by the two pugs, who suspiciously sniffed the land mine of expensive fabrics that Mom had clearly created in her mania.

  “Mom? What’s going on?” I asked, trying not to step on anything.

  She swiveled her head toward me, narrowed her eyes, and dramatically cast her gaze to the side. “I’m giving away all of my possessions, since this family thinks I’m so shallow,” she declared in a slight southern drawl.

  I tilted my head, bewildered. “Mom, I never said you were shallow.”

  “You didn’t have to. It’s what you didn’t say that matters, little lady.”

  “Okay, why are you speaking in a southern accent?”

  “Because, Lulu, I’m from the South.”

  “You’re from Miami.”

  “Oh, you think you’re just so smart, don’t you?” she snapped, banging the Prada shoe against the ground like a gavel. The pugs jumped in surprise. “Oh,” she moaned, “how did I get here, Muffin? My oldest daughter resents me, my youngest is about to leave for college, my husband spends his whole life trying to financially support my spending … Honestly, it seems the best thing I could do is just run away! Or at least change everything about myself.”

  She lifted the Prada shoe up on her index finger, dangling it above Muffin’s thick head. He crouched down and growled at the potential chew toy.

  “Mother,” I said, carefully, “please. Put the Prada down.”

  “Why? It’s of no use to me now. My designer days are behind me,” she professed. Baguette’s and Muffin’s curly tails started to wiggle as Mom lowered the shoe another inch. I could hear the theme from Jaws playing in my head as the pugs circled.

  “Listen to me; you don’t want to do this. You’re not thinking clearly.”

  “Oh, I’m thinking clearly for the first time,” she shot back, lowering the pump another inch.

  “What’s going on?” Val stepped into the room wearing her nightgown, a concerned expression on her beautiful face.

  “Mom’s having a nervous breakdown.”

  “I am doing what’s best for my family.”

  “RRRRRUFFF!” Muffin leapt into the air and grabbed the shoe by its heel, his fat rolls jiggling as he crashed back to the floor. Baguette pounced, sinking her teeth into the suede pointed toe and pulling with such force that the heel snapped off its base. The three of us gasped.

  “NO!” Val screeched.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me,” I marveled.

  “But Mom, those were your favorite shoes!” Val fretted.

  Mom tossed her lob, which somehow still looked perfect from Friday night’s blow-dry. “They were a symbol of my old life. It’s better this way. Now everyone, OUT!” Mom gestured toward the door, the red paint on her nails starting to chip. “I need time to say goodbye to what was once my jewelry before I sell it all on eBay.”

  SEPTEMBER 21

  8:13 P.M.

  * * *

  There’s no way for me to confirm this, but I’m starting to worry that Mom may have been replaced by a robot. I do not recognize this person … This is the kind of woman who would wear mom jeans instead of Mother Denim. She spent most of her time today rearranging furniture with Rosa based on the different energy cycles of the house. Not once did she tell me to go to the gym or to put on a bra or pluck out my chin hairs. In fact, she only addressed me once the entire afternoon, and it was to ask me to help her set up an eBay account to sell her jewelry. I knew that this was a bad idea, so instead I just opened a Tumblr page, titled it “Shelly’s eBay Account” and told her to post pictures on it. I doubt she’ll ever notice.

  But the most concerning part of the day came at around 6:00 P.M., after all our potted plants had been placed in the northeast corner of the house.

  It’s Monday, which can mean only one thing at the Hansens’: Bachelor Night. This has been the rule of law since the dawn of the first Bachelor season, all the way back in the ancient time of 2002. I made my way into the living room, expecting to hear the usual squeals and giggles that accompany a Red Hot Party, but was instead met with the droning of a particularly stuffy, monotonic Englishman. Mom was curled up on the couch in one of Dad’s old T-shirts, Muffin’s chin snuggled on her shoulder, her expression resembling a five-year-old’s after a shot of cough syrup. A large bowl of Skinny Pop popcorn rested on her lap, and a bottle of uncorked rosé was squeezed between the couch cushions to her right.

  “Uh, Mom? What’s going on?” I asked, taking in the room as though it were a crime scene. “Where are the ladies?”

  “They’re at Susan’s tonight.”

  I quickly checked my phone to make sure that today was in fact Monday. Mom stuck her hand deep into the bowl and pulled out a handful of yellow puff balls, held it up to her shoulder for Muffin, and then finished the remaining snack in a large bite.

  “But Bachelor Night has always been here…”

  “I’ve decided that reality television is for silly, vapid people.”

  “What are you talking about? You love reality TV. You call it free Xanax!”

  “That was the old Shelly. New Shelly cares about more serious things and takes real Xanax.”

  She reached over for the rosé and took a swig straight from the bottle, Muffin licking the edge of Mom’s lips for a taste of sweet fermented grape. I turned toward the television screen just in time to see a man hold up two different-colored blobs of clay to the camera.

  “So instead of Bachelor in Paradise, you’re watching a special on … ceramic creation?”

  “It’s a documentary on the history of bricks.”

  “Bricks?”

  “Yes. Did you know that the first bricks were sun-dried? Like the tomatoes? It’s all painfully interesting.”

  Emphasis on the painful. This was the moment that I started to suspect the robot theory … Never in my wildest, most outlandish dreams did I imagine my mother missing a party to watch cement dry. Equally startling, and I can’t believe I’m about to record this on paper … I sort of, kind of, maybe missed watching The Bachelor? I mean, don’t get me wrong—I still think that reality television is an abomination sent to perpetuate the demise of art—but I really wished the Red Hots were here. I’ve gotten used to the cheers and chatters and the gluten-free kale dips …

  Mostly I think I just missed the fun, even if I wasn’t the one having it.

  SEPTEMBER 22

  Alyssa

  SEPTEMBER 23

  4:35 P.M.

  * * *

  I think I’m coming down with something. Like pneumonia, or the plague. I don’t think I’ve ever felt this terrible. Getting out of bed each morning makes me feel like a vampire emerging from centuries of sleep, only instead of searching for blood, I’m looking for motivation/a job/dignity of any kind.

  I really miss Theo. He still hasn’t texted or called me. I had to change his name in my contacts to DON’T YOU DARE LOU HANSEN just to keep from calling and telling him everything. But I couldn’t do that without giving up Mother. There’s no gentle way to explain that my mom has called him a dorky, weirdo serial killer with a flamboyant fashion sense without inevitably hurting his feelings. And I’ve already done enough damage to his neck.

  That being said, it’s been awful not talking to him. I feel like crying every time I so much as look at food, which hasn’t stopped me from eating twice as much of it as usual.* One of his work friends tagged him
in a picture on Facebook today, which I’ve examined at least fifteen times in the past three hours. The caption reads PAREA Pals, and features some of the chefs hanging out together on their lunch break. It was definitely candid, since Theo is terrible at taking posed photos and he looks really, really cute in this one. His neck brace is off! And it looks like the black eye has started to turn yellow!! But in my excitement, I accidentally liked the picture, then freaked out about whether or not I should unlike it, but ultimately decided that he was going to see the notification anyway and that revoking the like would be much worse in the long run. Ugh. He doesn’t look unhappy in this picture at all! I mean, not that I want him to be unhappy … but come on, our relationship is on the line here! Does he have to be smiling so wide??

  Shit, I just heard a crash in Mom’s room. Hoping she’s not trying to dismantle her dresser to turn it into a doghouse again. I keep telling her that the dogs are practically in charge of our house already, and that they’d never settle for anything less than two thousand square feet. Going to check on her now. Wish me luck.

  SEPTEMBER 24

  Val

  SEPTEMBER 25

  1:30 P.M.

  * * *

  Well, it’s officially been a full week since the Worst Day of My Life, and things aren’t looking any brighter in the Hansen house. Tonight is the beginning of Yom Kippur, which is normally Mom’s favorite holiday, since she gets to fast for religious reasons. However, this year Mom is taking her atoning to a whole new, deranged level:

  “Lisa and I are going on a minimalist hike through the desert,” Mom announced this morning after gathering the family in the living room. “Tomorrow we leave at sunrise and won’t be back until we break fast at dinner. No technology is allowed, so I’m leaving my cell phone here. I know this will be a relief to you all, since I won’t be tracking your every movement, but please remember to feed the pugs in my absence.”

  Dad’s frown emerged. Val and I exchanged concerned glances.