Big Fat Disaster

by Beth Fehlbaum

  Mom says, “Leah, don’t—” but it’s too late, because Drew starts wailing all over again: “Mama’s going to divorce Daaaaaaadddddy.”

  Ryan says sarcastically, “Why am I not surprised? Pass the mustard.”

  Leah frowns. “Ryan—”

  He shrugs. “What? It was going to happen eventually.”

  I narrow my eyes. “Well, you don’t have to be an ass about it in front of my little sister.”

  Aunt Leah puts her hands between us like she’s breaking up a fight. “Come on, y’all. This isn’t an easy time for anybody. We need to focus on supporting each—”

  Ryan stands up so fast that our drinks splash onto the table. “Really, Mom? The way they’ve helped us out when we need it? The awesome support they showed us at the Fourth of July clusterfuck?”

  Mom gasps, and he puts his palms on the table and leans into her. “I don’t feel sorry for you. Get that? I love that your perfect little world is blowing up in your face!” He looks at us like he wants to spit on us. “I’m not hungry.” He starts out of the room.

  I blurt, “I didn’t say anything to you! On the Fourth of July—I didn’t say anything to you!”

  Ryan freezes in the doorway and says, “Typical.” He goes to his room and slams the door.

  Drew’s sniffling is the only sound anyone makes after Ryan leaves. I lock my eyes on the tray of cupcakes in the center of the table and imagine the wrappers flying off as I inhale them.

  Finally, Leah speaks up. “So, Colby, do you think you can start at Sugar’s on Monday? Dulcie’s water broke at work today, so she’s having the baby. I’m going to be short-handed, and I’d like to teach you to decorate cakes.”

  I start to tell her that Dad already taught me how, but I see one last chance to keep from having to work at Sugar’s. “I’ve been meaning to ask you about that. Doesn’t school start in a few weeks? Are you sure you want to go through training me when I’ll only be working for a short time?”

  Leah looks surprised. “Well, I was hoping you’d come in after school and on Saturdays.”

  I picture myself eating spoonful after spoonful of cake icing. I’m simultaneously excited and horrified. “Oh, good! I was hoping you’d say that!”

  Sunday morning, I wake to Drew pounding on my door. The door sticks when she opens it, and she nearly falls onto my bed. I manage to open one eye, sit up on my elbows, and glare at her.

  “Something’s wrong with Mommy,” she wails.

  I spring out of bed and nearly run over my sister. I thud down the long skinny hallway to Mom’s door and try the doorknob. It’s locked. I freak out. “Mom! Mom! Open the door!” I ram my shoulder against the door like I’ve seen people do it in the movies, but the door just makes a splintering sound.

  I hear footsteps, fumbling with the lock, then the door swings open. Mom’s rubbing her face—she’s still wearing her clothes and makeup from the day before, and her mascara’s so smeared that she looks like a raccoon.

  Her voice is raspy. “Wh-what’s wrong?”

  “Are you okay? Drew said there’s something wrong with you!”

  Mom blinks, trying to focus on Drew. “Why did you think that?”

  I notice for the first time that Drew’s dressed in her church clothes, holding her Bible, and trying not to cry. “It’s Sunday! You always get up and make pancakes on Sunday before we go to church!”

  Mom shuffles back to her bed and sits on the edge. She bends at the waist with her elbows on her knees and stares at the worn carpet. Drew moves to the bed, leans against her, and softly asks, “Aren’t you going to make pancakes…before church? Aren’t we going to church? We didn’t go last week because you said that everybody at our old church is mad at Daddy. But we could go to that church with the big steeple. It looks nice.”

  Mom sighs and shakes her head.

  Drew jumps up and stamps her feet. “Why does everything have to change? Is this because you’re getting a divorce?”

  Mom takes Drew’s wrist and pulls her back. She yawns. “I’m not ready for meeting new people. I need some time.”

  Drew yanks her hand free and stomps to Mom’s bedroom door. “I want to live with Daddy! I don’t want to stay with you! I miss Daddy!”

  Mom looks at her dully but says nothing when Drew vanishes into her room and slams the door. A few seconds later, we hear glass shatter.

  I get to Drew’s room before Mom does and find her staring slack-jawed at the Bible-sized jagged hole in her bedroom window.

  Drew falls to her knees, sobbing. “I want Daddy to come back! Why is he mad at us?”

  Mom joins her on the floor and wraps her arms around her. She speaks soothingly, “Oh, honey, Daddy’s not mad at you.”

  Drew wraps herself around Mom. “Why did everything have to change?” She throws her head back and wails. “I want my old house! I hate this ugly house with the big black mud bobbers inside it!”

  Mom pats her back, rocking her. “I understand, honey, but we won’t be here long. Don’t worry.”

  Drew hiccups, “Are…you…sure?”

  Mom closes her eyes, nods. “Yeah. I’m sure.”

  I’m in the tall grass under Drew’s window, watching out for snakes and carefully placing the pieces of broken glass in a cardboard box. Mom comes around the corner with Leah. Ryan trails behind them, his arms crossed and face scowling as usual.

  Leah acts like the broken window is no big deal. “We’ll just tape up some cardboard for now. Accidents happen. Don’t worry about it. When Buzz repairs the steps, I’ll have him replace the glass, too.”

  “That’s really nice of you. I’ll pay for the repairs as soon as I get some money.” Mom babbles nervously, “Drew was so upset; she thought that Reese left because he’s angry at her. Can you imagine such a silly thing?”

  Ryan snaps, “Like the real reason is that much better? My mom left my dad because he was an abusive prick, but that doesn’t matter to you guys, apparently. What: Mom was supposed to keep letting him do it until he killed her?”

  Mom grimaces. “I’m not sure where you’re going with this.”

  Leah murmurs, “I think it’s a legitimate question, given what was said to us on the Fourth of July, Sonya.”

  Mom squares her shoulders and sounds more than a little defensive. “It’s just…the rest of us never saw Mark behave like that, so it wasn’t…real to us.” She shrugs. “It made it hard to believe, since there were no witnesses. And Mark is such a good guy, he—”

  Ryan steps up to Mom and looks her in the eye. “I was the witness, remember? And sometimes I was his punching bag, too, depending on how quickly I retrieved another beer for him. It’s bad enough that you guys ditched her when she needed you the most, but even when my mom showed you proof, you still didn’t believe it.” He takes another step in, and Mom backs into a thorny vine. “Why is reality such a problem for you people?”

  Mom looks down and crosses her arms. “Romans 3:23: ‘For all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God.’”

  Ryan reaches down and yanks out a handful of tall grass. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

  Mom sighs. “The only thing I know for sure at this point in my life is that everybody’s broken.” She takes the box of glass shards from me and disappears around the corner.

  I watch her go, then turn to my aunt and cousin. “I get it: You don’t want us here.”

  Leah puts her hand on my shoulder, “Yes, we do, Colby. We’re glad you—”

  Ryan cuts her off. “Don’t lie, Mom. You told me there was no way they’d take you up on your offer, because they’d never lower themselves to living with us.” He snorts. “Well, this really worked out the way you thought it would!”

  Leah shrugs. “Okay, Ryan, you’re right.” She looks me in the eye. “I never thought your mom would actually want to live here.”

  I feel like I’ve been punched in the chest. I nod at Ryan. “I get that he hates us, but you don’t like us, either? I mean…at all?”
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  Her face softens and she shakes her head. “It’s not a matter of liking you. It’s a matter of helping a family in need. I would have done the same thing for anyone. I took in my last tenant because his house burned down and he had no insurance. He stayed in the trailer and paid what he could until he got back on his feet.”

  She drapes an arm over Ryan’s shoulders. “My whole life, my family had this public image of being so giving and kind, but when it came down to it, if helping others wasn’t convenient at the time, they looked the other way. ‘Do unto others as you would have them do unto you,’ my dad always said…but if the ‘doing unto’ had any sort of inconvenient sacrifice attached to it, you could forget it.”

  The sun shifts in the sky. She and Ryan move out of the squint-inducing rays into the shade of the trailer, and she pulls me over to them. “Your family is welcome to stay here as long as you need. What Reese did to everyone who trusted him is awful, and I reached out to your mom because it was the compassionate thing to do. But make no mistake: I will not be judged on my turf the way we were at that picnic. I’m not stupid, Colby; I can imagine the things that were said about us after we left. Remember: I used to be one of them, until I broke the cardinal rule of not airing dirty laundry. I know what kinds of catty things are said behind people’s backs. And as for what they said was a ‘mistake’ on Ryan’s part: I completely support his decision to report the rape of that girl, because it was the right thing to do. Yes, there were sacrifices involved, but we actually do try to ‘do unto others,’ even when it’s messy.”

  I look at my feet and nod. “I get it.”

  Ryan gives me a long, hard stare. “Somehow, I doubt that you do.”

  Chapter Nine

  Monday morning, Mom drops me off at Sugar’s, then heads to the school administration building to ask about open teaching positions. I haven’t told her about my conversation with Leah and Ryan behind the trailer. What good would it do for her to know that Leah’s not really thrilled about us moving to Piney Creek?

  Leah shows me around the kitchen. “Ryan and I came in at 4:30 to stock the cases with doughnuts and muffins for the breakfast rush. Once the crowd thins, we’ll clean up, then bake rolls, prep salads, and assemble sandwich fillings. Your job will be to help in all areas, but, like I told you before, I’m hoping you have an artistic side and can pitch in with cake decorating. For now, I’d like you to work the front counter. Oh—you’ll need to pull your hair back in a ponytail. Pop these on, too.” She hands me a hair net and an apron, then heads for the front counter. “Come on.”

  I stop in my tracks and laugh uneasily. “How do you keep from eating all this stuff?”

  Leah spins around. “Are you asking me that because I’m fat?”

  My stomach drops to my feet. “N-n-no, I just—”

  She puts her hands on her hips and gives me the stink-eye.

  I remember what Grandma said to me about my weight. “I didn’t mean…uh, look at me, I’m a…‘Big Girl,’ too…”

  Leah arches an eyebrow. “I don’t see cookies on those trays. I see dollar signs. Do you have a problem controlling yourself around food like this? Your dad always did. Anytime my mother made cookies, the rest of us were lucky to score a few before Reese ate them all.”

  I shake my head slowly and fiddle with my hair net.

  Ryan calls, “Mom, I could use some help up here.”

  “As long as we understand each other: this business is my livelihood. We are artists, and cakes are our canvas. Don’t eat up my profits, okay?”

  I nod.

  Leah smiles, and she looks like the same person who welcomed Mom with a big hug when we moved to Piney Creek. “Coming, hon.”

  The ice machine freezes up around 10:30, and Leah leaves to buy bags of ice. Her car’s barely out of the parking lot when three guys—one white, one black, and one Latino, all wearing gray MCHS ATHLETICS T-shirts—come in. They’re drenched with sweat and talking loudly.

  The African-American boy wrestles the Latino boy into a headlock. “What’d you say about my mama, José? Huh? You want to say that again?”

  José tries to speak but can only choke out, “Let me go, Fredrick! Let…me—”

  Fredrick shoves him into a table.

  The white boy says, “Let’s see how our friendly neighborhood narc is today.” He marches right up to where Ryan’s counting out cash for a deposit and pounds the bell by the cash register.

  Ryan turns his body slightly and continues counting. He sets his jaw and lowers his eyebrows.

  I self-consciously tug at my hair net and step up to the glass display case. “May I help you?” I pluck a square of waxed paper from the box as if I’m ready to fill an order.

  The boy continues pounding the bell until Ryan snatches it away. The kid swipes at Ryan’s head and laughs when he flinches. I notice a name written in marker on the back of his shirt: M. Taylor. He saunters over to the refrigerated case, pulls out three bottles of water, calls to his friends, “Heads up!” then throws two of the bottles like they’re footballs.

  The other guys aren’t watching. One bottle bounces off the display case, and the other rolls under it and bumps up against my foot. I retrieve the bottle and hold it up to the boys, but they ignore me. I clear my throat and ask, “Would—would you like something to eat?”

  I glance over my shoulder, hoping that Aunt Leah’s miraculously appeared in the kitchen, but of course she hasn’t. Ryan shoves the money back into the register, closes the drawer, and mutters, “Assholes.”

  José slaps his palms on the glass and yells, “What did you say?”

  Ryan rolls his eyes and sighs loudly.

  “Hey, homes, Ryan just called us ‘assholes,’” José announces. Fredrick and M. Taylor join him in a staring contest with Ryan. “You want to say that again, cabrón?”

  I choke out, “Um, if you want something to eat, I can—”

  José snaps, “Cállate, puta gorda! You look like you already ate it all!” They high-five each other.

  “That’ll be three bucks for the waters,” Ryan says flatly. “Anything else, Michael?”

  M. Taylor—Michael—steps back and studies the chalkboard menu. “Yeah, I’ll take a chili cheese dog with fries.”

  I glance at Ryan. “We—don’t have that…do we?” Ryan gives me a disgusted look and shakes his head.

  “We don’t have that, do we?” Michael mocks.

  I’m thrown off by the way they’re talking to me, and my mouth goes dry. I choke, “I’m…new. It’s my first day.”

  The front door swings open and Drew hurries in, followed by Mom. José elbows Michael. “Check it out!” The three thugs eyeball my mother from head to toe. Sometimes I forget how beautiful my mom still is, even though she’s in her forties.

  “Mommy got a job!” Drew squeals. Mom shakes her head and holds up her hand. “It’s not for sure just yet—but I think I’ve got a good shot at it.”

  José works his eyebrows up and down and leers. “Mamacita!” My mother gives him a strange look.

  “That’s great, Mom. Congratulations.”

  Fredrick looks from my mother to me and back again. “You two family?” He shakes his head and snorts. “No way.”

  Drew pipes up, “Colby looks like my daddy, and I look like my mommy.” She smiles and tosses her hair from side to side. Ugh.

  “Lucky Daddy,” Michael croons.

  Mom’s eyes get big. “Oookaaay…” She shifts her purse from one shoulder to the other and looks uncomfortable.

  “Don’t you guys need to go back to practice so you can run around and tackle each other?” Ryan asks flatly.

  “Yeah, you miss it, don’t you? But you don’t have what it takes. Never did.” Michael crumples his empty water bottle and throws it at Ryan. It misses by a long shot.

  Ryan crosses his arms and leans against the wall behind the register. “I’d rather stab myself in the eye with a fork than be part of your team, now that I know what you’re all about.”
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  Michael grabs a fork from the silverware bin. “That can be arranged.” He bolts toward Ryan.

  The teacher side of Mom comes out and she barks, “Stop that!”

  Fredrick glances at her and pulls Michael back. “Come on, man, we’ve got to go. Coach will make us run suicides if we’re late getting back from break, and it’s way too hot to run sprints up and down that field until we puke.” They head for the door.

  “You owe me for the water,” Ryan calls as they leave. Michael flips him off.

  It feels like my heart just now starts beating again. “Are those the guys who…?”

  Ryan shakes his head and resumes counting out the deposit. “Don’t worry about it.”

  “Your mother should talk to their parents,” Mom says. “If they steal from you again, you should report them to the police for theft.”

  Ryan snorts. “Michael’s dad is the chief of police. When those three beat me up on the last day of school and Mom told him, Chief Taylor called up the county health inspector and said that he found rat shit in his sandwich. We got shut down for two days.”

  Mom’s voice is high. “So…nothing at all happened to those boys for what they did?”

  “Why do you care? You weren’t there, anyway, so it may as well not have happened, right?” He slides the cash into the zippered bag, slams the cash register closed, and stares at Mom until she looks away.

  Later that week, money that Mom borrowed from her friend Brenda arrives in the mail, so we go to the Walmart in Cedar Points to buy groceries. Drew keeps putting name-brand foods in the basket, and Mom tells her to choose store brands instead. I place a box of knockoff Ding Dongs atop the multipack of Great Value mac and cheese.

  “We’re not getting those.” Mom places the cupcakes back on the shelf.

  “But they’re store brand. See? Choco-Treats. They’re fifty cents cheaper than the Ding Dongs.”

  Mom gives me a look. “Don’t you think you should lose some weight before school starts? Have you tried on your jeans from last year yet?”