The Fix

by Natasha Sinel

  Mom rushed around the kitchen, barking orders at us.

  “Macy, wash the lettuce. Chris, would you please shuck the corn out on the patio? I’m just going to run up and get dressed. I’ll be right down.”

  I unwrapped the lettuce at the sink, pulled apart the leaves, and let the water wash the specks of dirt away. Through the window above the sink, I watched Chris set to work shucking corn. He was intent on his task, and every now and then he’d look out at the backyard and take a deep breath in his endearing but aggravating stop-and-smell-the-roses way.

  Gavin came into the kitchen. His cut from shaving yesterday was just a tiny dark spot now, barely noticeable.

  “Hey,” I said. “Where’s Eliza tonight? Maybe you should invite her over for dinner.”

  “She’s meeting Sara. They’re going to the Leo movie.” Sara was Eliza’s other friend. I’d only seen her once, and once was enough.

  “We were just saying we want to see that,” I said.

  “I asked Mom but she gave me the whole Scott’s coming speech.”

  “Yeah. The world stops when Scott graces us. Gotta kiss the ring.”

  Gavin snorted and grabbed a cracker off the counter. “What’s she making?”

  “Tuna steaks, corn, some fancy rice thing. Pie from the bakery. She spent like a thousand dollars at the cheese shop.”

  “At least we’ll be eating well. Is Yoli coming?”

  “Yup,” I said.

  “But no Dad, right?”

  “No Dad,” I said.

  “No Dad,” he repeated.

  “He’ll be here this weekend.”

  “Chris is here?” Gavin said, noticing him through the window.

  “He’s staying for dinner. He’s Mom’s little helper tonight.”

  “I guess that’s good for me,” he said.

  “Like you’ve ever helped with anything in your life.”

  “I’m just smarter than you guys, that’s all,” Gavin said.

  “If by smarter, you mean a complete loser, then, yeah, you’re much, much smarter.”

  He punched me in the arm.

  “Ouch!” I said. “I’m gonna get Chris to beat you up.”

  “I’m soooo scared.”

  “Chris!” I yelled. “Gavin punched me! Beat him up!”

  Chris came in, jumped in front of Gavin with his hands on his hips and puffed his chest out Superman-style. “Hold it, villain,” he said in a deep voice. “I must avenge my love, the sweet Lois Lyons. And there is only one way to do that.” He put Gavin in a headlock and gave him a noogie.

  “Seriously?” Gavin said, trying to suppress laughter. “That is so … I don’t even know, like, lame. What are you, captain of the football team or something? Do better.”

  But I knew Gavin loved it. Considering Scott had completely ignored him his whole life, Chris was like the big brother he never had. And Chris was always telling me how chill he thought Gavin was. I had a sudden pang that I hadn’t asked Chris to help with Gavin’s shaving experiment. They both would have liked that.

  “Gavin, change your clothes. We’re having a nice dinner tonight,” Mom said, entering the kitchen in all white, perfect subtle makeup, and light floral perfume. Clearly she was trying to impress hot Yoli. Gavin looked down at his vintage Empire Strikes Back T-shirt, his jeans hanging on to his nonexistent hips for dear life.

  “What’s wrong with this?” he asked.

  “A collared shirt please.”

  Gavin groaned. Mom glanced at me and looked away. I guessed my prairie skirt and gray tank top passed muster. Unless she was avoiding a fight in front of Chris.

  “Okay,” Chris said. “What’s next?”

  “If you could unwrap the pie and put it on a tray to heat up later, that would be great. And wash the grapes for the cheese platter,” Mom said, dumping ginger sauce she’d bought for the tuna into a saucepan.

  The phone rang.

  “Macy, get that?” Mom said. “I have to stir.”

  Caller ID said it was Scott. I passed the phone to Mom without answering.

  She shot me an exasperated look as she took the phone from me.

  “Hi, Scotty,” she said. “Are you on your way?”

  Then she listened.

  “Oh,” she said. “Uh-huh, yeah, okay.” Then, “It’s okay. Of course.” Then, “Maybe tomorrow then.”

  Inevitably, Scott had cancelled. Eight times out of ten, he cancelled.

  “They’re not coming?” I asked after she hung up.

  “He had a late night last night.”

  It was always a lame excuse, too. He never even tried to make up something good. Getting hit by a cab, anything would have been better. But I breathed a sigh of relief that he wouldn’t be here.

  “What am I going to do with all this food?” Mom said. Her shoulders fell.

  “I’ll invite Rebecca,” I said.

  Mom nodded and turned her back to us to stir the sauce.

  ME: Scotty strikes out agn. Come eat food meant 4 him?

  REBECCA: Yes! Be over soon.

  “She’s coming,” I said.

  “Good,” Mom said. “I can finish up here. I’ll call you when dinner’s ready.”

  Mom was back to cooking alone mode. Now that it wasn’t a dinner party, cooking was therapy.

  Chris and I went out to the patio. We sunk into the wicker couch’s plush pale green cushions that Mom covered every night to make sure they stayed perfectly clean. The sun had that summer evening glow that made everything look brighter than it was.

  “My dad’s got me working on this really cool case,” he said. “I mean, I’m just photocopying and typing stuff, but it’s cool.”

  “What is it?” Sometimes, I loved to just sit back and listen to Chris talk. He could take mundane happenings and weave them into stories. And he knew how to emphasize all the right parts with his voice—a benefit of hanging out with actors.

  “Well, the case isn’t that interesting really, but the people involved are. This rich guy died and his four grown children are fighting over the will. But the thing is, they’re not what you’d expect. They all have valid reasons for fighting the will. At least, I think they seem valid. It’s really sad, actually, when you think about it. Even when this case is over, how are they ever going to be a family again? You can’t just move on from something like that. Like, can you imagine the next Thanksgiving?” He drew a box in the air with his fingers to make a TV screen. “Silence, silence, ‘pass the gravy please,’ silence, silence, ‘I hate you, I’ll never forgive you,’ silence, silence, ‘pass the salt.’ ‘No, that’s my salt shaker, I won it in court.’ ‘Fuck you.’ ‘You too.’ Silence, silence. ‘Turkey’s great this year.’”

  I laughed a little. I’d been listening, but competing thoughts jockeyed for position in my brain—grown-up charming club-owner Scott, sixteen-year-old Scott, Mom’s disappointment over the absence of Scott.

  “Tough audience,” Chris said.

  “Sorry. Preoccupied,” I said.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah,” I answered quickly. “I guess it just bugs me how my mom gets so upset. She sets herself up every time.” I left out the part about how she would never be that disappointed if I didn’t show up somewhere.

  “You mean Scott? She’ll get over it,” he said.

  I rolled my eyes. It wasn’t about Mom and how she’d get over her disappointment. It was that no one saw Scott for who he really was. Behind all that charm and good looks was … maybe something bad. He was convincing. Even I had trouble believing that he maybe wasn’t all he seemed.

  “You don’t get it,” I muttered. No one got it.

  “What?” Chris said. “I said the wrong thing?”

  “Don’t worry about it.”

  “Now I don’t get it. I’m the bad guy? I don’t understand why it’s that big a deal. So Scott’s unreliable and selfish. So what? What else is new?”

  “She just always says it’s okay,” I said. “She never gets mad.
”

  “Look. Later she’ll be eating full-fat ice cream out of the carton. Why would she get mad when he gives her an excuse to do that?”

  I had to give him a quick smile for that one.

  “But I want her to get mad,” I said. “At him.”

  “He’s just a fuck-up, Mace. She’s gotta know that deep down. She just doesn’t want to believe it. Let her live in her fantasy world.”

  This was Chris’s way of saying that he got it, but he thought I should just let it go. Let it roll. That was his philosophy, one I had tried to follow, but lately, things weren’t rolling off me as smoothly as they used to.

  Through the window, I could see Rebecca entering the kitchen from the side door. She said something to Mom, helped herself to some grapes from the cheese plate, and then came out to the patio, closing the door behind her.

  “Hello, lovebirds,” she said. “Mom-o seems sad.”

  “No Scotty-boy makes Mom a sad Mom-o,” I said.

  “What was tonight’s excuse?”

  “Poor Scotty was way too tired from working so hard at the club last night,” I said.

  “Yeah, working so hard boozing it up and getting laid,” she said.

  My phone rang. A number I didn’t recognize.

  I answered.

  “Macy?” It was Sebastian. I knew his voice the second I heard him say my name.

  “Hold on a sec,” I said, my heart pounding. I turned to Chris and Rebecca. “Be right back.”

  I walked quickly into the house, up the stairs, and sat on my bed, out of breath.

  “Hi,” I said into the phone.

  “Hi, it’s Sebastian.”

  “I know,” I laughed. “I didn’t know you could call.”

  “Yeah, I get to use the phone a couple of times a day. And since my mom put you on my list, I have your number.”

  I was still trying to catch my breath. I couldn’t believe he’d called me.

  “Sorry about the puking,” he said. “That sucked. There’s nothing worse than watching someone blow chunks.”

  “Unless you’re the one blowing chunks,” I said. We both laughed a little.

  “They’ve had to experiment with my meds a lot to get the right mix. I guess that wasn’t the right one.”

  “So, you’re feeling better?” I asked.

  “Much,” he said. “How are you? What are you up to now?”

  “Well, my cousin just canceled out on dinner at the last minute, and so the world has stopped.”

  “Why? What’s his deal?”

  “Well, the sun rises and sets for him, so I think my mom is crying on her makeup table right now.”

  Sebastian laughed. “I’m sure he doesn’t deserve to be such a source of heartbreak.”

  “No, but also sort of yes. My aunt was a deadbeat mom and my parents took over, so I guess he’s got some of that abandonment-slash-entitlement thing going on. It’s hard to explain.”

  “You don’t have to explain to me. I totally get it.”

  Of course he did. That’s what I was starting to realize. Sebastian had this way of getting things that other people didn’t. And he didn’t necessarily think I should just let it roll.

  “I knew someone a long time ago,” he continued. “He was violent, abusive, cruel. Everyone made excuses for him because he’d had a tough life—his mother died and his father beat him. But I’ve met this guy here who’s got the same history, and he’s great, not a violent bone in his body. It’s made me realize how wrong it was to excuse that man I knew and let him get away with the horrible things he did. But you know what? I think people want to excuse assholes because they can’t accept that someone they love chooses to do bad things. And the truth is, sometimes assholes don’t need an excuse to be assholes. They just are.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “I think I’m starting to figure that out, I guess.”

  “So, um,” he said, his voice suddenly sounding nervous. “Do you think you’d want to come by again?”

  “I’m sorry I haven’t sooner. I wasn’t sure if—”

  “No, it’s okay,” he said. “I won’t be here much longer—a week probably—but it still feels like forever. Don’t worry if you can’t make it.”

  “I can come tomorrow,” I said, excited. “I’ll come at four.”

  “Okay.” I could hear him smiling.

  After we hung up, I exchanged my gray tank top for a black three-quarter sleeved V-neck, and headed back to the patio.

  “Who was on the phone?” Chris asked.

  Here it was. Confession time.

  “Sebastian Ruiz.”

  “The suicide guy?” he asked. Rebecca’s face screwed up a little.

  “He didn’t really try. That was just a rumor,” I said. “He’s in the hospital. I visited him the other day.”

  “Wow,” Chris said. “Why didn’t you tell me? Is he okay?”

  I looked at Rebecca and raised my eyebrows at her, my way of saying, “See?”

  “Um, he’s doing much better.”

  “I didn’t know you really knew him,” he said.

  “Not that well. He was in my English class. He doesn’t have a lot of friends.”

  “Dinner’s ready,” Mom called from the kitchen.

  “I love when your mom cooks,” Chris said, rubbing his stomach. “Especially when I’m starving.” He put an arm around me and his other arm around Rebecca and led us into the dining room. We had to squish to fit through the door—a three-headed beast.

  “What’s up, stud?” Rebecca said to Gavin as he sauntered in and took his seat. He blushed. Rebecca loved embarrassing him. But the game lost some of its fun when it turned out to be so easy. He grunted.

  “Wow, are these tomatoes from Rob’s garden?” Rebecca asked. At the start of junior year, Mom and Dad had asked Rebecca to start calling them by their first names, which still didn’t roll naturally off her tongue.

  “Yes,” Mom said. “They’re doing well this year.” I know she wanted to add, “because I’m the one tending to the garden,” but she didn’t.

  Everyone was quiet for a little while, concentrating on eating. Just when it was about to get uncomfortable, Rebecca filled the silence with talk of music and movies, and the rest of us joined in while Mom acted like she was listening.

  “Mom, can I go to a late movie tonight?” Gavin asked.

  “How late?”

  “Nine-fifteen.”

  “It’s okay with me,” she said. “But I think I’ll go to bed early. Can you get a ride home?”

  “Eliza or Sara’s mom can take me home.”

  “We’ll pick you up,” I said, looking at Chris and Rebecca. “In fact, let’s all go to the movies.”

  “Yes, let’s,” Rebecca said, grinning evilly at Gavin.

  “I’m in,” Chris said.

  Gavin groaned.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked Gavin. “We’re gonna cramp your style? Ruin your moves? Don’t worry, we won’t sit with you and your girlfriends.”

  “Whatever,” he said, pushing the tuna steak around on the plate with his fork.

  “What are you talking about?” Rebecca said. “I’m totally sitting next to Gavin. I want to share popcorn. It’ll be so romantic.”

  “No way,” Gavin said. “You probably don’t wash your hands after you go to the bathroom.”

  “Moi?” Rebecca said dramatically.

  “Gavin! Rebecca, leave the poor boy alone,” Mom said, smiling a little. “Fine, you can go. Just clear the table first.”

  “This was really delicious,” Chris said. “Thanks.”

  Mom’s smile was thin.

  After Chris, Rebecca, and I cleaned up dinner, we left Mom steaming milk for a cappuccino. Chris and Rebecca went outside to wait while I found Gavin in his room, furiously typing on his MacBook.

  “What are you doing?” I asked.

  “Writing,” he said, not looking up.

  “It’s time to go.”

  “Coming.”

  He stood
but didn’t stop typing.

  “If you’re motivated, you don’t have to go, you know,” I said. “I’ll tell Eliza how she inspired you so much, you had to stay home, driven to write. A true artist. Giving up his love, his true love, for his work.”

  He closed the computer and walked past me.

  “Will you stop with the Eliza jokes?”

  “Touchy, touchy,” I said.

  “What was that letter you were reading the other day, huh? I’ve seen you with it a lot. It’s some kind of love letter, isn’t it? And I’ll bet it wasn’t from Chris. Or maybe it was from Chris. Should I ask him?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said as calmly as I could, though I felt panicky.

  “Leave me alone about Eliza,” he said.

  “Deal. But I have no control over Rebecca.”

  We went downstairs, and the four of us got into my car. I drove to the theater, all the windows down, warm air surrounding us. Rebecca teased Gavin in the backseat, tickling his neck with her finger. He slapped it away.

  “Hey wait,” I said. “You said Eliza was going to the early movie.”

  “Yeah, it was sold out.”

  “Well, shit, then this one will be sold out too,” Rebecca said. “We should’ve gotten tickets online.”

  “They got me a ticket,” Gavin said, snickering.

  “You can hitchhike home,” I said.

  After parking, we ran to the theater. We got tickets, but there were no more seats together. Gavin found Eliza and Sara, who had saved a spot between them, right in the center of the theater.

  He saluted us as he sat down. I turned to Chris and Rebecca. “You guys wanna bag it?”

  “No,” Rebecca said, inching her way past a man with long legs to a seat on the end. “I’ve been dying to see this. We’ll do something else after.”

  “Come on,” Chris said, taking my hand. “Let’s go to the front row so we can sit together.”

  “I don’t want to get a neck cramp,” I said. Suddenly, I wanted to sit by myself, surrounded by strangers, no need to talk to anyone.

  “I’ll sit there.” I pointed to a lone seat toward the center of the theater. “And there’s one for you.” I nodded toward another spot on the other side of the aisle.

  “Okay. I’ll see you after,” he said, squeezing my hand.

  I made my way to the seat next to an older woman. As I sat, I knew that her distinctive citrusy perfume would always remind me of this movie and this moment.