“Thanks for the juice box, buddy.” I slap his shoulder. “See you at preschool tomorrow,” I add.
“Laugh now, but you’ll be feening for one of these bad boys before you know it!” He warns.
“I’ll take your word for it!” I nod before heading out the front door.
It’s almost 10pm. My head is swimming (drowning really) in thoughts about tonight. I need to talk to the one person who always seems to help me swim against the current. Go ahead! Call me a Mama’s boy; I don’t care.
I cut the lights just before I pull in the driveway in case Linz is sleeping. I don’t want her around for this conversation. Mom peeks out the curtain in the living room and gives me a little wave. I swear this woman never sleeps. Hitting the lock on my car, I head up to the door that is already being opened. There she is . . . my Ghandi, looking just as pretty and put together in her robe as she is in her dresses during the day.
“What happened?” She hugs me.
“I messed up with her tonight, Mom. I did something I shouldn’t have.” I walk in.
“Well, what do you mean by that, son?”
I begin to explain everything to her in the most PG way possible while we sit on the sofa, eating cookies. Jesus, forget I just said that.
“So what are you going to do now?” She folds her napkin, gliding her fingers across the crease, making it perfect.
“What do you mean ‘what are you going to do now?’ I’m here to find out from you what I should do next,” I say with a little panic in my voice.
“Well, son, you didn’t listen to my advice the last time.” She shakes her head in a “tsk tsk” way.
“I was going to but then . . .”
“But then what?”
“But then, I didn’t. I couldn’t help it, Mom.”
“I call bullshit, Kyle.” Yes, she said that sweetly.
“Mom!”
“Don’t ‘Mom’ me! Start thinking with the right head.” She sips her tea.
“When do you think I should call her?”
“Don’t call.” She shakes her head.
“How can I not call? Won’t that make it worse?” I throw my hands out in protest.
“She can hang up. Send her a note.” She sips her tea again.
“Should I attach it to a pigeon?” I ask in the most serious, sarcastic way. Mom gives me a closed-mouth smile, leans forward, palms my left cheek then abruptly slaps me upside my head. I had a feeling that was going to happen but then she tricked me by being endearing. Besides, my mother always looks innocent and she works that shit to her benefit.
“Ok, why a note?”
“You have a higher chance of not only screwing up what you want to say on the phone, but of her hanging up on you. With a letter, you can say everything perfectly and though she may fight the urge to read it at first, she’s more likely to do so. How would you know if she did, if she doesn’t tell you?” She shrugs.
“You’re a wise woman, Mother, dear.” I wink at her.
“Ugh, you make me sound ninety when you call me that.” She complains.
“Mommy dearest?” I raise an inquisitive brow.
“You want me to slap the other side of your head?”
“So aggressive!” I tease.
“Hmm. Speaking of, I need your help with something.” She places her cup and saucer on the coffee table.
“What’s up, buttercup?”
Leaning in closer, she looks around at both entrances to the room before speaking up, “I brought laundry into Lindsay’s room earlier and she started ruffling papers around frantically when I walked in, like she was hiding something. I asked her what she was working on and she said nothing; she was just doodling. Why would she freak out like that if she was just doodling? Something’s up and she’s keeping it from me. Now you know, I wouldn’t pry—I’m not like that—but I have a strange feeling about this. I need to see what she was working on. Can you please, maybe during the party, go into her room and investigate?” she asks in a whisper.
“Why don’t you look while she’s at work?”
“I don’t snoop. I’m not a snooper. Never have been. Never will be,” she states matter-of-factly.
“Oh, but you can send me in to do it and be the bad guy?”
“Yes. Because you love your mother, right?” She nudges me.
“Mom, this really is out of character for you.”
“I know, but I just have a weird feeling. Please, just humor me.” She grabs and squeezes my hands.
“I’ll see.” I shake my head at her slightly, smiling. “Alright, I better get going. I’ve got a letter to write tonight and work in the morning.” I stand up. “Thanks for listening, Mom. I really appreciate it.” I hug her when she stands up with me.
“Anytime, you know that.”
“Ok. I’ll see you at the party then.” I give her another squeeze before letting go. “Love you, Mom.”
“I love you, too. C’mon . . . I’ll walk you to the door.” She slips her arm through mine, hugging it to her as we head towards the door. “Kyle . . .”
“Yeah, Mom?” I turn to her after opening the front door.
“Make sure to do the note thing with your flair,” she says.
“What are you talking about?”
“From what you’ve told me, which I’m sure has been dulled down a bit; you two seem to be over-the-top with each other in one way or another. Don’t change that.” She pats at my chest, hugging my arm to her one last time before letting go.
“Mom, I’m not sure I know what you mean. I mean—I do—to a point, but what are you getting at?” I grab my keys off the little square table, meant for plants, by the door. We’ve always “planted” our keys there, instead.
“What I’m getting at is this, if you do something that is completely out of character . . . she’s not going to trust it. She knows you overdo things. I’m not sure what it is you have to do; all I know is that it has to be consistent so she can trust it. Does that make any sense to you?”
“Slightly, but I’m going to take your word for it and try to come up with something.” I lean down and kiss her cheek.
“You’ll figure it out, son. Where there’s a will . . .”
“There’s a way,” I finish for her. She gives me a slight nod, smiling, and pulls me in for a hug.
I head out the door . . . on a mission.
“Hey, do have a twenty on you? I left my debit card at home and I’m like on ‘E,’” I ask Charley as I breeze into kitchen in a rush.
“Whoa!” She grabs my arm to stop me. “Yes, but I want some details first.”
“The only detail I’m going to give you is that I was right about him. Fuck, I hate that I was right!” I try to fight off my anger but not as hard as I’m trying to fight off my tears. “Do me a favor, please?”
“What?”
“Give me the twenty and never mention him to me again.”
“Um . . . ok.” She hesitates then quickly grabs her purse and gives me the money. I look down and see that I’ve scored a Benjamin.
“Thanks for the twenty.” I wave on my way out.
“I didn’t give you a twenty!” she calls after me.
“Who’s counting?” I shrug and get into my car before she can say another word. As soon as I turn the ignition, I see an envelope under my driver’s side wiper. What the fuck? Rolling down the window, I grab it. It’s simply addressed “Psst . . .” I open it. But I don’t have to tell you that, we all know I’m a nosy bitch.
Is he for real? “Fuck you, Kyle!” I snap at the note and toss it on the passenger seat before putting my car into gear. Who does he think he is? I head to the nearest gas station without giving that stupid note another thought . . . or two thoughts . . . or three. Fucking bastard!
Got it.
What? Oh please, like you don’t want to know!
Good.
I continuously glance down at my phone, waiting for another message to pop up, but by the time my tank is filled, one do
esn’t. So that’s it? Just Good? Shaking my head, I get back into my car, and head home to grab a few things before I head into work.
Approaching my door, I find another note taped to it. It’s addressed “Because curiosity killed the cat . . .” I let out a big sigh. Wouldn’t want cats dying on my watch, right?
Got It.
You’re a dork. I’m not playing this anymore.
#2
Shut-up, I meant after this time.
Well, I have to give him credit for that last move. Although, I’m not really sure what the point of doing this is. I’m not really sure of anything . . . except that my electric bill hasn’t been magically paid.
Flick on. Flick off.
Fuckers!
I go about opening all of the shades in the house to let some light shine in. Looking around, I realize that I have a major decision I need to make. I’m going to have to sell this place. You know what that means, right? If I sell, I will have to possibly live in an apartment or a condex. This means I will have close-proximity neighbors. The thought alone makes me want to hurl. Ugh! However, the idea of closing Bark Avenue is crippling. I know this because I just thought about it for a nanosecond and my wobbling legs almost gave out. We won’t discuss why my legs are wobbling. Fucking smirker could’ve of at least finished me off!
Why did I let my guard down? I never let it down. I guess just to prove myself right. Also . . . it’s been a while—know what I’m sayin’? I’m not going to lie; I’m crushed. Then again, I knew that was going to happen. That’s what good guys do to me. From the looks of it, however, with these notes, he’s not done. But I am.
Time to refocus!
Yes! Ok, I’m going to sell my house. This much, I know. I need to make a list of my debts; get everything in order so I can figure this shit out. I’m going to need girls for this one. Pulling my phone out, I start the group text (I don’t know why we don’t have a GEG signal like batman, either!):
Me: ATTENTION ALL GEGs!
Staff meeting—STAT!
Julie: I just got out of a “staff meeting.” It was very “informative.” :)
Me: Save the “Snatch Report” for later.
Can everyone meet at Mick & Marley’s tonight?
Maddie: I have a late client but I’ll come right after.
Me: Come whenever you want . . . she’s already late.
Julie: Bwhahaha . . . *snorts* I thought the same thing.
Me: Well, someone needs to sit in the gutter with you! ;)
Charley: Don’t any of you work?! Anywho . . . I’ll be there.
Ava: I’ll be there after the gym!
Me: Jesus, Ava, give it a rest! Your ass is tight enough!
Julie: That’s what he said!
Charley: That’s what he said!
Maddie: That’s what he said!
Ava: That’s what he said!
Me: Really? Everyone thought they would be the only one to say that?
Julie: I said it the quickest, so I win!
Charley: Dude . . . we did it at the same time! Besides, my name is Charley so I can be the only one really “winning” here, right?
Charley: Guys?
Charley: Hello?!
Charley: Fuck, you bitches! See you tonight!
I shouldn’t leave her hanging. I mean . . . she is my sister. Nah—she’ll live! Besides, I need to pack a bag for Julie’s tonight. No way am I staying with Charley again. I don’t want to take my chances running into him. I’m not staying with my parents. My mother will pry and my father will somehow get me to talk my shit out with him. I don’t know how he does it. He barely says anything. He just sits and waits for me to do all of the talking, like it’s my idea. He’s a Jedi Master. I’ve been convinced of that since I was five. That’s what he dressed as for our annual Trick or Treating excursion, circa 1985. I went as Hans Solo (that shit still makes sense, don’t it?!) and Charley was Chewbacca. Although, she was so little, everyone thought she was an ewok. Our other three sisters teased us about dressing up in the boy roles. Yes, too bad we couldn’t have been as original as they were. It would’ve definitely been cooler to have five Princess Leia’s instead of three. What were we thinking? Our mom was a Storm Trooper—no surprise there.
Grabbing the framed photo of that night off of my bureau, I smile for the first time this morning. We were all so young, especially my parents. That’s another thing. Sometimes it’s hard for me to see my parents “old” now. Dad’s still a piece of work, but Mom is coming out of remission. We all know it; the signs are obvious. It kills me to see her like this, getting so frustrated. I feel helpless. I can tell you—first hand—worst feeling in the world. It makes me want to run and hide. So . . . to support that selfish habit, I’m gonna stay with Julie till lights are back on over here. Also, I know she’s going to want me to just live with her anyways. She hates living alone.
“Just so we’re clear here . . . you are not moving in, permanently! Having a roomie is too much of a hassle. And I love living alone; not having to answer to anyone. I’m sorry, CiCi. Temporary is fine—but that’s it!”
“Uhhhh . . .”
“Haha . . . gotcha!” she laughs into the phone. “Of course you can stay here! That is, of course, if you tell me what’s going on before you tell everyone else.”
“Julie, I’m telling everyone tonight—together. I need everyone’s input at once. I don’t want to have this conversation ten million different times. Just wait until then, please.” I tap my pen on the appointment book and look up when the bells chime. “Look, I’ve got to go. I’ll see you tonight.”
“Ceese, I’m your number one best friend. You have to have to tell me first!” she pleads.
“I’m thirty-five, I haven’t put you girls in number order since the 90’s, knock it off.”
“I don’t believe you. Your number two is Ava,” she states matter-of-factly.
“No . . . ! It’s Maddie. I gotta go, bye!” I quickly hang up.
“Hey, Linz . . . what’s wrong?” I drop my smile for her when I realize she looks as if she’s been crying.
“Are you still coming to my party this weekend?”
“Umm . . . eh,” I fumble.
“He said you would back out. I didn’t believe him.” She sniffles and wipes her nose with the back of her arm. “I thought you were my friend.”
“First of all, I am your friend.” I come around from behind the desk and place my hands on her upper arms. “Second of all, who said this? Kyle? And third of all, why do you even know about your surprise party?”
“Yes. He said he upset you last night and that you probably won’t come because of him. It’s a surprise for everyone else. I don’t like surprises so Mom told me and I get to act surprised,” she rambles off quickly.
Oh, I definitely didn’t “come” because of him!
Fucker!
“Well, your brother doesn’t know me very well then. I will be there—don’t you worry.” I hug her. I can’t believe he did this! Why did he have to pull her into our shit? “Ok, go in the back, put your stuff away, and get a smile on your face.” I give her another quick squeeze. She nods, smiles, and heads back. I grab my phone off of my desk to text him.
That was a dick move, dragging your sister into this!
I just wanted to prepare her.
Prepare her for what—you being an asshole?
If she hasn’t managed to come to this conclusion already, then it’s a lost cause.
Make sure to get your next set of notes off of her.
No. I’m done listening to you.
Yes. You’ll want to read them.
Just sayin’ . . .
Goodbye!
See you Saturday, beautiful.
Fuck you!
That option is ALWAYS available when you want it. ;)
Ugh! He is confusing the hell out of me. This is one of those phone-slamming moments. Yes, I’m dialing his cell on my work phone, an old-school phone that can do the job.
“Hey
. . .” he answers.
SLAM!
There—now I feel better. I look up from the phone, watching Lindsey head back in. “All better?” I ask.
“Yes.” She smiles. “Who do we have coming in today?”
I look back down at the schedule. Jesus. Another shit day. “We have Pearl and Trixie. That’s all.” I let out a big sigh. I can’t keep going on like this. Something’s gotta give.
“Will it pick up in the winter?”
“I don’t know. Usually it’s busier during the summer and into the fall. I really don’t understand what’s going on.” I flip through the next few days only to find more of the same.
“Yesterday the ice cream truck came around and Mom bought me one.”
“That’s nice. I totally would’ve run to get in line with you. I love getting an ice cream cone off a truck. It tastes better for some reason.” I widen my eyes and give a slight groan at the thought. Also, I realize that this kid really has some sort of “decency” hold on me. If it was anybody else giving me this random information, I would’ve been widening my eyes thinking they were a moron or something.
“You should’ve seen the line!” She says with excitement. “You know what I noticed?”
“What’s that, babe?”
“A bunch of people were standing in line with their dogs on leashes.” She laughs. “I imagined the dogs were all lined up to get our spa treatment! Isn’t that silly?”
She’s a genius!
“Actually, that’s not silly at all, Linz. There are a lot of groomers that do go around like an ice cream truck to groom people’s pets.” I assure her. It is something that I have always been well aware of but never thought about it for me. Maybe I should look into that. Fuck, that sounds like a big hassle. A: I don’t have a truck. B: I don’t have money to finance a truck. C: What song would I play driving around—“Who Let The Dogs Out?” My brain already hurts, thinking about it.
In the Mix Page 9
