Under the Dusty Moon

by Suzanne Sutherland

  “Not right now,” I said, digging into my schnitzel. “You’re lucky I don’t turn you in to Children’s Aid this second.

  “You’re so kind and understanding,” she said. “You certainly don’t get that from me.”

  “Uh-huh,” I said, swallowing a giant mouthful of fried meat. It tasted unbelievably good. I’d missed coming here. “So what’s the deal with you and the leech?”

  “The leech?” Mom asked.

  “This journalist guy you’ve been spending so much time with,” I said. “What’s the deal?”

  “No deal. He wanted to interview me.”

  “Mom, I think we’re about fifteen steps beyond this by now. He went to Japan with you, and you guys did weird touristy stuff together. Clearly there’s something going on.”

  “Okay,” she said, putting down her fork. “So what do you want to know?”

  “Are you guys, like, dating?” I asked.

  “I don’t know. Maybe?” she said, draining her glass and signalling to our waiter for another one.

  “Seriously?” I knew the answer before I’d even asked the question, but hearing her confirm my suspicions sank my heart like a cinder block.

  “Honestly, I think you’d really like Ken. I think you will like him, once you get to know him.”

  “I have to meet him?” I asked.

  “Well, I mean, eventually.”

  “So it’s serious?”

  “It’s hard to say. It was kind of intense spending that much time together, travelling.”

  “What about the band?” I said. “Weren’t you kind of busy rehearsing and playing shows and all that?” She was acting like she’d gone off to Japan just to be with him, like it hadn’t been for the music at all.

  “Of course, sweets, of course. But even still, Ken and I spent a lot of time together.”

  “Did you ever think that maybe he was just using you to get more material for his book?”

  “Well, sure,” Mom said. “I mean, that is how we met.”

  “And that doesn’t make you just a bit, like, totally creeped out?”

  “What, why creeped out?”

  “He’s just a fanboy, Mom!” I said, fighting to keep my voice down and losing. “How old is he even?”

  “Thirty-three.”

  “So he’s, like, five years younger than you? That’s weird. That’s totally weird.”

  “No,” Mom said, accepting her second glass of wine from our waiter, “not really. Not when you’re my age.”

  “Yeah, okay, but does he know you have a kid?”

  “Sweets, he’s writing a book about Dusty Moon. He knows a thing or two about my life.”

  “Oh, good,” I said, “so he thinks that he already knows me.”

  “Listen to you. You’re mad that he doesn’t know you exist and you’re mad that he does.”

  “So?” I said.

  “So don’t you think you’re overreacting just a hair?”

  I accidentally chomped down hard on my cheek as I stuffed another piece of schnitzel into my mouth and started whining.

  “Oh, come on now, what’d you do?”

  “It hurts,” I said pathetically as I chewed and swallowed the too-large piece of meat.

  “Okay,” she said, “we can talk about this later. Clearly I need to take you back to emerg.”

  “Ha ha,” I said pointedly, taking another big sip of my Coke.

  “So when are you bringing Shaun over for dinner?”

  “Try never,” I said.

  “Oookay. So you’ll think about it then?”

  “Whatever. Maybe.”

  We each finished our plates, the waiter brought the cheque and Mom paid with her probably maxed-out credit card. I thought about what would happen if I invited Shaun over for dinner. He’d be in fanboy heaven for sure, but that would be the end of it for me. He’d never see me as just V again. I’d only ever be Micky Wayne’s daughter. He couldn’t help it, I knew. That was just Mom’s power.

  How long could I keep my worlds apart, my love bubble and my mom bubble?

  How long before it all came crashing down?

  Fourteen

  The Con was coming up and, despite the weird pangs of guilt I felt for not going with Lucy, whom I still wasn’t speaking to, I was really getting excited for my big date with Shaun. He and I had started texting each other ridiculously sappy messages, and I was finding it hard to put my phone down, like, ever, for fear that Mom would intercept one of our conversations.

  You’re the coolest, Shaun texted, you know?

  Gotta be to keep your hotness under control.

  Oh yeah? When do I get to see your beautiful face again?

  Con’s tomorrow, I texted, think you can wait til then?

  Nope, no way. Come over here this second.

  And then a minute later, Just kidding. My parents have some people over right now. better just wait til tomorrow.

  And a third message: You gonna pick me up?

  Haha we better just meet there, I texted him. Not ready for you to meet my mom just yet.

  I’m great with parents, Shaun replied. Just ask mine.

  Hard to, I haven’t met them either.

  Fair enough. I guess we’re both just mysterious orphans, eh?

  Very mysterious. xx

  Mom poked her head in my doorway just as I was sending my last hopefully flirty text, and I scrambled to cover up the screen like she’d caught me looking at porn.

  “How’s Shaun doing?” she asked. Her sixth mom-sense was the worst.

  “Fine. He’s, uh, he’s fine.”

  “Oh yeah?” she asked. “How fine?”

  “Just whatever, okay? He’s — he’s good.”

  “Just good?” she asked.

  “He’s amazing,” I said, as deadpan as I could manage. “He just bought a house in Morocco and he’s asked me to help him pick out tiles.”

  “He’s a keeper, that sugar daddy of yours.”

  “Obviously,” I said. “Now before we catch our private jet to Casablanca, is there something I can help you with?”

  “Well, it is eight o’clock,” Mom said. “I thought it might be time for me to play mother and make us some dinner.”

  “Oh,” I said, “right.” I’d hardly noticed how hungry I was since our apartment was still so overheated, but the mention of a meal made my stomach roar.

  “Great,” she said, “I’m making Kraft Dinner with hot dogs, and I need you to sous-chef the dogs for me.”

  “You mean chop them up?” I asked, nonplussed.

  “Bingo. Come keep me company while the water boils.”

  A pot of KD for dinner meant that Mom was totally post-tour broke. It wasn’t a surprise, but it made me feel bad that we’d gone out for dinner the night before. It was just poor planning. It wasn’t all bad, though, since Mom and I were serious mac-and-cheese fiends. Even the cheapest of the cheap stuff was still satisfying. Plus Mom pulled her favourite hack on the standard box and mixed cream cheese with the noodles and cheese powder and it came out surprisingly good: thick and creamy.

  After we’d piled our dirty dishes in the sink, I locked myself in my room to try to pick out a perfect outfit for the next day. The Con. My big awesome date.

  Mom kept yelling through the door to try to distract me from the task at hand, but it didn’t work.

  “You wanna watch a movie with me?” she called.

  “No,” I said, rejecting the third T-shirt I’d tried on, “not right now.”

  “You wanna go for a walk? It’s such a nice night.”

  “It’s too hot out,” I said, “and anyway, I’m busy.”

  “What are you doing, sweets?”

  I’d just rejected the fourth shirt in a row. They were all dirty, there was no time for a run to the laundromat between now and tomorrow, but I was trying in vain to pick something that made me look hot, cool, fun, and sexy and that didn’t have nasty pit stains. It was basically an impossible task.

  “Nothing,” I
called back. “Just, you know, getting ready for tomorrow.”

  “What’s tomorrow? What’s tomorrow?” she sang excitedly. Clearly the little-kid dinner we’d eaten had gone to her head.

  “I told you,” I said, “tomorrow’s the convention.”

  “Oh, that’s easy,” Mom said, “just wear your Stormtrooper outfit. Problem solved!”

  “Mom!”

  “Oh right,” she said, “too hot, I forgot. Maybe just your Wookiee suit.”

  I opened the door to yell at her properly. “This is exactly why I didn’t ask for your advice. Okay?”

  “Aw, come on,” she said, rushing over. “Let me help. You can borrow something of mine to wear!”

  “Your stuff’s too small for me,” I said. “What, am I going to wear your old maternity clothes?”

  “Nah, I pretty much just wore extra-extra-large band shirts while I was pregnant.”

  “Remind me again why I’m taking fashion advice from you?”

  “Because you love me,” she said, before disappearing into her room. She emerged a few minutes later brandishing a yellow dress with white flowers all over it.

  “It’s not going to fit,” I insisted. “And anyway, it’s too girly.”

  “No, no, no,” Mom said, “I think it’ll work, just try it!”

  I knew she wasn’t going to give up, so I snatched the dress from her and shut myself in my room to try it on.

  “Where did you even get this?” I asked. “How come I’ve never seen it before?”

  “Mel’s roommate had a clothing swap ages ago. I guess I just forgot I had it. I think I meant to wear it myself, but it didn’t fit me quite right.”

  “Yeah,” I said, clumsily sliding the dress over my head, “’cause you’re not a fatty like me.”

  “Don’t even,” she called back. “I just wish I had your boobs. You and Gran, you guys got the good genes.”

  I fumbled with the zipper in the back, but it was pointless to try with my cast still on. “Can you come in and zip me up?” I asked.

  “Yeah? I can come in? Does it fit?” Mom asked, barrelling into the room. Seriously. My mom is the only person in the world who barrels anywhere.

  “Can you just zip?” I asked.

  “Sure,” she said, “one sec.”

  The dress tightened around me as she slid the zipper up, but miraculously the fabric seemed to hold me in just fine.

  “Oh wow,” Mom said, stepping around to check me out. “Take a look.”

  I examined myself in the full-length mirror hanging by my closet. “Yeah,” I said. “It’s not bad. But it’s also way too fancy for the convention.”

  “Aw, you can dress it down,” she said. “Throw on a pair of sneakers and you’re good to go.”

  “You think?” I said, turning to scope myself out from all sides. The colour worked surprisingly well, and I had to admit that I looked pretty damn good.

  “Definitely,” she said. “Shaun won’t be able to resist you.” She smiled sagely, and then started shaking her head. “Oh, wait, no, we need to frump you up a bit. Do we have a spare potato sack anywhere? Maybe some dirt we can rub on your face?”

  “Out!” I said, pointing to the door. “Thanks for the dress. On your way now.”

  “Aw, you’re no fun,” she said.

  “I’m serious. We’re done here.”

  “Okaaay. Don’t stay up too late checking yourself out in the mirror!”

  “I hate you,” I said, closing the door behind her.

  “You need your beauty sleep!”

  “Good night.” I called, before I collapsed on the bed. Mom was exhausting when she went on tears like this. Still, at least now I had something to wear.

  Mom offered to take me to the convention centre the next morning in a fit of parental concern.

  “Thanks,” I said, “but I’m pretty sure I can handle the streetcar on my own.”

  “We could bike down together,” she suggested before realizing what she’d said.

  “Why don’t you just put me in a baby seat on the back of your bike instead?” I asked.

  “Believe me, sweets, I would if I could.”

  In the end she sent me off with twenty dollars, she swore we could spare it, and told me not to talk to any strange Vulcans.

  I walked down to King Street and caught the streetcar, and immediately noticed a couple who were for sure headed the same way I was. They were dressed up in full cosplay. It looked like they’d spent ages on their costumes, and it was kind of amazing to see them just sitting on the car, talking about nothing, while dressed as a note-perfect Mario and Princess Peach. I took a seat across the aisle from them and wanted so badly to take a picture, but I suddenly felt shy. The guts they had to be taking public transit in their costumes amazed me, and made me wish that I had that kind of nerve. Instead I contented myself with sneaking glances at them every chance I got. Princess Peach eventually noticed and blew me a cartoony kiss.

  I smiled self-consciously. “You guys going to the Con?” I asked.

  “How did you guess?” Peach asked, winking.

  “It’s-a me!” exclaimed her boyfriend, twisting his fake moustache as if on cue.

  “Excuse him,” she said. “He’s a real method actor.”

  “Too bad there’s no, uh, mushrooms around,” I said, smiling through my weak joke.

  “We came prepared.” Peach pulled a couple of giant plastic red mushrooms out of her purse. These guys had really thought of everything.

  “Heh, cool,” I said, before turning back to my phone and leaving Peach and Mario to their conversation.

  What would it take to be that confident? To not care about what anybody else thought and just let your freak flag fly? It was pretty cool, and I had to admire their nerve. I hoped I might have guts like that someday. Mom had more guts than she knew what to do with, but maybe that kind of courageous not-caring skipped a generation. Still, I couldn’t help but imagine Shaun and me dressing up next year as Stara Shah and her demigod love-interest from LoA V: Arcas, son of Zeus. It was a long way away I knew, in more ways than one. Still, it was nice to think about. Especially when I pictured Shaun, shirtless in a toga. If I started now, I might be able to get the outfits ready by next Con.

  A little while later, when the streetcar pulled up to John Street, the costumed couple got off, and I followed them. They clearly had a better idea of where they were going than I did. I walked behind them at a distance, watching the crowds of people in costumes and superhero T-shirts multiply as we got closer and closer to the convention centre and the crowds on the street got thicker and thicker. There were lots of classic comic characters, a handful of Disney princesses, the entire cast of Game of Thrones and even a Lego Darth Vader. I figured that maybe I wasn’t too dressed up after all, but that if someone asked me who I was I’d have to invent an obscure Swedish TV show and claim that I was in costume.

  Shaun and I had been texting back and forth to try to meet up, but the crowd got more intense and packed in as I nudged closer and closer to Front Street and the convention’s entrance.

  You here? Shaun texted me.

  Yeah, I replied, you?

  Uh huh. By the hot dog stand.

  Which one?

  There were six hot dog stands around me and even more food trucks lined up along the street selling burgers, fries, and poutine.

  The yellow one, Shaun texted.

  This only narrowed it down by three.

  The yellow one with the dancing hot dog? I replied.

  The one with the red striped umbrella

  Fifteen minutes of hot-dog-truck tag later, we finally found each other.

  “Hey,” he said, pulling me in for an amazing hug and then twirling me around as he let me go. “You look great.”

  “Thanks,” I said, smoothing down the bottom of my dress. “It was this or my Stormtrooper suit.”

  But when I finally had a chance to take Shaun in properly, my heart sank. He was wearing a super-faded vintage band
T that made his arms look amazing. The only problem? The band was Dusty Moon.

  “What are you dressed up as,” I asked, “a washed-up grunge kid?”

  “Aw, come on,” he said. “This is a great shirt. I bought it on Ebay!” He looked so proud of himself, and I realized that he might kill me if he ever found out that we have a whole box of old Dusty Moon shirts in our apartment collecting dust.

  “You definitely nailed the look,” I said. “Seriously, though, the costumes here are amazing. You should’ve seen the awesome Mario and Princess Peach I rode with on the streetcar over.”

  “Oh man, I wish I had,” he said. “That’s great. You and I should have gone as Han Solo and Princess Leia.”

  “Oh yeah?” I said.

  “Yeah, definitely,” said Shaun. “You’d look great in one of those metal bikinis.”

  I gave him a flirty oh-really smile. “Right,” I said, “dream on.”

  “Can’t blame a guy for trying.”

  “Uh-huh,” I said, offering him my finest unimpressed stare.

  “So,” he said, “should we go check things out?”

  “Yeah,” I said, nervously eyeing the size of the crowd. “Let’s go.”

  After wading through a line of ticket holders, we finally made it down to the convention floor. I kept almost losing Shaun to the crush of eager fans because there was so much to see. I could hardly believe how many people, and how much unselfconscious glee there was, all under one giant roof.

  Shaun led me to an area called the Artist Alley and we finally stopped in front of a table where two young guys were signing copies of their comic book, the cover of which was blown up as a huge poster behind them. SAND MUMMY.

  “What’s up?” I asked, trying to figure out why Shaun had chosen this particular stand to pause his marathon walk through the hall.

  “Heh, sorry,” he said, taking off his backpack and unzipping it. He already had a bunch of comics lined up inside, and he rifled through until he found the one he was looking for. “These guys, their comic is amazing. It’s hilarious. I picked up the first issue a while ago and was hoping they’d sign it. I figured I’d pick up their new issue while we were here, too.”

  “You came prepared,” I said, checking out the contents of his backpack.