by Kyra Davis
“All right, enough,” Brad says with a little smile playing on his lips.
“No, you are!” I insist. “Say ‘To infinity and beyond!’ Please? You gotta say it.”
“Yeah, Daddy, you have to!” June agrees.
“No,” Brad says as he reaches forward to move June’s plastic cup back from the edge of the table. “I don’t have to. It’s most definitely a choice.”
“Is it a choice for Buzz Lightyear?” she asks.
“Yes, I suspect it is.”
“Mmm,” I say, waving my fork in the air, “I’m not so sure about that. It might be part of Buzz’s programming. He probably can’t help himself.”
June narrows her eyes. “But you can help yourself?” she says to Brad.
“Apparently, I can,” he says as he eats his last bite.
“Do you choose to help yourself?”
“No.” And with that he stands up, thrusting his fist in the air. “To infinity and beyond!” he bellows, and June bursts into applause as I, laughing, get to my feet and throw my arms around his neck. “I love you,” I whisper in his ear. And he answers me with a light kiss and a look that says it all.
June and I finish our dinner minutes later and we clear the table as Brad gets the DVD set up. We all sit down, and he’s just reaching for the remote when someone buzzes the apartment from the gate. “Expecting company?” I ask, but Brad shakes his head.
There is no intercom, so he steps into the courtyard in his bare feet. Then, glancing back at us briefly, he goes to the gate. June and I both look at each other and shrug.
Less than a minute later he reenters . . .
. . . and standing by his side is the prettiest lady in the world. She looks just like her picture.
CHAPTER 34
NALLA’S HAIR IS brown and wavy with what look like natural golden highlights. Her skin is lightly tanned with an almost golden hue. She’s wearing a tan-and-black patterned sundress, belted tightly at her itsy waist.
I feel like a WWF wrestler just slammed me to the mats.
She smiles at June, reaches into her dark red hobo bag, and pulls out a well-worn teddy bear. “Did you forget something?” she asks as she crouches down.
“Fuzzy!” June squeals, jumps up from the couch, and runs to the teddy bear.
To the teddy bear, but she doesn’t run to Nalla. Still, June’s clearly happy. She squeezes Fuzzy to her chest and rocks him back and forth. “I’m sorry, Fuzzy! I didn’t mean to leave you!”
Nalla smiles warmly at Brad. “I couldn’t let her go a night without Fuzzy.”
Brad chuckles and nods. “I appreciate that. It would have been hell come bedtime.” He gestures to me. “Nalla, this is my girlfriend, Mercy.”
Brad just called me his girlfriend! It’s almost enough to make up for Nalla’s party crashing. I smile broadly and get up to shake her hand. But my smile fades a bit as she takes in my outfit. I’m wearing camouflage cargo pants and a white long-sleeved cropped top with a big ol’ silver-sequin peace sign in the middle of the chest. I personally like the mixed message. But from the way she’s looking at me, you’d think I was wearing a cone bra and an upside-down cross around my neck.
But the look of judgment vanishes before Brad can catch it. Now she’s all smiles as she accepts my hand, shaking it weakly. “I’ve heard a lot about you, Mercy,” she says a little too sweetly. She glances at the DVD case on the coffee table. “Oh, were you about to watch Toy Story 2?”
“It’s my favorite movie!” June chirps as she makes her way back to the couch. “Daddy took me to see it at the theater. Remember, Daddy?”
Brad nods. “I remember. We got popcorn and licorice, but you forgot to eat any of it because you were so into the movie. That’s never happened before . . . or since, come to think about it.”
“That’s lovely,” Nalla says wistfully.
Did she just say that’s lovely? Who under the age of fifty says lovely . . . Well, maybe the British, but that’s it.
“It’s so nice to see this,” she continues. “You are a spectacular father and”—she gently puts her hand on Brad’s arm—“we have a spectacular daughter.”
I quickly look away as Brad agrees that they do. The comment shouldn’t bother me but it’s . . . it’s just so intimate. Girlfriend or not, I’m the outsider.
“Are you all right?” Brad asks.
I turn back to reassure him only to see that he’s looking at Nalla. I feel myself flush, but then, no one is paying enough attention to notice. Nalla takes a deep, shaky breath . . . wait, why is it shaky? She whispers in a voice that is almost, but not quite, too soft for me to hear, “I can’t believe I almost stole all this from you.” She gives Brad’s arm a squeeze. “I’m sorry, I’m interrupting. I should have called.”
“No, no,” Brad reassures her. “Like I said, anytime you want to come see June the door’s open to you.”
Anytime? Like, in-the-middle-of-the-night kind of anytime? I don’t think so!
“You treat me better than I deserve, Brad Witmer,” she says ruefully. “I do wish . . . I . . . well, I just hope you all have a lovely movie night. I didn’t meant to . . . I simply . . . I’m sorry.” She looks up at Brad and there are tears, actual tears running down her face. “I’m so, so sorry for the interruption.” And then she rushes out.
“Nalla,” he calls, concerned . . .
. . . and he goes after her.
Are you fucking kidding me?
I look down at June, my mouth hanging open. June seems completely unimpressed with the scene we just witnessed. She’s grooming her teddy bear.
“What just happened?” I whisper to myself.
“Nalla cries a lot,” June replies, assuming I had been addressing her.
“She cries a lot . . . in front of you?” I ask incredulously.
“Yeah, but Daddy makes her feel better. He’s good at that.”
I suck in a sharp breath through my teeth. “June, can you stay right here?”
“Sure, where are you going?”
“To rescue Buzz Lightyear.” I walk out and find them just outside the gate and, yep, she’s still crying. She’s crying on his shoulder, and while he doesn’t exactly have his arms around her, he does have a hand on each of her arms as she leans against him.
“Brad,” I say, trying my damnedest not to sound testy. “We promised June we’d watch this movie and as you know, I’m on a tight schedule.”
Nalla looks up, a bit startled, her face streaked with tears. “Of course,” she says weakly as she pulls away from Brad. “I’m so sorry, I . . . I’ve just been going through some things lately.” She dabs her eyes with her fingertips. “I didn’t realize you had time restrictions this evening. I had assumed you were spending the night.” I think I hear a slight smile in her voice but that could be my imagination. “Anyway,” she says with a little nod, “it was so good to meet you, Mercy.”
I give her a tight-lipped smile, which she answers with a warmer one of her own before turning around and walking off, sniffling all the way.
Brad gives me a what-can-you-do shrug. “She wants to be here for June,” he says as he opens the gate that separates us and steps back into the courtyard. “She just doesn’t know how to do it. It’s overwhelming at first, but she’ll figure it out.” He slips his arm around my waist and pulls me close to his side as we walk back to his apartment.
“She’ll figure it out . . . with your help?” I ask.
Brad sighs. “She’s the mother of my child,” he explains. “I have an obligation.”
It’s not the answer I want to hear.
To be honest, what I want is to kick Nalla’s butt to infinity and beyond.
BY THE TIME I get to Envy that night I am feeling edgy and just, well, off. Like, I-want-to-crawl-out-of-my-skin off. One of the bouncers has some strong weed and for the first time in ages I decide to light up.
But even after I smoke the joint I am still kind of pissed . . . and worried.
As the days g
o by that worry doesn’t really subside. It’s true that with Nalla around Brad’s availability has improved. If there’s something I want him to go to with me, she is always happy to babysit. Maybe I should be glad about that. After all, if she’s agreeing to watch June while Brad dates, that must mean that she’s not all that interested in him, right? But then, it also means that Brad’s feelings about Nalla are becoming increasingly positive. According to Brad she has an Einstein-like brain when it comes to the sciences. That may be true, but it doesn’t change the fact that she has the emotional maturity of a tadpole. In a matter of two weeks Nalla has called Brad late at night four times that I know of. And we’re talking midnight-to-1-a.m. late. Each call is a tearful one, a few of them the result of a little drunk dialing on her part. She tells him how embarrassed she is that she fell apart in front of me. She tells him how guilty she feels about hurting him and abandoning their daughter. How she wishes she could go back and do everything differently. How she wants to be a mother but doesn’t know how. How her parents still haven’t fully forgiven her and how she’s having a certain crisis of faith, which I think is sort of irrelevant to everything else, but Brad sees it differently.
When it comes to Nalla, Brad sees everything differently. It’s a problem.
That’s what I’m thinking about as I step into my apartment after a day of working at Trader Joe’s. I throw my keys onto the coffee table and cross the room to the kitchen for the cranberry juice and vodka, just a little cocktail to take the edge off. Although what I really want is to just get stoned again. Medical marijuana is healthy. It’s particularly healthy for Nalla, because if I get stoned I’ll be too blissed out to track her down and tear her fucking hair out. I’m seriously thinking about calling up that bouncer dude for a small score when my cell rings.
“Hello?” I say once I’ve dug out my phone.
“Mercy?”
I pull myself up onto the kitchen counter, swinging my legs in the air. I recognize the voice but I can’t quite place it. “Who is this, please?”
“It’s Olivia . . . we met at a party a few months back.”
I’m silent. Why am I getting a call from the gold digger?
“Are you still there?” she asks.
“Yeah.” I twist my body so I can see Cuddly Bubbles on the bed. Nothing about this call feels right to me.
“I got your number from Ash’s phone. I just thought you should know . . . or what I mean is . . . I found him. I found Ash.”
I cock my head to the side. “Was he lost?”
She gives a startled laugh. “Well if he was, you’d know, wouldn’t you? You’re the one dating him.”
Again I don’t say anything. This woman was basically there for our breakup. What’s she talking about?
“I’m sorry, that’s not what I meant to say. I just don’t know how to say what I do need to say,” she continues. “After all, I know how in love you two are.”
“Really,” I say flatly.
“Oh yes, when Ash announced that you had forgiven him . . . well, it was so emotional for him. I don’t know what he would’ve done if you hadn’t. Personally, I think you made the right choice. After all, every actor has locationships. They’re harmless.”
I start chewing on my thumbnail. He told everyone we were back together? Why would he do that? And do I care? I’m not sure I do, but I’m not sure I don’t, either. All I know for sure is that I don’t want to talk to Olivia. “Is there something specific you need to tell me? Because I’m sort of in the middle of something,” I lie.
“Okay . . . okay, here it goes.” I can actually hear her take a deep breath through the phone. “I only found out he was fired from the show yesterday,” she continues, “and I figured that since I wasn’t going to be seeing him on set I should probably get back some things I had lent him, you know, like the extra printer I let him use when his broke. But when I got to his place, he was on the floor and there was an empty bottle of vodka and drugs, and I don’t know if this was an accident or if he wanted to commit suicide, but—”
“Wait!” I drop to the floor so I can pace the kitchen. “Is Ash . . . are you saying . . .” I place my hand on my stomach as bile stings my throat. “Is he still alive?”
“I don’t know, they took him away in an ambulance and . . . well, I figured I should call you. I’m not very good at breaking bad news. I’m sorry if I’m being clumsy, but . . . well, someone needed to call you, and there doesn’t seem to be anyone else to pass the job off to, so I suppose it had to be me,” she says with a slightly hysterical laugh.
“What hospital?” I sputter. As soon as she gives me the name I simply hang up.
Ash overdosed? Tried to commit suicide? Did commit suicide? I squeeze my eyes closed. God, the man is so fragile, so weak . . .
. . . so much like me.
CHAPTER 35
WHEN I GET to the hospital pretty much all they’ll tell me is that he’s alive. That is enough to bring tears to my eyes. He’s alive. Ash is alive.
I’m not family so more information is privileged. But there is no family here. Not even his great-aunt who he shares a yard with. Maybe that’s why a nurse lets me into the hospital room once he’s stabilized . . . or maybe it’s because I told her I was his live-in girlfriend. A small fib for the greater good.
And when I get to the room . . . dear God, he looks awful. His skin looks almost sallow and he has an IV inserted into his arm. And while I can tell he’s breathing, he’s so still I find myself wondering if he’s closer to the end than the nurses are letting on.
I claim a chair in the corner, pull my knees to my chest, and just . . . wait.
He doesn’t wake up for another hour, and when he does he simply blinks and stares blankly at the ceiling for at least two or three minutes. Then slowly his eyes sort of slide over to the right, bringing me into view. His movements are sluggish and he turns his head gingerly in my direction.
“Melody,” he whispers, his voice close to gone.
I look away, consider not answering before I finally nod. “Yes, it’s me, Melody.”
He continues to stare but he doesn’t speak. “Were you trying to kill yourself?” I ask, my voice low, rough.
Another long pause before he whispers, “I don’t know.”
A sad smile plays on my lips. I’ve given that answer myself. “You were fired?”
“I didn’t test well in the focus groups.” With effort he turns his head again so he’s looking away from me. “So that’s it. Someone else gets my part and I’m nothing again.”
“It’s just one stupid show,” I point out. “It’s not even network.”
“It’s not just the show,” he rasps. “It’s you. I lost you.”
I think about that for a moment before replying. “That’s how I would feel if I were you and you were me. I’d blame you for my self-destruction,” I say, enunciating the words carefully. “But, Ash, if you’re standing on the very edge of a cliff, leaning forward while on tiptoe, you can’t blame the wind when you lose your balance and fall.”
“You’re a fucking philosopher now?” he says. The words are harsh, but I hear a note of humor in them.
“I’ve just . . . I’ve given a lot of thought to what it is to die and what it is to live,” I say with a shrug and a halfhearted smile.
“Oh yeah?” he asks, glancing down at his IV. “You think about death a lot?”
“Mm-hmm.” I chew on my bottom lip and stare at the stark cream-colored walls. “I’m not here to save you, Ash.”
Again, silence. I can make out the beeping of some medical equipment in the next room. “So why are you here?” he finally asks sullenly.
“I don’t know . . . I guess . . . maybe I wanted to tell you that it’s . . . it’s difficult, but possible for us to save ourselves.”
“I don’t want to save myself,” he growls. “Surviving isn’t good enough. I need to thrive! I . . . I need to prove them wrong. My parents, Eva, my great-aunt . . . hell, even my ex-girlfrie
nds and the teachers who treated me like I wouldn’t amount to shit, I need to prove them all wrong. I can’t do that by just saving myself! I have to be better than them! I have to be on top!”
“Yeah,” I say as my eyes move from the IV to the dark circles under Ash’s eyes and his uncharacteristically pale face. “I’m not sure that succeeding just to prove others wrong is all that much better than failing just because it’s what people expect of you. Either way you’re letting other people dictate the way you live your life, right? Flip sides of the same coin.”
“And what exactly do you propose I do? Just get by? Be mediocre?”
“Not necessarily,” I say with a sigh. “But God, Ash, there really are worse things in this world than being average. Trust me, there are days when I’d kill for average.”
“It’s not what I want,” he says bitterly.
I sense he wants to say more and I also sense that talking is hard for him. Which means there’s a chance I can say what I need to say without being interrupted. “Look, all I’m going to suggest is that instead of trying so hard to figure out how to be great or . . . you know, not average, why don’t you just try to figure out who you are? I mean, do you know? Are you an actor? A singer? A biker? A family guy? Who the hell are you?”
“Don’t give me that,” he snaps. “Who the hell are you?”
I throw my hands up in the air in a beats-me gesture. “Still trying to work that one out. But I know that I don’t know. That’s the only area where I’m ahead of you. I’m actually aware of my ignorance.”
“Congratulations,” he says sarcastically.
“Thank you,” I say sincerely.
Again we slip into silence. He’s eyeing a glass of melting ice chips that’s just out of his reach, so I get up to hand it to him. He takes it without comment just as a nurse comes in. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to step out for a moment,” she says.
With a nod I find a place in the hall. A moment turns into well over a half hour, during which time what looks like a doctor and a social worker go in and out of the room. At a certain point I actually fall asleep sitting up, although the sleep seems to come from a place of emotional rather than physical exhaustion.
