by Jason Starr
“Come on, get up,” he said. “You’ve got some packing to do.”
The pain in his nose was still out of control, but he struggled to his feet. Raymond hadn’t budged, his big gut sticking out, and Owen cocked his fist and tried to hit him in his stupid face, but Raymond moved out of the way at the last second and the punch totally missed and, worse, Owen lost his balance again and fell back on the floor.
Then he was up again, but this time he didn’t get up on his own. Raymond had grabbed him and was pulling him, by the hair, through the kitchen, out toward the front door. Owen was practically running to keep up and not get a big chunk of hair of his hair pulled out. Then Raymond opened the door and shoved Owen out of the house. Owen stumbled off the stoop and fell hard onto the stone path leading up to the house.
He struggled, finally got up. The door was closed, but Owen had his keys. He could try to go back in, but Raymond had probably put the chain on; then he thought, why bother? He’d had it with Raymond and his mother and he just wanted to get away from them. But this time he wouldn’t just go into the city for a few hours. This time he’d stay away forever.
He got in the Sentra and sped away. Blood was dripping over his mouth, down his chin, and some went onto the steering wheel. For a while he was too busy cursing Raymond and just wanting to get the hell away that he didn’t bother to wipe up the blood. Finally, at a red light, he checked the glove compartment, looking for some napkins or some shit to wipe himself with. Nothing, so he reached under the front seat and grabbed an old rag he used sometimes to check the oil. As he drove, he pressed the rag against his face, not caring that he was barely soaking up the blood and smearing himself with oil. Deb’s giggling was bothering him now, and he occasionally screamed “Shut up!” or “Shut the fuck up!” but it didn’t stop.
He realized he didn’t know where he was going—on Route 684, weaving through traffic, but with no destination. He didn’t have to get to work for another hour and wasn’t far from the car wash place on North Bedford Road.
There was no line, so he pulled right up and got out. By the way one of the workers was looking at him, he knew his nose was still bleeding or at least had a lot of blood around it.
“Fender bender,” he said.
He didn’t think the guy would believe this when there was no damage to the car, but he didn’t really care either.
After he wiped down the steering wheel with the rag the best he could, he watched as a couple of guys vacuumed the inside of the car, trying not to think about what had happened at home or Deb’s giggling. He had to stay positive, think about the future, not the past, and the future was going to be awesome. The car would be clean soon, and there wouldn’t be a speck of Deb left.
He needed to see Karen, right now, so he took out his phone and played the video from the country club yesterday. Jeez, look how sexy she was, wrestling with Deb. It was hot watching these two older women, his two older women, fighting on the floor like animals. It reminded him of all the wild times with Deb, and Karen was so into him already it would probably only take a couple of days before they were a couple and then—like Deb—she’d get addicted to him. She’d realize how she’d been wasting her time with those old dudes she’d been hooking up with and how awesome it was to have a hot, young boyfriend. And then, because she was a single mom and had nothing holding her back, she’d invite him to move in with her. He’d say yes and bring Kyle with him, get him away from Raymond. They would be such a happy family—Owen, Karen, Elana, Kyle, and Elana’s little brother, Matthew. Matthew and Kyle were about the same age, and Kyle would love having a step-bro, but what would Elana say when she found out that Owen was going to be her stepdad? Owen laughed, thinking it could turn into an even cooler situation when Elana got older. Yeah, he wasn’t into her now, but years from now that could all change. When Owen was an old man, like fifty, Elana would be forty-eight, and she might be hotter then, more MILFy anyway. Karen might be too old then, so he could trade her in for Elana. Or if Karen still had it going on, Owen could have both of them. That would be so awesome, having threesomes every night.
The inside of the car was done and the mechanical brushes were scrubbing the outside.
Later, driving to work in his clean car, Owen was still thinking about his happy future with Karen and the kids. Maybe they’d have another kid together. Karen was old, but not too old; she could probably still squeeze out one more. They’d call the kid Owen—Owen Jr. Owen had never really thought about being a dad before, but he knew he’d be a great father. He couldn’t wait to teach Owen Jr. how the world worked, and do whatever else dads did with their sons. Then, someday, he’d have grandkids. Grandpa Owen. Yeah, he liked the way that sounded.
Then the giggling started again. Maybe the machines at the car wash had blocked it or he’d been too busy thinking about other stuff. But, wait, there was something different about it now, or something he hadn’t picked up on before anyway. It was familiar, yeah, he’d heard it before, but it wasn’t Deb, he was sure of it. He knew who it was, though; it made so much sense.
Shit, he should’ve known.
MARK THOUGHT, Okay, seriously, what´s up with Karen?
He’d understood why she didn’t feel like talking or texting last night, but he didn’t get why she was still ignoring him this morning. Okay, it was only 8:32 on a Sunday and there was a possibility she was sleeping, but this didn’t really make sense since he’d decided that she hadn’t called him last night because she’d gone to sleep early and, besides, she was an early riser. She’d told him lots of times how she woke up every day at dawn, “like a rooster,” to do yoga and shit. She’d probably been up for about two hours already, and she must’ve seen his text from last night. Mark wanted to believe that she was working out, running, doing work for her job, involved with the kids, but he knew that only one explanation made actual sense—she was blowing him off.
Mark was in the kitchen, contemplating what to do, when Justin came down.
“There’s my big boy,” Mark said. “How’re you this morning, kiddo?”
“’Kay,” Justin said flatly, sitting at the table.
“Well, you look a lot better,” Mark said. “You look rested, you look happy. How about some pancakes for breaksticks?”
“’Kay,” Justin said.
Mark made Justin a couple of just-add-water buttermilk pancakes and served them to Justin with syrup. Justin took a bite, seemed a little disappointed, and said, “Mom makes them better.”
`“That’s not a nice thing to say,” Mark said. “You just hurt my feelings.”
“Sorry,” Justin said.
Mark left the kitchen, checking his cell, annoyed that Karen still hadn’t contacted him. Then it occurred to him that it was weird that Deb wasn’t up yet either, as she also wasn’t usually a late sleeper. When Mark woke up he’d noticed that she wasn’t next to him and then when he left the bedroom Casey started jumping on him because he hadn’t been let out yet. Mark assumed Deb had come home late, maybe one or two in the morning, and fallen asleep on a couch in the living room, or slept in the guestroom. She wasn’t in the living room so—just out of curiosity, not because he actually cared—he went up to the guest room, but the couch hadn’t been opened and there was no sign that she had slept there. Weird, yeah, but wasn’t it to be expected? The way she’d sashayed out of the house last night, obviously trying to make him jealous, it made sense that she’d sleep at Kathy’s or wherever to make him think that she was with a guy. It was a sad way of trying to make him jealous and upset, but as a mother of two kids it was also ridiculously irresponsible of her to play these games. Mark was going to have to remember to tell his lawyer about this too.
Ten o’clock and still no texts or calls from Karen—now this was getting Mark seriously concerned. He could deal with Deb checking out because his marriage had been dying a slow death for years, but he couldn’t handle even the possibility of losing Karen. He had to smooth things over, make her understand that everythi
ng was cool. He knew that if they just talked and he heard her voice he could get her to laugh and see the lighter side of the situation. She’d once told him, “You make me laugh. Joe hardly ever made me laugh. That’s what I love about you.” Love—her word, not his. That was proof that their connection was real, special. She was having a hard time admitting it to herself, though, and was just taking some time to process things before opening up completely. That was okay; it was all good. He wanted to give her all the space she needed and didn’t want to come on too strong.
But after another twenty minutes went by and there was still no word from her, he was starting to get paranoid again. Maybe he should go see her in person, just to say hi and make sure everything was cool? He loved the idea—in a few minutes he’d be with his future wife. Yes, yes, this was amazing.
He went upstairs and changed into jeans and a white button-down. He knew he looked good in white; it always contrasted nicely with his dark, Mediterranean skin. He slicked his hair back and sprayed on some of the new cologne he’d bought—Drive by Derek Jeter—and thought he looked hot, just like Javier Bardem.
He said to the mirror, “Go get her, Javier.”
Riley, who was in the living room, doing something on her iPad, looked up and said, “Why are you so dressed up at eleven o’clock in the morning?”
“Dressed up?” He made a confused expression, but felt like he was overdoing it. “Who’s dressed up?”
“Um, you are, Dad.”
“I’m just going for a walk, be back in a few,” he said.
As he headed toward the door, Riley said something, but Mark was distracted, checking out his sexy, brooding profile in a mirror, and didn’t hear.
“What?” Mark asked.
“Where’s Mommy?” Riley asked. “Your wife.”
“Oh, I don’t know.”
“Did she come home last night?”
Opening the door, Mark said, “Not sure,” then left before hearing whatever else Riley was saying.
Walking to Karen’s, Mark was rehearsing in his head—and occasionally out loud—what he’d say to her. He’d play it cool, not act at all concerned that he hadn’t heard from her last night or this morning, making her think it was no big deal, that he wasn’t worried or doubtful about their relationship at all. Confidence was key. She’d probably apologize, say, “Sorry for the way I acted outside Sarah Waxman’s yesterday. I was just in a really bad mood, ’cause of you know, and it had nothing to do with you.” He loved the “’cause of you know” part; as a woman, Karen would have to understand how hard it was to go through a separation, she’d have to have sympathy. Then they’d sit at her kitchen table, no in the living room, on the couch, yeah, the couch. Her kids wouldn’t be home, they’d be out with friends or wherever—it would just be the two of them all alone, and romantic music, Sinatra, would be playing; it was his fantasy, why couldn’t he pick the music? They’d talk about the future, how they wanted to be together forever, and the timing for when Mark could move in. And then—or actually probably before then—they’d kiss. Mark’s heart raced. It was actually going to happen today, within minutes; what he’d been dreaming about for years would be a reality. Soon he’d actually be kissing Karen Daily.
He rang the doorbell, licking and sucking on his lips, hating that they were so dry, and his whole mouth was sticky; why didn’t he have a glass of water before he left? He felt sweat building on his neck and chest and then, with panic, noticed that he had big sweat marks on his shirt from his armpits. Shit, why hadn’t he worn a T-shirt underneath or a thicker button-down?
The door opened. It was Elana, who seemed disappointed when she saw it was him. Her eyes were red, glassy, had she been crying? Yeah, probably.
“Hey, is your mom home?” Mark asked, actually hoping she wasn’t, that she was out doing errands, so he’d have a chance to dash home and drink a glass of water and put on some Chapstick and a different shirt.
“Ma!” Elana called out. Then she said, “Come in,” and walked away up the stairs, doing something on her iPhone.
Mark was blowing on his underarm areas as he went into the house and then saw Karen coming downstairs. He was expecting her to smile, say, “Wow, what a pleasant surprise,” so he was confused when she stopped two or three steps from the bottom and, towering over him, said, “What are you doing here?”
For a few seconds, he was distracted, noticing how perfect her body looked in leggings and a sports bra, then he snapped out of it, saying, “Oh, just dropped by to say ‘hi.’”
“This isn’t a good time,” she said.
For an instant, Mark panicked, thinking she might have a guy over, but he relaxed, realizing that this didn’t make much sense with Elana home.
“Oh, okay,” Mark said. “Is everything cool?”
“No actually, everyth… This just isn’t a good time.”
“No problem,” Mark said. “Do you want to go for lunch or coffee late—”
“No, okay?” Karen said. “No, I do not.”
Mark looked at her face closely, noticing she looked tired and/or upset—her eyes bloodshot with puffiness around them.
“You don’t seem like yourself,” he said.
“I just can’t deal with any more drama in my life right now,” she said.
“Oh, I get it,” he said. “I told you, we don’t have to worry about that anymore. It looks like what I told you yesterday is happening for real. My marriage is over, finito.”
Karen’s eye widened and her jaw clenched. She looked back over her shoulder, probably checking to see if her kids were there, then she marched down the rest of the stairs, went by Mark, motioning with her hand for him to follow her. They went through the kitchen, into the dining area at the other end of the house, Mark trailing, knowing by the way she was shaking her head that she was seriously upset. This visit wasn’t exactly going as planned.
At the end of the dining room, near the sliding doors leading out to the deck, Karen stopped and looked at Mark and whispered harshly, “Are you crazy? My kids are home.”
“Sorry,” Mark whispered. “I wasn’t thinking, but you’re right. We probably shouldn’t tell them yet.”
“Tell them what?” Still angry as hell. “What are you talking about?”
“Us,” Mark said, like it was obvious, because it was.
“There’s no us,” Karen said. “What’s wrong with you? Why can’t you…” She was shaking her head. “Look, I can’t deal with this right now. I have to function for my kids and this whole thing is driving me crazy. You have to go. Please, just go.”
Mark couldn’t remember ever seeing Karen so agitated.
“I’ll go, I’ll go,” he said. “But I think I get why you’re so angry.”
“Can you keep your voice down?”
“I’m trying to say, I understand, I get it,” Mark whispered. “It’s because you think you’re responsible, but you’re not. Me ending my marriage has nothing to do with you, okay? This has to do with me and Deb. It’s our decision.” Mark was smiling, saying to himself, It is because of her. You’re so full of shit. Who are you kidding?
“Why are you smiling?” Karen asked. “You think this is funny?”
“No,” Mark said. “I’m just… happy.”
“I don’t want to hear about your fucking happiness.” She was waving her hands in front of her face. “You need help, not from me, from a therapist.”
Mark knew she didn’t mean any of this. She was just scared. She didn’t want to be the bad one, the home wrecker.
“I know what you’re going through right now,” Mark said.
“Just go home,” she said. “If you like me at all, if you respect me at all, you’ll just do this. Please. Please.”
He knew she didn’t mean this either. So he said, “Fine, talk to you later when you chill out,” and left the house, thinking there was no way she’d be able to stay away from him for long.
At home, Mark tried to not think about Karen, which turned out to be
easy because there was a crisis at work. Two major systems were down in Hong Kong and programmers were emailing him, like he was a fucking help desk, and he resented that he had to deal with this shit on a Sunday. There were supposed to be people in Hong Kong to handle these problems, and even if they were understaffed there, why were they calling him? He was middle management, he wasn’t supposed to be doing hands-on work, but he had to suck it up and be the Company Man. Bonuses had been shitty enough lately, and he didn’t want to give his boss any reason to fuck him over at Christmas time.
During the calls, while he was on hold, he went on Facebook and wound up on Karen’s page. He looked through her recent pics, including one of her with Steven. Look at the guy, with his ponytail; why had Karen gone for a guy like that? To feel better, Mark went to the photos of himself with Karen. There were some on her page—one from maybe ten years ago when she was married to Joe, of him and Karen with Deb and Joe at a barbecue in their backyard. He was next to her in the photo, both smiling widely, arms around each other’s waists. The other photos were from a couple of kids’ birthday parties and one at a New Year’s Eve party Mark and Deb had had maybe five years ago.
He had the enlarged pic of him and Karen with their arms around each other up on the screen when Riley appeared behind him and asked, “Where’s Mommy?”
He immediately X’d the page and said, “Out still, I guess.”
“Did she come home last night or not?” Riley asked.
“I don’t think so,” Mark said.
“Before you said you weren’t sure.”
“What difference does it make what I said?”
Sometimes Riley reminded Mark of Deb, the way they both tried to nudge information out of him.
