Come As You Are

by Steven Ramirez

  “I’m awake,” I said, trying to sound all Liv Moore on depressed teenager brain.

  “Sure you don’t want to hear my solo? I’ve been practicing.”

  At this point, I was pretty much done. “Can you please stop?”

  “Come on, one chorus.”

  “No-uh!”

  And that, friends and neighbors, is The Beggar’s Sideshow. Tah-dah!

  Breakfast was better. Once I get some food in me, I am actually quite pleasant. At this point, you’re probably wondering what I look like—the whole “Ruby vibe” and all. Well, I’m slightly below average in height. Mom says I might hit a growth spurt when I’m a junior. I have straight, shoulder-length blonde hair (courtesy of my mother), which I tend to keep in a ponytail, brown eyes (my father’s), and dimples, which only ever make an appearance when I’m tickled (which no one is allowed to do, by the way—not even my posse). My shoes consist mostly of high-top Converse sneakers in various shades. I tend to wear out the red ones. And my body, well… That’s my business.

  “Mom?” I said, my mouth full of half-burnt raisin toast piled high with Philadelphia whipped cream cheese and dripping with Seville orange marmalade, which we’d recently purchased at Monsieur Marcel in Farmers Market.

  “Yeah?”

  My mother was already dressed for work—I am totally stealing that Lavish Alice cape blazer—but had called in to say she would be coming in late. This was a big day for her, too.

  “What time is Dad coming?”

  She didn’t wear a watch and was always scrambling to find her phone whenever anyone asked her for the time.

  “Any minute,” she said.

  “Yikes, I haven’t even showered yet!”

  Oh, that’s another one of my sterling qualities. I have zero ability to manage my schedule.

  Smiling, Mom watched as I burst out of my chair and raced up the stairs, practically tripping over the dog, who had absolutely no business curling up on the bottom step. Fifteen minutes later, I was running back down, fully dressed and schlepping a camo Army duffel bag I found on sale at Wasteland.

  “Is he here yet?” I said, out of breath.

  “Not yet. Did you remember to brush your teeth?”

  I practically raced to the foyer and deposited the duffel bag next to the front door when my phone went into the Poltergeist theme song. Groaning (I’m a groaner from way back), I pulled it out of my back pocket, saw it was Diego, and quickly texted, Can’t talk. He replied, Nos vemos, followed by a little taco emoji. I was pounding out, Later, dude, followed by a series of inspired emojis, when I heard my mother’s voice from the kitchen and instantly rolled my eyes, since it is a scientific fact the two are darkly connected, like barnacle geese and goose barnacles. Look it up.

  “Last chance, Ruby,” Mom said.

  I heard a light tapping on the cowbell and knew what was coming next. In fact, I lip-synced the words as they left her lips.

  “Are you absolutely sure you want to do this?”

  And there it was. Mom guilt in all its West Coast suburban glory. Where was Dad already? I needed to blow this pop stand.

  “Mom, please, not again.”

  She emerged from the kitchen, holding my extra one-terabyte hard drive. It’s funny. As mad as I get at Mom sometimes, I do love looking at her face. She’s beautiful, with these soft blue-green eyes I wish I had. Only, over time they had sort of congealed with fatalism and worry. Is this what it meant to be an adult? Sign me up.

  “Thanks,” I said.

  I reached for the device and tossed it into the duffel bag, where I discovered Mr. Shivers hiding in my underwear. I grabbed the doll and turned to Mom.

  “Hey, don’t look at me,” she said.

  I opened the foyer closet door and threw the doll in. Mom was on her knees, closing my duffel bag for me. I realized she was working extra hard at being mature, but it was pretty obvious she was worried about her only daughter. She was probably asking herself why she’d even agreed to this nutty arrangement. Actually, I was surprised myself.

  My phone buzzed again. This time it was Claire. Not now, I quickly texted back. She responded with a sad face emoji.

  “What if he doesn’t look after you properly?”

  Mom was picking lint off her skirt, which unfortunately was a nervous habit I picked up.

  “Mom, I’ll be okay. It’s not like he’s some pervy relative—”

  “Ruby, where did you—”

  The doorbell rang—saved!—but it set the dog off. Honestly, when it comes to doorbells, nothing beats a Shih Tzu. Ed bolted between my legs, almost causing me to trip, so he could get to the door first.

  “Ed!”

  It was Dad, of course.

  I don’t know why, but suddenly, I let out this weird little laugh, sort of like that possessed deer head in Evil Dead II. In my defense, I hadn’t seen him since the 13 Frightened Girls concert, which he’d taken me to as a surprise, even though he himself prefers straight-ahead jazz. He always looks so impressive, too. I mean, not being a very straight-laced gal, I could still appreciate the sharp gray suit and slightly long dark brown hair. And he’s tall—I like that. When he walked through the door, I noticed he was still wearing his wedding ring.

  “Hey, baby. You ready?” he said.

  I was practically blinded by the million-dollar smile that had somehow survived the breakup. Even the dog was taken in, rolling onto his back and waiting for a belly rub.

  Time to play it cool.

  “Could you get that bag?” I said. “It’s really heavy.”

  But Dad wasn’t paying attention. No, he was looking at Mom. And it was awkward because I’m pretty sure he was still in love with her.

  “Hi, Stace,” he said. “You’re looking good.”

  “You, too.”

  She pretended to search for something in her purse. Wow, could it be she loved him, too?

  “Dad, the bag?” I said, trying to break the tension.

  He grabbed the duffel bag, and, like an old man getting up from the table at Hometown Buffet, he staggered out the door, muttering. Yeah, despite all his excellent qualities, my dad’s a mutterer.

  “And make sure he keeps food in the house,” Mom said with a fatalism Anna Karenina would admire.

  She slipped me a paper bag that was warm and smelled good. Unbelievable. Though she had been married to the man for fifteen years, she genuinely worried he would forget to feed me.

  I touched her arm and gave her my most serious expression. “Everything will be fine.”

  “I’m supposed to say that.”

  As Dad jogged back inside, Mom hugged me deeply, as if she were never going to see me again. But I knew it would be okay, even though the thought of being away for the whole summer reminded me of how much we as a family had lost in the past year. It was unnatural and happened every day.

  Ed was being annoying, sitting at my feet and whining softly. Feeling sorry for him, I knelt and waited for him to roll over so I could scratch his belly.

  “Who’s going to miss me?” I said. “Who’s going to miss me bad? You are!” Then to Mom, “Can’t I take Ed with me?”

  She scrunched her face and looked at Dad. “It’s up to your father.”

  “Dad, pleeeeeeze?”

  “Fine, but you’re walking him,” he said.

  “Yay!”

  I ran into the kitchen and returned with the dog’s food, bowls, and leash.

  “Don’t forget to call,” Mom said, her voice wavering. Next up, the waterworks. It was definitely time to jet.

  “Mom, we gotta go.”

  I quickly headed out with Dad and Ed as Mom watched, biting her lower lip. Yeah, she’s a lip-biter. Wow, three months. How would she survive without her baby? One time while sleuthing, I ran across this old video from when I was practically brand new. Dad had been recording me as I lay in my crib. He loves making home movies; we have tons. Anyways, the two of them were talking.

  “Is day care really the best thing for
her?” Mom said as she tightened the sheet over the mattress and checked my sleeper.

  “Come on, Stace,” Dad said off-camera.

  I could tell they had done this bit a million times before because it sounded rehearsed.

  “What better security can she have than two working parents? My mom—”

  “Worked her whole life and managed to raise a wonderful son.” She made a face. “Alan, I know. But something in me—”

  “Everything will be fine,” he said.

  “Promise?”

  Unfortunately, the tape ended there, so we’ll never know if he had actually promised her. I wondered which part of me Mom would get to keep and which was going with her soon-to-be ex-husband once the divorce was final. You know, that would make for an interesting science experiment. LOL.

  Chapter 3

  “How many times do we have to go through this, Son? Your grandmother is dead!”

  ParaNorman

  Don’t get me wrong. I was psyched to be spending the entire summer with my dad. I loved Mom, but enough was enough. I needed to hang out with the Big Guy for a while. That was not to say Dad didn’t have his own issues. Currently, number one on his hit parade was a certain Stacey Navarro. I was going to have to play this very carefully. I didn’t want to give away too much info, but I also didn’t want to blow him off. He would totally see through that. Hmm, or would he? Mom once told me men were thick. Nevertheless, I thought it better not to take any chances.

  We were weaving through midday traffic on the 405 in Dad’s new Lexus NX Hybrid. Ed was safely harnessed in the backseat. I had on my Wayfarers and, as we passed the Getty Center, I noticed some preppy from Harvard-Westlake oh-so-casually checking me out as he sped by us in his Porsche. Be cool, Ruby! I loved that Dad worked at a car dealership. We got to tool around in these fantastic late-model vehicles and pretend we were somebody. For all this bub knew, I was on my way to the American Horror Story set to do a walk-on with Billie Lourd.

  I grabbed a snickerdoodle from the paper bag Mom had given me, checked on Ed, and fiddled with the GPS. Dad was too distracted to notice. Probably because he’d been looking forward to this day for weeks and, now that it was here, he didn’t know what to say. Typical male of the species. Look, I knew Dad loved me and all, but lately he seemed more like a stranger. And he was. Living apart from Mom and me had really hurt our relationship. Time to break the ice.

  “I can’t wait for self-driving cars,” I said, keeping my eyes on the road.

  “What? Hey, don’t break that!”

  Gently, he pulled my hand away from the controls and looked at me with these huge, sincere puppy-dog eyes. Oh, boy. I’d hoped to keep things light, but I could tell my father was in a rut and wanted to spill about the thing that was bothering him. I should’ve picked up on the clues—the nervous finger-tapping and the random humming—and misdirected him with a quick chorus of “Just A Girl.” But it was too late. Before I could open my mouth, Dad stepped in it with both feet.

  “So, does she talk about me?” he said.

  I could feel my mouth going lopsided, which apparently is a thing I do whenever I’m confronted with the kind of bald-faced idiocy only a man could muster. I coughed, spraying cookie crumbs on the car’s nice clean interior.

  “Dad!” I said.

  He turned to me, looking confused. “What, honey? Are those snickerdoodles?”

  Hmm, so we were playing hardball.

  “She doesn’t say anything. She’s, I don’t know, getting on with her life?”

  “I see.”

  Do you remember Carl at the beginning of Season 4 of The Walking Dead, when Farmer Rick no longer permitted him to carry a weapon? That’s what Dad looked like. Not even an hour into my vacation, and summer already sucked. Nice going, Alan.

  “And we’re not doing this third degree all summer,” I said. “It’s boring.”

  “Sure, no problem.”

  I might have gone a bit too far, having accused my own dear father of being the B-word. Boring. Like our neighbor Boyd, who taught geometry at a nearby charter school, drove a Corolla, ate SunChips, and was a champion thumb wrestler. Boyd, who liked to use words like “discombobulated,” “sammich,” “back atcha,” and “yea big.” Boyd, who was happily married to an equally boring woman named Barbara, had four healthy young children—whose names all began with B—and a twenty-year mortgage. Boyd, who took the family on annual driving vacations to visit relatives in Nebraska. Great. Now I felt awful.

  Dad let me stew in my own juices for a while. Eventually, we exited at Santa Monica Boulevard.

  “Want a burger?” he said.

  It was like nothing had happened. Hmm… I think Mom may have underestimated men. Not that I’m thick! I totally saw what he was doing, but here’s the thing, I couldn’t turn down a burger. No way. Already imagining the succulent juices dribbling down my chin, I found myself laughing like the little girl he no doubt remembered. Oh, he was good.

  “Can we go to Shake Shack?” I said.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Pleeeeeeze?”

  “That place is always too crowded. Let’s try Irv’s.”

  “Fine,” I said. “By the way, this wouldn’t be a bribe, would it?”

  “Hey, would I bribe my own daughter?”

  Can I get an amen?

  If horror is my life, then meat is my passion. Beef, especially. So when Dad suggested a hamburger, you can see why I folded like a $5.99 camping chair from Walmart. Anyways. The traffic at Santa Monica and Laurel was nonstop and the parking nonexistent as we pulled up to the venerable Irv’s Burgers in West Hollywood. Fun fact for ya—Jim Morrison and Janis Joplin used to hang out there. Well, at the old location. Mom said they were famous musicians.

  Eventually, we found a parking spot several blocks away and were now sitting at a small outdoor table, eating cheeseburgers. The great thing about Irv’s is, it doesn’t matter how you are dressed or where you’re from or how old you are. We were like a family. One large, carnivorous family.

  “I love burgers, don’t you?” I said, my mouth shiny with meat juice.

  Dad was still distracted. “Yeah, I do. Listen—”

  “I’m pretty sure I was a cannibal in a former life.”

  “A cannibal?”

  “Did you know scientists have learned that cannibalism goes back at least fifty-thousand years?”

  Hoping to avoid any mention of Mom, I continued the anthropology lesson, but my father was finding it harder and harder to stay focused. Look, he’s really a very sweet guy—the best. And I’ll bet he had intended to keep all this Stacey business to himself. But from the way he was looking at me, like I might be the NSA of Mom-tel, I knew he was going to pump me for information, or explode.

  “Has Mom mentioned any male that’s not me?” Dad said, not making direct eye contact.

  Though I felt sorry for the guy, I rolled my eyes and flung an angry fry at his head. It bounced and landed on the sidewalk, only to be inhaled instantly by Ed.

  “I’m going to eat you, if you don’t quit it!”

  To my surprise, he changed the subject.

  “Listen, Rube,” he said. “Before we go to the apartment, I need to stop off at the dealership. Hope you don’t mind.”

  “Sure, no prob.”

  “Great. Are you done?”

  “Hang on!”

  Now, I am proud to say I’m a total vacuum cleaner when it comes to food. But as good as I am, I needed more than a few seconds to make half a cheeseburger, a basket of fries drenched in ketchup, and a large Diet Coke disappear. In the end, I beat my old record and came in at a minute-forty-five. In your face, Slimer!

  It took us twenty minutes to get to the West Side. Dad worked at Lexus of Santa Monica and had been their top performer for, like, forever. Nevertheless, he hated the sales manager, Rick Van Loon. Though he had never put it into words, I could always tell there was this tension whenever those two were in the same room together. Sort of like Sam and
Dean confronting Crowley.

  “Wait here in the showroom and look at cars or something,” Dad said, handing me a brochure. “I need to see Rick.”

  “Sure, Daddy-O.”

  “And don’t ever call me that.”

  “Roger that.”

  Dad abandoned me, so to pass the time, I Snapchatted with Claire and Diego. Presently, I was sending them pics of Ed and me mugging inside the new cars while Claire gave us a quick clarinet concert and Diego showed me what it was like hanging curtains with his mom. When I turned around, I could see my father through the glass of Rick’s office, fidgeting and looking around.

  Rick was standing in front of the big board, pointing at the names of the salespeople and their ranking. Dad’s name was at the very top, of course. I decided to eavesdrop and, putting away my phone, positioned Ed and myself outside Rick’s office, out of sight.

  It was pretty obvious to me why Dad hated this guy. He was making these annoying clicking noises with his tongue as he used a dry-erase marker to update the numbers. Truly, he was a strange, grubby little poser who, despite his position, liked wearing ill-fitting Macy’s suits, and he had dandruff and smelled like Dentyne. On his desk sat a framed photo of himself with the governor. Photoshop, most likely.

  Oh, and there was something else about Rick you should know. He was pretty much a washout with the ladies. I didn’t know if he insulted them or what. But he must’ve done something bad recently because one of his eyes was swollen shut and two fingers were taped together.

  “Hot date last night, Rick?” Dad said.

  Though Rick’s legendary facial tic was kicking in, he refused to take the bait.

  “So! Looks like you’re a shoo-in to win the sales contest this month.”

  Way to go, Dad! You know, I think my evil streak might have come from him. I could see he wasn’t letting this go. Smiling, he continued to poke the bear.