“Because I like Joni Mitchell,” Travis said, sliding the record out of its sleeve.
“You do?” Mom raised her eyebrows.
“Yeah.” Travis inspected the vinyl for scratches. “I’ve told you that. My mom used to listen to Joni Mitchell all the time.”
“You didn’t tell me that,” Mom insisted. “How did she know that and I didn’t?”
“I guess it’s sorta like an inside joke.” Travis shrugged. He handed me the record. “Here. Let’s try out your new turntable.” I put the record on while he knelt down to find an outlet for the plug.
“We’re not putting that on,” Mom announced.
“Why not?” Travis sat up, dusting his hands on his pajama pants.
“Because I say so.” Mom laughed, incredulous. “Because I’m not listening to any of that hippie-dippy, Ladies of the Canyon bullshit. That’s why not.” She turned and yanked the turntable plug out of the wall.
“Vic. Geez. Don’t be a drama queen.” Travis laughed and bent down to put the plug back in. Mom snatched up a handful of wrapping paper from the floor and stomped off to the kitchen. I heard the garbage can lid lift and slam down again. Travis put the needle down on the record. He turned the volume up a little and we heard fast acoustic strums.
“This thing does have pretty good sound,” Travis commented.
“I’m serious, Travis.” Mom reappeared, standing over us. “I don’t want to hear that hippie crap.”
“Vic, it’s really good.”
I chimed in. “My friend Gram says it’s a really underrated—”
“Okay, then, you know what? Fine. Spend Christmas with your friends and your little inside jokes and whatever.” My mother’s mouth was pinched tight. She turned on her heel, went into the bathroom, and slammed the door.
“Don’t worry. She’s just in a mood.” Travis got up. He knocked softly on the bathroom door. I studied the album cover. The lyrics were printed inside. I liked it. The music wasn’t punk or anything, but the lyrics were good. Like poems. I read along with the song until I heard something crash. I stood up and saw Travis following Mom into the hallway.
“Well, somebody did! And it probably wasn’t her!” Mom shouted at him. Travis rubbed the back of his neck, looking at his feet.
“Vic, calm down.”
“Is this what it’s gonna be about now? Everybody just come on in, mooch off Victoria. I had to work hard for—”
“Oh, really? You worked hard?” Travis said.
“Don’t start.” She gave him a warning look. “I’m the only one working around here, and everybody thinks they can just walk in and help themselves! Well, this was not the deal! This was never the deal!” she screeched.
“Calm dow—” He put his hand out to touch her. She batted him away.
“I’ll calm down when you tell me why you thought you could take my shit and I wouldn’t even notice—”
“Mom—” I couldn’t believe that was me talking. My voice was tiny. “Mom.”
“Maria, not now, okay? This is between me and Travis.”
“Mom, I think—”
“Maria, just shut up, okay! Just everybody shut the fuck up for five minutes! And turn this goddam hippie music off!” She brushed past me, to the record player. There was a violent scratching noise and then silence. Mom stood there, triumphant over the record as it slowed to a stop. Travis kept rubbing the back of his neck. I felt my throat closing tight around whatever it was I thought I could say.
“That’s better,” Mom said. But it wasn’t better. The quiet in the room was seething. It was a false quiet, like there really was some noise, something loud and horrible, the teakettle screaming, some wailing feedback, a deafening roar that we were all pretending not to hear.
“Mom.” Me, again. “It’s my fault.” But she was staring at Travis, not even hearing me. “Mom?”
“Maria, sweetie, I swear to God. Will you quit with the mom-mom-mom business? You’re like a goddam broken—”
“It’s got nothing to do with her.” Travis put his hand out in front of me, the way you do when you’re slamming on the brakes and you don’t want your kid to go flying through the windshield. “Whatever it is you think—”
“I took it,” I interrupted. “It was me. I’m sorry.”
“What?” My mother just stared at me. This wasn’t like with my dad, where you could tell he was mulling things over, working it out in his mind. This was more like seeing a wave coming toward you, building. Knowing you couldn’t swim away before the crash. Somebody say something. Why wouldn’t she say something? Why couldn’t I? Somebody, do something. Anything.
“What did you say?” she repeated.
“I said it was me. I took your … I took your stuff.”
“Okay. Then.” Mom swallowed. “Now would be a good time for you to give it back.”
“I can’t.”
“You can’t?”
“I flushed it down the toilet.”
“Of course you did.” She shook her head. “Are you covering for him? You are, aren’t you?” She looked at Travis. “You think I can’t tell? I know you.” She looked back at me. “Get out.”
“What?”
“Did I stutter? Get. The fuck. Out.”
“Vic—come on, it’s Christmas. It’s freezing out,” Travis said. “Everything’s closed. Where is she supposed to go?”
“She’s got plenty of places to go. She’s got her hippie friends and her rich old lady uptown.”
“Mom—” I felt a tear slide out of my eye.
“Victoria, let’s just chill out for a second, here—”
“No, she needs to learn. You think you can waltz in here …” My mother kept her eyes locked on me. “You barge in, you set up camp, you act like you’re princess of the whole damned world and the rules don’t apply to you. You just take. You take advantage of me. And you expect me to take care of you because your boyfriend broke up with you and you had some little meltdown. Well, guess what, kiddo. Life is full of little meltdowns. You expect me to treat you like a princess? You got me confused with your dear old dad. I’m not somebody you just take from. You understand me? You stole from me; you pay the price. The free ride is over. Get out.”
“Victoria, you’re outta your mind.” Travis stood between me and my mother. I backed away.
I turned and looked around the room. At the things that were mine. It felt like slow motion. Packing the bag. The two of them somewhere far off in the background. Two voices, coming in and out.
“Victoria, take back what you said.”
“I didn’t say it to you, I said it to her.”
“Just because your dad and your stepmom were creeps doesn’t mean you can walk all over—”
“You’re choosing her over me, aren’t you? I can’t believe this. You’re taking her side over mine.”
“Vic, I’m on both your sides.”
“You know, maybe you should get out, too.”
“Hey, I’ve paid my share of the rent—”
“The bare minimum. That’s all you ever do.”
I pulled my old baggy jeans over my flannel pajamas, gathered my clothes, stuffed as much as would fit into my backpack, and laced my bare feet into my boots as fast as I could. My eyes were so blurred with tears, I couldn’t see to find my socks.
“That’s not fair. Anyway, this isn’t about me. You can’t kick your own daughter out on Christmas Day.”
“Don’t tell me what I can or cannot—”
“I won’t let you.”
“Of course you won’t. Because you’re on her side.”
“This isn’t about sides. And you need to calm down. For your own sake—”
“You’re concerned for my health? How sweet. Is this your thing now, huh? Peace and love and how’s your blood pressure? Listen, why don’t the two of you go out and have your own little fucking hippie Christmas somewhere. Get yourself one of those tofu turkeys and dance around the maypole—”
“Vic, what the he
ll are you talking about?”
The bedroom door slammed. I zipped my bag. Travis stood outside the bedroom door, knocking softly.
“Vic, don’t be like this. We love you.” From inside, Mom’s clock radio came on. She cranked it loud, but instead of punk music, it was that Paul McCartney Christmas song. The one that goes Simply having a wonderful Christmastime. Travis rolled his shoulders back and sighed. He walked down the hallway, shaking his head at me.
“Maria, seriously.” Travis took my backpack. “Relax. You’re not going anywhere. She’s just in a mood.”
“Some mood.”
“She’ll be over it in five minutes. Christmas is hard for her. You know. She had a bad time growing up, with her stepmom and all.”
“Yeah, well, I’m not exactly having a real cool time growing up right now.” I took my backpack back from him and headed for the door.
“Where are you going?” He reached out to grab my arm. I dodged him.
“Doesn’t matter.”
“It matters to me.” We stood by the door. He grabbed me and hugged me. I didn’t want to go. But my hands were shaking now. I was angry. Screw it. She wanted me gone? I was gone. She was right—I had places I could go. I didn’t have to hang around here and take it.
I pulled out of Travis’s embrace, but he held on to my arms. He looked like he was about to cry, too. Then he pulled me back in to him and kissed me on the mouth.
“Travis! Stop!” I jerked away.
“Sorry—sorry—I’m sorry,” he stammered. “Maria—”
I ran out.
My feet were freezing. I finally found a phone booth and closed myself inside it. Gram was down in Gaffney. I dialed Nina’s cell phone. I knew she was up in Connecticut with her half sister for Christmas. But she told me to call if there was an emergency.
“Hello?”
“Nina, it’s Maria.”
“Merry Christmas, Maria. How nice to hear from you. How’s your holiday going?”
“Um. Not so great.” I was trying not to cry. “I had to leave Mom’s. We kind of had a fight. But I don’t know where to go.”
On the other end of the line, I heard Nina sigh.
“I’ll call my doorman as soon as we hang up. He’ll let you into the apartment. Put your things in the guest room and make yourself at home. I’ll be back first thing in the morning.”
“I don’t want to be a bother,” I said. “Just tell me where to go.”
“Maria, talk sense,” Nina snapped. For a minute, she sounded like my grandmother. “You aren’t a bother, and I just told you where to go. My apartment. Take a cab if you need to; I keep one hundred dollars in small bills in my silverware drawer. The one next to the refrigerator.”
“Are you sure it’s okay?”
“I’m only surprised it didn’t happen sooner.”
Nina’s place without Nina was big and empty and lonesome. I couldn’t imagine how she lived there alone. I kept walking around, listening to my own footsteps. I looked in the fridge—it was full of gourmet stuff, olives and pâté and expensive cheese—but I wasn’t hungry. Even though we never had made it to brunch.
I watched the cold, slanting sun set over Central Park. I kept thinking Nina would come back early, knowing I was alone here in her apartment. But she didn’t show. I thought about calling Dory. Thought against it. She’d probably tell her parents, and they’d tell Grandmother, and she’d tell Dad. And I couldn’t talk to either of them, not right now. Not after I’d called them first thing this morning and told them how everything was going just swell. I thought about calling Gram. It was long distance to Gaffney, but Nina could afford the charges.
“Medley residence.” He picked up on the second ring.
“Gram?”
“Maria?”
“Yeah. Hey.”
“Hey yourself.” There was an odd silence. “What’s going on?”
“I, uh—I missed you and I wanted to call and say merry Christmas. That’s all.”
“Oh. Merry Christmas to you, too. Did you … did you have a good one?”
“Um.” I laughed, nervous. Why did I feel like I was interrupting him in the middle of something? “It’s been pretty cruddy, actually. Me and my mom got into a fight and I left.”
“Wow.”
“I’m staying at a friend’s right now.”
“Are you with that guy?”
“What guy?”
“Maria.” I heard Gram exhale hard, seven hundred miles away in Gaffney. “That guy, the guitar player. Your mom’s boyfriend.”
“Travis?”
“He came into the record shop the other night, right before I left to come down here. He told me about you. He told me you’re only sixteen years old. You’re an eleventh grader.”
I sank down onto Nina’s big white couch.
“Gram—”
“I didn’t believe him. I didn’t think you’d lie to me, after all this time. After—the time we spent together. You wouldn’t lie. So why would he say such a thing?”
For a horrible moment, I couldn’t say anything. I couldn’t make any words come out of my mouth. It was so quiet. I didn’t know how to tell him. I didn’t know where to start.
“I wanted to tell you.”
“Jesus. Maria.”
“I didn’t mean—”
“Aside from the fact that I could go to jail—”
“Nobody’s going to—”
“You lied to me. You made me look like an idiot. And now I’ve got some guy breathing down my neck who knows where I work—”
“He doesn’t know anything about us! I didn’t—”
“It doesn’t matter now. Maria, I really care about you a lot, but … let’s face it. That dude’s in love with you, and you’re in love with him.”
“No, I’m not! I’m not in love with Travis! He’s—he’s—” I couldn’t believe this. Travis? Why in the hell would I be in love with Travis? But when I closed my eyes I could still feel his lips against mine. A nauseous wave lapped against the back of my throat.
“You reckon you’ll ever talk about me like you talked about him the night you saw him play guitar?” Gram asked. I had to close my eyes. Travis, of all people. My mother’s boyfriend. Try not to throw up on Nina’s couch. Can you at least keep it together enough not to puke on the couch?
“It doesn’t mean anything, Gram. I swear—”
“You don’t have to swear nothing to me, honey.” Gram coughed. “What do you say let’s not make this any more of a shitty Christmas than it already is, huh?”
“Gram, please—I—”
“Good night.”
“Maria? For heaven’s sake.” Nina was standing over me. The light in the apartment, bouncing off all that white, was blinding. My eyes burned from crying myself to sleep.
“There’s a whole guest room. You didn’t have to sleep here.” Nina was already moving around the room. Arranging things, making notes, people to call, things to do.
“I know.” I sat up. I still had the cordless phone in my hand.
“Is everything okay? Or is that a silly question?” Nina sat down next to me on the sofa. I shook my head no. She smoothed my hair. I started crying again.
“Oh, now.” Nina put her arms around me.
“No, it’s all ruined. Everything’s ruined. Mom’s right. It’s all my fault.”
“Shh, now. Whatever happened, I’m almost one hundred percent certain that it is not all your fault.” Nina wiped a tear off my cheek.
“Yes, it is. I’ve been lying to everyone. I wasn’t—I should’ve—” How could I even begin to explain this to Nina? To retrace my steps to where it all went haywire?
“Darling, listen to me. Your mother has a drug problem. You knew that much, didn’t you?”
“I thought maybe …” I don’t know what I thought. I knew I didn’t want to think that my mother was on drugs.
“I apologize for putting you in the middle of our disagreement at the club the other day.” Nina squeezed my
hand. “You should know that she really has been trying. I helped her pay for an intensive rehabilitation facility last year, and it seemed that this might finally be the program that worked. I thought she might truly stay clean and sober. But even with the best intentions …” Nina trailed off.
“Is it because of me?” I asked. “I didn’t realize … I was making it too stressful for her. With school and everything—I shouldn’t have lied to her. I shouldn’t have been so selfish—”
“Maria, stop it,” Nina said firmly. “Your mother’s actions have nothing to do with you. Victoria has struggled with her addiction for as long as I’ve known her. You have to know that she is enslaved to her demons, with or without your presence in her life. Frankly, after all these years, I’m starting to wonder why I bother. Or how it hasn’t completely bankrupted me.”
“Why do you bother?” I asked.
Nina folded her arms. “I’m afraid I have a terrible soft spot where your mother is concerned. It wasn’t just her art. She was my friend. My marriage was falling apart, and, well—enter Victoria. With all her energy. When she was younger, she had a way of making everything an adventure. She had this thing about her that could light up a room. That may sound trite, but I don’t know how to describe it any better. Your mother had this life, this joy, and it didn’t matter that she didn’t have money—” Nina stopped.
“Well, it mattered a little. I tried to help her as much as I could. I introduced her to everyone I knew in the art world, and she alienated them, one after another, with her behavior, or else stopped returning their calls when she realized they weren’t offering a big payout up front. I gave her money, an apartment, a job. But it became so difficult. She was too erratic for the boutique. So I gave her Tony’s job, managing Citygirls. That was an unequivocal disaster. I had her doing odd jobs for a while, but she went back to the drugs and her health issues became so drastic … Well, as you can see, she’s better now. But it took some doing. After this last rehab, I gave her the coat check job. The simplest little thing, to ease her back in. And she still can’t seem to show up. There’s nothing left but custodial work, and I’m afraid she won’t stoop to that. I thought moving her out to Brooklyn, away from her usual scene, would help. But now it seems worse.” Nina stood up and walked to her desk. I heard her light a cigarette.
Supergirl Mixtapes Page 17
