Something Fierce

by Drayer, David

  “Why in the hell would you do something like that? And then lie to me about it?”

  “I never lied to you.”

  “The hell you didn’t. I specifically asked you if your mother had a problem with the age difference and you told me that she didn’t.”

  “She didn’t and she doesn’t,” Kerri said. “I told you the truth.”

  “You lied by omission. Same fucking thing.”

  “Please keep your voice down.”

  His face was flushed and he was shaking his head. “My instincts were right. You have been lying to me. What else have you lied about?”

  “Don’t you think you are blowing this a little out of proportion?”

  “No. I don’t. After all that ‘age is relative’ crap you turn around and pull something like this?”

  “You don’t know my mother,” she said. In his journal, she’d read a lot about the guilt he still felt regarding the age difference. “If I had told her the truth, she would have refused to meet you. She would have pegged you as a sleaze ball that preys on girls half his age.” She could see the hurt on his face like she knew she would but he was leaving her no choice.

  “I’m not like that. I don’t prey on anyone. I’ve never in my life…this is different. It’s—”

  “It is different,” she said, softly. “I know. But I know my mother. She would have kicked me out of the house without even meeting you and now, believe me, it won’t matter. She’s crazy about you just like I knew she would be. I know I should have told her before now—”

  “You should have told me!”

  “I am telling you.”

  “No, you are springing it on me at the last minute. This is exactly the kind of bullshit…I’m not doing this.”

  “You have to.”

  “No. Actually, I don’t.”

  “Seth, please. I’m begging you. My mother has worked so hard on this party. If you leave, she’ll be humiliated. Don’t do this to her. Don’t do this to us.”

  “I didn’t, Kerri. You did.”

  “Please. It’s not like anyone is going to ask your age. Just don’t volunteer it.”

  “They’ll figure it out but that’s not even the point.”

  “The point is that for once in my fucked up life I’m happy and my family is happy for me. No one is going to be looking for problems. They are decent people. Nice people. And they just want to meet you. After tonight, I promise, I’ll tell my mother—”

  “There isn’t any hanky-panky going on down here, is there?” Grandpa said shuffling down the steep stairs one at a time.

  “Grandpa!” Kerri said. “You know I’m a good girl.”

  “Yes, I do,” he said, with his thick, white crew cut and sweet smile. “The best. I was sent out on a mission to find you two and was told not to come back empty-handed.” Kerri met Grandpa at the bottom of the steps, towering over him by a good three inches. He took her in his arms and kissed her on the cheek. “My, God, you are a beauty!” He turned to Seth, offered his hand and said with a grin, “So you’re the young fella that’s got all the hens clucking upstairs.”

  Seth shook Grandpa’s hand. “I don’t know about that,” he said. “I’m Seth Hardy. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

  “Grandpa,” Kerri said, “if Grammy knows you called her a hen you’re in big trouble.”

  “I never called her a hen,” he said. “Did I, Seth?”

  “It didn’t sound to me like you were talking about anyone in particular,” Seth said, making an effort to play along.

  “I like him already,” Grandpa said with a wink. “Come on you two, make me look good.” He angled his arm and Kerri hooked hers into it. They ascended the staircase with Seth in tow. Kerri turned back and gave him one last pleading look as they crested the top of the stairs.

  Before Seth could say a word, Mother had a glass of wine in his hand and was introducing him to everyone. He was as polite and friendly as Kerri imagined he’d be, but she could tell he was still annoyed and was looking for an escape. That wasn’t going to be easy. He was the center of attention. For Rebecca, he was the best evidence yet that she hadn’t totally failed as a mother. For the rest of them, Kerri knew he was more than they could have hoped for: a writer, a teacher, a genuinely good guy and handsome to boot. He was a solid reason for them to believe that the rumors regularly circulating about her and embarrassing them all might finally be coming to an end. And it was true that since he’d come into the picture, she and her mother were getting along, Kerri wasn’t at the center of any high dramas or at war with a single other person. She was on the Dean’s List at school. Hell, she might even make Employee of the Month at the store.

  After finishing his second glass of wine—rather quickly—she saw him start to relax. Though Kerri drank very little, she made sure Seth’s glass didn’t stay empty and soon, it was clear that he’d given himself over to the night. He listened to Uncle Jack’s adventures on eBay, asked Aunt Karla about her work with mentally retarded children, talked Johnny Cash with Uncle Ron and Kid Cudi with Timmy.

  He belonged here. And she’d do whatever it took to make sure he stayed here.

  She envied the way he was unguarded and comfortable when people asked him about himself. This, Kerri now realized, was why lying about his age—about anything—was unnatural for him, what he’d meant when he’d once told her that he found keeping secrets a lot of “unnecessary work.” At one point, she’d seen him start a story that he had to abort because it would date him, make him obviously older than he was supposed to be. He shot her a look and instantly, she was next to him, taking him aside. “By the way, we met at a book signing.”

  “Yeah,” he said, “that’s what I heard.”

  Grinning, she whispered into his ear, “I will so make this up to you.”

  “Uh-huh,” he said, quietly, “and how are you going to do that?”

  “Well, first off,” she said, leading him to a quiet corner, “I know I will have to be spanked for this.”

  “This isn’t funny, Kerri.”

  “It’s a little bit funny,” she said, demurely. “Right?”

  He took another drink instead of answering.

  “Besides, I’m not talking about one of your playful spankings or even one of your sexy ones. I deserve a real one. A punishment. Over your knee. With my panties down. A hard one.”

  “That’s a start,” he said; she saw a reluctant smile. The “wicked” look she’d seen on their first date and many times since—usually when he was turned on—came over his face. It often affected his voice too, giving it a subtle edge, a kind of cockiness. “And then what?”

  The way he said it made her belly tickle and she felt herself get wet. “Whatever you want. You know how I am after I’ve been disciplined. Obedient. Submissive. Eager to please.”

  “Thought you were out of commission down there?”

  “My mouth still works.”

  “It better,” he said and she felt the tickling again and wondered if that yeast infection might miraculously be gone by tonight. Then, noticing her cousin, Dylan, looking at her, she felt her face burn. “What?” she said to him.

  “What, what?” he said through a shit-eating grin, nodding for her to slip into the next room. She kissed Seth on the cheek and left him to talk with Grandpa who was shouting something to him from across the room.

  Dylan was a few years older than Kerri and though they had fought off and on, she was closer to him than his older brother Kevin or Uncle Ron’s daughter, Christina. “It’s so comically dysfunctional,” he said, like he was whispering a joke. “She’s even wearing Grandma’s apron.”

  Her mother’s blatant and futile attempts to impress their grandmother had been a source of amusement between them for years. Relieved that this was what his impish look was about, she said, “I know. Poor thing’s been busting her ass all day.”

  “Should I just tell her that she will never be the favorite? Ever. No matter she does.”

  “I dare
you,” Kerri said.

  “I might do it,” he said, sucking the meat and stuffing off a clam shell. “Someone in this family has to keep it real. So are you banging any of your other professors?”

  Kerri smacked his shoulder and looked around to make sure no one was eavesdropping. Sarah, Kevin’s oh-so proper wife, might have been. She was gathering up empty plates. They smiled at each other. Kerri hated her. Four or five years ago, Rebecca had asked Sarah’s expert advice—she worked with juvenile delinquents—on how to handle her out-of-control daughter. Sarah had suggested “tough love” and as a result, Kerri endured a horrific experience at a teenage boot camp. When Sarah left the room, Kerri said, “Nosey bitch,” then to Dylan, “he’s not my professor.”

  “Maybe not now, but he was.”

  “I met him at a book signing. He was never my teacher.”

  “Right. Sure. Did you guys ever do it in the classroom? He ever bend you over his desk?”

  Kerri pursed her lips and flipped him off; he laughed. Then, she asked, “So?”

  “So what?”

  “Do you like him?”

  “No.”

  “Why?”

  “I can’t find anything to make fun of. I hate that.” Looking over her shoulder, his face screwed up in annoyance and he said, “Grandma! What the hell? Are you trying to get sick?”

  “Hush!” their grandmother said, tottering toward them in a pair of hot pink high heels, her long, platinum hair teased high. She was wearing an evening dress that Kerri had never seen before. “It’s awful to get so old and ailing that you can’t enjoy real food anymore and your own grandchildren treat you like a child.”

  “Aunt Rebecca made stuff that you can eat,” Dylan said. “Those clam thingies are strong. They’ll make you hurl for sure.”

  Ignoring him, Grammy came up to Kerri and kissed her check. “How’s my princess?”

  “Good, Grammy,” Kerri said. “Is that a new dress?”

  “Jones of New York.” She stepped back to model it. “I got a deal. Practically stole it!”

  “You look great,” Kerri said, noticing a napkin full of empty clam shells clutched in her grandmother’s fist. “How many of those nasty things have you had?”

  “Shush!” Grammy said, laying a finger over her glossy red lips.

  This was an all too common occurrence at their gatherings for the past several years. Though Grammy’s mind was as sound as ever, it had somehow become everyone’s responsibility to keep her from eating things that her mysterious condition forbade, which was most everything. A special meal—complete with appetizer and dessert—was always prepared for her, but she would often sneak the offending foods and end up being violently sick. Kerri had been under strict instructions from Rebecca to keep a special eye on her today, but as usual, Grammy had been too sly.

  “No more, Grammy,” Kerri said, taking the bulging napkin from her hand. “Please.”

  “Anything for my little princess,” she said, lightly running her fingers—the acrylic nails matching her shoes—through Kerri’s long golden locks. “Such gorgeous hair. I still can’t forgive your mother for the times she hacked it all off.”

  Dylan snickered at this. He had been one of her worst tormentors, calling her “Doogie Howser” after a fresh haircut. Kerri gave him the evil eye and said to her grandmother, “That was a long time ago.”

  Grammy sighed, still stroking Kerri’s hair, looking over her face. “Enjoy this time, little girl,” Grammy said, her eyes beginning to water behind the rose-tinted Christian Dior’s. This had become common too: Grammy’s sad speech about enjoying life. “What I wouldn’t give to be you again, young and beautiful. Life goes by so fast. One day you are—”

  “Hey, guys!” Dylan’s high school girlfriend and now wife, Bethany said, interrupting Grammy by poking her head around the corner, “Dinner is served.”

  There was the adult table and the kids' table even though the kids now ranged in age from Timmy at sixteen to Kevin at twenty-eight and included two wives (and an undercover forty-year-old). Kerri was annoyed that Christina, her least favorite cousin, had positioned herself on the other side of Seth. She’d been monopolizing him since she’d found out that he’d once back-packed across Europe. She and two of her girlfriends were planning a similar adventure, and she was full of questions.

  “Don’t encourage her, Seth,” Grandpa shouted from the adult table, “that’s too dangerous of a trip for young girls in this day and age.”

  “When would have been a good time for a girl to see the world on her own?” Christina asked in a voice that set Kerri’s teeth on edge.

  “Never,” Grandpa said. “The world’s always been a treacherous place for pretty, young girls.”

  Seeing Christina smile at Seth like they were sharing a private moment, made Kerri want to pick up the knife next to her plate and plunge it into her cousin’s eye. It often fascinated Kerri how quickly and easily something like that could be done.

  “What are you smiling about?” Seth asked.

  “I’ll tell you later,” she said, squeezing his thigh under the table, so he would think it was something sexual. If he pressed her later, she would tell him that she was thinking about the embarrassing effect his voice had had on her earlier. He wouldn’t see the humor in what she’d really been smiling about so there was no point in telling him.

  “Bon appétit!” Rebecca announced as she started the platters of striped bass and bowls of spinach salad and mustard-soaked green beans bobbing around the table.

  “This looks incredible,” Seth said to her, but Kerri was noticing Grammy at the head of the adult table, shaking her head no as Rebecca put a specially prepared plate of bland food in front of her. Face ashen, eyes downcast, hands folded on her lap, Grammy was heading for an episode. By not watching her grandmother close enough, Kerri had failed her and now they were all going to pay the price. Grandpa leaned toward her, whispering something, rubbing her back.

  “You okay, Gram?” Timmy asked.

  Grandma looked at him, her eyes full of unspent tears. “Enjoy life, Timmy,” she said, and then looking around the table, added, “All of you. Enjoy it, especially the simple pleasures of eating, enjoy it while you can, be thankful for it.”

  The rumble of conversations gave way to the silent nodding of heads and clearing of throats. Those putting food on their plates took their time, grateful for a task, those without the comfort of such an activity, took long sips of their wine. The only sound was the sorry clink and scrape of silverware. “Life goes so fast,” Grammy continued, a tear rolling down her face. “One day you are as young and pretty as you girls,” she said in the direction of the kids' table. “Newly married or falling in love or planning a trip, and then, before you know it…”

  Kerri knew what was coming. They all did. Except for Seth who was about to find out. The silence was heavy, everyone taking small bites and chewing their food as if eating were serious business that required great concentration. Kerri didn’t need to see this again. She began to disappear, to sink down into a quiet darkness. Before she was fully gone, she heard Seth trying to restart the conversation. He complimented her mother on the fish and asked about some ingredient in the stuffed clams and where the recipe came from.

  How he knew that there was a story there, Kerri couldn’t imagine, but there was—a lighthearted and funny one that involved Grammy—and as Rebecca told it and Grammy added to it, the whole table listened. They were a grateful audience, laughing in the right places and fueling the story with comments and questions as though they’d never heard it before. Even from down in her hole, Kerri admired the power Seth had to make things okay, to lift the heaviness in a room and absorb the chill, to make everything light and warm again. Where did he learn to do that?

  But as the conversation shifted from Kerri’s mother and grandmother and began to break up into semi-private exchanges around the room, Kerri saw Grammy stand at the head of the table, steady herself and make her way through the dining
room, shuffling close to the wall as those in her path slid their chairs against the table and asked over their shoulders if she needed assistance. By the time Grammy reached the bathroom at the end of the long table, the room was so quiet that they could hear her knees crack as she knelt before the toilet. From where Kerri sat, she could see Grammy’s long, white-blonde hair trailing down her back. One of the pink, high-heeled shoes had slipped off of her nylon-covered foot and fallen on its side. There was a gag. Then a dry heave. And another. And then the vicious eruption as the contents of Grammy’s stomach roared up her throat and splashed into the commode.

  Even Seth, Kerri thought sinking deeper into the darkness, couldn’t fix this.

  17

  While Grammy heaved and gagged, Seth felt inexplicably removed. He’d slipped outside of himself and was merely an observer of a dreadful moment. It was as if he were invisible, like he could wander unnoticed around the room and view the scene from different angles. He noted that Kerri, for example, was quiet and didn’t seem shocked or particularly upset. Timmy simply left the table without a word while Rebecca stared straight ahead with an expression that reminded Seth—oddly—of a little girl whose birthday party was just ruined. Again. The rest of the guests sat in silence, helpless, mortified, not assisting the poor woman, not saying or doing anything other than looking down at their plates and waiting for it to be over.

  Except for Dylan. He ate with gusto…and was smiling.

  Smiling.

  It was like they were all reluctant players in a black comedy and Dylan, unable to keep from grinning, was the bad actor of the bunch, breaking character, simply unable to play it straight. When Grammy let out a particularly long, shrill fart, he covered his mouth with the cloth napkin and closed his eyes as if to keep from losing it entirely. Then, under control again, he reached for his wine and catching Seth’s eye, slightly raised his glass and mouthed the words, “Bon appétit!”

  Seth should have—and normally would have—felt terribly sorry for the old woman, who Kerri had told him was dying and yet here, detached from the moment, it felt like he were witnessing a…a…