Friday, 15 December 2017

Family Ties

It was the fourth Tuesday of November, and, impossibly, there wasn’t another car to be seen. We sped down the highway at full throttle, screaming youthfully, carelessly. Happy in the way I had once thought I never could be. The speakers blared out a blend of sickeningly sweet, infectious pop music, and we were currently in the process of butchering both the songs and our voices to them. Even Mandy was finally letting loose, showing off an impressive set of pipes that no one could have guessed lay hidden inside that tiny, modest exterior.
Back when we first left Michigan, she could barely find the courage to murmur yes or no when we asked her a question; only with us at all because Hayley had taken pity on her staying in dorms alone whilst everyone else went home or, in our case, on the road. But somehow in the space of just five days with her, Hayley and I had managed to smash her quiet exterior wide open, and pull out someone much more fun from the wreckage. “Jess, check this out.” She tapped my arm to get my attention. She had tied her hair up like Ariana Grande and began attempting to mimic the singer’s nasally, over-the-top vocals that had just started playing.
“Oh my god! You should do children’s parties as her,” I said.
We both collapsed into fits of laughter. I looked over to Hayley, expecting her to be laughing too, but she wasn’t even looking at us. A second later she changed the song to something else.
I was about to ask her what was wrong, but then I saw the sign flash by our right side. Nashville – 30 miles. I shut my mouth, and instead reached over to give her shoulder a gentle squeeze.
As we got closer and closer to our destination, it was Hayley that was becoming the withdrawn one. Nerves had spread through her over the course of the week, creeping up and seizing hold like ivy over a house. We’d been fighting back of course, all of us, and karaoke especially had proved to be an effective set of shears. Her old self had been present a few minutes ago, seconds even, but now we were losing her again. Nashville – 30 miles. A rapid accelerant. Sunlight choked away. She would sing with me when she knew I was looking at her, smiling and doing her best to placate me, acting like nothing was on her mind. But the second she thought I wasn’t paying attention to her, her voice would trail off and she would space out as she lost herself to a thousand imaginary futures once again, the happiness in the car shimmering away like a mirage.

The previous night, after we had checked into that night’s trash motel and wolfed down another round of tired-looking, highway fast-food, grimmer by the day, I decided to ask her.
“What do you think he’s like?” I said, once the three of us had all squeezed ourselves into the same cramped, three-quarter-sized bed.
After a long beat, Hayley rolled over to face me. “I don’t know.” The quiet resignation in her voice told me exactly how long she had been wondering that herself.
“I think he has a giant moustache,” I said.
She laughed for about half a second before remembering she was supposed to be moody and depressed. “Jess, stop,” she said sullenly.
“Come on” I said, thrilled at the brief resurrection of my best friend I had just managed. “I bet he has a walking stick too.” I nudged her, trying to get her to play along.
She groaned in frustration that my cheer-up efforts were working. “Fine,” she said, defiant even in surrender. But slowly as she too started to think of things, I saw a small smile forcing its way onto her face. “I bet he has pants that go halfway up his chest.”
“Ooh,” I gasped. “Because he wears suspenders, or because his gut is so big that it can just support them on its own?”
“Neither,” she laughed. “They just magically stay up because of his granddad powers.”
“I bet he carries around candies in his pocket and hands them out when people are sad.”
“Oh my god, I would die if he did that. Like, I don’t think I could cope.”
We both lay there laughing at each other for a while, thinking of all the friendly old person stereotypes either of us had ever heard of but never experienced, and just wishing against all odds that at least one of them might turn out to be true.
After we had sufficiently calmed down, I looked seriously at Hayley, directly into her eyes and said, “I bet the second he sees you he’ll start crying, and he’ll run over and hug you, and tell you how unbelievably sorry he is that he didn’t find you sooner.”
The smile slipped off her face as her imagination reached its elastic limit, this latest folly too much of a stretch for it to handle. It snapped her right back to reality and the tears began to fill her eyes. “I bet I hate him,” she whispered.
“Hey,” I gripped her arm in reassurance. “No you won’t.” I tried to sound convincing, but I knew exactly where her mind was at.
“It’s just … why did he take so long?” her voice, barely audible, wobbled softly as she spoke, betraying how close she already was to losing it. “He had 10 years to make himself known, 10 fucking years! And yet he somehow only appears once no one could force him to take care of me.”
I tried to stay positive. “We don’t know that he didn’t…” I began.
“I do,” her eyes shone, cut glass. “You know it too.”
“I…” I wanted to lie. I tried to, but the right words just didn’t exist, at least not that I could find. Instead, I just pulled her close and hugged her as tight as I could, letting the silence speak for me, and the dam finally broke. Huge, aching sobs that had been building for days burst from within her. A tidal wave of pain crashing against my levies. I could feel the way the heave of each breath shook her as her body struggled to keep up with the force of her grief, and I couldn’t help but break too.
We stayed like that for a long time, her crying and me crying just as hard for her, the way I knew she would, and had many times before, for me. Years ago, I used to pretend we were long-lost sisters, miraculously reunited through our respective tragedies, but that kind of bond didn’t require imagining anymore. Regardless of how tomorrow went, neither of us were without family in this world.
“Do you still want to see him?” I asked when the time was right.
“Yeah, I want to see him,” Hayley sniffed. “I’m going to walk in and I’m going to tell him I’m doing just fine without him, and then I’m going to walk out, and you and me and Mandy are going to enjoy the rest of our vacation on our own, the way we planned before any of this ever happened.”
Mandy, who had somehow slept through all of this, rolled over as if in vague, subconscious agreement.
Part of me wanted nothing more than that, to have Hayley all to myself the way it had always been, each of us all the family the other would ever need. But the part of me living in the real world knew she shouldn’t be so quick to throw this away. “If that’s what you want,” I chose my words carefully. “But if I still had a granddad or whatever, I would want to at least give them a chance, you know?”

Now as we turned off the highway and began the final stretch of our journey, I could see the weight of those words resting on Hayley’s brow. The music had long since turned sickly, treacle in our ears, and eventually Mandy took the hint and turned it off. We trudged on through endless, seemingly identical backroads, the scenery itself doing its best to drag out our drive for us. But despite all our secret wishes to the contrary, our destination crept closer and closer until at last we found ourselves standing timidly before it.
The entrance sported an ornate gateway that elegantly stretched itself over the road, twisting through intricate patterns as it went, before joining the latticework of formidable, black bars that were currently split on either side of the drive, deigning, at least for now, to let us pass between them.
The restaurant itself lay further back, at the end of a driveway flanked by spotless, green lawns on either side of it. The drive formed a circle before the building, as if it were designed to accommodate the turning of a horse and carriage. The restaurant itself wasn’t huge, but it had an imposing presence to it, an essence of grandeur. Perfect white walls stood against a vast backdrop of fields stretching far into the distance. Four impressive columns stood supporting the front of the house, shining white sentinels silently passing judgement on all that passed between them. I could feel their gaze on us as we ascended the steps and crossed the threshold of the establishment.
The décor inside was equally, repulsively opulent. Delicate, crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling, and old, baroque art was displayed proudly on the walls. The walls of the reception were lined with wooden coat stands that lead up to a front desk that would shame any hotelier.
All around us stood groups of people waiting patiently to be seated, but upon our arrival at the front desk, before we’d even said a word, we were told the rest of our party was already here and escorted straight through to the seating area.
A young, blonde waitress led us through the room, past long, varnished tables with handcrafted chairs lining their sides, past sparkling silverware and delicate china, past elaborate hearths with log fires and mounted game hung above them, to a table tucked in the far corner, where he was sat waiting for us to arrive.

His hair was completely white, but there was still plenty of it, and not just on his head either. A full moustache and goatee, cartoonish in their perfection, stood brilliantly to attention on his face. He wore a full suit and tie too, bright white, elaborately stitched, too formal and too pristine for even the décor surrounding him. That was of course, save for the badge pinned to his lapel. Giant and blue, the size of a hockey puck, it displayed on it in big, bold, white letters, the words “Trust Jesus, Jesus ONLY!”.
I didn’t quite know what to make of what I was seeing. He was somehow exactly like we had imagined, and nothing like it at all. All the right things were there, but amped up to a point where it ceased to be endearing. He was old, sure, but this guy didn’t look like anybody’s grandfather. That friendly, amenable attitude, that loving smile that every granddad had reserved for his favourite granddaughter was nowhere to be found. At no point did he start crying, or run over to Hayley and hug her, or tell her how sorry he was he didn’t find her sooner. Instead he just sat there wearing a kind of self-satisfied smirk, as though managing to make us come here proved something innately impressive about him.
“Thank you so much, gorgeous,” he said to the waitress with a flash of his teeth. “Now be a dear and fetch us a bottle of white and…” he counted the people around the table quickly “…four glasses. Five if you’d care to join us, of course.”
She laughed like a hyena. “Oh Davis, I’m working!” her voice was filled with too much energy to possibly be natural. “I can’t just sit down for a drink whenever I want!” Her hand was placed on her heart as if the very suggestion had given her an arrhythmia.
“Of course you can darlin’,” said Davis. “Get Bill out here, I’ll talk to him for you.”
She laughed again. “I’d love to, Davis, I would, but I can’t! I’ve got tables need waiting, not just yours!”
“Nonsense! I want you to stay and meet my granddaughter!” He gestured to the three of us in general, and I realised that he didn’t even know which one of us was Hayley yet. “This is a special day, they can wait.”
“Granddaughter?!” she peered at the three of us equally indiscriminately, her grin threatening to split her face open. “Later!” she promised. “I’ll come by later for sure.”
“Okay, later.” He seemed satisfied enough with that. “Four glasses then.”
“Um…” I spoke up. “We’re all 20, is that a problem?”
The waitress stopped and turned back to face us, but Davis just held up four fingers and mouthed “four glasses” again, and she nodded and went on her way.
“So Hayley,” he said. This time he placed his gaze somewhere between her and I, apparently now having figured out it probably wasn’t Mandy on account of her being Chinese and all. “How has my beautiful granddaughter been all these years?”
You left her to rot in a fucking orphanage. I sat stone faced, completely neutral. That stuff was hers to say, should she choose to.
“Um, I’ve been okay,” Hayley spoke quietly and slowly, clearly trying her best to quash the wobble in her voice. “Jess and I worked really, really hard to get into college. We get scholarships and stuff, and we get to stay in dorms all year, so…”
“Oh you’re an orphan too, I take it?” he said, looking at me.
I knew that she was going through a lot in this particular moment, and that she hadn’t explicitly meant to do it, but I couldn’t help but feel a pinch of anger at Hayley for dragging my history into this. Surely, she had enough of her own to worry about right now.
Gritting my teeth, I looked back and said “Yep! Two dead parents, just like her!” I made sure to up the ante on the flippant way he had asked the question. After I said it I pinched Hayley hard under the table. She shot me back a look of desperate apology and I could see the panic in her eyes, she was on the verge of freaking out. Reluctantly, I relented and squeezed her hand in reassurance. It’s okay, you’ll be okay.
“Gotcha,” Davis looked distinctly uncomfortable. “Well Jessie, it seems like you’ve been a good friend to my granddaughter, so … thank you.”
“You’re welcome. And it’s Jess, by the way.” I said, but he’d already turned his attention to his next guest.
“What about you, sweetheart?” he spoke loud and slow. “WHAT’S     YOUR     NAME?”
“I’m Mandy.” She smiled politely, a practiced patience in her tone. “Pleased to meet you.”
“Mandy?” Davis looked confused. “Huh. Is that like Manh Di, or something?”
“No,” she said, smile tightening. “It’s just Mandy.”
 “Huh.” He scratched his bearded chin. “Well, pleased to meet you Mandy.” He put his hands together and inclined his head. “Konichiwa!” he said, laughing, not only as if that joke was actually funny, but as if anyone but him had been the one telling it.
“Um,” she looked distinctly displeased. “That’s actually Japanese. I’m Chinese.” She corrected him, but if he heard her say it, he showed zero inclination that he had done so.
He fixed his gaze back on his granddaughter. “You know, it’s so good to finally meet you I can scarcely believe the day has come.”
Hayley didn’t know where to look. Davis was sat directly against the wall, one side of the table to himself, the three of us sat in a row on the other, nowhere to turn away.
“You know you look so much like your mother,” he continued, taking her hand in his. “I bet you’re a firecracker just like she was.”
“…A firecracker?” Her eyes narrowed in confusion.
“Oh yeah, I was forever having to knock sense into that girl, but she never let that stop her doing the next thing.”
Hayley’s mom had always been strict in all of the stories I’d ever heard of when she was alive. I sat back in my chair, eyeing Davis with suspicion.
“I remember this one time, her and this boy she was seeing stole this bottle of scotch I had been saving. Oh man when I caught them…” he trailed off, his smile fading. “Well it’s a wonder she didn’t run away sooner, honestly.”
We sat there in silence as he paused to wipe an invisible tear from his eye. “I don’t blame her you know. In retrospect, I wasn’t always the best father.”
“Or grandfather,” I said.
Hayley and Mandy’s eyes both widened in shock, mine too. It had barely been a murmur, I hadn’t even meant to say it out loud, not really. It was just that for the briefest moment, I had forgotten that this wasn’t some bizzaro movie Hayley and I were watching together.
His eyed me with sudden, surprised distaste, a shit stain discovered on the sole of his shoe. He swallowed and fixed a grin to his face. “Well, the second one I’ve still got time to change.” He squeezed Hayley’s hand and made a show of being sincere, but the lingering anger in his voice was ill-disguised.
Fortunately, the awkward silence only lasted a few seconds before a waitress, different to the last, came over with the wine and poured us each a glass. At this point, I was glad the letter of the law hadn’t been entirely upheld. I picked up my glass and gulped heartily. Out of the corner of my eye I saw the waitress from earlier now in the opposite corner of the restaurant. She was laughing at something a customer said, but this time she wasn’t laughing like a hyena, and her smile wasn’t threatening to tear her skin. All waitresses have to be at least passable actresses, but in the case of ours, it seemed she had only been capable of performing for the back row. The real thing looked much different, more relaxed. As she cast a quick glance around the restaurant, she caught me looking at her and our eyes locked for a second. Her gaze briefly flitted to Davis, and she shook her head before running off back to the kitchen.
When I looked back, our new waitress was busy taking our order, or rather Davis’ order for us. “We’ll have four Southern Gentleman’s, please,” Davis said, showing off his apparently clairvoyant knowledge of what we would and wouldn’t enjoy.
I tried raising my hand in protest, but the waitress had already gone.
 “You know, I’m glad you seem to have friends, but I was expecting a little family reunion today.” Davis peered at Hayley in a way that he no doubt thought was agreeable. “Just me and my granddaughter, making up for some lost time.”
Hayley smiled. “Sometime soon perhaps.”
His eyes lit up at that, clearly thrilled. “You must be really special for your friends to have come all this way,” he said.
“Oh no, it’s not that,” she said. “Before you got in touch, we were all planning this road trip for Thanksgiving break, because none of us have anywhere to go for a week whilst everyone else goes back home. So we just figured we’d add this to our list of stops.”
“Is that right?” he turned to Mandy. “You don’t go back home for Thanksgiving, darlin’?”
She looked at him uncertainly, unsure what to say. “Um, no. Not really.” Apparently dissuaded after her last attempt at cultural enlightenment, she didn’t even bother to explain that American Thanksgiving isn’t usually celebrated in China.
“Well, if you don’t have plans for Thanksgiving Day, I would love to take you on my yacht down the Mississippi.”
“We did, yeah.” Hayley looked at Mandy and I. “But they weren’t anything special. I’m sure we could discuss a change if you guys like the sound of that.”
“Oh no, I am sorry,” Davis caught my eye as he spoke. “The boat only has room for the two of us.”
“…Oh.” Hayley’s mouth flapped as she struggled to think of something to say. “I’ll … discuss it with the girls,” she said after a moment.
I realised that she was being serious. We haven’t spent thanksgiving apart since we met. Ten years now and we've always been together. A time honoured ritual of junk food and cutesy family movies to bawl our eyes out to. Of all things, how was this guy going to be the thing that jeopardised that? I picked up my glass and drained the rest of it in one, long gulp, before announcing, “I think I need the bathroom.” I pinched Hayley hard under the table and stood up, striding away from the table as fast as I could move.

I think if Hayley hadn’t gotten the hint I would have started crying there and then, but mercifully it was only a few seconds before I found her standing in the bathroom with me.
“What the fuck?” I had just finished checking no one was in the stalls.
“What?” she did her best to seem confused.
“Oh, come on!” I wasn’t buying it. “Tell me you’re not thinking of going!”
“Well … yeah,” she said. “I’m considering it.”
“With him?” I spluttered. “Have you lost your fucking mind?”
“Why?” she said, her eyes downcast, sheepish. Already I could see that she was struggling not to cry. “What’s wrong with him?”
I snorted with laughter. “Hayley, just don’t alright? I know you see it. He’s a total ass. Tell me I’m wrong.”
“I…” she floundered for a defence. “…no, he’s just…” The first tear fell.
“Look, I’m sorry,” I said, stepping closer and pulling her in. “I really am so sorry. But man, even our waitress switched tables to get away from him. Literally, she just took off and never…”
“Stop it, Jess! Fuck! Shut up!” she shoved me away. “Why are you doing this?”
I stopped. “Me? Hayley, I’m not the one being a total, fucking dickhead.”
“He wasn’t!” She angrily wiped her cheeks.
“Oh, come on! Did you even see how he was with Mandy?” I shouted.
“What? You mean judgemental? Ignorant?” She snarled. “Oh, please don’t invite Mandy. Seriously, does she even speak English? She’ll just sit there being silent all the time and ruin the trip. Yeah, I’ve seen that before. You get used to it.”
“I … that’s not … that’s not …” My jaw flapped, mind racing for a comeback that didn’t exist – a wheel spinning without purchase, overheating. Burning in my cheeks, in my eyes.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought. You do this with every person we meet. How about, just once, you give someone a chance for longer than five seconds? Yes, I know he’s not perfect, I am in the fucking room with you, remember? But can we at least make it through dinner before we just write him off like you do everyone else?”
She looked at me expecting an answer, or even some vague sense of agreement, and I swear if she’d only waited the seconds, minutes, or hours necessary, she would have gotten one.
She shook her head as she made for the door. “Seriously, I swear to god Jess.”
“…shouldn’t that be Jesus?” I shouted after her. “Jesus Only?!” But she was already gone.

                “…no, it’s a symbol of…” Mandy was talking to Davis when I got back to the table. Hayley had just sat back down, and was pulling her chair in.
                “I get the idea sweetie,” Davis cut her off. “I’m just saying it don’t make a lick of sense, that’s all. Years are numbers, everybody knows that. Ain’t no way that a year can be a monkey.”
                “It’s the year of the…”
                “Here you are folks!” waitress 2.0 stepped into view with an armful of plates and began to lay them out in front of us. “Four Southern Gentlemans, as ordered!”
                I’d managed to come back at the perfect moment. If you’d asked me a moment earlier, I wouldn’t have said there was anything in this world capable of pleasing all of us right now, but here we were. A distraction, a nice, edible one, was exactly what was needed. Desperate relief on everyone’s faces, Hayley’s not least of all.
With limited previous experience in the matter, it was now that the genius of the thanksgiving meal hit me for the first time. What do you do when you want to see your family, but you can’t stand talking to them? A compromise in the form of turkey, or in this case, an unnecessary amount of fried chicken. We all tucked in heartily, savouring every morsel of delicious silence as we went.     
The food itself was fine. Typical southern shit, albeit classed up for the establishment, or at least as much as it could be. Mashed potatoes, biscuits and gravy, and all the usual trimmings to go along with the fried chicken, plus a tall sweet tea to wash it down. The KFC menu, but for $50 a head.
Still, looking at Davis, you would have thought the stuff was pure ambrosia. Every few seconds, another ecstatic expression, another exclamation of delight. He peered over his fork at his granddaughter. “Hayley, these green beans are just gorgeous, don’t you think?” he said.
“Oh yes,” she said, nodding enthusiastically. “So nice.”
He looked over to me, concern in his brows. “Jessie darlin’, you haven’t eaten many of yours yet.”
“It’s Jess,” I forcefully met his gaze. “And…” I caught Hayley in the corner of my eye and paused, a collection of ill thoughts suddenly halted on the tip of my tongue. A bus braking suddenly, passengers slammed together at the front. “…I just haven’t gotten around to them yet.” I lamely completed, instead channelling the energy I had summoned into stabbing a forkful of green beans and wolfing them down, a violent parody of enjoyment, repeating the motion again and again until the offending item was gone from sight.
I didn’t slow my pace much after that either, working quickly so as to limit Davis’ opportunity for any further micromanagement of my meal. I cleared my plate in minutes, making sure to leave nothing behind.
                Mandy, unfortunately, was not capable of performing the same feat, and it didn’t take him long to notice. “What’s the matter there, sweetie?” he gestured to her plate. “You haven’t even touched your chicken.”
She shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “I’m a vegetarian,” she said apologetically.
“Huh,” he narrowed his eyes, face darkening. “What, you just eat beans and shoots then?” He lingered on her in a kind of frustrated confusion, like she was a difficult math problem, before unexpectedly cracking a smile. “Like a panda!” he chortled. “They’re Asian!” He laughed and laughed until it turned to wheezing, our blank faces seeming only to fuel his mirth.
I grit my teeth and looked away for anything else to focus on. My eyes fell over Mandy’s leftover food and I automatically picked up her plate for Hayley and I to divide between us. An old, stupid, shared habit that only made me madder at everything.
 “You know,” Davis finally calmed down. “If god didn’t want us to eat meat, why did he make it so delicious? You ever think about that?”
I couldn’t stand this anymore. I'd been biting my tongue for so long I was sick of the taste, and I felt much the same way about the southern gentleman. “You know, I noticed you were religious when we came in Davis,” I pointed to his Jesus pin. “I’m just wondering, and maybe you could help me with this, what the Bible says about abandoning your orphaned granddaughter until you no longer have any kind of legal obligation to take care of her.”
“Jess!” Hayley cried. I only felt the barest twinge of guilt.
“No it’s okay sweetness,” he waved away her outrage with a lazy hand. “Jessie may have been rude, but she’s right. You deserve to know about that, about the family, your mom, all of it.” He reached over and grabbed her hand. “When we go out on the yacht, I’ll tell you all about it, I promise.”
“Why?” I snapped. “Do you need some time to make up a story?”
He laughed at that. “Oh darling, you could piss off the pope I bet. I can tell I ain’t never gonna satisfy you, and that gets my goat sure as sunshine. But I respect the hell out of the way you look out for her, I’ll say that.”
Out of habit, I almost began searching for something nice to say in return. The unexpected kindness made me falter, shaking my tirade loose in my mind so that I had to spend a moment finding my place again. A moment too long, as it happened.
“Elanor!” Davis called across the room. “Ellie, gorgeous! I thought you were going to stop by?” The three of us followed his gaze over a family of four, to the waitress behind them waiting patiently to take their order. Our waitress, our original one.
“Elanor!”
She leant in over the shoulders of the parents, notebook and pen out and ready as if she hadn’t heard a thing, but was hastily brushed off, the parents still trying to squash their youngest into a cheap, plastic, supermarket-bought high chair that blended with its surroundings like oil on water. Supposed family dining meets an actual family. We’re not ready yet, said the hand gestures, and then from the father, I think someone over there is calling you. Elanor suppressed a grimace as she followed his outstretched finger towards our table, a bright and beautiful smile firmly in its place by the time eye contact was made. “Davis!” she exclaimed. “Oh lord, I am so sorry. I just haven’t had a second to breathe this afternoon.” She made her way over to our table. “You said one of these girls was your granddaughter?”
“That’s right!” his expression of pride undercut just a little by the way his hand clamped itself to the girl’s lower back as she approached, as though she would fall were it not there to support her. “This is my granddaughter, Hayley!” he pointed to her. “Isn’t she cute as a button? Goes to college too, lord knows where that came from.”
Hayley was unsure how to react. Being shown off an as yet unfamiliar experience, she was somewhere between waving to Elanor and burying her face in embarrassment.
The waitress did the legwork for her. “Pleased to meet you Hayley,” she reached out and shook her hand.
“You too, Elanor,” Hayley smiled.
“And who exactly are these two?” she enquired.
He pointed to me first. “Well this little firecracker is Jessie,” He said.
Elanor extended a hand and an exuberant smile. “Hi Jessie!” she beamed.
“Watch out!” Davis exclaimed as I got close to her. “She’ll rip your head off if you’re not careful.” He chuckled at himself. “I’m thinkin’ she needs a man in her life, calm her down a ways. Know any boys could tame her, Elanor?” He nudged the girl’s side in jest. She jolted uncomfortably, trying to decide whether that was a question she was actually supposed to answer or not. Were she not here to get caught in the crossfire, I’d already be back on the attack.
“And this is Mandy, their exotic friend!” he grinned. “I guess having one is just the fashion these days, because they don’t seem to have her there for talking to, that’s for sure.”
“Okay,” I said. “I can almost tolerate you trashing me, but if you think I’m going to let that go…”
“Darlin’,” he laughed. “I’m just…”
“Like, are you trying to piss us off, or is this just who you are? I really can’t tell which is worse.”
 A chair squeaked to the side of me. I looked to see Mandy stood up. She didn’t say a word, she just turned and left the table.
“Mandy, wait!” I called after her, rising from my seat too. Hayley joined me in calling for her too, but she kept walking.
Davis threw down his napkin and made a show of grumbling before adding his voice to ours. “Sweetie, I was just joking! Hell, don’t they have jokes where you’re from?”
That stopped her. She turned, her face twisted up. “You’re a joke!” she said. “A terrible one! I’m glad I’m not Hayley, because I’d rather be an orphan than have you for a family!” She headed straight for the exit.
Normally a remark like that might offend me a little, but I think in this instance a pass was deserved. “I’ll get her,” I said. I started walking out, but only made it about ten feet from the table before stopping and looking over my shoulder.
Ten Thanksgivings. Even with Davis’ most recent performance, the fear for number eleven was very much still there. How well could he recover in my absence? How many bits of family trivia would it take? Two? Three?
Hayley saw me and sighed knowingly, shaking her head. “Jess, I’m right behind you.” She got out of her seat and came over to me. “Go after her, I’ll meet you outside, okay?”
Relief washed over me. “Really?!” I breathed, then lowered my voice. “What about all that stuff though? About your mom, and…?”
The M-word caused some consternation. “I … I don’t … Listen, I’m going to try and talk to him about that now, okay? Maybe if we’re alone, it’ll be…”
“I’m not sure that’s such a good…”
Her expression soured. “Just go, Jess! I’ll be out in five, fuck’s sake.” She marched back to her seat, leaving me with little choice but to comply.

Outside, the sky had darkened significantly, and the hedges around the grounds now cast long shadows that stretched far across the grounds. I didn’t need my watch to tell me it had gotten late, but that wasn’t why I checked it. Five minutes.
I headed down the steps and into the neat rows of saloons and pickups laid out on the gravel. Hooded ornaments snarled as I passed them. Convertible tops snapped in the wind. Our little car cowered somewhere near the back, and I found Mandy leaning against its hood, face in hands.
“Hey exotic one,” I called as I approached.
She looked up, her face red and puffy. “Hey Jessie,” she countered.
I squared up against her in a mock standoff, and we stared each other down for the second and a half either of us could keep a straight face before bursting into rueful laughter. I swept her into a hug, squeezing tight. “If you’re going to abandon me like that in future, you’ve got to give me a bit more warning, okay? I have issues.” I said when we pulled apart.
She laughed again, wiping a fresh tear out of her eye. “Okay.”
I leant back next to her and our eyes collectively drifted over to the house. The pillars gleamed white, gazes cool, unmoveable. The laughter dried up. I checked my watch again.
“If I’d have known it was going to be like that…” she said, letting the thought hang unfinished.
“Yeah,” I sighed. “I’m sorry you got dragged into all this.”
“It’s not your fault,” she said. “The rest of the trip was nice.”
“Yeah, it was.” We lapsed into silence again. My wrist began drifting towards my face again and I snatched back it down.
“It’s just … you guys have all this crazy history. Sometimes I feel like I’m intruding, like maybe it would be better to leave you to it.”
“Hey, maybe we need someone without so much crazy history. Balance things out, you know?” I nodded back to the restaurant. “Besides, you’re still more family than that creep is.”
“Do you think Hayley would say the same?”
“She better,” I said. “I mean, how could she not now, right?”
“Hmm.” Mandy’s eyes dropped to her shoes. We both let out long sighs. The parking lot lay in darkness save for the glow of the restaurant. There hadn’t been much natural light when I’d left, but now there was none. I hadn’t even noticed it disappear.
“Is she coming out, or should we just go?” Mandy eventually spoke up.
“She shouldn’t be long now,” I said, staring ahead at the light. The pillars smirked at me with derision. A knowing wink, four black swathes of shadow reaching across the lot. “No, she just wanted five minutes,” I said back to them, trying to stem the flow of the uncertainty I felt. “Five minutes, that’s all.” How long had it been now? I kept my wrist clamped firmly by my side.
The door was stuck half open, light spilling from within, the bustle of the restaurant faintly audible from where we were. I stared at the empty space that hung between the frame, waiting for everything to return to normal. Any second now.

Friday, 13 October 2017

Internal Rom-Com-ologue


                Is Beef Casserole 8th date material? I stand in the grocery store holding a cabbage, gazing into its depths for an inkling on whether this would be trying too hard. I want to do something romantic, but I have a feeling Adam won’t be into it if I go too elaborate.
After some pondering, I decide that casserole falls within the acceptable range of fancy but not too fancy, and start picking up red wine, carrots, onions etc. to match, loading one item after another into my arms, stacking the pile higher and higher up my chest until I can barely see over the top of it.
Walking up to the counter, I really feel like I should have gotten a basket. I hadn’t been expecting to buy this much when I came in. I’m balancing Grocery Mountain with one hand whilst fumbling for my wallet with the other. I manage to get the zip of my bag undone, but as I start reaching around inside for my wallet, my attention slips too far away from the pile of groceries and everything comes loose.
I catch some of it, but a lot falls to the floor, including the cabbage which rolls away far across the store. There’s no chance I’m getting that, not without dropping all my shit everywhere again as I go, so I decide to let it go. I’ll get another one later.
I gather up the rest of my stuff and start heading to the counter. I’m almost there when someone taps me on the shoulder. I turn around to see a guy standing there, holding the cabbage out to me.
“Excuse me,” he says, running a hand absently through his hair. “I think you dropped this.”
“Oh…” I say. “Yeah, thanks.” Our fingers brush as I take it from him, and we lock eyes for a second before he bashfully blinks and drops his gaze, smiling awkwardly at his general surroundings.
“Say, that’s a lot of stuff you’ve got there.” he says, just at the moment before the silence would have become too permanent. “Do you need some help?”
“Uh, sure!” I say before I have chance to think. I swear that wasn’t what I meant to do, but I’m already watching myself hand over half my stuff. “I’m holding onto this though.” I put my hand firmly on the cabbage. “I’m not letting it escape again.”
“Can you blame it?” he says with a chuckle. “If I was going to be cut up and cooked alive, I’d try and escape too.”
“Hey, you’ve never had my cooking before.” I laugh. “You should be honored to be an ingredient.”
We get to the counter and my stuff finally gets bagged up. Once I’m done paying, I turn back to cabbage guy. “Well, thanks…”
“…Max,” he completes. “I’m Max.”
“I’m Alyx,” I reply. He extends a hand and we shake.
“Hey, do you maybe want to go grab a cup of coffee or something?” he says.
There it is. I’d been waiting for it. “I’m sorry, I can’t.” I squeeze his arm. “I’ve got to go meet my boyfriend.”
The letdown would have been pitch-perfect had I not rolled my eyes when I said the word boyfriend. Why did I just do that? I like my boyfriend. Don’t I? I like his … hair? Fuck! No, no, there’s more to him than that, I’m sure of it. I just … need to get out of here so I can think of it.
“I’ve got to go,” I say. “I’ll see you around though!” I turn and briskly exit the shop, walking directly across an intersection without stopping, causing a taxi to break hard and honk at me. I flip him off as I walk, before quickly heading down into the nearest subway station and getting on the train back to Brooklyn. I lived in New York before today, right? … I guess I must have.

A few days later, and I’m out with Adam. We’re at a fancy restaurant with white tablecloths, folded napkins, multiple sets of silverware and waiters with bowties. I suggested the home-cooked meal thing, but he told me there was no reason to bother with shit like that when we could just go somewhere that would do it for us. I really thought he was going to like the idea, but apparently not. Oh well, this place is pretty cool too, I guess. And I guess we’ll find a way to use the wine I bought when we get back to mine anyway, although my store-bought shit will probably pale in comparison to the 1986 vintage Omcharre Doux with hints of vanilla, plum, and dark, sweet, spice, that Adam is currently in the process of ordering for us.
“Remember, keep it coming all night, okay?” he says to the waiter. “I don’t want to see an empty glass on my table. Understand?”
“Of course, sir” the waiter bows his head, eyes on the floor.
“Excellent,” Adam closes his menu. “We’ll have the Duck Parfait to start then, followed by the Coq-au-Vin.”
We will? Was I taking too long or something? I quickly flick through my menu, hoping for something else to catch my attention, but it’s too late. The waiter holds his hand out for me to give it back, and I reluctantly comply.
“So how is it at the paper?” Adam asks me.
What paper? I take a drink. I don’t remember a ... “It’s fine, I guess” I say. “I just wish my editor would take me seriously. I can do more than write the advice column, I just need a chance to show him.” Oh. I’m a … journalist. No … yeah, I’m a … young, fledgling journalist struggling to climb the ranks in the big city. Of course I am. I always was.
“I like your advice column,” he takes a sip of wine. “It’s very funny. I think you should keep doing it.”
“Funny?” I frown. “It’s not meant to be funny.”
“It’s not?”
I swear he wasn’t like this before … was he?
“Anyway, things are going great at the office for me,” he says. “I made a $5million trade today. My bonus from that should get us a table here through the end of the year.”
He drains his glass and starts looking around for the waiter. The guy is already coming over, but of course it’s not fast enough. “My glass is empty,” Adam raises his voice, indignant. “I said I didn’t want to see that happen!”
The waiter is fumbling with the wine as he rushes to the table. “My apologies sir,” he takes the glass and begins filling it, but, in his haste, he misses and spills some on Adam.
“Are you kidding me?!” Adam stands up, enraged. He holds a wine-soaked wrist adorned with an expensive-looking watch out, shoving it in the waiter’s face. “Look at what you just did. This watch is worth more than you’ll make in your entire life!”
The waiter scrambles to wipe it down with one of the delicately folded napkins from the table. The watch glints at me as Adam’s wrist is turned this way and that. It’s a nice watch. Has he always worn it? I’m trying to remember seeing it on one of our other dates, but I can’t do it. I can’t even remember what our other dates were, or, if they were anything like this, how the fuck I managed to suffer through them.
Adam is still cursing at the waiter even though his watch is fine. He turns to me. “Can you believe this?” he scoffs.
No, not really. Why am I here?
I push my chair back. “You know what? I think I’m going to go.”
His hand still absently wiping the watch freezes. “What? …Why?” He looks at me as in disbelief as I stand up. “Because of this guy?” he gestures to the waiter. “Babe, I’m sorry. I’ll get him replaced, I promise.”
“Because of you!” I say. “Because of the way you’re acting!”
“Oh,” he says, his face darkening. “You know, I’m sorry if I’m making you uncomfortable,” he says in a way that indicates he’s not even an ounce of sorry about it. “But you’d do the same, I guarantee it, if you actually had anything expensive for him to ruin, you sanctimonious, little…” he stops mid-rant, noticing something on his shirt sleeve. “On my clothes too?” he starts scrubbing furiously at his clothing. “That waiter is going to pay my dry-cleaning bill, I swear.”
I’ve officially had enough of this. “That’s great,” I gather up my coat and my bag. “Why don’t you see if he can pay for a new fucking girlfriend while you’re at it?”
“Pay?” he says, looking up from his wrist. “I got you for free, didn’t I?”
“Well, if you want to keep the next one for more than 8 dates, maybe you should consider a new strategy. You know, just as a word of advice.” I turn and begin walking away, but apparently I’m not done. Without looking back, I shout “Oh, and by the fucking way, that advice was supposed to be funny.”

It’s been a weird night, but I feel good as I walk out of the restaurant. After some odd moments recently, I feel like I’m back in control of my universe, rather than it being in control of me. I’m following my heart for a change, and my heart is … walking the wrong way home. Where is my heart going exactly?
I almost stop walking, I want to, but instead I just keep going. Like I’m being overridden somehow. I push the thought away. That’s stupid. You’re fine. Everything’s fine. I keep going, another intersection, another block, and another. Why haven’t I just gone to a subway station by now though? My place is so fucking far from here. Why can’t I just stop…
As I’m coming up to another intersection, I sharply round the corner instead of going straight, and immediately trip over something coming the other way. I go sprawling on my hands and knees, my bag crashing to the ground. I hear a little shit of a dog yelping somewhere around me, and I look up to see a surprised man holding the end of a leash.
It’s cabbage guy. Who else? Somehow, I knew before I even saw his face.
“Alyx?” he says, peering down at me. “Is that you?” He extends a hand and pulls me up.
“Max?” I sound more shocked than I feel. “What are the odds?”
“Sorry about Baxter,” he says. “He gets pretty excitable sometimes.”
“That’s okay,” I say, despite hating small dogs for this exact reason. I’m allergic to dogs in general, but the small ones are just the worst. Yappy, little shits. “I’m fine, I think.”
“I’m glad,” he smiles back at me, and our eyes linger on each other for a perfect split-second too long.
“Hey,” I finally break the tension. “Do you like Beef Casserole?”

I guess it must be a weekend, because I find myself hanging out in a coffee shop with my friend Abby the following afternoon rather than going to work. We’re sat at a table for two, having coffee and cake. Abby is wearing a bright, polka-dotted dress, together with a pair of petite, yellow rainboots. She has a little, red bow in her hair and is wearing adorably oversized, round glasses with no lenses in them.
 “So did anything happen between you two?” she asks with an expectant grin.
“No!” I say. Did she always have bangs? …Probably. “We only just met each other.”
“Didn’t stop you taking him to your apartment for a romantic meal.” She puts a fork into her cake and takes a bite.
“It wasn’t a romantic meal,” I can hear the defensiveness in my voice.
“Oh yeah?” she says. “How many of those candles I helped you buy the other week did you light?”
“… A few,” I say as if that admission somehow backed up my own point.
“You like him!” she smirks, now picking up the cake to eat with her fingers.
“No I don’t!” I have no idea why I’m protesting so much. Who cares if I like him or not?
“Yes you do,” she licks frosting off her fingers. “You want to marry him and have his cabbage-patch-kids.”
“Okay,” I laugh in spite of myself. “You need to drop the cabbage thing.”
“Why?” she says. “Will a handsome hunk appear out of nowhere and give it back to me?” She finishes her cake and flags a waiter over to get another slice.
I wouldn’t exactly call him a hunk, are the words on my lips. But instead, I look pointedly at the second slice of cake coming her way and say “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”
That’s … not what I meant to say. That’s horrible. Why would I say that?
“What, this?” Abby says as she picks up the new cake and jams it into her mouth. “It’s fine, I’m on a juice cleanse right now.” Her fingers go straight through her glasses as she adjusts them.
I resolve to try again. Something weird this time. A non-sequitur perhaps. Why don’t your glasses have lens… “Why are you eating something if you’re on a juice cleanse?” I say. “Aren’t you just supposed to drink juice?”
“I’m not eating something,” she says. “I’m eating cake. Cake isn’t real food. It isn’t a proper thing, like pizza, or like…” she looks at me pointedly. “Like Beef Casserole.”
“Hey, my Beef Casserole has fermented grape juice in it, I’ll have you know” I fire back. “It could totally be part of a good juice cleanse.” My mouth is bantering away all by itself. I let it, instead putting all of my energy into trying to reach up and grab Abby’s stupid glasses off her face and snap them in half, into trying to throw them on the ground and stamp them into the rustic-looking carpet. But I can’t do it, I physically can’t move. My arm is stuck pushing this half-eaten slice of cake around with my fork. I can’t even eat it. Hell, I don’t remember eating what’s already missing.
When I tune back into the conversation, I find Abby yelling at an elderly passer-by about how We can talk about whatever parts of her boyfriend we like, you frigid, old bag! I have no idea how we got here, but I’m sure it was disarmingly hilarious.
“He’s not my fucking boyfriend,” I say, as if that’s the part of all this that needs the most immediate addressing.
“Can I get some more cake over here?” Abby shouts, as the old woman haughtily huffs and puffs her way to the exit.
“Forget it,” I say. “I don’t even know why I’m talking to you about this.”
“Neither do I,” she reaches over with a fork and starts eating the remaining cake on my plate. “If you’re feeling guilty about moving on so quickly, don’t. Adam was a dick, we knew this from the beginning.”
Oh, so we did know. Fucking wonderful.
“If you want to start dating cabbage guy, go right ahead. You don’t owe Adam anything.” She drains the last of her coffee and wolfs down her remaining half a slice of cake in one go, but like, in a quirky, attractive kind of way. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m late for my roller-skating class. We’re meeting at the ice rink today.”
“Oh, that’s cool. They’re having you try out ice-skating?”
“No.” She looks at me matter-of-factly as she gathers up her ukulele and her polaroid camera.

Max and I have been dating for a month or two now. Our first official date after the impromptu dinner was unexpectedly awkward, and involved a series of funny misunderstandings involving my uncomfortableness around dogs, but, somehow, we managed to push through it. After that, we went on several adorably romantic dates around various New York landmarks and restaurants. Holding hands in Central Park, riding tandem bicycles, eating hot dogs from a street vendor, walking the Brooklyn Bridge, voluntarily going to Times Square. For some reason, thinking of it now has me humming Walking on Sunshine to myself.
But things have gotten a little more complicated recently. With Max’s encouragement, I asserted myself at work and got assigned to a big story alongside a handsome, male colleague named Devin. We’re spending lots of time together whilst we work on the story and I’ve had to miss a couple of lunch dates with Max because of it. Meanwhile, in a crazy coincidence, an ex of Max’s from med school just transferred to his hospital right after I started having to work a lot. It all came to a head yesterday, with Max and I having a big fight. I stormed out and we haven’t seen each other since. I tried to go straight to his place after work to talk about it and make up, but my feet physically wouldn’t let me leave the building. Apparently, what the universe wants me to do is ignore my problems and stay in the office all evening to work on the story in close proximity with Devin.
The two of us are in the middle of eating an oversized takeout pizza whilst sitting on the office floor. It’s unclear how much work we’ve actually managed to do tonight, but we definitely don’t seem too focused on the task at hand right now. In fact, I can’t recall talking with Devin about our assignment even once since we’ve been working together. All we ever seem to talk about is the state of my love life. All I ever seem to talk about with anyone is the state of my love life.
“What do you think Max is doing tonight?” Devin asks me as he reaches for another slice.
“I don’t know,” I sigh, just opening my mouth and letting whatever words the universe has chosen for me flow right out. “Probably out fucking that bitch Laura.”
“Who’s Laura?” Devin asks through a mouthful of pizza.
“His ex,” I scowl. “His ex that he fucking works with.”
“Ouch,” he gives me a sympathetic look. “How long have they been working together?”
“A couple of weeks,” I reply.
“Since you’ve been dating then,” he whistles. “I’m surprised he even told you. That’s got to be worth some points, right?”
“He didn’t,” I say flatly. I wonder if he could even if he wanted to, or if he’s stuck on this carousel-ride too. “I found out from my friend Abby.”
“How did she find out?”
The story as far as I remember it involved a wacky and contrived sequence of events revolving around a yoga class, a sexy polaroid, and a dog with one leg missing. A funny and irreverent tale that provided a moment of levity amidst a period of relative darkness. “Doesn’t really matter, does it? The point is that the bastard kept it from me.”
“I guess, yeah,” he concedes.
We lapse into silence. I absently push my pizza crusts around the box.
 “You swear a lot, you know that?” Devin pipes up after a second just long enough to allow the challenges facing my relationship to hit home without it becoming too depressing.
Do I swear a lot? …Maybe. Just one of my many loveable quirks, I guess. I wonder if I always did that.
What did I do before all of this? Before Max? …Did I even exist?
I realize I haven’t spoken yet. Devin is looking at me expectantly, almost urgently. His mouth is open and quivering slightly, as if his next sentence is straining to get out, waiting ever more impatiently on its necessary cue before it can begin.
“No, I fucking don’t,” I say, finally.
“Yes you do!” He’s laughing, outwardly carefree, but looking into his eyes, I can see visible, palpable relief.
I think I just fought this somehow. I want to try again, but I don’t know how I did it. “No, I don’t! The rest of the world doesn’t swear enough,” I say. I reach out to take the last slice of pizza, but as I go for it, Devin steals it out from between my closing fingers.
“Mine!” He laughs.
“No!” I squeal, jumping across him to reach for it as he dangles it behind him. I make grab after grab, but it’s clear that I’m never actually going to get it. Shame. For a second I thought I might get to know what food tastes like. We’re practically sat on each other now, and just as we both finally start to calm down, he holds the slice up between us like it’s a piece of mistletoe.
He leans in for the kiss, and I can see it all coming before it even happens. I can see it coming! When we turn around, Max will be standing in the doorway having come to apologize, flowers in his hands or some shit, I fucking know it! It’s so predictable! My mind is screaming at my body to pull away, to run, to slap the shit out of my coworker-turned-attempted-fucking-homewrecker, but I don’t. I can’t. I sit there and let him kiss me, and for the briefest of seconds before pulling away, I kiss him back. Just for a second, but a second is enough.
I hear something crash to the ground. I look. Max is standing in the open doorway. On the floor around his feet are takeout boxes from my favorite Vietnamese place. One of them is starting to leak Pho out onto the carpet.
“Max!” I say, shuffling hurriedly back away from Devin. “It’s not what it looks like.” Of all the things I could have fucking said. I can see some broth creeping its way under his shoes.
He turns without saying a word, walking calmly away at first, or trying to, but quickly beginning to run. There’s a wet slap with each footstep. The door slams shut behind him.
“Wait!” I call, once he’s already gone.

It’s been a couple of weeks since the night at the office. I left Max a bunch of voicemails after it happened, cried a lot, ate a tub of ice-cream. Max got drunk and fucked Laura, and then felt very guilty and sorry for himself about it. You know, two equally legitimate, equally appropriate responses to the situation.
He came to me the day after, saying that he overreacted and he forgave me, conveniently leaving the part about his snap retaliation out of the story. But just when it looked like we might move past it, his secret came out, and then we were right back to crying, and voicemails, and feeling sorry for ourselves, only this time, the shoe was on the other foot.
I’m sitting in bed. Tonight has been a mint-choc-chip night. I look down into the tub, but there’s nothing left in it. Apparently, I was only allowed it in the montage. Wicked Game by Chris Isaaks is playing, it has been for a long time.
As I set the tub down on the floor, I hear a brief tapping sound cut through the music. I turn off my speakers and listen again. Another tap, then another. It’s stones being thrown against my window. I open it to find Max stood outside. Behind him are about 50 cabbages that he’s arranged to spell out the word “Sorry” in big letters on the sidewalk.
It’s at this point that I’m starting to get pretty pissed off. It’s just lazy work. It’s derivative. But people will probably accept it because it reminds them a little bit of Say Anything, regardless of how well it meshes with everything else. It’s just … this is supposed to make me take him back? He fucked another woman. But apparently, yeah, it is, because I can already feel the tears prickling behind my eyes. Now he’s professing the impressive magnitude of his love for me, saying it blinded him, made him do crazy, irrational, stupid things. He couldn’t help it because he loves me so much. Now he needs me back because every crazy, stupid second of love with me is better than being sane and alone. I try and roll my eyes but I can’t, they’re too full of tears.
I tell him I feel the same. I’ve been trying to pretend otherwise, but the truth is that I can’t live without him. I’m freely crying now. What’s the point in trying to fight it? I run to buzz the door open and he rushes up into my room. The music has started again, but I never touched the stereo. We embrace and kiss, long and full and passionate, a desperate, breathless reunion, before pulling back and staring deep into each other’s eyes.
“You smell like cabbages,” I say, and we both laugh through our tears before kissing again. I can see the apology perfectly out the window behind him as he moves onto my neck. Who’s going to clean all that up, I wonder? I swear I’ll be fucked before it’s me. Is it just going to sit there rotting? How would I even use that much cabbage? Honestly, can this shit just be over already?

It looks like it’s a few months later. We’re together in some beautiful, modest little open-plan house, somewhere in the suburbs probably. I think it might be ours. On the right of the door is a cream-colored, leather, three-piece suite, and on the other side is a rustic-looking, rectangular, wooden dining table. On the wall behind it are a couple of frames with pages from The New York Times mounted inside. At the back is a small kitchen unit with a breakfast bar. Currently simmering away on the stove is a pot of … well, you know what. The dinner table is set for four. Abby and some unlikely suspect from the second act will shortly be over for a double date.
Max is sat on the couch and I’m in the kitchen. An engagement ring glitters on my finger as I stir the pot. I add a dash of pepper to the mix and give it a taste, before heading over to my fiancé and cozying up to him on the couch. He gives me a kiss and flicks the game off to give me his full attention. All is well. I guess this is my life now, happily ever after.
Honestly, it could be worse. Assuming those framed clippings are mine, my career certainly seems to be taking off. I’ve got that going for me. Personally, I wouldn’t have taken him back. Cabbages or no, I thought it was too far. But hey, if this is my story, so be it. Sure, things could have been better, but they could have been worse.
We smile at each other contentedly. I move in closer and we kiss again, open-mouthed, suddenly swept up in a moment of shared passion for one another. Our feelings just as strong now as they were before, or perhaps even stronger.
Just as things are starting to get heavy, Max’s dog, now our dog I guess, jumps up in between us and lets out an excited bark. We break apart, laughing, and start cooing over the little shit like it was our fucking child.
Man, I hate this thing. I hate small dogs. That was one of the more focused-on elements of my characterization. Now I’m fine with it because … why? Where’s the explanation for that? I’m stroking the dog lovingly, and scratching behind its ears. Is it just a metaphor? Something to show that we overcame our issues? That might have made sense, except what issue did Max overcome here? I had to be the one to compromise, to change. Again! Not him. This is bullshit!
I feel a tickle building behind the bridge of my nose, followed by a sharp explosion throughout my head, but on the outside, nothing happens. They’ve forgotten that I’m supposed to be a little allergic, but I haven’t. Max and I give each other a peck on the lips as we keep stroking the dog together, smiling happily as we come away. I sneeze internally again – my fury, my discontent, my every snide thought exploding inside my mind, raging under the surface whilst my outside remains frozen in picture-perfect, monogamous bliss.
I’m stroking the dog, and I’m still stroking, and I’m still stroking, too aggressive, under its chin now, around the neck. Suddenly, my hands are tightening, squeezing its neck, wringing it. For a second I can’t believe what I’m doing, but after feeling another sneeze ricochet through the back of my head, I start to. I squeeze harder and the dog yelps in panic, thrashing its adorable little legs underneath it. Max looks at me, his entranced smile still stuck on his face even as glints of shock, of fear start spreading in his eyes. He’s trying to speak but he can’t. His lips flounder soundlessly. He’s still trying to pet the dog as it thrashes too; his body, if not his consciousness, continuing as if none of this were happening.
“How are you doing this?” He eventually manages. He can’t even stop talking in the cutesy-doggy voice.
“I don’t know,” I’m breathless, staring wondrously at my own hands as I command them to squeeze tighter and feel them respond – really feel them – every tendon moving as I choose. I don’t remember, I don’t remember a lot of things, but I’m sure I’ve never felt this before. Real control. It's incredible. I can feel the dog’s claws tearing through the bottom of my dress and cutting at my skin, but I keep holding on, practically euphoric. I turn back to Max.  “You can break free too! I know you can.”
“I don’t…” I can see his smile straining, twitching, changing shape around the corners, turning into something more real. “I don’t know if I…”
“You can!” I shout. “You’re already doing it! You’ve just got to…”
The thrashing stops. I look back expecting to see a dog, finally dead, but instead there’s nothing. I’m squeezing at the air.
“Wait … what? I … Max are you seeing th…” I stop.  Max isn’t there either. The only thing on the couch with me is a giant cabbage with two eyes drawn on the front.
I try and get up, but I can’t. I can’t feel my legs. I look down and I realize that I don’t have any. In fact, I’m not sure I have much of anything. I can see right through myself to the couch underneath.
I am a glass jar. Stuck to the front of me are three pieces of paper, and inside me there are a few more balled up. On the outside the first reads Struggling Journalist, the second Pottymouth, and the third Secretly a Romantic. They begin to float off my surface and go up, back inside me, back into the jar. The room is turning white. As it all fades I can make out a man in the corner, scribbling into a notebook, frantically crossing things out. The old papers land among the others inside me, and now three new ones are levitating upwards. I can’t make out what they are yet. I’m trying to read them but everything’s all white on white on white. It’s so bright in here. It’s all too bright, it’s all too…

I wake up. I’m on the subway. It’s morning and I’m on the way to work. It’s busy but it’s not packed. Enough people to sell the idea of a city commute, but without the inconvenience of all the jostling and lack of personal space. Most people are reading today’s edition of The New York Times, some big story but I don’t know what yet. The front page has a picture of a sugar bowl under the byline. I look around the car for a copy and find one conveniently on the seat next to me. I reach for it only to find someone else’s hand on it as well as mine. We both tug on it for a second, then let go at the same time.
My name is Summer. I’m a kindergarten teacher. I’m adorkably clumsy, and I’m sweet and innocent but with a sexy side.
I look up. The man standing there is handsome, tall with big, brown eyes and luscious hair. His smile is polite and he’s dressed smart, but there’s an unmistakable, devilish charm to him. He looks familiar, but I can’t place his face. I’m sure I’ve seen him before.
“You have it,” I say.
“No, please,” he raises his hands in protest. “I can’t even read anyway,” he jokes. “I just didn’t want to be the odd one out.”
I hide my smirk behind my hand. “Well why don’t you sit here, and then maybe I can teach you how?” I shuffle a little to the left and move my scarf so he can sit down. He politely obliges.
“I’m Jake,” he says, extending a hand. Behind his carefully crafted, devil-may-care smile, somewhere deep inside his eyes I can see a flicker of sustained surprise as his hand stretches towards me, as if he hadn’t expected to move it at all. I reach out and shake it, trying to think nothing of it. “Summer,” I say.
I open the newspaper and we both begin to read, him holding one side and me the other. Our fingers brush as we turn our first page together. “Hey,” I say after a while. “Do you like Beef Casserole?”
But I have no idea why I said it. Maybe my kooky best friend will know.