Notes from the Blender (4 page)

We sat there just laughing together for a minute. I guess we were laughing pretty loud, because the door at the back of the sanctuary opened and Aunt Sarah poked her head in.

“Dec?” she said. “Why aren’t you in school?”

“I…I’m just so shocked by adults today and their promiscuous ways.…” My sentence dissolved into laughs, and Neilly, who’d been trying to pull a straight face when Aunt Sarah walked in, snorted really loud, which made us both laugh some more.

Aunt Sarah walked toward us, and I caught my breath enough to say, “Aunt Sarah…have you met my sister?” More snorts, more laughter, and Aunt Sarah rolled her eyes.

“I see you’ve gotten the news,” she said, sitting in the pew in front of me.

“Oh, man, the wrong member of our family came to those OWL classes. I think Dad needed the condom-and-banana lesson.”

Aunt Sarah fought back a smile and, with some effort, put on a serious grown-up face. “Okay, okay. So you needed a mental health day. And who’s your friend?”

“I told you, she’s my sister!”

Neilly extended her hand and said, “Neilly Foster. And I guess we are going to be siblings. Or stepsiblings. Or something. Uh, I guess I should probably go. I, uh…I mean, thanks for the…It’s nice to—hey!” she said, turning to me. “I don’t even know your name!”

I extended my hand. “Declan.”

Neilly Foster reached out and wrapped her little hand gingerly around mine and gave it a squeeze. “Pleased to meet you, Declan.”

It was all I could do to stay conscious. “You, too,” I said, and watched her perfect ass as she all but ran from the church.

MY MOM
.

Getting married.

With a baby on board.

Courtesy of too many glasses of wine and the unencumbered-by-a-condom sperm of the ear-nibbling towel wearer.

Was it any wonder I was running away from the news in horror? No one wants to think her mom is getting it on while she’s at school and/or hanging with friends, no less getting it on and getting knocked up during those hours. It was just so . . . so . . . well,
disgusting
is a word that comes to mind. Not to mention completely nasty.

When I was little, I used to beg my mom and dad for a sibling all the time. I think I fantasized about someone to push around in a stroller and feed bottles to, and if I’m being perfectly honest, to rule for life. But that was a million years ago.

And now—well beyond the expiration date of my desire for one—I was going to have a brand-spanking-new half brother or half sister. Not to mention a metalhead stepbrother and a severely underdressed, overly horny creeper of a stepfather.

It was just another addition to the unfathomable equation that had been my day. As a review:

4 stomach-acid-inducing words

× 3

− Sam

− his new girlfriend/my ex–best friend

+ balding half-naked guy/Declan’s father/Mom’s fiancé/ babydaddy

+ in-utero half sibling

+ Dracula/Declan

= I’m completely screwed

And it wasn’t like there was a simple solution to my problems. No
Oh, things will look different in the morning, chalk it up to a bad day and move on
. None of this was going away anytime soon.

At least Declan had been nice, making me laugh and getting me back to normal-ish. And his Aunt Sarah had been nice, too. If I hadn’t felt so hysterical—giggles kept bubbling up out of my misery and turning it into a new breed of absurdist performance art—I might’ve even hung out a little longer in that church, making fun of our parents and their crazy situation. But I just couldn’t.

So I walked outside and tried calling my dad again—and got shot directly to his voice mail again. This time, I put out a desperate SOS. “Daddy, I am having pretty much the worst day of my whole life and I could definitely use someone to talk to. Not to mention lots of cheese fries. Call me back as soon as you get this.”

I pulled off the torture devices I used to call my favorite boots and started walking in the general direction of his office. I was hoping my dad would hit me right back, come pick me up, and we’d be at Meatheads digging into cheddar-covered spuds before I got even a few blocks.

Unfortunately, Dad not only didn’t cut my walk short, but he was still nowhere to be found when I finally got to his place—only Uncle Roger was there. And while I liked him well enough, it’s not like we’re BFF or anything. He and my dad think I don’t know they’re living together, so the nights I spend at my dad’s, Roger is noticeably absent. Plus, he’s not exactly the type of gay guy women are dying to pal around with and tell all their secrets to. He’s more like the Marlboro Man if he decided to switch teams—the strong, rugged, man-of-few-words type.

“Neilly!” he exclaimed when he saw me. “Shouldn’t you be in school?”

I shrugged, peering around Roger’s burly body to try to find my father’s slight one.

“Is everything okay?” he asked.

“Not so much. Is my dad around?”

Roger slung a beefy arm around me, his super-starched shirt sleeve barely able to contain the huge bicep that hid underneath. “He’s in court right now, defending a client. Should be back around five or so. Care to wait?”

I stared down at my dirty, blistered toes, scrunching them up like I do at the dentist’s office to take my mind of the unpleasant proceedings. It kind of worked. “No, thanks. I should probably get going.”

“You sure?” Roger asked, plunking his humongo bodybuilder body into an unsuspecting office chair that looked like it wanted to collapse under the pressure. “You might not know this about me yet, but I can be a pretty good listener.”

I patted Roger’s ginormous shoulder. He really was sweet, and I was glad my dad had found someone as loving, loyal, and protective as him. If only Sam had been like that not only when we were alone together but also when I was out of town for two tiny little days. “Roger, honestly, I just don’t feel like getting into it all now. No offense.”

“None taken,” he said, patting the seat next to his desk. The guy was not easily dissuaded. “And anyway, you don’t have to tell me
all
of it.”

I considered arguing, but I was so dog tired I gave in and sat down instead. “Okay, fine. I just lost my best friend. To my very recently ex-boyfriend. And now I have no one to escort me to your commitment ceremony. Plus, my mom is knocked up and getting married, and I didn’t even know she was dating anyone special.”

Roger clasped his sausagelike fingers behind his head and whistled. “Doozies, Neilly. I’m sorry for your troubles.”

“Me, too.”

“You know, I don’t think Griffin was planning on bringing a date to the ceremony. Maybe you two could go together.”

I put my hands up quickly to deflect the idea—kind of like
Stop! In the name of no way!
Griffin Taylor was on my shit list for life, and I’d never even met him. Mostly because, until a few months ago, he hadn’t even seen or spoken to Roger in, like, two years—he’d just shut out Roger completely when he found out his dad was gay. What a coward. I would
never
have done that to my dad, no matter how hard it had been to keep it together after the news hit the school.

Yeah, I’d heard all about how Griffin had apologized to Roger, and how Roger had welcomed Griff back into his life with open arms, and blahblahblahblahblah, but I wasn’t buying any of it. Just because my dad was marrying Roger didn’t mean I had to play nice with his loser son. Griffin’s spiky blue mohawked head and stupid stoner eyes staring back at me from the picture on Roger’s desk just sealed the deal. No way was I hanging around some drugged-out boy who so seriously lacked balls he couldn’t even stand by his dad when the going got tough. Not even if it was just for one night.

“Roger, if you hadn’t already noticed, Griffin and I don’t exactly run with the same kind of crowd.”

His eyes locked right into mine. “And like I’ve told you before, Neilly, Griff isn’t who you think he is.”

I cut Roger off before he could really get going. I know some parents can be blind to their kid’s faults, but this was ridiculous. Could Roger really not see he’d spawned a hell raising wastoid who only cared about himself? “I’m sure he is, Roger. And I’m sure he’ll make some girl completely, deliriously happy. That girl’s just not me.”

“I meant you could go together as friends,” he clarified. “Have someone to hang out with who’s not over forty years old.”

I shook my head, maybe a little too emphatically.

Roger patted my knee. “Fine. Just know that Griffin will be there if you decide you want to shake a leg on the dance floor or something. The band is going to be killer.”

“Thanks,” I said, standing up to leave. “Can you just tell my dad I stopped by?”

“Sure thing,” he said. “Need a lift anywhere?”

I shook my head again. “No, thanks.” I mean, where did I think I was going anyway? Not home, that was for sure. Not to Lu’s. Not to Sam’s. I was like a total homeless—not to mention friendless—person.

Without even really thinking about it, I soon found myself back at the little church. Kneeling down in a pew, I clasped my hands tightly together and rested my head in them. I guess I was hoping for a miracle.

And I got one. Kind of.

“You okay?” a soft female voice asked.

I looked up to see Declan’s aunt Sarah. “Not really.”

Aunt Sarah slid into the pew next to me, put an arm around me, and squeezed me tight. “You’ve had a tough day.”

I nodded. Words failed me, but Aunt Sarah didn’t. She took me to her office, handed me a really bitter cup of coffee that I tried to doctor up with four packets of sugar and five little creamer cups, and let me spill my guts. What I liked most about her was that she didn’t try to fix anything, like most adults do when you go to them with a problem—she just listened. Without judgment. And it was really nice to be able to let my guard down and vent freely for once.

I was still blabbing when my father finally showed up—I’d texted him where I was between the coffee-doctoring and the gut-spilling. To my surprise, he and Aunt Sarah greeted each other like total BFFs. Apparently, this was the church Dad had been trying to get me to attend with him on Sundays. While I’d been busy boycotting God, he’d gone and found a more tolerant version of Him. Here. With Aunt Sarah. Small world, huh?

So after they were done hugging and hi-ing and how-are-you-ing, my dad turned to me and said, “I’ll take you home now, Neilly. Your mom has been worried sick about you.”

I hadn’t responded to a single one of her texts or voice mails since I’d caught her with Afternoon Delight Dude. “Dad, please. Let me stay with you, at least for a couple of days,” I begged. “I don’t know how I’m supposed to act normal after seeing Mom like that. I mean, I feel like I should poke my eyes out and get a lobotomy so I never have to think about it again.”

“That’s a little dramatic, don’t you think?” he asked, putting a hand on my back and gently steering me toward the door. “Thanks, Sarah, for being such a good sounding board for my daughter today. We really appreciate it.”

“And I really appreciate the difficult position she’s in,” Aunt Sarah said, giving me a supportive nod. “In fact, I think I just might’ve convinced Neilly to give my youth group a try, to help her deal with things.”

“Sounds great,” my dad called over his shoulder as we walked away. As soon as we were outside, he added, “I assume you were just being polite.”

“I don’t know. She was cool. So maybe.”

My dad unlocked the doors to his old-man sedan with the automatic clicker. “Good. I really think you’d like Sarah’s youth group. It’s a very different kind of church than the one we used to go to, Neilly.”

“So I gathered.”

We drove a few blocks in silence, but just as I reached out to turn on the radio, my dad stopped me. “I know you’re upset with your mom, but please give her a break. She’s been through a lot.”

“
She’s
been through a lot?” I snorted.

“She has, and so have you,” he said, turning into my driveway. “Just know she never meant to hurt you.”

I shrugged. I figured it was probably true.

“And neither did I, you know?” he added.

“I know,” I said, wondering why things couldn’t just be easy—and normal—for a change. “I love you, Daddy.”

“Love you, too, pumpkin.”

ONCE NEILLY LEFT THE CHURCH, THE WHOLE SITUATION
suddenly didn’t seem so funny anymore. Also, since Neilly wasn’t crying (or present to witness my unmanly tears), it seemed like it was my turn. I felt my eyes fill up, and I started sniffling. Fortunately, Aunt Sarah saved the day.

“So do you want a cup of coffee or something?” Aunt Sarah asked. Sarah and Lisa are complete caffeine fiends, and they got me hooked on the stuff.

“Sure,” I said. Back we went to Sarah’s office, and I sat there and sipped my Equal Exchange Fair Trade Organic French Roast and sat in the comfy chair while Aunt Sarah sat behind her desk and pretended to work on her sermon. Above her head was the big banner that had hung over the church doors during the antigay-referendum thing a few years ago.
LOVE MAKES A FAMILY
, it read.

The coffee was bitter and dark. I take it black, like my metal.

I knew Aunt Sarah well enough to know what she was up to. Maybe this was something they taught her in minister school. Whereas Dad will pester me with questions and get a nasty argument out of the deal, Aunt Sarah’s weapon is silence. She’s perfectly happy to sit there all day and wait me out, figuring that I’ll fill the silence.

Come to think of it, maybe introducing me to coffee was another stealth get-the-surly-teen-to-open-up move, since I get a little motormouthed when I’m under the influence.

Joke’s on her—I usually talk about Norwegian black metal.

Not today, though.

Halfway through my cup of coffee, this came spilling out of my mouth: “I mean, he could have just hung up a sign that says, ‘I’m done with Declan, time for act two,’ right? I mean, what the hell is that about? New kid. I bet he just can’t wait for me to get the hell out of the house so he can start his new, tragedy-free life with his kid who won’t be damaged.”

Aunt Sarah looked up from her computer. “Is that really what you think?”

“Well, it’s pretty obvious, isn’t it?”

She sighed, closed her laptop, and said, “Declan. You know I love you, right?”

I suddenly found my shoes very interesting. “Yeah,” I said quietly. I mean, I love her, too, but it’s obvious! Why make life uncomfortable by talking about it?

“So,” she continued, “I want you to hear what I have to say, knowing that it comes from the deep love I have for you.” I didn’t say anything. “Don’t be an idiot.”

I’ve seen this in the movies but never really believed in it. But I choked on a mouthful of hot coffee and spat it on the floor of Aunt Sarah’s office.

She laughed. “I was trying to get it to come out your nose, but that’ll do.”

I laughed in spite of myself. “What do you mean?”

“Go get a paper towel and I’ll tell you.”

As I wiped up the coffee, Aunt Sarah said, “Declan, your dad has been living for you for the last six years. I’m not exaggerating. I’ve had a lot of late-night phone calls from him when he said you were the only thing that keeps him going, that he was so grateful he had you, because if he’d lost you both in the accident, he would have killed himself.”

I can feel my eyes filling up with tears again, but this time Aunt Sarah had me on the ropes and showed no mercy. “He talks about how you have these facial expressions like your mom had, and how you are the only part of her he has left.”

Oh, that was below the belt. “So now he’s getting rid of both of us,” I managed to sniff out before a really embarrassing sob escaped. Aunt Sarah waited until I got myself under control.

“He’s not getting rid of you, Declan. He’s giving you a new life.”

“Well, I liked the old one.”

“Yeah, that’s why you immerse yourself in music and games that are all about death.”

Call me an idiot, fine. But don’t mess with my metal. We’ve had this discussion before. Like, don’t you think it’s a little sick the way that most of the culture denies death? It’s there all the time, and most people act like it’s not going to happen to them. I guess it would be better if I listened to some bullshit pop music about girls with big asses dancing.

“Hey, great pastoral counseling there, Reverend. I feel tons better. Thanks.” I walked out of her office and headed home.

When I got home, I cranked up some Norwegian metal, popped Hitman 2 into the Xbox, and spent a nice long time “immersing myself in death.”

But here’s why Sarah is an idiot about this stuff—I felt so much better after a couple hours of this. Like I could look Dad in the eye when he came home and actually apologize for being an asshole to him. I mean, I was still pissed, but he is giving me a chance to be in the same building as a naked Neilly Foster, and I do appreciate that. And I didn’t know that stuff about him living for me or whatever. Basically, I have no idea how to feel, but at least having had my ass kicked by some growling Norwegians helped me to feel the bad stuff strongly enough that I could put it away for a while. Or maybe not. I have no idea.

The rest of the week was pretty normal. I guess maybe I spent even more time than usual listening to metal and playing video games, but every time I turned around, Dad was there trying to have some kind of meaningful conversation, and I just had to duck out of those. I mean, I figure if we can coexist peacefully in the house, let’s do that—why mess with success by talking stuff over?

I saw Neilly in the halls three times over the course of the next week. Every time she saw me she at least nodded her head in my direction, and I give her a lot of credit for that. Because, let’s face it, she’s got everything to lose and nothing to gain by being nice to me in the Darwinian jungle of high school. Well, I mean, okay, it’s not like she stopped and had a conversation with me, but at least she acknowledged me as a fellow human being, which most of the kids who occupy the top of the social totem pole at our school would never do.

Well, there are the two football players who think it’s really hilarious to call me “Columbine” every time they see me. I’m not sure if that counts. I suspect it doesn’t.

Of course, even if Neilly had stopped to talk to me, I probably wouldn’t have been able to talk to her, because a great deal of my mental energy was now devoted to the forbidden-love-between-stepsiblings fantasy.

I’m lying. It was much more of a forbidden-sex-between-stepsiblings fantasy. It’s not like I wanted to sit in the stands at the football game holding hands with her or take her to the stupid prom or whatever.

This is why, that weekend, I was tongue-tied when she showed up after church as I was vacuuming the parish hall. Well, that and the fact that she was in the backseat of my dad’s car with her mom in the front seat. Well, plus the fact that my Dad had just unexpectedly picked me up at church and said, “It’s open house day, and we’re going to go look at houses!”

I stood there for a minute. I guess I was dumbstruck. I guess maybe the caffeine I’d just pounded at coffee hour hadn’t kicked in yet. Finally I came up with, “Um, why?”

“Well, Carmen’s house is too small, unless you and Neilly want to share a bedroom, ha-ha”—oh, please God, make it financially impossible for us to do anything but move into Carmen’s house—“and our house…well, you know.”

“I’m afraid you’re gonna have to help me out on this one, Dad.”

“I just couldn’t…I couldn’t share the same room with Carmen that I shared with your mom. I just couldn’t do it.”

See, now they try to convince me that this isn’t about Dad trying to put my mom and me behind him, and then he tells me he’s selling the fucking house. So he won’t ever have to look at the place where I was a kid again.

“You know…do you think you could just tell me something in advance once in a while? I’m getting pretty sick of you surprising me with stuff. You got any other plans to turn my life upside down? Because I think I’d like to know in advance for once.”

Dad got frustrated. Good. “Dec, you know what? Ugh, just get in the car. We’ll talk later.”

“Like hell.” I stormed over to the car and found my seat occupied by Carmen Foster and the backseat occupied by Neilly Foster. I was still really pissed off. But on the bright side, I was going to the backseat of my dad’s car with Neilly Foster. There were literally hundreds of guys in school who would probably kill to be able to say they went to the backseat of their old man’s car with Neilly Foster. And if you took a vote among the student body for Most Likely to Go to the Backseat of Their Old Man’s Car with Neilly Foster, you would not find me in the top five hundred.

I climbed into the backseat and saw Neilly sulking. “Hey,” I said.

“Hey,” she said.

“Did you know about this?”

“No!”
Neilly said to her mom.

Her mom ignored her and turned around and said, “Declan? It’s great to meet you. I’m Carmen.” She extended a hand, which I didn’t want to shake, but I didn’t want to piss off Neilly by being a dick to her mom, so I said “Hi” and shook her hand.

And yeah, she was a total MILF, but the implications of that were just so weird that I quickly turned the full force of my perverted imagination on Neilly, who was wearing shorts.

We studied Greek mythology in the ninth grade, mostly so we could read
The Odyssey
, which I actually kind of liked because there was sex and gore in it. One thing I remember was that in the Greek hell there was this guy who was standing in a pool of water with a fruit tree hanging over his head. Every time he reached up for the fruit, the tree would shoot just out of his reach, and every time he reached down to get a drink, the pool would dry up. I can’t remember what he did to get to hell, but it must have been pretty bad for him to be punished by being so close to the things he wanted so badly and never being able to touch them. This is pretty much what it was like for me to be in the backseat of a car with Neilly Foster’s bare thighs.

We rode in silence to some house, and Dad and Carmen got out and circled to the side of the car, while Neilly and I sat motionless. I guess Neilly was still sulking. As for me, I had shorts on and a boner, so I figured I’d just hang out in the backseat until I could get my mind onto something unsexy. I thought about asking Dad to help a brother out by flashing some back hair, but I didn’t think he’d think that was funny in front of his girlfriend, fiancée, babymama, whatever the hell this woman was.

“Are you guys coming?” Carmen asked in a fake-perky way.

“No!”
Neilly yelled again.

“Dec?” Dad said.

“Tell you what. How about you guys just pick out a house and buy it and tell us the day before we have to move. Okay?”

Dad looked mad. Carmen came around the car and linked her arm into his and said, “Okay, guys, we’re gonna go poke around. And I promise you we won’t buy anything without your approval. We thought this would be kind of fun for you guys, but I guess we made a mistake. I’m sorry.”

They walked into the house, leaving Neilly and me in the backseat. I had to speak lest my brain explode. “Well, this is a pisser.”

“Tell me about it. I mean, I’m not that sorry to leave our house. I’m just tired of her making these decisions about my life without saying anything to me.”

“Yeah. This whole thing sucks.”

“Is your house nice? You like it, I mean?”

“I don’t know. It’s a house. It’s just that…Well, forget it.”

“What?”

“I just remember my mom there.”

She didn’t say anything for a minute, and I sat there getting angrier and sadder, and finally I felt like I really needed to kick something, like my skin was tingling and the only way to release that energy was to commit some kind of physical violence. Seeing me spazzing out and hitting stuff was not the kind of intimacy I craved with Neilly Foster, so I just said, “I gotta bail. I’ll see you later,” and got out of the car.

I didn’t even know where the hell I was; I only knew that I wanted to be somewhere else. I started just walking down the street, figuring I’d eventually come to something I recognized. It wasn’t like it was that big of a town.

I got about a block away when I heard something behind me. I was glad Dad had come running after me. I turned around to tell him we couldn’t leave Mom behind, that I knew it was dumb, but that I felt like she’d still be in that house and we’d be living somewhere else and she’d be gone forever.

What I saw instead of Dad was Neilly Foster bouncing toward me. “Hey!” she called.

“Yeah?”

“You can’t just leave me alone with them! How would you like it if you had to spend the day with just them?”

I stopped. “Um, I don’t know. I guess that would suck.”

“Goddamn right it would. I sent Mom a text message and told her we’d be at our house. Come on.”

“You live around here?”

“Like, three blocks away.”

We walked to Neilly’s house, and I was still so upset thinking about Mom that I forgot to be lustful. I felt like I was on the verge of tears the whole time, and I was really afraid I was going to cry in front of her, so as soon as we got in the door, I said I needed the bathroom and ran in. Of course, once I was alone, I didn’t need to cry anymore. What the hell was up with that?

I looked around. A bathroom in a house shared by two women is just not the same type of room as a bathroom in a house shared by two men. For one thing, there was this little thing on the back of the toilet—it looked like a collection of metallic ivy. One tissue poked out of the top. I guess the rest of them were in there somewhere, disguised under the artsy ivy. Why the hell would you want to pretend your snot rags were growing out of the woods? There was a bowl of some dried flowers and bark and stuff—it smelled pretty good. Next to the sink there were these little round soaps that looked like they’d never been used. Hanging next to the sink were three towels that were the exact same shade of yellow that covered the walls. They also looked like they’d never been used. I wondered if women’s dirty little secret is that they don’t wash their hands just so they can keep their bathrooms looking nice. Dad cleans the bathroom regularly at our house, so it’s not like some gross gas station bathroom or anything, but we don’t have any tissues on the back of the can, we don’t have any bowls of bark, and we only have one slimy bar of Ivory that we both use to wash our hands. I can’t even imagine wanting to spend any energy at all making the place where you shit look pretty. Clean, I get. Pretty—no. And yet, this was how it was going to be—no more old
New Yorkers
next to the toilet, no more rectangular soap, no more plain white towels.