The Lighter Side of Life and Death (22 page)

At first I don’t know what she’s getting at. “He was under the table,” I explain. “He was already gone when I got here.”

“You could’ve stayed with him,” she argues. “He’s not a piece of garbage to put in your garage.” This morning’s shock of blue eye shadow is gone and she rubs her messy black-lined eyes and talks
into her fist. “Just because he’s not yours doesn’t mean he doesn’t matter.”

“I know that.” I’ve never seen her like this. She’s taking Billy’s death even harder than I expected, but what surprises me most is that somehow she’s turned this into my fault. “I had an interview. Otherwise I would’ve stayed. I don’t know who your vet is. I didn’t know what else to do.”

“You did the right thing,” Nina assures me. “She’s just upset.” Nina strokes Brianna’s hair and kisses her head and for the briefest second there I actually miss my mother. Not even my mother but the idea of a mother.

“An interview with Colette,” Brianna says mockingly. “That kind of interview?”

My shoulders twitch as I glare at her, hands shaking with anger. My secret didn’t last a day. She shot me down the first chance she got.

Dad and Nina swap perplexed looks, but Brianna’s eyes stay fixed on mine. “That’s enough, Brianna,” Nina commands. “This isn’t Mason’s fault. What happened to Billy is no excuse for you to act like this.”

“I’m not acting like anything.” Brianna’s red-rimmed eyes glower at me. “Do you think he would’ve done that if it was his cat?”

“You just can’t keep your mouth shut, can you?” I say bitterly, my mouth gritty.

“Keep my mouth shut about what exactly?” She pokes her bottom lip out at me and I can’t believe how much I can hate someone I hardly know.

“Brianna, I could’ve wrapped your frigging cat in a burial shroud—it wouldn’t make any difference to you.” The cat’s just an easy excuse. She never intended to keep her mouth shut. Taking a
sledgehammer to my gut is all in a day’s work. “You’re just one fucked-up girl. I’ve tried to be nice to you, you know? Did you even notice that?” I don’t give her a chance to answer. “Then the second I need you to do one thing for me you throw it back in my face like that.” I snap my fingers and frown down at my sizzling tuna melt. I shove it with the spatula and snap, “And it’s not going to bring your cat back either. You’re doing it for nothing.” Everyone’s gawking at me, clueless and shocked, and I turn my back to them and study my sandwich, my jaw vibrating and my blood humming under my skin.

“This isn’t one of your finer moments, Mason,” Dad says from across the kitchen.
And here I was expecting thunderous applause
. Thank you, Dad. Thanks, audience. It’s been a blast. “Would you just pick up that sandwich and go, please?”

“Where?” I say numbly.

“How about upstairs?” His face is white and his voice is coated in sarcasm. I’ve embarrassed him in front of his new family.

I leave the sandwich sizzling in the pan and brush by Brianna. She doesn’t look at me. She doesn’t need to. She’s done enough damage for one day.

Dad comes up to talk to me thirty minutes later. He sits on the edge of my bed and says, “I don’t ever want to hear you talk to Brianna like that again—no matter what comes out of her mouth. Do you understand?” I fold my arms silently in front of me, anger simmering just below the surface, and listen to him say, “I thought we cleared this up last time. What happened?”

“You saw what happened. She just blamed me for Billy dying. She twists everything around and treats people like shit. I’m not going to apologize for anything. If she can’t act like a normal human being with me she can’t expect me to act like one with her.”

“I know she has issues,” Dad concedes. “And Nina’s talked to her about that—and will speak to her about it again—but I can’t have you escalating the problems, Mason. You know how she feels about that cat. Have some empathy.” I don’t give a shit about his analysis. I’m waiting, I’m just waiting for him to say Colette’s name. Brianna must’ve told him and Nina the rest of the story by now. I’m doomed. “I’d like you to come downstairs with me and talk to her.”

“I’m not apologizing,” I maintain. I’ll spontaneously combust if we don’t get to this in another two seconds; I’ve had enough. “Aren’t you going to ask me about Colette?” Her name on my lips makes me shiver.

“I don’t know who that is.” Dad’s eyes bear down on me. “Is it supposed to be a secret?”

“It was.” He honestly doesn’t know. I can tell by the way he’s looking at me. “Andrea’s friend from the shower, Colette Fournier.”

“What about her?” he asks.

I crunch my fingers into fists. “Do you remember her?” I must be feeling destructive. There’s no other explanation.

“Sure,” Dad says, frowning. “I remember her.”

“We’ve been seeing each other.” I stare him in the face, waiting for a reaction.

Dad’s head bobs uneasily on his shoulders. “How old is she? Andrea’s age?”

This weird feeling of relief spreads through my shoulder blades. I straighten out my fingers and rest them flat against my stomach. “Twenty-three,” I admit. “Almost twenty-four.” In three weeks there’ll be eight years between us. I’m always conscious of the number that separates us. Colette never forgets and I’m not sure I could either, even if given the chance.

Dad whistles through his teeth. “How long has this been going on?”

“About a month.”

“And you’re still seeing each other?” he asks.

“We won’t be when she finds out you know.” I’ve just nailed the coffin shut and I couldn’t tell you why. I’m so broken up that I just stare at him for a few seconds. “She didn’t want anyone to know about us.” There’s such a feeling of release in telling him that it’s almost worth the ache. “I need to go talk to her.”

“This discussion isn’t finished, Mason. I expect some resolution to the antagonism between you and Brianna.” Dad’s eyes flicker and then he turns slowly away, like he needs time to process what I’ve just told him. “Go speak to this woman if that’s what you need to do. We’ll get to the bottom of all this tomorrow.”

I feel like
somebody’s pet hamster racing desperately to nowhere on one of those stationary wheels. What’s the point? Is this supposed to feel like progress? The truth is I’ve never really broken up with someone. Technically I won’t be the one to do it now either and I feel horrible. I feel like throwing up in Jamie’s car as he chauffeurs me over to Colette’s place.

I didn’t think it would be like this in the end. I thought we’d fight or get sick of each other. No, I didn’t even think that. I don’t know what I thought but it wasn’t this. I’m torn straight down the middle—half of me crushed to pieces and the other half staring out the window, looking past this to the next time when it’ll be less messy, when I won’t be sharing with some guy named Ari or looking over my shoulder, expecting to be caught at any minute.

Maybe I should thank Brianna. It’s over with; it’s done. Once Colette hears we’ve been outed she won’t be able to get rid of me
fast enough. I tear my eyes away from the window and glance tentatively at Jamie. “Do you want me to wait for you?” he asks.

“I don’t know how long it’s going to take.” If I was in love with Colette would a sense of relief be knotted up with the pain like this? I try to hold on to that thought as we idle in front of her landlord’s house. “Maybe you should just take off.”

“You can phone me if you need me to come back,” Jamie offers.

“Thanks.” Remind me to take back every bad thing I ever said about Jamie. He’s awesome. He can leap tall buildings in a single bound, snare bad guys in his mighty web and hurtle through the highways of Glenashton in his mom’s metallic blue Honda Civic, searching for signals from people in desperate need of emergency transportation.

I thank him again as I get out of the car. My face is numb with nerves and sadness as I step away from him. I wish this didn’t have to be so final, that Colette and I could just break up the normal way, leaving the possibilities open.

I trudge towards the door and it seems to me that it should be pouring rain or something dramatic like that but it’s not. It’s sticky-warm and Colette’s neighbor is out watering his front garden in sunglasses and a baseball hat. I feel more like a paperboy than Colette’s lover. I don’t understand how all this happened in the first place.

I knock at the side door and this tall guy in his late twenties, skinny as me but not half as good-looking, opens it. He’s wearing an orange T-shirt with the Orange Crush logo on it and black pants and he’s got that stubble look going for him but that’s about it. Ari Lightman in the flesh. I don’t even have to ask. He looks like he belongs there. I mean, it would never occur to me to answer Colette’s door.

“I’m looking for Colette,” I tell him. “Is she here?”

“Col’s here,” he says in a vaguely Eastern European accent. “You want to come down?” He opens the door wider and gestures for me to follow him downstairs. It never would’ve occurred to me to call her Col either. This guy’s miles ahead of me in the Colette Fournier department. I still don’t even know whether she’s French or what.

“Col,” he calls at the bottom of the stairwell. “You have a visitor.” I walk into the basement with him and spy two open beer bottles on the living room coffee table. It’s a familiar scenario and my gaze shoots over to the kitchen where Colette’s standing in the middle of the tile floor in a purple top and white jeans. So much for the floral skirt. So much for making plans with Leslie.

Colette peers back at me with parted lips but Ari speaks first. “I’ll leave you two,” he says with a backwards step.

“Ari,” she protests.

“This is Mason, no?” He runs a hand over his wavy hair and stares casually in my general direction.

“Yes,” I tell him. It’s such a wicked joke, the three of us hanging out here in her apartment. I’m still waiting for the camera crew to give themselves away.

“It’s okay.” Ari nods at me. He plucks his car keys out of his pocket and heads for the stairs. I’m not even angry with him. The situation seems bizarrely civilized.

Colette watches him go, the tension in her limbs radiating out towards me. “I thought you were going to call me tomorrow,” she says.

“Because you have plans with Leslie tonight.” I look at the space where Ari stood seconds ago. “I know. I guess we both had a change in plans.”

Colette’s hands reach back for the counter. She leans against it and stares at the floor. “You didn’t want me to talk about Ari
anymore.” Her gaze darts up to meet mine. “I told you about him. I wasn’t hiding it. You knew.”

“I know.” I almost laugh, a weird mechanical sound like I’m on the verge of short-circuiting. “That’s the really pathetic thing.” I rest my hands on the opposite counter, the width of the kitchen separating us. “You must think I’m …” I tap my fingernails gingerly against the counter; it sounds like rain. “I guess it doesn’t matter to him about us, huh?”

“Is that why you’re here?” Colette asks. “To catch me at something you already knew about?”

“No.” She’s so far away that she might as well be in Florida. Last night feels more like last year. “My dad knows about us. Brianna saw you drop me off last night.”

Colette stares past me, deep in thought. I know what she’s worried about and it’s not me. “Does Nina know?”

“She probably does by now. I don’t think her and my dad keep secrets like that.” Besides, I didn’t ask him to.

“Shit,” Colette says vehemently to herself. “Shit.” She kneads her forehead with one hand. “This is a disaster.” To me it’s a much smaller disaster than facing Ari on her doorstep. Obviously we’re not on the same wavelength here. I should’ve already realized that before. I guess maybe I did.

“Don’t worry,” I tell her. “It’s not that bad. They won’t do anything about it.”

“Maybe it’s not that bad for you. I don’t think you have a concept of what this is like for me.” Colette wraps her arms snugly around herself. Her chin is inches away from sinking into her chest.

She’s so frazzled that I want to look after her. How screwed up is that?

“That’s okay,” I say wryly. “Worry about yourself first, I completely understand.”

“Don’t get annoying at a time like this,” Colette warns. “This is serious, Mason.”

“Oh, I know.” I force myself to smile. “Before this happened I was going to tell you how much the last couple of nights have meant to me and all this completely sentimental bullshit. You would’ve hated it. I mean, I knew that. I don’t know what I was thinking. You’re the shameless, soulless good-time girl. I know that. So now you don’t have to listen to my crap and tell me how wrong I am. We can skip straight to the end.”

“Mason.” Colette’s eyes are sad. She feels sorry for me. I’m not the good-time boy she thought I was. “Last night was wonderful.
You’re wonderful
. Maybe if I was sixteen it’d be different for us but you can see how things are.” She shrugs her elbows helplessly. “You don’t need me.”

“I never said I needed you.” My shoulders hunch forward. I lean on her counter and blink at her like a lost puppy. It feels pathetic but I need to say it anyway. “I just like you more than you like me. It happens.”

“I like you a lot,”
she says forcefully. “You know I do.”

“Not enough, though. Not enough to do without Ari or whoever else there is.”

“There isn’t anyone else,” she insists. “There’s just Ari.”

It should help that he doesn’t look like much but it doesn’t. There must be some other remarkable thing about him that I’ve missed.

“He’s like an obsession,” she confesses, her eyes apologetic. “It doesn’t have anything to do with you. It’s like quicksand. The harder I try to stay away from him, the worse it gets.”

She motions helplessly to the last spot Ari occupied before leaving. “It never really works but it’s never really over either.” She shakes her head, pausing like she’s torn between telling the truth
and not wanting to hurt me, and then she says, “You have no idea how angry I make myself, falling into the same stupid pattern, wasting the past two and a half years on something that will probably never be anything more than it is right now. Whenever he asks if he should leave me alone for good, whether that would be better, I know I should say yes—and mean it—but I can’t. I fuck it up every time. I call him … or he calls me and we’re—”