CHAPTER 5

WHEN JONATHAN’S DAD died in a freak accident (it seemed like his father and all his father figures happened to die in freak accidents) involving an industrial laundry press machine nicknamed The Mangler, Jonathan became the man of the house as a teen—for about a week, until his mom hooked up with his deceased dad’s former co-worker Rick Sandlehanger. Rick had popped by to pay his respects and see if Jonathan’s mom wanted to maybe share his twelve-pack of beer. On Jonathan’s eighteenth birthday, Jonathan moved out of the house as Rick moved in. Having nowhere else to go, Jonathan camped out in the Yellow County Community Swim and Racquet Club guard office. He had set his box of belongings in the corner, thinking it was going to be a temporary solution, but days turned into weeks, weeks turned into months, and months turned into beautiful butterflies . . . or wait, years—sorry, not butterflies, years.

Jonathan hadn’t seen his mother since, and he was nearly double those eighteen years now. Once or twice a summer she would stop by the YCCSRC to check on her estranged son, but Jonathan would see her coming and hide in the back of the snack bar by the large double freezer that held the paper bags of frozen French fries and the big tubs of ice cream for Ice Cream Night, or in one of the stalls in the bathroom, red lifeguard shorts pulled down around his ankles even though no business was being done due north. Every year, Jonathan would coach up a member of his staff what to do if his mom showed up. He’d tell him or her to explain to his mother that he no longer worked there, that he was an architect over in Annapolis, that everything was going great for him. But she knew that he was ducking her, and he knew that she knew, but they continued their charade, butterfly after butterfly.

So, Jonathan was in shock when he saw his mother, Tamara “Tammy” Cooper-Poole-Sandlehanger, in that tuxedo shop in Tuxedo, Maryland. She looked older than he expected, and tired. She was nervous to be there, her hands clutching her purse like it might run away from her if she didn’t keep hold of it. Her smile was genuine though, cautious, but truly happy to see her boy.

“It is so good to see you,” she said.

Jonathan ignored her and turned to Chris. “How could you?” he said. Without waiting for a response or permission, Jonathan ran out of the tuxedo store, still wearing his white tux.

Chris called after him, “Jonathan!” but he was already gone.

The salesman who had been helping their party with their measurements and such approached Chris, Charlie, Roheed, and Tammy, a weary look on his mug.

“Uh . . .” he began, and gestured towards the space where Jonathan used to be standing. “So, is he going to rent that tux?”

• • •

Jonathan sat in the food court at a booth all his own. His table was piled high with the type of fare you find in a food court or snack bar: French fries, burgers, mozzarella stix, nachos with orangey goop masquerading as cheese, and of course, a damned chicken quesadilla. He was on a hardcore binge, trying to eat away the feelings of seeing his mother after so long.

Charlie approached him cautiously. “Can I sit?”

Jonathan bit into one of the burgers and ketchup dribbled onto the jacket of the white tux he was still wearing. Charlie shuddered; the fresh stain looked like a gunshot wound in a Tarantino movie.

“I don’t care,” Jonathan said, his mouth full of churning ground beef and bread and condiments.

Charlie was confused. “You don’t care if I sit or you don’t care that you just ketchup-popsicled your jacket?”

Jonathan’s eyes just flamed and he went back to gorging. So, Charlie sat.

“Hey, so that was your mom, huh?”

No response from Jonathan, just chewing.

Charlie continued. “That’s cool though, she came for your wedding. That’s exciting.”

Jonathan swallowed. He wiped his face on the sleeve of the—let me remind you, white—tuxedo jacket.

“Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, super cool that the mother who abandoned me, right after my dad died, for a new man, randomly showed up in my life after years! Pretty, uh, ‘cool.’”

“Well when you put it that way . . .” Charlie shrugged.

But Jonathan was on a roll. “And Chris didn’t even tell me ahead of time, she just surprised me today, like I was a punk that Jamie Kennedy X’d, when we’re supposed to be wrapping up wedding stuff. I thought we had no secrets.”

“She just wants what’s best for you.”

Jonathan’s usually bright eyes had a little less light behind them. “Maybe this wedding isn’t what’s best for me, then.” He took an indiscriminate handful of nachos and stuffed it into his mouth. A hefty glurp of toxic orange cheese skydived onto his lapel. Then he stood and flipped the table as he walked off, leaving Charlie sitting in the midst of a huge mess.

Charlie called after him. “So I guess no more bachelor party tonight?”

Jonathan didn’t turn around but paused to say, “No, the bachelor party is still on regardless.” He started walking again and then said, more to himself than to Charlie, “I’m getting demolished tonight.”