MONSTER PARTY, by Meg Opperman

During our annual Fourth of July barbeque, I steeled myself for the inevitable. It was getting so I dreaded the holidays, and that says something, because I am a holiday junkie. Any excuse to celebrate—Groundhog Day, Arbor Day, Memorial Day, Labor Day—you name it, I’ll celebrate it.

As the day progressed, I surrounded myself with other party-goers, keeping a safe distance from Joseph Cozzaluccio’s roaming hands. No doubt he’d manage to get a pinch or pat in at some point, anyway. Coach Joe is an octopus in a track suit. He’s also the closest thing my husband, Rick, has to a father.

“He’s harmless,” Rick has said many times. Or, “Jeanie, he just lost Nina. Can’t you show a little compassion?” So he continues to bring Coach Joe over every—and I mean every—holiday. Joe arrives with a six-pack of beer, lots of hugs and kisses for the kids, and a big appetite.

At Christmas it was “Jeanie, we’re under the mistletoe,” as he held a wilted sprig over my head. On Valentine’s Day, it was a pat on the bottom and a “Who needs a box of chocolates?” Saint Patrick’s Day brought a pinch on the cheek and “Oops. My eyesight must be shot, I didn’t see you were wearing green.” At Easter, the accidental brush-up as we passed in the hallway. Accidentally, five times. And after every grope he’d wink and add, “I just miss you so, Jeanie.”

I don’t like to complain, but he was ruining my perfect holidays, dead wife or not. I’d finally begged Rick to talk to Coach Joe about keeping his tentacles to himself. I wasn’t sure Rick would do it, but if he didn’t, I’d have to handle Coach Joe myself.

As the Fourth wore on, I became more and more tense. I snapped at Rick by the punch bowl, and I raised my voice to Spencer when he and his friends got too rowdy. I chastised Haley for her too-revealing tube top. When had she become so…developed? Kyle, the Milners’ boy, practically had his tongue lolling out. At one point, my brother even asked if something was wrong, since I’d tuned out while he told a particularly witty story, and an old sorority sister asked if my monthly friend was visiting.

When Rick and Coach Joe headed into the shed to work on their latest fix-it project—a bookshelf that Rick made when we first married—I relaxed, I smiled, I laughed.

Later, at the kitchen sink, I felt strong arms go around my waist. I tensed, ready to give Coach Joe an earful.

“Tough day?” Rick whispered, his breath stirring the hairs on my neck.

Leaning into him, I gave his arm a squeeze. “Thought you and Coach Joe were fixing a bookshelf.”

“Just checking in to see if you need me to do anything,” he said, kissing my earlobe, his arms tightening on my waist. “I talked to Joe. You shouldn’t have any more…problems.”

“Wonderful! You’re amazing!” I exhaled, tension easing from my muscles.

“How amazing?” Rick’s lips moved to my neck.

“We have guests,” I said, a little breathless. “And what about Joe? He’s waiting for you.”

“The kids are keeping him company.…Thought we could start the fireworks early.”

As if summoned, Spencer burst into the kitchen, followed by several friends. “Ewww!” they shouted in unison as they caught us kissing.

“Out!” Rick hollered, but he grinned as he said it.

“Go back to your shed, sweetheart.” I laughed.

A perfect day.

* * * *

When the party wound down, Rick drove Coach Joe home. Not a pinch, a poke, or a pat. Not even a “I just miss you so, Jeanie.” And a good-as-new bookcase. Best holiday ever! I hummed as I collected empty bottles, threw away cups and plates, and wrapped up leftovers.

Across the street, Kyle slouched on his front porch, easily recognizable in the growing dark. Last year he’d been a short, sweet, pudgy kid with a huge crush on Haley. This summer it looked like he’d fallen into a taffy-stretching machine. Somewhere along the way, he’d also forgotten the address of his barber and had started wearing those low-slung jeans that are supposed to be cool—I called them indecent—with the kids. He still had a crush on Haley, though. And lately she had seemed to return his interest.

“Did you enjoy the party, Kyle?” I called out.

He shrugged, then trudged into his house, closing the door with a thump.

Perhaps his manners had been stretched right out of him, too?

When Rick returned, I urged the kids to hurry so we could get to the special spot where we always watched Baltimore’s fireworks display. I loved the spectacle. We all did. Spencer bounded down the stairs, but surprisingly, no Haley.

“Haley!” I shouted up to her again.

“Staying home,” she called back.

“Come on, Haley-Bear,” Rick said. “The fireworks are going to be amazing this year.”

When Haley didn’t answer, I started up the steps. Was she sick? Had she snuck into the adults-only punch?

Rick laid a hand on my wrist, shook his head. “Welcome to the moods of a mercurial thirteen-year-old, Jeanie. Let her be.”

I paused on the stairs for a moment, unsure. We’d never left her by herself for long and I knew we’d be gone for more than an hour. “Maybe I should stay home, too.”

“She’s okay, hon. Let her grow up a little. We’ll be back before she even has time to miss us.”

* * * *

The day after the Fourth, Haley padded downstairs around lunchtime wearing one of her dad’s T-shirts and an oversized pair of sweats. She slumped in a kitchen chair—at this rate she’d be hunchbacked by sixteen—and didn’t say a word. I put a grilled cheese sandwich and a mug of homemade tomato soup on the counter in front of her.

“You okay, honey?” I straightened my shoulders. Would she get the hint?

A grunt, her only answer. Her fingers dissected the sandwich, pulling the cheese from the center, like she used to do when she was little. Her soup untouched.

“What’s wrong, sweetie? You have a fight with Kyle?” When she didn’t reply, I said, “Maybe sitting up straight would make you feel better.”

Haley glanced up from her sandwich long enough to give me an impressive eye roll.

Having a teenage daughter is enough to make you want to pull your hair out strand by strand. Haley had always been a bubbly kid, but since she’d hit thirteen, she’d become downright sullen. She’d have frown lines if she didn’t watch out, and Botox was expensive.

“Haley-Bear,” Rick said as he came into the kitchen carrying the newspaper, “I’m not going to have anything to wear if you keep raiding my closet.”

She colored. “Well, Mom won’t buy me new clothes, and I don’t like my old ones anymore.”

This was news to me. “What do you mean you don’t like them?”

Sighing as though she were talking to a half-wit, she said, “They’re too…girly.”

Rick looked up from his paper. “And here I thought they were just too tight.”

“Daaad!” She burst into tears and ran upstairs. We heard her bedroom door slam.

“What on earth—”

“Jeanie, wait. Let me go talk to her.” Rick put down the paper and sighed. “Remember when she could take a joke?”

I shrugged. What could I say?

* * * *

That August, we went back-to-school shopping, and all Haley’s clothing choices were varying shades of black. Still tight, but nothing remotely girly. Later that month, she and her best friend, Maya, went full-blown Goth. They spent their allowance on hair color, and Haley dyed her beautiful, long brown hair flat black. They then chopped it at sharp, uneven angles. I thought Rick would have a coronary when he saw what she’d done to herself. They didn’t speak for a week.

Then in September, Haley wanted to skip our Labor Day festivities—parade, carnival, and afterward barbequing with our neighbors and, of course, Coach Joe. I loved Labor Day. We all did.

Instead, she asked to go to Maya’s house for the day.

Rick frowned. In a sharp voice that he rarely used—especially with our daughter—he said, “You know, Haley Elizabeth, sometimes you have to spend time with family. That’s how it goes. Maya’s house will be there tomorrow or the next day.”

“But Daaad,” she whined. When she saw he wasn’t going to budge, she turned to me. “Please, Mom. I’ll spend all day with you guys tomorrow, I promise. Maya has tickets to—”

“No, your dad’s right, Haley. Family time.”

“It’s not fair!” She spun around and ran back up the stairs. We winced when the door slammed.

* * * *

Spencer jumped up and down, waving to all the passing floats at the parade. It wasn’t so long ago that Haley would have joined him. Instead, she sat on a curb and texted with friends. When her dad got fed up and pocketed the phone, she screamed, “I hate you!” and turned her back on us.

At the carnival, she barely spoke, except when Kyle marched over, his shoulders stooped, stringy bangs all but hiding his eyes.

“We need to talk,” he said, as if the rest of us weren’t there.

“Go away, I’m not speaking to you,” she snapped.

“But—”

“Sooo outta here.” She stormed off down the sidewalk.

I noticed Kyle’s lower lip tremble. What had he done to make her so angry?

“I’m sorry,” Rick said, “I don’t know what’s gotten into her.”

I pressed my lips together tightly. Her? What about Kyle? Surely this was his fault!

“Whatever.” Kyle slouched off in the opposite direction.

I made a mental note to call his mother about his lack of manners. I was sure she’d want to know.

Later, Rick tried to cheer Haley up by challenging her to a carnival game of her choosing. She shook her head.

“That’s baby stuff, Dad.”

Baby stuff? Since when was spending time with family “baby stuff”?

By the time we got home to prepare for the barbeque, we were both about to wring Haley’s neck.

“Mom?” Haley entered the kitchen where the brats were simmering in beer and I was stirring the potato salad.

“Hmm?” A little more salt for the salad, and it would be blue-ribbon perfect. Just the way I liked it.

“I don’t feel good. I’m going to lie down for a while.” Her voice scratchy, hands on her belly.

“What’s wrong, honey? Is this about Kyle? You don’t have to spend time with him at the party—”

“I just don’t like him anymore, okay? Will you drop it?” Her voice cracked. “A stomachache, that’s all. Must be the carnival food or something.”

* * * *

Our neighbors arrived, which included the Milners, who practically had to drag Kyle along, his face set in sullen lines. Somehow he’d become a kid I didn’t know and wasn’t sure I liked.

Soon after, Rick returned with Coach Joe and his six-pack. They were already talking sports, Spencer in tow.

“Where’s Haley?” Coach Joe asked, neglecting to greet me.

“Not feeling well,” Rick replied. “Stomachache.”

“That’s too bad. Maybe I should go say hello, see how she’s doing?” He inched toward the stairs.

I called out, “Don’t waste your time, Joe. She doesn’t like anyone in her room these days.”

Rick rolled his eyes. “You can say that again. She doesn’t seem to like anyone, period.”

Coach Joe shrugged. “Teenagers. What can you do? Remember the time…” and he and Rick went off on another trip down memory lane as they headed to the shed to set up their latest repair project—an old rocking chair that I’d used to lull the kids to sleep when they were babies.

* * * *

A little later, I watched Kyle slip into our house with some of the other boys. When he didn’t come back out with his pals when the burgers came off the grill, I excused myself from the party. I stopped to grab a heating pad and a bottle of Midol from the bathroom, and went to check on Haley. Had Kyle gone home or up to Haley’s room to try to mend fences? Or…maybe for something else?

As I hurried to the top of the steps and turned into the hall, I saw Coach Joe—not Kyle—standing in front of Haley’s door, holding a can of soda and jiggling the door knob.

“Come on, honey, let ol’ Coach Joe in,” he crooned. “I brought you a Coke.”

“Leave me alone, please,” Haley pleaded in a timid voice I hardly recognized as my daughter’s.

“I just miss you so, Haley,” he said.

“What are you…” I gasped.

Coach Joe turned and pasted on a harmless grin. “Hey, Jeanie. Just checking on Haley. Still not feeling well, I think.”

He shuffled past but didn’t touch me. He didn’t notice my knuckles whitening as I gripped the heating pad in a stranglehold.

* * * *

A few days before Halloween, our power went out in a Frankenstorm. Rain pelted our neighborhood for a day and a half, and high winds toppled a few of our older trees, one even grazing our roof. Most of Maryland weathered the storm well, but being so near the coast, our neighborhood wasn’t so lucky.

We still didn’t have power on Halloween, but fortunately Rick had installed a sizable generator inside the shed after we’d survived Snowmageddon two years before. That evening, we switched it over to run the outside lights. I wasn’t crazy about the noise it made, but I’d had plenty of time to get used to it over the previous couple of days. Besides, several other neighbors ran theirs, too. So we were in good company.

Usually, we would go trick-or-treating together—a chance to show off our costumes—while Coach Joe stayed back and handed out candy to the neighborhood kids. I’d spent weeks designing and sewing costumes for our theme—monster party—and they were some of the best I’d ever made. I dressed as the bride of Frankenstein in a low-cut, satiny gown. Rick got the honor of being the monster himself, while Spencer was wrapped head-to-toe as a mummy. I’d made a girl-zombie costume for Haley. I’d even sewn an extra-bloody vampire suit for Coach Joe.

Haley loved Halloween. We all did. But this year she’d shown zero interest in pumpkin-carving, trick-or-treating, or helping me put together the costumes.

Earlier in the day, Haley had come into the living room, looking glum. “Mom, Dad, please, I don’t want to go trick-or-treating. Can’t I go to Maya’s?”

I started to nod, but Rick barked, “No way, Haley. You may not like it, but you are part of this family. You’re going—”

“Actually, I think we should let her go, hon.”

Both of them turned to stare at me openmouthed.

“What did you say?” Rick asked.

“I talked to Maya’s mother last night, and it seems they’ve entered a costume contest at her work. They’re going as the Zombie Family Robinson—I know, a clever play on their last name—and they could use one more zombie.”

“And you’d be willing to let Haley go?” His eyes narrowed. Boy, did he know me well.

“At first I wasn’t open to it, but when I found out first prize is a gift certificate and an appointment for four at that new day spa I’ve been trying to get into, and Maya’s mom is willing to share…”

“You’re giving our daughter up for a hair appointment?”

“Antoine’s supposed to be amazing,” I gushed. “And it’s just this one time. They’re sure to win. Did you see the amount of work I put into that costume?”

* * * *

I dropped Haley off long before Rick went to pick up Coach Joe. As we pulled into Maya’s driveway, Haley turned to me.

“Thanks for letting me go, Mom. I know you like us all together for holidays.”

“It’s just this one time, okay?” I adjusted her collar to make sure the bloody gash I’d painted would show.

She leaned over and kissed me on the cheek, something she hadn’t done in months.

“Aw, don’t go ruining your makeup.” I smiled. “Have a good time.”

After returning home, I put on my own costume and twirled in front of a full-length mirror. Nice.

When I shimmied out to the shed an hour later, Coach Joe all but ignored me, even with my impressive cleavage. He and Rick were completing this year’s lawn decoration, a motion-activated Frankenstein monster, rising from its coffin. Every year we added a piece to our graveyard scene.

The men took their time positioning the decorations and spotlights just so on the lawn. When they finished and went off to share a beer, I checked their work and made a small adjustment, just to ensure everything was perfect.

After wrapping Spencer into his costume, we managed to get out of the house, leaving Coach Joe at home to distribute the candy. Hundreds of candles lit up our neighborhood and—for those of us with generators—lights. No one wanted to miss trick-or-treating and the chance to show off their displays. My kind of place.

As we headed down the driveway, I rubbed my eyes. Then rubbed them some more. Tears began to roll down my cheeks. “Rick,” I said, “I think I’m having a reaction to the makeup.”

My husband turned and flashed his light in my face. “Jesus, Jeanie, your eyes are bright red. You better wash that stuff off quick.” He moved to help me back to the house, but I waved him off.

“You go on with Spencer. I’ll wash up and help Coach Joe with the candy.”

“Come on, Dad!” Spencer tugged on his arm. I waved and stuffed my hand in my costume’s pocket, checking the jalapeño pepper slice concealed there.

Hurrying up the drive and into the house, I breezed past Coach Joe, heading for the kitchen sink where I rinsed my eyes and washed away all traces of my carefully applied makeup. A small sacrifice. Once that was done, I returned to the front door and waited while Coach Joe gave fistfuls of candy to some passing kids.

When the kids disappeared down the sidewalk, I explained about the bad reaction to my makeup and that I’d be staying to help.

I scanned the yard, pointed to the new decoration. “Oh no, look at the coffin lid! It isn’t moving. Those kids must have broken it. Rick will be so upset.”

Coach Joe followed my finger to the Frankenmonster. He squinted. “Where?”

We went into the yard to check out the damage.

“I can fix this, easy,” Coach Joe said. “Just help me carry it to the shed.”

“Really? You’d do that?”

“Of course!”

Together we managed to wrestle the coffin into the shed.

Turning the light on, I said, “I’ll go back and hand out candy. Let me know when you’re done.”

He waved absently, already involved in his project.

Exiting, I shut the door, then quietly snapped on the padlock. I stood there a moment, taking cleansing breaths. Earlier, I’d put a couple of all-but-invisible slits in the generator’s carbon monoxide exhaust hose. Would Coach Joe notice?

Fixing a smile on my face, I returned to the house to hand out candy for another hour. When there was a lull in trick-or-treaters, I slipped back out, returned to the shed. A thin trail of exhaust spiraled from under the door as the generator droned on. Almost too easy. I removed the padlock. This was one vampire who would never again suck the life from someone. Too bad about the lawn ornament, though. But Rick could fix it for next year.

“Oh, I’ll just miss you so, Joe,” I said under my breath.

With new buoyancy in my step, I returned to the house, then handled the trick-or-treaters until Rick and Spencer returned. It wasn’t long before Rick asked where Coach Joe had gotten to, and I explained about the kids breaking our lawn decoration. He ambled out to the shed.

A few minutes later, he came running in, his face white even under the monster makeup, tears in his eyes.

“Call 9-1-1!” he cried. “The generator—”

* * * *

On Thanksgiving, my brother and his family came to dinner. After I pulled the turkey out of the oven, I called upstairs to the kids. Spencer and the cousins rushed down as if they hadn’t eaten in months. I waited for Haley to make an appearance, too. After a couple of minutes, I called up again. Kyle was on his way to spend Thanksgiving at his grandmother’s, but had stopped by to see her before they left town. Haley had miraculously started speaking to him again, and—while she didn’t ever say anything about it—I figured with Coach Joe gone a great weight had been lifted and she was more open to boys’ attentions.

Kyle fidgeted as he stood by me at the bottom of the stairs, continually swiping hair out of his eyes. After the third time calling her, Haley bounded down the steps wearing skinny jeans and a bright pink T-shirt that hovered just north of her belly button. Her hair, now cut into a glossy brown bob—Antoine was worth every penny—looked very feminine.

“Wow.” Kyle straightened to his full height.

He was almost handsome when he didn’t stoop…but not as clean-cut and attractive as the Pattersons’ boy, an all-state junior at Haley’s school, who I’d heard had recently asked her out.

“Wow, yourself,” Haley said, a big smile on her face.

If it saddened Rick to notice Coach Joe’s absence at the table, Haley’s grin was the best salve. He cleared his throat. “I think you forgot to put on a shirt, Haley-Bear.”

She laughed and ran back upstairs to change.

Did I mention that we all love Thanksgiving? I took Rick’s hand, gave it a squeeze. Everything was nearly perfect. My eyes strayed to Kyle.

But there’s always room for improvement.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Meg Opperman penned her first mystery in the sixth grade. The protagonist was a dog named Smokey. Having moved on from her four-footed friend, she has written several short stories that actually have people in them. (Believe me, it’s better this way.) A cultural anthropologist by training, Meg has mastered the art of eavesdropping in bars around the globe and being an unabashed snoop who’s always in search of a story. She’s currently at work on an urban fantasy novel set in D.C.