Charlie called early this morning with the news that Brutus is repaired and back on the lot. I was surprised by how enthused I was at the prospect of returning to my work at E-Z Storage, but with only four units left to go, the promise of getting the albatross off my back seems quite thrilling.
Plus the endless anxiety remains excellent fuel for hauling shit around. Not quite as good as my rage from the last week, but preferable, overall.
As I’d predicted, I woke up this morning to infuriated text messages from my mother, appalled that I spent last night having bathroom sex with my movie-star boyfriend.
You need to get off the TMZ website, Mom.
I don’t hear you denying it, Clara. I didn’t raise you to behave this way. And I’m not on that website. I have a Google Alert set up for your name.
MOM. No. No, no, no. Undo it. And I didn’t have sex with Caspian in a restaurant bathroom. God.
I ignored all her other responses, as they’re serving only to raise my blood pressure.
Before I headed over to E-Z Storage, I’d checked my email and discovered I have three other houses wanting to set up interviews with me. I responded to each of them, full of professional hope, but now, a couple of hours later, I can’t shake the feeling that they’re all Tiddle-based.
“Seriously,” CiCi says, pulling me out of my moody thoughts, “it’s not the worst thing in the world for them to want to hire you.”
CiCi, ever the best pal—and possibly on orders from Tom, who is likely on orders from my mother to not let me stay at the units alone for very long—has sacrificed her Saturday morning and vowed to help me finish at least one unit before I have to go fluff myself up for the fancy Manhattanites. Tonight, Caspian and I are set to have dinner together again.
“Because of who I’m dating,” I scoff. “Correction—who they think I’m dating. Who I’m not actually dating, but who I originally started gallivanting all over town with because Trina has the same stellar impulse control that I do.”
CiCi pauses to think. “I’m still shocked she did that. It’s always the quiet ones.”
“And we have exactly zero room to judge her, don’t we?”
Bashfully, she mutters something about different motivations.
We work in silence for a few minutes until she says, “This unit is gross. Why would someone keep a bunch of canned food in a storage place?”
I look around. “I don’t know. End-of-the-world planning?”
“This is a lot of spoiled planning.” She holds up a rusty can. “This says it expired seven years ago. Ever wonder what happens to canned potatoes that expired seven years ago?”
“Not even a little.”
She tosses the can back into the box and tries to lift it, but the cardboard hasn’t handled time well and shreds under the weight of the cans. They clatter all over the cement floor, and CiCi dances out of the way to avoid losing a toe.
“Oh, shit! There were jars in there, too!”
Then she claps her hands over her face and screams.
“What the hell is that smell!?” I shout.
“Run, oh my god, run!” she says through her fingers.
We flee the unit together, but the stench appears to have fused to us in some way. “Jesus, did you get some of it on you?” I gasp.
“I don’t know,” she wails. “But I swear to god, it looked like eyeballs, dude. Disgusting gray eyeballs. I love you, but I didn’t sign up to haul off fucking eyeballs.”
“Bad day at the office, then?” a familiar male and British voice says from the other side of Brutus.
“Ahhhhhhh!” CiCi and I scream together, wheeling around.
“What. The hell. Are you doing here?” I demand, clutching at my chest. “You can’t just sneak up on people after one of them was robbed the last time she was here.”
“I was going to see if you’d like to grab drinks before dinner, but your sister said you were here working,” Caspian explains, looking slightly apologetic.
“Sister-in-law,” I say, still clutching my chest. “Well, future sister-in-law.”
“Noted. So,” he says, looking around. “Eyeballs, eh?”
I shake my head, and CiCi catches my gaze. She’s got that half-stunned, half-sexpot smile on her face, just like she did yesterday.
“CiCi, breathe,” I command, poking her in the ribs. “Caspian, you remember CiCi.”
“Of course. Pleasure to see you again,” he says, but she’s still frozen, stunned and smirking. He looks at me, and I shrug. “Oh, Clara,” he adds, pulling something out of the inside pocket of his coat. “I wanted to give this back to you.”
He hands a small piece of paper to me. I unfold it, then look up at him and sigh. “I told you I don’t want it.”
“What is it?” CiCi asks, finally unfreezing and coming over to look.
“It’s the check from that picture,” I tell her, handing it back to Caspian. “And I’m really not taking it, but thank you, Caspian.”
“Whoa, wait! What are you doing?” CiCi gasps. “Clara!”
“I don’t want it,” I insist stubbornly. I pull in a deep breath and start throwing loose cans into Brutus.
“That’s ridiculous!” CiCi squeals. “Come on—that’s seventy-five hundred bucks! You’ve been slaving for weeks cleaning out these stupid units for five thousand!”
“I agree,” Caspian says, sounding mildly frustrated. “I know it wasn’t you who sold it, and otherwise the money will just go back to that horrid place. It’s got your name on it. You might as well benefit from the whole mess.”
“I’m not taking it,” I insist firmly. “If you refuse to burn it or whatever, I will go with you and cash it, and you can donate the money somewhere. If somebody benefits from that picture, it’s not going to be me. And holy damn, those seriously do look like eyeballs.”
“Spider!” CiCi shrieks.
“What?”
“THERE IS A SPIDER ON YOUR ARM!”
I’m not proud of how I flail around. I’m really not. Nor am I particularly proud of the girlish cries that fall out of me as I thrash out of the unit, ripping my sweater off over my head in a panic.
“Where did it go!? Is it still on me!?” My entire body shudders, and I can’t stop clawing at myself.
I’m knocked totally motionless by two long-fingered hands on my shoulders. “Stand still,” Caspian says in his übercalm manner. I whimper. He releases my shoulders and scans me, even walking around behind me and checking my hair. “You’re spider-free.” He steps past both CiCi and me and heads into the unit, making a slight face when the stench hits him. “And those appear to be ancient pickled eggs, although I can see the eyeball confusion.”
“Well, okay, then,” CiCi says. “That settles that.”
“And as we have plans to get to, Clara,” he says, pulling his suit jacket off, “we’d best get started cleaning this up.”
“Oh god, no, don’t touch anything!” I say desperately. “You’re all...clean and stuff.”
He walks out to where we’re still standing and sets his jacket on the front seat of Brutus. “And I intend to stay that way.” He rolls up his sleeves and heads back inside. “Do mind the broken glass.”
CiCi stares at me. I stare at CiCi. We both turn our heads slowly and stare at Caspian.
“Erm,” I say delicately. “Well, uh. Here we go, I guess.”
All hopes of finishing that unit came crashing down when the pickled eyeball smell became infused in all our clothing. We abandoned ship, with CiCi heading home to savor the rest of her Saturday, while Caspian gave me a lift to Tom’s so I could attempt to shower the stench off and change before heading back into the city.
With the promise that I’d be no longer than ten minutes, tops, I left Caspian hanging out in his fancy black town car, tending to various business needs on his phone, and scrambled up the stairs to Tom’s bathroom, desperate to rid myself of the putrid eyeball cloud.
As I wait for the water in the shower to warm up, it occurs to me that I don’t really have time to properly wash my hair, dry it, and manage to put on a quick shellac of makeup, plus get dressed.
Looks like it’s a quick body scrub and dry shampoo/perfume kind of day.
I manage to get in and out of the shower in about ninety seconds, but it isn’t until I’m standing in front of the mirror, wrapped in a towel and emptying a bottle of dry shampoo onto my head, that I realize, in my hurry to de-stench, I forgot to grab clothes to change into. I assume I’ll have to burn what I was wearing at the unit.
I’ve only got about six minutes left, so I abandon the mirror and rush back into the living room.
And I scream.
Loudly.
My brain literally can’t process what it’s seeing.
Tom and Trina are standing awkwardly by the door to the kitchen holding several large bags of take-out food, but worse—oh, so very much worse—is Caspian, standing in the middle of the living room.
Next to my mother.
My actual mother is standing right. The fuck. Beside him.
“Mom!” I shriek. “What are you doing here?”
“Honey!” she trills, as though this is perfectly normal. She walks over and gives me a quick hug. “I’m heading up to see your great-aunt Wanda for a few days, and I thought I would pop in for a late lunch with my babies!”
I gape at her. “Great-Aunt Wanda lives in Connecticut, Mom. This is ever so slightly out of the way.”
“Well, since I was making the drive regardless, a few hours out of the way wasn’t a big deal,” she explains, while simultaneously picking up a lock of my hair and making a face.
“Uh, sis,” Tom says quietly, and I look over at him, too stunned to function.
“What?”
He points at me, still holding a sizable bag of food. “You’re...kind of naked.”
I look down, and yep—clad in nothing but a towel and hair full of whatever powder dry shampoo is made of, I am, in fact, quite nude.
My brain is working about a minute behind where it needs to be. I look up and realize Caspian is 100 percent still standing there.
“Oh Christ.”
“Language, honey,” my mother hisses.
“Hey,” Tom announces loudly, “Mom, Caspian, how about a tour of the apartment?”
Trina quickly takes the take-out bags from him and scuttles into the kitchen, and Tom walks over and starts to lead Mom away from me.
“I don’t need a tour,” she says, indignant. “I have been here before, Thomas.”
“Yeah, but Caspian hasn’t,” Tom says through a clenched-teeth smile. “And you’d hate to miss him seeing this Valhalla of ours for the first time, right?”
I mouth Bless you at him as he drags Mom toward the bedroom, followed closely by Caspian, who has yet to actually look up from the floor. Or speak.
As much as the urge to stand here and stare blinking forever is hitting me, the second they pass through the door frame, I fling myself at the closet, clutching my towel for dear life, and grab an armful of clothing, hoping to all the gods I’ve gotten an actual outfit—and, more important, underwear—before I bolt back into the bathroom.
I can feel my heartbeat palpitating as I throw on jeans and a drapey black shirt, then do my best to tame my overly powdered hair while also trying to slap on a few coats of mascara.
I run back out to the living room, where Trina is silently setting trays of food out on the coffee table. It’s a pretty impressive deli spread, by the looks of things.
Caspian is sitting on the Gertrude, next to my mother, looking... I’m not even sure. Floundering? Mortified? Desperate to be literally anywhere else in the known universe?
Maybe I’m confusing his mood for mine.
“Uh,” I say, clearing my throat. “Can I borrow you for a moment, Caspian?”
He stands up in that ridiculously fluid movement he does, and my mother seems both startled and charmed by it. I start to head to the kitchen, but Tom quickly hops over, grabbing me by the shoulders, and turns me around.
“Why don’t you use our room,” he suggests. “If you want some privacy.”
The only room with a door we can actually shut, other than the bathroom. My brother is a god.
“I don’t deserve you,” I whisper as I dart away, grabbing Caspian by the sleeve and dragging him behind me.
As soon as we are in Tom and Trina’s room with the door shut, and reflexively locked, I turn to Caspian and unleash my panic.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” I chant.
“So,” he says, staring blankly at me, “that’s your mum.”
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry...”
“She seems...”
“Unhinged,” I offer. “How did this even happen!?”
He slowly shakes his head. “I’m not sure, entirely. I was on the phone, and suddenly there was a knock on the car window and her face was just...there.”
“Oh my god.”
“Next thing I know, she’s got the door open, and I’m climbing out, and your brother was standing there on the sidewalk looking like he’d sort of died inside, and then she pulled me into the building.”
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”
There’s a knock on the door, followed by someone attempting to turn the doorknob.
“Ack!” I yelp. And this is why it’s my natural instinct to lock doors whenever my mom is around.
“We are about to eat,” she calls through the door. “It’s rude to keep everyone waiting, Clara.”
“Yes, because it’s definitely not rude to show up unannounced,” I mutter in the general direction of the living room. I hang my head in defeat. “Be right there, Mom.” I look up at Caspian and grab him by the arms. “Save yourself. Flee. Tell her you have to get back to the theater or something. Or, better yet, let’s just climb out the window and run.”
Caspian finally cracks a smile. “I think I can survive a meal with your mother after all I’ve forced you to do.”
“Okay, but see, you only think that because you’ve never actually had to sit through anything with my mother.”
There’s a louder knock at the door, and my body jumps like it’s going to dive for the window without an actual order from me to do so.
“It’ll be fine,” he says, putting a hand on my shoulder, leading me back to the door. “Most likely.”
I reluctantly unlock it, and we rejoin the others.
“I apologize for having to eat in the living room,” Mom announces as she sits on Gertrude again. “But it appears having an actual dining room table to sit at is out of fashion these days.”
Tom sits on the floor in front of the coffee table with Trina by his side. “Where exactly would we put a dining room table, Mom?”
“You don’t have to live in a place this small,” she says haughtily.
“We haven’t hit Rockefeller status yet,” he reminds her with a sigh. “Which is the only way we’d be able to afford a place here with a dining room.”
“You could buy a place in Buffalo, and the mortgage would be a third of the price of your monthly rent, you know.”
“Yes, but then he’d have to live in Buffalo,” I say with a smile. “And, Tom, please, you and Trina take the couch. I’ll sit on the floor and Caspian can have the chair.”
“No, I want to sit with your new beau,” Mom counters. She pats the cushion beside her. “Both of you, sit.”
Every time I think I’ve seen all seven circles of Hell, a new circle appears and Satan says, “Hold my beer.”
I glance at Caspian, and we both seem to remember at this moment that my mom thinks he and I are dating, and therefore we have to appear couple-y. He gives me an almost imperceptible shrug and puts his hand on my back, leading me to Gertrude.
Mom tries to urge Caspian to sit beside her, but I quickly leap onto the middle cushion. He and I may have had our differences, but I don’t want to see anyone suffer that much.
Everyone starts piling greens and pasta salad and smoked salmon onto plates, and I try to casually ask, “So, Mom. What’s with the surprise visit?”
“I told you, I’m visiting my aunt.”
“Yes, but why didn’t you tell us you were on your way?”
Mom laughs. “I can’t get you to answer an email or return a call these days! I figured it wouldn’t matter if I tried to let you know.”
“You get ahold of Tom just fine,” I counter. “And judging by his expression, he didn’t have a clue you were coming, either.”
“I can’t visit my children without a month’s notice?” Mom says, adequately feigning hurt.
“Who said a month?” Tom asks, a forkful of salad frozen a few inches from his face.
“I mean, it’s always nice to have as much advance notice as possible before a flagellation,” I say, taking a bite of pasta. “How’s Dad? Why didn’t he make the trip?”
“Oh, he’s fine. He sends his love. He and Uncle Jack are going ice fishing for the week, which made this the perfect time for me to head down this way.” Before I can respond, she coos, “Trina!” and Trina literally jumps, dropping a cherry tomato onto the floor. “How goes the wedding planning?”
“Erm,” Trina says, trying to find where the tomato rolled under the coffee table. “It’s good. A little stressful, but mostly smooth so far. Clara and I just had our first dress fittings, and that went really well.”
My mother nods and sends Caspian a meaningful glance. “Have you ever been married, Caspian?”
“Mom!” Tom and I snap in unison.
Caspian, who up until now has been poking rather pitifully at his plate, looks up, stunned. “I have not, Mrs. Montgomery.”
“Are you wanting to get married?”
I’m trying not to lose it, but Caspian just looks amused. “I don’t have any immediate plans, but it’s only the afternoon, so who knows what the day may hold?”
I try to hold in a laugh and almost inhale an artichoke heart.
Mom shakes her head and tuts. “You actors do tend to just run off and get married at the drop of a hat, though, don’t you?”
“Indeed. Sudden marriage, substance abuse, and joining cults are really what we’re known for. I personally request those things be written into my contracts for good measure.”
Poor Tom was taking a drink at that moment, and now his lap is covered with spat water. I press my lips together as hard as I can to try to hold the laughter in. Trina is outrageously focused on the tray of salmon.
Caspian, however, is all smiles and maintaining steady eye contact with my mother.
“So I suppose we’ll be seeing you at the wedding?” Mom continues, undeterred. “It would be nice to see Clara use her plus-one.”
I look at Caspian. “Can you actually die from extended periods of mortification? Asking for a friend.”
“I’m going to get a bottle of wine,” Trina mutters, setting her plate down and standing up.
“It’s a little early for that, don’t you think?” Mom asks in a judgmental tone.
“Well, if ever an occasion called for day-drinking,” I say.
“Cheers to that,” Caspian says under his breath while stabbing a piece of asparagus with his fork.
“How’s the job hunt going?” Mom asks me.
I drop my head to my chest. “You are truly the reigning queen of non sequiturs, Mom. And the job search is swell. I should be ready to fling myself off a cliff at any moment.”
She takes a bite of salad and continues, “I spoke with Jack the other day, and he says the district’s middle school English teacher will be going on maternity leave over the summer, and they’ll need to find a replacement.”
“Mom, stop. I’m not a teacher. I’m not certified to be a teacher. I don’t want to be a teacher.”
She carries on as if those things mean nothing. “He told me you can get your certification in a matter of months, and he wants to discuss it over Thanksgiving.”
“Mom, no!” I say, and loudly drop my plate onto the coffee table. “We aren’t doing this again! I’m not moving back home, I’m not going to work for Uncle Jack, end of discussion.”
“Well, things obviously aren’t working out for you here,” she counters, waving her arm as though the living room represents all of my NYC failures. “You can’t find a job, you’ve got nowhere to live, the crime here is out of control—”
“No, it’s not!”
“You were attacked two days ago!”
“Okay, one time!”
“Excellent save,” Tom murmurs.
I turn and face her head-on. “What’s going on, Mom? You’re being especially hostile today, even for you.”
“And exactly what is that supposed to mean?”
My jaw drops. “It means exactly what I said! You show up with no warning, you’re lobbing passive-aggressive grenades like it’s your job, you’re being astonishingly rude to Caspian—”
“Oh, you mean your fancy boyfriend that you never felt the need to inform me you had? The boyfriend I learned about by watching the news? That Caspian?”
Looking at Tom, Caspian asks, “Does she know I’m still sitting right here?”
Tom sighs. “She knows.”
“Is that what this is about?” I snap. “You’re pissed I didn’t tell you I was seeing someone?”
“Language!”
Trina comes back in carrying a tray of wineglasses, all containing white wine. She successfully sets it down while managing to avoid making direct eye contact with anyone in the room. I reach over and grab a glass and drink as though my mother’s life depends on me getting tipsy enough to let her barbs roll off me.
Because it just might.
“This is all your doing, I know it,” my mother snaps, pointing at Caspian.
“I’m sorry?” he stammers, absolutely floored.
“You swoop in and pull her into your hedonistic Hollywood lifestyle, and now she can’t get her life together!”
“Oh, I disagree,” he retorts with his steely glare and a smirk. “Having one’s life together is really just a matter of structure, is it not? I’ve scheduled her cult initiation ceremony for five, we’ve got dinner reservations at seven, and while I’m remiss to have overlooked it thus far, thank you for reminding me about the celebrity rule of at least one spur-of-the-moment wedding, so I think I’ll call in a few favors to see if a justice of the peace can squeeze us in at nine. After that, I thought we might start our honeymoon early by walking around Port Authority wearing coats made entirely of hundred-dollar bills to try and do our part to boost the crime rate statistics.”
I swear to Odin, I think I just heard a record needle scratch this room to a screaming halt. While Caspian sits like an icy-eyed statue, still smiling, everyone else is frozen, jaws on the floor. I’m not even sure anyone is still breathing. I know I’m not. I sit, holding my now-empty wineglass, and just stare.
I’ve never seen my mother speechless. It’s somehow both equally amazing and unnerving.
Her face seems to be spiraling through every possible reaction. Will she explode and start shouting? Break out the crocodile tears? Spackle the walls of the apartment with guilt?
Suddenly she squints and looks away from Caspian, her eyes searching the room. This is a new one.
“What’s that smell?” she asks.
“Oh, that’s me,” Caspian says casually. “Eyeballs. I’d explain, but if I do, the cult leaders will be very cross, and I won’t be allowed to pass level five thousand and have tea with our alien overlords when they return for us all.”
He reaches out, takes my empty hand, and kisses the back of it before turning his attention back to his plate and nonchalantly popping a slice of cucumber in his mouth.