The Animators(111)

We don’t speak on the way home. She looks out the window, mouth pinched. We pass brownstones, cyclists. She grips her purse, knuckles pale.

I hear her in my room that night, Doral smoke curling from under the door. I don’t know who she’s talking to. Kent, maybe Shauna. It’s not a conversation she wants me to hear. But I can hear it anyway, catch her say, wavery and close, “She scares me.”

—

My buzzer sounds. Mom goes to the box, presses the talk button, says, “Hello?” like she’s answering a phone, then pushes listen like I’ve shown her. Turns to give me a triumphant look.

“Sharon?” It’s a guy. Young. His voice is on the verge of cracking.

“Who is it?”

“Mom, you still have your finger on listen.”

“Oh.”

“Sharon. Dude,” the voice says.

I go to the window and look. It’s Tatum and Ryan: one still bald, the other still overwhelmingly dreadlocked. Tatum sees me first. Slaps Ryan. They yell.

I run down the stairs, throw the door open, and they pile on. It’s instantaneous—for two guys I barely know, I’m so happy to see them, I feel my throat go heavy, and I embrace them, letting them cover me up.

—

“We quit our jobs,” Tatum says.

“We want to be animators,” Ryan adds.

“Yeah.”

“Ted was pissed.”

Tatum reaches out and flicks Ryan on the back of the head. “Fucktard,” he whispers.

Already they’re filling my living room: their boy smell, their messy, smeared luggage. “It’s okay,” I say. “You can mention Teddy. I’m not going to get upset.”

I hear Mom hesitate, then she sticks her head in, all smiles. Ryan and Tatum may be suspicious, flannel-sporting, flat-in-the-accent, smelling-faintly-of-ganja boys, but they are still boys, and for her, that makes them the center of this particular four-person universe. She loves them unexpectedly and immediately. “Boys, we got that funny pop from around the corner.”

“She means coconut soda,” I tell them.

“Awesome.”

“We’d love coconut soda, Mrs. Kisses.” Ryan twiddles a dreadlock at her. Mom beams and claps her hands together.

“So this makes sense,” I tell them. “You guys did a lot on Irrefutable Love, so there’s one credit for your résumé. Weren’t you VA majors in college?”

“I was VA. The Tater was film.” Ryan stretches his legs, looking around. The room has been cleaned. I am dressed—it’s sweatpants, but it’s something. I’m glad for these things, now that they’re here.

“That sounds like the right combination. So what made you decide to come up here?”

Tatum clears his throat. Ryan scrubs a place on his arm, squinting.

“Mel?”

They nod.

“Guys, it’s fine. I’m not going to flip out if you mention Mel. Someone dies, it pushes you to do shit you were putting off. Understood. So have at it. Need an agent? I’ll talk to mine. She’ll probably be glad to work with someone who’s actually doing something.”

“You’re not doing anything?” Tatum leans forward. He’s the listener, the one who watches for signs. I see him scan the living room, examine the ashtray. He’s the me of this partnership. But he’s asking more questions than I ever did. Smart. It’s because he’s a dude, I think bitterly. They program them to navigate.

“I’m kind of taking a break,” I say.

“Right on.” Ryan waggles his head. “Everybody needs a break sometimes.”

“So are you all working on something?”

“Yeah.” Ryan palms out his phone, starts tracing through. “We can show you some stuff. It’s about oversexed zombies who invent a secret aphrodisiac coffee. The coffee spreads worldwide and turns everything into a giant hump party. It’s gonna be the tits.”

“That’s a sweet message.”

“We think so. Mel helped us with it.”

“You guys need a place to stay?”

“Uh huh.”

Mom emerges with soda, plunks a Diet Coke in front of me. “Did I hear Sharon say y’all are staying with us?”

“Stay in the studio,” I tell them.

Mom looks up. “I thought you didn’t wanna go out there.”

“No one’s there. They might as well.” I turn to them. “This is the work studio we’re talking about, out in Bushwick. Stay there as long as you need. There’s a couple of beds, a couch. There’s stuff.”

“Holy shit,” Ryan says reverently. “That’d be awesome.” He glances at Tatum, then back at me. His face is so earnest, so hopeful. This is a person who hasn’t lost much yet. I get up and start putting on my shoes.

—

Front and center on the sidewalk outside the studio: a sizable human stool. “Dude,” Ryan says.

Mom turns to the boys. “I think y’all need to go back to Louisville right this minute.”

Two raccoons stare us down from the stoop. Mom starts at them, hissing. They skitter away. “Gotta show em who’s boss,” she tells us, and strides up the stairs, cupping her hands around her eyes to peer in.