Beautiful Graves(77)
I smile. “Then I think we’re good here. I’m going upstairs to take a nap.”
TWENTY-THREE
The answer to my question—how would I feel the next morning—presents itself the day after.
And the answer is: shitty. I feel shitty.
I am hyperaware of the fact that I have lost three of the people I cared most about—Mom, Dom, and now, possibly, probably, Joe. True, Joe is not dead, thank God, but with the kind of luck that’s attached to people I care about, it is better to leave him be than to pursue any sort of connection with him.
Plus, it has to be said—even though I’m happy for Dad, I’m also destroyed by the idea that he is in love with another woman.
I spend the next two weeks holed up in my room. Silver lining: this time, I’m not as pathetic about it as the month that followed Dom’s death.
No, I am now officially a high-functioning train wreck. I shower daily. I have to. Renn and Dad take turns banging on my bedroom door when I linger. I’m on cooking duty Tuesdays and Fridays. And they are always adamant I make healthy things. With lentils and vegetables. Anything frozen from Costco doesn’t count, they say. The rest of the time, I’m in my bed. Reading, crying, processing.
I don’t hear from Joe, and I shouldn’t expect to. I slept with him, then moved to the other side of the country. Again. Only now he has to face the fact we both betrayed Dominic. Alone.
And yet I give myself some grace and allow myself to heal.
As I heal, I listen carefully to the telltale signs of happy life that rise from downstairs, seeping through the cracks of the floorboards. Donna comes to the house every day. Renn mentioned she is crashing at Dylan’s place, to give me space, which I have to admit is a promising move on her part.
I haven’t met her yet. I make sure I’m always in my room when she is here. But I hear her making Dad and Renn food whenever they deem mine inedible (which is always). I hear her whistle and sing old eighties songs (Duran Duran, Air Supply, Tina Turner) as she takes care of the garden. She always asks Renn if he needs something from the supermarket.
I can tell she is, at the very least, not Snow White’s evil stepmom. I think these small doses of her that I consume without actually interacting with her are helping me come to terms with her presence in our lives. But I’m still worried that this is all for show. That she is putting on an act because she knows I’m listening.
There are other happy sounds. The sound of Renn and his friends laughing, playing video games, or chugging beer on the patio. The sound of Dad’s cackling as he watches The Office reruns every day after work, even though he utters the iconic punch lines right along with Michael Scott. Loki conversing with whomever is downstairs, trying to coax them to throw him a piece of pastrami or two.
And at some point, two weeks after locking myself in my room, the idea of meeting people doesn’t seem quite as hellish as it did before. The trigger is, as always, food.
It is a sunny Saturday. Donna, Dad, and Renn are downstairs, eating breakfast. The scent of fresh sourdough bread, butter, bacon, and beans wafts around the house, making my mouth water. Normally, I wait until everyone leaves before I eat the leftovers. But today, it doesn’t feel like the end of the world to meet the woman Dad has fallen in love with if it means consuming greasy bacon and freshly squeezed orange juice.
I emerge from my room in my Cookie Monster onesie, determined to set any expectations for me low. The stairs creak as I descend them, and dread fills my gut when I think about all the looks I’m about to get.
But when I get to the landing, I see the three of them sitting around the dining table, talking animatedly. They don’t see me at first. Or maybe they’re giving me a few moments to collect myself. Donna is lean and redheaded—like Mom—with a narrow face and a gap in her front teeth. She is not as beautiful as the late Barbie Lawson, which is oddly and pettily comforting, but they both hold the same quality, of women who appear both genuinely nice and yet ooze not-to-be-messed-with vibes.
Dad is the first to notice me. He drops his fork on his plate, blinking, like he’s seeing a ghost. I can tell he has no idea what to say. Donna follows his gaze to see what’s made him freeze. Her face opens up when she sees me.
“Love that onesie,” she says, popping a piece of bacon into her mouth casually. “Where’d you get it?”
You seem to be wanting a lot of things the Lawson women have for themselves, something inside me wants to snap. But then I remind myself I have to play nice, for Dad and Renn.
“My friend Nora bought it for me. Somewhere online, I don’t know.”
She stands up. She is wearing . . . a hot dog onesie? Could that be? With ketchup and mustard and everything. A smile tugs at my lips, but I bite it down quickly. I’m not Renn. I shall not betray Mom because of a simple onesie.
“Where’d you get yours?” I ask, not exactly coldly, but definitely not conversationally.
Dad and Renn exchange looks silently. They’re smiling.
“Renn got it for me for Christmas. I think the store is called Rad and Bad.”
“Is that so?” I turn to look at Renn pointedly, still standing up. “Weird that he managed to get you something cool, ’cause I’ve been getting kitty calendars and scented bath bombs from him for the last four years.”
And I didn’t even have a bath in my Salem apartment.