More Than Good Enough(18)

I knocked on the door. Waited. Knocked again.

Yeah, maybe I should’ve called first.

The door swung open. Pippa’s mom stood there, wearing a T-shirt that said Boss of Floss.

“Is Pippa around?” I asked.

“Wow, kiddo. What a surprise. I saw your mother at Costco. When was it? Let’s say, last week. Looked like she’d frosted her hair. How’s she doing?”

“Um. I have no idea,” I mumbled.

“And why is that?”

“Because I’m staying at my dad’s place now.”

“Where?”

“Highway forty-one. Just off the turnpike.”

“Near the Everglades, you mean?” Pippa’s mom was still clueless.

“In it, actually,” I said.

She stepped out onto the porch and pushed something across the boards with her toes. “I’m sweating bullets. Let’s move away from the sun. Want anything, sweetie? I could nuke some coffee. You take unleaded?” Her word for decaf.

“Sounds good. All I had for breakfast was a Power Bar. It wasn’t very powerful.”

I followed her inside. The kitchen was crammed with water bottles and empty cat food bags, folded neatly and tucked near the stove. Don’t get me wrong. The place was clean. It was just … cluttered.

When Pippa came into the kitchen, I figured she’d be surprised.

She blinked at me. “Trent? Why are you here?”

Not exactly the reaction I wanted.

“I thought we were … you know. Working on that film thing,” I said.

Pippa didn’t say anything. It was hard to see her face because the house was really dark. And there was so much crap everywhere, it looked like a yard sale in the living room.

“So you’re helping Pippa with a film project?” her mom wanted to know.

“Our project,” I said. “We’re making documentaries.”

“What are you documenting, exactly?”

I thought for a second. “Life.”

The microwave beeped and I almost jumped out of my skin. Let’s just say the whole situation was kind of awkward. Pippa still wasn’t talking. Her mom kept rattling stuff in the cabinets, trying to find a coffee mug.

“That’s okay, Mom,” Pippa finally said, grabbing her camera bag. “We should get going.”

“Pippa drinks way too much caffeine anyway,” her mom said, like she wasn’t even there. “Coffee leeches the calcium in your teeth. Good thing you eat a lot of cheese.”

“We’re leaving. Now.” Pippa laced up her combat boots.

As we headed outside, I couldn’t keep up with her. She was fast-walking to the car, not even looking at me.

“Well, I guess we’re filming my life, then,” I said. “You sure I can’t shoot some footage here? Since we’re already at your place and everything?”

Pippa shook her head. “Not unless you’re making an episode of Hoarders.”

She was embarrassed. God, why didn’t I see it before?

“Your house isn’t on that level yet,” I said. “We don’t need to call an intervention.”

I thought this would make her laugh. Of course, I was wrong.

“It’s been like this since Dad left,” Pippa told me. “Sometimes I’m scared that my mom has mental problems. She thinks we’re all going to die in a hurricane. You saw the water bottles, right? And I’m sure you noticed the boards on our windows.”

Actually, I didn’t notice the boards. I did notice that it was dark as hell.

“That’s a good thing,” I said, unlocking the passenger door.

“Why?”

“Now you’re ready for the zombie apocalypse.”

She smiled. “What if I’m the only survivor?”

“You mean I really can’t come over?” I asked. “That’s so not fair, homeslice.”

“I’ll have to think about it,” she said.

“So it’s like that, huh?”

Pippa dumped her camera bag in the backseat. “Oh my god, you still have that tape?” She pointed at The Magic of Muscle Singing.

“It’s my mom’s tape, actually. It’s probably older than this car.”

“Classic,” Pippa said. “I’m totally stealing it.”

We both made a grab for it at the same time. My hand fumbled down near her legs.

“Sorry about the groping,” I said, sitting up straight.

“I’ll survive.” She pushed the tape into the deck and hit play. A vocal coach started chanting, “My mother made me mash my M&Ms.” Then he clicked his tongue like he was part dolphin.

“I like tapes and records more than CDs anyway,” Pippa said. “Why do they sound so much better?”

“Because CDs are too perfect. You don’t hear any scratches or pops between songs.”

“The scratches definitely make it interesting,” she said. “More like real life.”

I laughed. “Real life has scratches?”

She cranked the volume. “You know what I mean.”

Me and Pippa used to sing along in the car. Nothing could make me laugh like that—laugh until I actually peed my pants (embarrassing but true).