Rayne & Delilah's Midnite Matinee(34)

A little while ago, I was thinking about my last birthday with you here. It was one of the best days of my life. My first birthday after you left? Not so much. It was pretty thrown together. We had it at Chuck E. Cheese’s. Mom was doing really bad then, and we got invites out at the last minute. We invited seven kids from my class, but only two came. I remember I cried later because I was humiliated. Mom looked so exhausted, I told my friends she had the flu. I was embarrassed by that too, even though now I know she was doing the best she could. I tried to have fun and laugh and play the games, but all I could think about was how empty and sad my life felt. I could tell it was super obvious to my friends. We got home, and Mom locked herself in her bedroom. I sat in the living room with my two presents and wondered if I would ever be happy again.

But I’m happy now. Mostly. I have some good things in my life. My best friend Josie and I are horror hosts on our own show on TV Six here. It’s called Midnite Matinee. We’re already in seven markets outside Jackson. I promised myself I wasn’t going to tell you the good things in my life, but I can’t help it. I’m too proud.

I don’t expect you to ever respond to this. In fact, I’m not even sure I’m going to send it. The more I type, the less I feel like it. I guess if you’re reading this, I decided to send it. But here’s a promise: one day I’m going to show up in your life and make you look me in the eye and tell me why you left. You owe me that, at least.

Your daughter,





Delia Delete.

Cry.





Me: How tall does someone have to be before they have to explain to people why they’re not a basketball player?

Lawson: I don’t know. Why?

Me: Because after I dropped Delia off, I saw someone who was at least 6’8” but he didn’t look at all like a basketball player.

Lawson: If I saw someone who was 6’8” I would definitely wonder why they didn’t play basketball if they didn’t.

Me: It would suck to be 6’8” and really want to be an accountant or something.

Lawson: It might be an advantage for making really tall spreadsheets.

Me: Haha.

Dad is giving me the look, so I slip my phone under my leg and take another bite of lasagna. Lawson has just passed the Random Josie Observations test. To pass this test, you must never, ever question the validity of one of my random observations but only engage with it on its own terms. This was a crucial test for Lawson to have aced if he wanted to be my friend. My phone buzzes under my leg, and I sneak a quick peek.

Lawson: It was really nice to see you tonight. That always makes me happy.

I appreciate his profound lack of chill about me. It’s flattering.

“Josie’s checking her phone,” Alexis says.

Dad renews the look. “Josie.”

I kick Alexis under the table. “Dude, seriously. You’re basically a stack of rats standing on each other’s shoulders and wearing a hoodie and sweatpants.”

She mewls in protest (sounding not unlike a stepped-on rat, if I’m being honest).

“We’ve warned you several times specifically about comparing Alexis to a stack of rats in human clothing,” Mom says.

“Well.”

“Well nothing,” Mom says. “You know Alexis finds that upsetting.”

“I wouldn’t need to do it if she weren’t such a snitch.”

Dad points with his fork and talks with his mouth full. “She wouldn’t need to snitch if you didn’t do stuff for her to snitch about.”

“That’s victim-blaming,” I say.

Mom snorts. “Please.”

Silence passes, punctuated by the scraping of forks on plates. Alexis, blessedly, asks to be excused and leaves; we squint at each other as she goes, and I mouth, Eat me.

Dad leans back in his chair. “So how was filming tonight?”

“Good. That guy Lawson you met last week helped us again.”

“What did he do?”

“Broke a bunch of boards. He’s way good at Tae Kwon Do.”

More silence, the scraping of forks on plates. My dad starts to push back from the table, and I suddenly realize I have a golden opportunity. My parents are full and seem reasonably content, my fight with Alexis has probably subsided in their minds, and she isn’t around.

“Hey, so, question,” I say nonchalantly. No big deal, Mom-bro and Dad-bro, just chillin’ here.

My parents fix their gazes on me.

“Remember what I was telling you about ShiverCon? How Delia and I thought it would be a good idea to go?”

“That’s the thing happening the weekend of our family trip to visit Aunt Cassie, right?” Mom asks, a suspicious timbre in her voice.

“Yeah…so, Delia and I have been talking and we really, really think we need to go down there and try to meet this TV producer. And…network.”

Dad leans forward. “Who will then…”

“Get our show to a wider audience. Hopefully.”

“And what makes you think he’ll be able to do that?” my mom asks.

“I mean, he was a big-time producer in the nineties. Like for the kind of show we do.”

“The nineties were before you were born,” Mom says. “I’m not a showbiz expert, but that strikes me as a long time.”