“So you were saying…”
She puts her mug on the end table and she picks up the remote and pauses Anything Else and it’s just me, Melanda, and Jason Fucking Biggs. She picks at the GUN on her shirt. “So I got pregnant in high school.”
I remain calm. I am the fucking key master. “Is this another lie? Because I know that Mary Kay never said I’m a bad kisser.”
She bats her eyelashes, what’s left of them. “I know,” she says. “I said some really icky things when I was detoxing…” Always with an excuse. “But you were right…” Stop trying to mind-fuck me, Melanda. I’m too happy to be stupid. “And you should know why I was really in the woods the other night.”
I sit in the chair and sip my cocoa. “Well, go ahead.”
“So I was fifteen and I barely knew the guy and I took care of it.”
“Okay.”
“And Mary Kay was amazing, totally there for me, real hard-core best friend stuff.”
“Well, that’s no surprise.”
She dips a finger into the melted vanilla. “True,” she says. “And I was there a few years later for her. When she got pregnant.”
“And…”
Melanda flaps her wings. “And she was older. It wasn’t dramatic…” You’re not a drama queen. A drama queen wouldn’t have been so responsive to all my good doings in the library today. “And I go to the hospital the day she goes into labor. I’m in the room with her holding her hand because Phil… well, I mean, he wasn’t that kind of guy…” There’s one true thing. “So Nomi arrives and she’s beautiful. Perfect. This feels like our baby, you know? And MK looks at me and goes, ‘Thank you, Melanda. If you hadn’t showed me how hard it was to give up a pregnancy, I might not have my baby.’？”
Very well played, because as a man, I can’t say anything. “That’s a lot to take in.”
“So she put Nomi in my arms. I held that little girl and I was fine with my decision. I have no regrets. I did the right thing at the right time…” I know the feeling. “See, I was in the woods that night because Nomi is part mine. Mary Kay knew what she was doing when she put Nomi in my arms, when she found a flaw in every guy I ever even tried to date. Yes, I’ve had my moments. Maybe I’m not the best friend at times…” Ha! “But Mary Kay uses me, Joe. I’ve been the one looking out for Nomi. In The Hand That Rocks the Cradle, Annabella Sciorra practically lives in that barn jacket. Like Mary Kay in her tights. But that’s the male director’s gaze for you. In reality, no woman wears that barn jacket every day. You should know that you’ve put yourself in jeopardy for a woman who only exists in your head.” She looks at the TV. And then she looks at me. “You look like him, you know? Jason Biggs. A handsome version, obviously.”
I don’t look like Jason Biggs and she licks her fingers and goes back to watching her fucking movie and I do not wish her a Merry Christmas. She was supposed to see what’s wrong with her but instead she’s trying to make me think there’s something wrong with you.
I go upstairs and I am fuming, trapped, fucked. Ho Fucking Ho and everyone on this rock is asleep except me and Melanda. I read my stupid horoscope on one of her astrology apps—no, Joe, no—and I go to Love’s Instagram and watch Forty open his fucking presents again—no, Joe, no—and I miss my son, my son I never met and right now the bitch is right.
You really aren’t here with me. You only exist in my head.
But then my phone buzzes. It’s you: Merry Christmas Eve, Joe. Just thinking of you.
I needed you and you knew it—our connection is like me, it exists—and I settle into my sofa and my cats gather and romp. I spend the rest of the night texting with you about Christmas stories and the Bukowski you bought for Nomi and it’s calming and cozy—you send me a picture of your bare legs, your fuzzy sock slippers—and our phones are magic. We are magic and we light up the wee hours of the long, heavy night but eventually you do have to get some sleep—big day today—and I wish you sweet dreams. I am content. Loved. It’s almost like your friend Melanda ceases to exist, like Santa Claus finally did me an overdue solid and schlepped into this house and dragged your friend out of here, onto his fucking sleigh.
Almost.
17
It’s the day after Christmas and I’ve been living in a fantasy, texting with you when you manage to squirrel away from your family. This power imbalance wouldn’t work with anyone but you, Mary Kay, constantly empathetic—I hope you don’t mind me only having a minute here and there—and though we don’t say it, we both know that this is the last holiday we’ll spend apart.
My present to Melanda was giving her exactly what she wanted: no fucking food. But it’s been almost two days and I don’t want her to starve to death—that takes too long—so I’m on my way downstairs with a bowl of food—she really is like my dog—and lucky for me, she’s asleep. No more film school today because she’ll make up more stories to stay alive. And it’s not entirely her fault for thinking she has a chance. Last night, I told you about how I gave the fecal-eyed family a wreath and you said I’m too nice for my own damn good. And you’re right, Mary Kay.
I am. But I’m also a fucking procrastinator. I know I have to kill Melanda. But I just keep putting it off.
It’s not just me, Mary Kay. Most “normal” people in America are in the same boat right now, torn between wanting to save the people they’re stuck with and wanting to fucking kill them. I don’t know if her story about you is true, but I know that I don’t care. So what if you had a callous moment in the delivery room? You had just created a child with Phil. We’re animals. Animals eat other animals alive. That’s the way the system is designed. And so what if you manipulated Melanda into being your unofficial co-parent? You were stuck with Phil and mothers do crazy shit. Love lets my son chew on Christmas lights—I don’t even let my cats do that—and the fact is, motherhood is the hardest job in the world. I love the person you are now, Mary Kay—you wished me a Merry Christmas, you wished me a Merry Christmas—and if someone from my past attacked you, well, you might hear things about me that would put you off.
I’m a lot of things, Mary Kay, but I’m not a hypocrite.
I’m on my way to the library when Melanda’s phone pings in my pocket.
Christmas wasn’t the same without you. Hope you had fun with Carl! Would love to see pics!
LOL no pics cuz his kids were with his wife and we were pretty much naked the whole time bwaahahahahha
Well that’s great. I can’t stop thinking about Joe… We’re talking nonstop like teenagers.
I pump my fist. Well, not really, but I want to.
Sweetie don’t think. Just do! Lol love you! Hope you guys had a fun holiday too!
There’s a big difference between telling someone that you hope they had fun and asking if they had a good time. You know it too, and you don’t write back to Melanda. Good. You’re right. We have been texting like teenagers and we’re not in high school and it’s time for you to step up and make room for me. I get to the library before you and I am shelving Richard Scarrys by the Red Bed when I hear your voice.