“If you’re not too busy,” he mumbled. Now I could tell he was annoyed.
“Dude. I said I wasn’t busy. It just slipped my mind. There’s a lot of shit going on, and I just forgot. No big.”
“If you say so. Can you drive?” The bell rang.
“Shit. I have to go. I’ve been late every day since school started.”
“People appreciate consistency.”
“Teachers aren’t people!” I called to him as I sprinted down the hall. “I’ll come get you at seven!”
“Make it six. I want to get good seats!”
Ms. Leff didn’t seem to notice I was late, and I managed to ask her a question before the movie began to ensure I was accounted for. When the lights dimmed, I texted Becca.
U still puking?
Ten minutes later, still no answer.
Is it ok if I go to a movie with Leo Dietz tonight?
This time, I got a response.
Only if you two sleep on a beach after.
Skype later?
m/
My mom and the twins sat at the kitchen table when I got home from school. “What’s everyone doing?” I asked, and joined them.
“We were just looking through this box of old photos. Remember how your dad was so into Halloween?” Mom smiled sadly at the memory.
“Remember? He was still around last Halloween,” I said.
My mom’s smile drooped, as did her hand holding the picture. She rose from her chair and left the room.
CJ stood up and shoved my head.
“What the fuck?” I yelled.
“You don’t say something like that to Mom.”
“Like what? What kind of shitty memory would I have if I couldn’t even remember less than a year ago?” I argued.
“It’s not about how long ago; it’s about the fact that he’s not here for this Halloween,” AJ explained.
There goes my foot-in-mouth disease. I walked out of the kitchen to find Mom slumped on the couch. She wasn’t crying, but her expression and eyes were glassy. I sat down next to her, close but not touching.
“Sorry, Mom. I didn’t realize what I was saying.”
“I know. You never do.” She shook her head.
“Um, ouch?” I said.
“Sometimes it would be nice for you to think before you speak. Just in case what you’re thinking isn’t what everyone else is thinking.” Mom looked at me, exhausted.
“I know. It would be easier if everyone was thinking what I was thinking, though.”
“You’d hate that, Alex,” she sniffed with a laugh.
“With a fiery passion from hell,” I agreed.
“So what do you have going on tonight? Is Becca home?”
“She is home. I got a couple of texts from her. She said she was really nauseous. I don’t know when I’m going to be able to go over there.”
“Maybe we can send her a cookie basket.”
Mom loved cookie baskets from this place where they make and frost cookies in all different shapes with sappy messages like, “Bee Mine,” and “Get Whale Soon.” They were pretty tasty, though.
“I bet she’d like that,” I said because it felt like what I was supposed to say. What I was actually thinking was: Would Becca even want cookies if she was throwing up all the time? “I’m going to see if she’s on Skype. Maybe we can talk before I go out.” I pushed myself off the couch.
“I thought you weren’t going out,” Mom said.
“Oh yeah. Is it okay if I go see Bruce Campbell talk about Army of Darkness at the Orpheum? They’re showing the movie, too.”
“Not by yourself, I hope.”
“No, just with someone from school. A guy. Leo Dietz.” I paused at the bottom of the stairs, waiting for my mom’s reaction.
“Leo? A new boyfriend?” Since Dad’s death, Mom wavered between her old, uptight self and trying to fill in for the missing, laid-back parent.
“Not really. Just a guy who likes horror movies.” And, you know, other things we can do together. “I’m driving.”
I thought maybe my driving would put Mom’s mind at ease; the unknown of other kids’ driving records sent her into hysterics if I was even a minute late. She seemed to trust me in the driver’s seat, since she helped train me. And she knew my seat belt worked.
“What time will you be home?” she asked instead of told me, her attempt at cool.
“The movie starts at eight, so maybe eleven? Twelve? I don’t know how long the Q&A will go.”
“Call me if you’ll be later than eleven thirty.”
“Will do,” I told her as I left for my room.
Normally, I never kept Skype open because my aunt Judy was like a Skype vampire, waiting to suck away any time I had chatting with her. Once I even deleted her as a contact, but she called my mom within minutes to report it. I had to make up an excuse about accidentally clicking on her name instead of an ex-boyfriend I meant to delete, which would never happen since Skype asks you repeatedly if YOU ARE SURE you want to delete the contact.
For Becca, I opened Skype. Before I had the chance to video call Becca, my computer rang. It was Aunt Judy. If I didn’t talk to her, she would call the entire time I was on with Becca. I clicked to answer.
“Hi, Aunt Judy.”
“Oh, Alex, so glad to see you! And on a busy Friday night, I’m sure.”
“Yep.” I nodded casually.
“So, any new boys in your life?”
Aunt Judy seemed to fancy herself the young and hip aunt, which was hard to be when you sported a curly mullet without a hint of irony.
“Aunt Judy, I can’t really talk. I have to Skype with my friend. She has cancer.” I hoped just laying it out there would clam the old lady up, but then it turned into a bloated pity fest.
“OH MY GOD! MY POOR ALEXANDRA. WHAT CAN I DO? ARE YOU OKAY? IS SHE OKAY? OH MY GOD!”
“Aunt Judy!” I had to yell several times until she took a break to exhale and grab a tissue from her bra. “I have to go. She’s calling me on Skype right now,” I lied.
“YOU TAKE CARE OF YOUR—”
I hung up on her. I hoped she’d get the hint to give me space from Skype, but it could also go the way of the concerned checkin, too. I liked Aunt Judy, though. She sent fat checks for birthdays and was actually the first person to show me a horror film when I was eight. My parents had dropped me off at her house for a dinner date, and Aunt Judy put in a tape of one of her favorite childhood movies, Heidi, so I could watch while she made dinner. Turned out it was not Heidi, but Carrie, and by the time Aunt Judy came to tell me dinner was ready, Carrie was being scolded by her psycho mom and getting her period in the shower. Such sweet, innocent times those were.
