“Obviously you forgot that I’m gluten- and dairy-free,” says KK.
“I didn’t,” says Sam. He looks toward me. “Help!” he pleads.
He means, Get everyone out of the kitchen. Dinner parties have a peculiar habit in which all the guests congregate in the kitchen while Sam is trying to coordinate food preparation, blocking his way and commenting on his concoctions before he’s ready for judgment. “We should just call them kitchen parties,” he’s often lamented.
“Everyone to the living room!” I declare as a faint smell of smoke wafts out from the burnt cheese at the bottom of the oven.
“The sock puppet has arrived,” Sam tells me.
“Huh?” I remember no such Wild Card. Sam must mean Jason Goldstein-Chung has arrived. Jason always has some weird trick up his sleeve—or sock, as the case must be.
“Go see,” Sam says. He pulls some beers from the fridge—a sure sign that he’s starting to stress, if he’s taking direct responsibility for alcohol consumption—and hands them to me. “Go forth and entertain your guests, Ilsa. All of them.”
I start to lead Parker and KK out of the kitchen when I hear a weird sound that’s somewhere between a belch and a puke. I look to Parker, then KK, then Sam, but none of them looks squeamish. The sound grows louder, and we all look around, trying to identify the sound, and then it identifies itself.
A small volcano of bilge erupts from the kitchen sink.
I’m no cook, but I’m pretty sure if our sink is backed up, that will make further food preparation difficult, if not impossible.
“Fuck!” Sam exclaims.
KK says, “Hallelujah! Tell your chef dad to come over and bring a proper meal to replace the one you’ve ruined. Gluten-free, please. We’re not savages!”
Sam says, “Sorry, KK. The folks are at the annual Gluten-Glee Carb Fest in Wheatland, North Dakota, this weekend. Sbarro and Papa John’s are headlining this year. Cap’n Crunch is the opening act!”
KK throws her hands over her ears. “Stop it! I’m getting fatter just listening to the latest lie about your parents.” KK never quite believes our parents exist. They do. They just rarely come to the Stanwyck. Probably because it hurts too much knowing they’ll never inherit it. And it would be a compliment to say that KK is their least favorite of my friends. You’d never find my parents trolling opportunities for more KK time.
Sam pops open a beer and takes a hearty swig. He never drinks at our parties. “Stress,” he sighs.
I counter-sigh in support. And triumph.
This is bad.
But could also be excellent.
Finally, my brother may be ready to let loose.
six
SAM
Deep breaths.
I must.
Take.
Deep.
Breaths.
It’s only water. We don’t need water. I just have to pretend I’m in droughty Los Angeles.
The food has all been made. There’s bottled water in the fridge and in the cupboards. We don’t have to clean up right away.
Everything.
Is.
Under.
Control.
Only.
My mind.
Is.
Not.
Under.
Control.
I take another swig of beer, grimacing as it goes down. I am only drinking it because I don’t like it. A punishment of hops. This way I’m not going to want more.
I call down to Bert, in the lobby, for help, but he can’t leave the door. He also tells me Jason is on his way up. I wonder if Bert remembers Jason’s name from back when Jason and I were dating, when he’d visit all the time. Or maybe it’s been long enough that Jason had to remind Bert who he was.
Even though the sink is sunk and my despair has definitely been tapped, I still manage to salvage the lasagna and get the rest of the food in order. I time Jason’s steps perfectly, and open the door just as he’s about to ring the bell.
He jumps a little. “You scared me,” he says.
I hear it as You scarred me and don’t know what to say.
He looks at me strangely. “But it’s okay. I’ve since recovered.”
My mind is suddenly static, made of the words THIS WAS A BAD IDEA laid over and over again until there’s no white space left.
I can’t see Jason without feeling bad about what I did to Jason. Even if it was the right-ish thing to do.
“I’m sorry,” I say.
“I told you I’ve recovered.” He holds out a shopping bag. “I didn’t know what to bring, because I was sure you had all the food taken care of. So I brought bubbles.”
He doesn’t mean champagne. When I look in the bag, I find a dozen plastic bottles of bubble-blowing liquid.
“Everybody loves bubbles, right?” he says.
My mind: Central Park. I blow bubbles in the air. He laughs. A kid on a nearby blanket runs after one that’s the size of a pocketbook. An orchestra plays on the Great Lawn.
I am happy.
I am trying to be happy.
I am showing signs of happiness, but I can feel all the effort that goes into that.
I want him to think I am happy.
I don’t know what he thinks.
I have no idea which version of the memory is true. The only thing I know for sure is that the little kid chasing after the bubble was definitely happy.
Although it was probably smaller than a pocketbook.
It was.
“Sam?”
Oh no. Concern.
I smile. Cover it all up with a smile. “Sorry. We’ve had a plumbing issue. It’s thrown me a little. Come in.”
“Want me to take a look?”
“Sure.”
We walk into the kitchen. Stare at the sink.
“I think your drain is clogged,” Jason diagnoses.
“Um…I know?”
“Do you have any Drano?”
“No. I drank it all.”
This is meant to be a joke. Funny. Ha-ha! And maybe if Jason didn’t know me, he’d laugh.
He is not laughing.
THIS WAS A BAD IDEA THIS WAS A BAD IDEA THIS WAS A BAD IDEA.
“Why don’t we go inside?” I say. “There are some people for you to meet.”
BAD IDEA.
Why would I want Jason and Subway Boy to be in the same room? My mind runs through the possible outcomes:
They end up together.
Subway Boy flirts with me and it makes me feel like more of a jerk about Jason.
Subway Boy sees what a bad boyfriend I was
