Mrs. Fletcher

  “No way,” said Rico.

  “It was a throwdown,” Will explained.

  He inhaled the first four slices like a machine. Midway through slice number five, though, he realized there was a problem.

  “You know how it is. You’re feeling good, totally on top of your game. And then, out of nowhere, your stomach just clenches up and says, That’s enough, bro. Do not take another bite. But I still had three slices to go.”

  “You didn’t eat them?” Rico said.

  “The fuck I didn’t,” said Will. “I just kept shoveling that shit down my throat. But I knew it wasn’t gonna stay there.”

  The spectators broke into applause when he finished, but Will didn’t stick around to enjoy it. He pushed through the crowd and made his way to the nearest bathroom, only to discover that the door was locked. He pounded on it a few times, but the occupant told him to wait his turn. He didn’t panic, because there was another bathroom off the kitchen. Unfortunately, that one was really popular. There were five or six people standing in line, and Will couldn’t really talk, which meant that he couldn’t explain his dilemma, so he just turned and headed upstairs, holding his stomach and gritting his teeth.

  It was like a bad dream. Every time he found a bathroom, the door was either locked or a bunch of kids were waiting in line. So he just kept moving, hoping to find a toilet before it was too late. It was a huge house, and he pretty much gave himself the grand tour, visiting all three floors before he finally made it to the master bedroom, which was totally spectacular—a huge round bed and a wall that was all glass, looking out on a meadow—though Will didn’t have time to appreciate the view. He headed straight for the bathroom, and Praise the Lord, the door was unlocked. His stomach was already lurching when he burst in there and found himself staring at six of the prettiest girls in his school, all of them in bikinis, sitting in this giant Jacuzzi.

  “Oh shit,” said Dylan. “Did you barf on them?”

  Will shook his head. “I just gave them this sad little wave, like I was dropping by to say hello, and then I fucking bolted. I barely made it out to the hall, and that was it, the end of the road. I ducked into this little kid’s room. I thought there’d be a trash can or something, but I couldn’t find one, so I just yanked open a dresser drawer, pulled out all the clothes, and puked right in there. That whole fucking Meat Bomb pizza. And then I shut the drawer, wiped my mouth, and got the fuck outta there.”

  “Did you tell anyone?” Dylan asked, when we were finally done groaning and laughing.

  “Fuck no. What was I supposed to say? Oh, by the way, your little brother might not want to open his pajama drawer . . .”

  “At least you took out the pjs,” Rico said. “That was thoughtful.”

  “What could I do?” Will had that pissed-off look again. “Eight fucking bathrooms, and I can’t find a toilet to puke in? You can’t blame me for that.”

  He shrugged and reached for another slice. Sanjay was just sitting there with his mouth hanging open, like he’d forgotten how to speak.

  “Whaddaya think?” Rico asked him. “Too late to get back into the Honors Dorm?”

  *

  Zack and I returned to the room just in time for my Skype session with Becca. I asked if he’d mind giving me a little privacy.

  “No problem,” he said. “I’ll put on my headphones.”

  “Think you could maybe clear out for five or ten minutes? Won’t be more than that.”

  “Why?” He gave me a sly look. “You gonna rub one out?”

  “We just need to have the talk. We were broken up for most of the summer, but then we kinda backslid. I have to let her down easy.”

  “Say no more, bro. I’ll go see who’s in the lounge. Text me when you’re done.”

  “Thanks.”

  I got out my laptop and logged on to Skype. Zack was on his way out when I placed the call, but then he changed his mind and sat down next to me on my bed, just out of camera range, as Becca appeared on the screen.

  “Hey, baby.” She was wearing a little white tank top, tight enough to give her some cleavage, which wasn’t easy with her little boobs. “How’s it going?”

  “Pretty good,” I said. “How about you?”

  “I’m okay.” She was talking in a breathy whisper, way more seductive than her normal voice, which could be kinda loud and bossy. “Where are you?”

  “In my room.”

  She licked her glossy lips. “Are you alone?”

  I glanced at Zack, trying to let him know that the joke was officially not funny anymore, but he pretended not to understand. He mouthed the words She’s cute! and pumped his fist up and down over his crotch.

  “Brendan?” she said. “Is somebody there?”

  I should have just said, Yeah, it’s my roommate and he’s being a dick, but I didn’t want to embarrass him.

  “No,” I said. “Just me.”

  “I miss you, baby.” She gazed soulfully into the camera. “I’m still thinking about this morning.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “That was a really nice surprise.”

  “Just nice?”

  “It was fucking awesome.”

  “Good.” She looked a little bashful, but sort of proud, too. “I watched an instructional video on YouTube.”

  That made sense. She’d given me a few BJs in the past, but she was never really into it. She was clumsy and gagged a lot, and mostly just seemed relieved when it was over. But that morning she was a porn star.

  “Yeah, you brought your A game.”

  “It was a mental thing,” she explained. “I just decided to have a positive attitude. It really makes a difference.”

  It was ridiculous—and kind of embarrassing—to be having this conversation with Zack sitting right next to me, but there was nothing I could do about it now except try not to look at him. I didn’t want to know what he was thinking, or how close he might be to cracking up.

  “I thought I’d be able to swallow,” she said, “but I just . . . I don’t know. I’ll have to keep working on that.”

  “With who?” I said.

  Zack made the tiniest sound just then, a single suppressed giggle way in the back of his throat, but Becca didn’t seem to hear it.

  “You, you asshole. Unless you want me to find someone else.”

  “Practice makes perfect,” I teased.

  Zack was waving his hand, trying to get my attention. I could see him out of the corner of my eye, pointing at his dick and mouthing the words I’ll help.

  “Hey,” she said, and her voice was normal now, like the sexy part of the conversation was officially over. “Did your mom say anything after I left?”

  “No, why?”

  “I don’t know. She gave me this weird look when I said goodbye, like she knew what we were up to.”

  “Don’t worry about it. She was in a bad mood all day. It had nothing to do with you.”

  “Good.” Becca seemed relieved. “So do you like it there?”

  “I think so. Just trying to get used to it, you know?”

  “Well, if you ever need to talk, just give me a call.” She looked down for a few seconds, so all I could see was the top of her head, that shiny brown hair that always smelled so good. When she looked up, she sniffled and wiped her eyes. “I missed you so much this summer.”

  Zack was leaning forward now, into my field of vision. He had this sad clown expression on his face, his bottom lip pushed way out like he was about to cry. I held out my arm where Becca couldn’t see it and gave him the finger.

  “I like your shirt,” I told her. “It’s really hot.”

  “Yeah?” She perked right up. “I wore it special for you. I’m wearing the red thong you like, too.”

  She stood up to show me, pulling down her pj pants and turning so I could appreciate her tight little gymnast butt. Zack was impressed.

  “Smokin’,” I told her.

  “You should come home for a weekend,” she said. “Or maybe I could come visit y
ou.”

  Zack cast a silent vote in favor of the second option.

  “We’ll see,” I said. “I’m probably gonna be pretty busy.”

  “Yeah, that’s what I figured.”

  We were quiet for a few seconds, and I knew the time had come to say what needed to be said, to apologize for the way I’d treated her over the summer, and then to explain, as tactfully as possible, that I didn’t want a long-distance relationship, and that we both should be free to hook up with other people if we wanted to. But it was hard to think straight with Zack sitting right there, flicking his tongue in the V between his index and middle fingers.

  “All right,” I said. “I should probably go.”

  She smiled sadly and nodded. But then she leaned a little closer.

  “Hey, Brendan.”

  And then, without any warning at all, she lifted her shirt and bra and showed me her boobs, which filled the entire laptop screen. It happened and then it was over. The shirt came back down and I was looking at her face again as she blew me a kiss.

  “Good night, baby.”

  Zack was punching the air with both hands, silently screaming the word Yes! over and over, like he’d just scored a goal.

  “Thanks,” I said. “You have a good night, too.”

  *

  It was hard to stay mad at Zack. He acted totally innocent, like his eavesdropping on my private conversation was totally hilarious and not creepy at all, a great bonding experience for both of us. And he was really complimentary about Becca and very excited about her pink nipples, which he compared to little eraser nubs.

  “Why would you want to break up with a girl like that?” he asked me.

  “Because I want a clean slate.”

  “Just keep her on the hook. I mean, Jesus, dude. She’s watching how-to blowjob videos on YouTube. That’ll spice up your Christmas vacation.”

  “Maybe you have a point.”

  “Hey,” he said. “If you don’t want her, send her my way. I’ll give her some expert instruction.”

  The rest of the night was kind of a bust. Zack had been invited to an off-campus house party by a friend of his older brother, and it turned out to be a lot farther away than we thought. It took us about a half hour to walk there, and the party was already breaking up when we arrived. Somebody said there was a kegger a couple of blocks away, but we couldn’t find it, so we ended up trudging all the way back to the dorm.

  It was on the early side, but we were both pretty exhausted. We brushed our teeth together in the bathroom, then headed back to our room, where we stripped down to our boxers and got into bed. It was like having a twin brother.

  I lay there for a while in the dark, thinking that college was probably going to be okay. I knew I’d lucked out on the roommate front, and I was grateful for that. I mean, what if I’d gotten stuck with someone like Sanjay, a kid I had nothing in common with? It would’ve sucked, having a nerd tagging along everywhere I went, being forced to eat with him and pretend to admire his architectural drawings and superhuman test scores. It was so much easier with Zack, a bro who partied and laughed at the same stupid shit I did. I knew my mother would have preferred Sanjay, but she wasn’t the one who had to live with him.

  “Oh shit,” I muttered.

  “What?” mumbled Zack.

  “I forgot to text my mom.”

  I got out of bed, found my phone, and wrote, College is awesome!!! I figured she was probably wide awake at home, wondering how I was doing. She’d been talking a lot about how sad she’d be after I left, and how hard it would be to get used to living in an empty house.

  “No offense,” Zack said, when I’d climbed back into my bed, “but your mom is pretty hot.”

  “Dude,” I said. “Seriously. This is not an appropriate subject of conversation.”

  “I’m just saying,” he said. “She’s kind of a MILF, don’t you think?”

  This wasn’t the first time one of my friends had said this about my mom. She still dressed kinda young, and had a pretty good body for a woman her age. But she was my mom, and I didn’t like to think about her in those terms.

  “What about your mom?” I said. “Is she a MILF?”

  “My mom’s dead,” he said, in this really sad voice. “I miss her so much.”

  “Oh shit.” I sat up in bed. “I’m really sorry.”

  “Dude,” he said, laughing at my sadness. “I’m just fucking with you. My mom’s alive and well. But she is definitely not a MILF.”

  Department of Aging

  When Eve took inventory of her life, her job stood out as the conspicuous bright spot, the sole arena in which she judged herself a success. She was executive director of the Haddington Senior Center, a thriving facility that provided an impressive array of services to the town’s older residents. The Center was not only a source of companionship, mental stimulation, and age-appropriate exercise for the elderly; it was also a place where low-income seniors could come to eat a federally subsidized meal and then get their blood pressure checked by a nurse and their problem toenails trimmed by a kindhearted podiatrist. The Center ferried a busload of clients to Market Basket twice a week, and also acted as a clearinghouse for handymen, landscapers, home health aides, and the like, referring trusted local businesses to older residents in need of assistance. Eve was proud of the work she did and, unlike a lot of people she knew, never had to ask herself what the point was, or wonder if she should be doing something a little more important with her life.

  When she thought about how much she liked her job, she tended to focus on activities like chair yoga, memoir-writing workshops, and Thursday afternoon karaoke. What she didn’t think about were situations like this, when it fell on her to deliver bad news to people who already had enough trouble in their lives.

  “Thank you for coming on such short notice,” she began, smiling in spite of herself at George Rafferty, whom she’d clearly interrupted in the middle of some filthy plumbing job. There was a smear of grease on his face, and the knees of his work pants were darkened with what looked like years of shiny, caked-on grime. He’d once come to Eve’s house at six a.m. on Thanksgiving morning to fix an overflowing toilet, which only made the conversation they were about to have that much more difficult. “I know it’s inconvenient.”

  George didn’t smile back. He was a stocky, squinty guy with rust-colored hair, a rusty beard flecked with gray, and an air of permanent impatience, as if there was always something more urgent he needed to be attending to. He glanced apprehensively at his eighty-two-year-old father, who was sitting beside him on the couch, making loud smacking noises with his lips.

  “What’d he do this time?”

  Eve heard the wariness in his voice. The last time George had been summoned to the Center in the middle of the day, his father had somehow managed, by standing on his seat, to urinate out the window of the Elderbus on the way home from the supermarket. It was an impressive feat for a man his age, even if, as eyewitnesses claimed, he’d only been partially successful.

  “Mr. Rafferty?” Eve turned to the older man, who was watching her with a vague, placid expression. “Do you mind telling your son what happened after lunch?”

  Roy Rafferty snapped to attention.

  “Lunch?” he said. “Is it time for lunch?”

  “You already had lunch,” Eve reminded him. “We’re talking about what happened when it was over. The reason you got in trouble.”

  “Oh.” The old man’s face tightened into a scowl of futile concentration. He was one of Eve’s favorites, a longtime regular at the Center, one of those chatty, friendly guys who moved through life like a politician running for reelection, shaking everyone’s hand, always asking after the grandkids. He’d been healthy and lucid up until about six months ago, when his wife died of a massive stroke. His decline since then had been rapid and alarming.

  “What happened?” he asked. “Did I do something wrong?”

  “You went in the ladies’ room again.”

&
nbsp; “Oh, shit.” George stared at his father with a mix of pity and exasperation. “Jesus Christ, Dad. We talked about this. You have to stay out of the ladies’ room.”

  Roy hung his head like a schoolboy. Eve knew his whole life story, or at least the highlights. He’d fought in Korea, and had come home with a Purple Heart and an urge to make up for lost time. Within six months, he’d married his high school sweetheart and taken over the family plumbing business, Rafferty & Son, which he ran for the next forty-five years, before handing it off to George. He and Joan had raised four kids, the eldest of whom—Nick, a high school vice principal—had died in his early fifties of pancreatic cancer. Eve had gone to the funeral.

  “Mr. Rafferty,” she said. “Do you remember what happened in the ladies’ room?”

  “I’m not supposed to go in there,” he said.

  “That’s right,” she told him. “It’s off-limits for men.”

  “Okay,” George said briskly. “We’re all agreed on that. Now could you tell me what he did? I gotta get back to work.”

  “I’d like you to hear it from your father,” Eve told him.

  “My father can’t remember!” George snapped. “He probably doesn’t know what he had for lunch.”

  Eve let that hang in the air for a few seconds. It helped to have him say it out loud.

  “Your father was exposing himself.” She decided to leave it at that, to not specify that he was masturbating, or that he’d invited poor Evelyn Gerardi, who wheeled an oxygen tank around everywhere she went, to come and get it. At least he’d called her sweetheart.