So after nearly three weeks of changing the subject, I told them the story as I’d once told Laura. Only this time it was full of encouraging highlights.
As I shared each important detail that day, I could almost see a flicker of pity in their eyes. It surprised me. Didn’t they know how lucky I was? I’d even shown them some pictures of his face and bulging muscles. Were they blind? Maybe they just couldn’t see the possibility of love by unconventional means (The Internet: not just for pervs anymore!)
When I told the same news to Todd (because I couldn’t hide my joy from work-dad Todd), he had a totally different reaction: “I’m gonna screen him the second he gets here. I also know some people in Europe. Do you want me to send them to Barcelona? To scope this freak-show out?”
I assured all of them this guy was for real, so in the end they could only wish me luck. And they did, but those looks of concern stuck around.
What’s their problem?
***
On a hot and humid Monday evening, I turned the car into my street, only to find my father’s van in the driveway.
What the hell is HE doing here? And why after work? I’m supposed to call James in ten minutes!
I was already nervous about calling James, since he was back from Italy and sure to bring up weekend chatting again. But a surprise visit from my parents? Nothing good could come from this.
I quietly opened the door, and looked down the hall to find my parents at the kitchen table, papers scattered everywhere.
Wait a minute. Are those real estate papers?
But that would mean they’d found a new house already, six months before the January estimate.
Impossible.
But anything is possible when it’s something bad…
Chapter Twelve
I entered the kitchen with a cautious set of baby steps.
Those are not real estate contracts on the table. They are not, they are not, THEY ARE NOT.
“Romi, come in here and sign these contracts!”
Goddammit!
I was five feet away from the kitchen table, but I didn’t move another inch. My thoughts were a bit of a blur, but I knew if I stood there frozen, I wouldn’t be able to reach far enough to grab the pen. Which meant I wouldn’t be able to sign the forms, which meant that everything in life would stay the same.
“Come in here,” my father repeated, as he straightened the collar of his shirt. “You have to sign these forms in seven different places.” His voice was leaving traces of annoyance in the air. “And did you even hear us when you walked inside? We sold our house back home! And we found the perfect house over here!” His annoyance disappeared, to be replaced with boyish glee.
“And it’s huge!” exclaimed my mother as she giggled. Since when did my mother giggle?
I had never seen my parents as happy as they seemed right now. So why did I feel like I had thirty days to live?
Do I even HAVE thirty days to live?
It was best to hear the facts, so I dropped my big satchel on the hardwood floor, and moved towards the kitchen just an inch at a time. “How did you sell the house so fast?” I was getting too close to the contracts now, so I slowly inched back.
“Someone came to see our house a few days ago,” said my father, as he folded the corners of the pages I needed to sign. “And they loved it so much, they made an offer on the spot. And their mortgage was approved this morning!” He looked up and smiled at my stoic face.
“What about this house you bought? I haven’t even seen it and you already decided? And how can you afford a new house, you haven’t even sold THIS house!” I raised my hands at these walls, these walls that had enabled so much drunken misbehavior.
“What is there to decide? It’s big, it has a beautiful yard, and it’s in a quiet neighbourhood. I couldn’t believe it was still for sale. A miracle!”
If by miracle he meant a horrifying twist of fate.
“And remember, you girls better help with the mortgage payments!” My mother narrowed her eyes as she looked my way. Was she staring at my face or the dollar sign in front of it?
“Yes, and that’s why you girls have to co-sign the contract.” My dad grabbed the shiny brass pen and stabbed the air in my direction. “Go ahead, sign!”
At the risk of painting the kitchen walls with vomit, I opened the fridge and pretended to look for a drink. The instant cool-off helped, but I still hadn’t asked the ultimate question that would seal my fate (or coffin).
“So...when are we moving?” My face was now deep inside the fridge, to hide myself in case I started weeping.
“Our buyer wants us out by August fifteenth,” said my father. “So two more months!”
So it wasn’t thirty days until the death of my soul, but a much more forgiving sixty-one. Was there some poison in this fridge that I could take?
“What are you doing in the fridge?” said my mother.
I’d had my head inside the fridge for ages, and for some odd reason I was clutching a carton of eggs.
“Nothing!” I closed the fridge and sped right out of the kitchen.
“Romi, SIGN the papers!”
“Can’t I change out of my work clothes first?” I thudded up the stairs like a petulant child.
Once in my room I paced back and forth and tried to cry. The tears would help me clear my head, and maybe help me figure out a way to get my James...and keep him.
Oh shit, James!
I looked at my watch and pictured him waiting by the phone at half past midnight. I was supposed to call fifteen minutes ago!
There was no way to call him now or even later, since my parents wouldn’t leave without my sister’s name signed in blood.
So I sent him an e-mail instead.
----------------------------------
Hey James,
Sorry I didn’t call, but I just walked through the door and I’m really beat. This long commute weighs me down sometimes. Can I call you in a couple of nights?
Sorry again,
Romi
----------------------------------
I hit “send” in a blur then took a little moment to breathe. I hated lying to James, but I couldn’t explain the truth in an e-mail.
My bigger problem now was a soul-crushing stack of papers. I changed into a T-shirt and some cotton pajama pants. Airy clothing is best in the face of torture. Then I made the ominous descent to the kitchen.
I thought about staging a revolt, and saying things really loudly the way Mel Gibson did in “Braveheart.” But what would I even say?
I didn’t have a plan, I didn’t have a script…I didn’t even have one Oscar-worthy line. So I signed all seven times.
Me and my parents, under one roof in two short months.
It was two hours later and I still couldn’t picture it. I tried to relax my brain as I took a long sip of spicy chai. It was my mother’s after-dinner specialty for guests, but I guess she was feeling like tonight deserved it too.
As I took the last sip I heard the front door slam. Welcome to Hell, big sis.
She was home from another fake meeting I suppose, and she took in the news with a bit of a lively reaction. Like appalled mixed with intermittent anger.
I wanted to tell her “resistance is futile” but she had this “you can’t make me” expression, like a greasy toddler who doesn’t want a bath.
None of her questions even made a dent. Not when my parents were totally blinded. And I still didn’t know what this stupid house even looked like.
A half an hour later my sister let it go, embracing defeat with her signature emblazoned on seven different pages. All the while she looked like she was waiting to explode. Like she was trying to hold in…a secret?
My eyes opened wide once I’d figured it out. She had a dude! I’d never really given it a lot of thought, but how else would I explain her frequent nights out? I mean today it was nine o’ clock, but what about the nights until midnight or half past two?
&nb
sp; As my parents at last left our place for a late drive home, I asked it: “So tell me right now: do you have a dude?”
She rolled her eyes. “Yeahhh, sure I do. Now back the fuck off.”
I knew well enough not to press it any further (we had a history of getting into “slap fights”), but the truth was pretty clear. She totally had a dude. If only she’d shared this earlier, maybe we could’ve collaborated.
But did it really matter now?
We’d been solitary siblings from the start, and now it was much too late. Live alone, die alone. With sixty-one days left to live...
***
The next day at work was reclusive and low in productivity. James had agreed to a phone call for the following night, but what kind of talk would it really be? How would he feel when I told him that in eight short weeks, we wouldn’t even talk at all?
I needed advice, and I already knew it wouldn’t come in the form of work friends. Eleanor and Amy had their eyes full of worry, and I wasn’t in the mood to prove them right.
Which was why I needed Laura. She was back from France and back on track with Mark, after getting more acquainted on her brother’s birthday night.
As for she and I? We were back to getting drinks and catching up.
***
I collapsed into a chair on a beautiful restaurant patio in Toronto’s richest neighbourhood. There were potted plants, comfy leather chairs and the sweetest summer breeze flowing in and out of trees for a constant pleasing rustle.
The fancy meals were definitely out of my price range. But a drink with a friend? That I could do.
Even if our talk was bound to get heavy from her serious advice, at least it could start out fun. Especially here, where everyone was so good-looking.
Oh hello...who’s that? A man in a Ralph Lauren golf shirt and crisp-looking khakis immediately caught my eye. As he paid the bill and rose from his chair, I let out a tiny gasp.
I can totally see his package!
Yes, those pants had definitely been to the tailor (“Just the crotchal region please. Take them in a few inches all around”). Or maybe they hadn’t seen a tailor at all. Maybe he was simply a walking bag of...
Hey, where’d he go?
Mr. Package disappeared as a pink-tank-topped Laura and her curls swept into view.
“Hey!” I said, feeling rather flush but managing a smile. “Nice tan by the way. So how’s your precious Mark?”
Laura didn’t flash her big smile. She simply stared.
“Uhh...are you okay dude?” I said.
“The Mark thing is done.” The rage in her voice was about to bubble over.
I sat there in silence for a moment, my eyes saying “What the hell?” and my mind thinking “Dammit, this means I won’t get to focus on ME!” This was tragic, but I wasn’t a total asshole. So it was time to step it up and be a friend.
“How do you go from absolute bliss to this?” I asked. “Please explain.”
“Well here’s the short version: we were talking online last night with a webcam. I thought he was being sweet. Until…”
“Until what?” What could go wrong with a webcam talk? It was better than voice alone, though in my case I was glad James hadn’t brought it up. Because A: I liked wearing PJ’s, and B: I didn’t like that I was still several workouts short of my new and improved toned look. Not to mention the camera would add ten pounds. I don’t think so.
I suddenly realized that Laura hadn’t answered my question. It was hard to keep track with my thoughts running wild. I guess I AM an asshole-friend after all.
“Until WHAT?” I repeated.
She stared at her lap as she spoke. “Until he stood up, unzipped his pants, and showed me his raging boner.”
Excuse me?
Before I could react our waiter arrived, to deliver the frozen mango cocktails I’d ordered earlier.
I smiled and ushered him away. Then I started laughing. And laughing.
I couldn’t believe I’d almost fallen for that.
“Was that your punch line?” I asked. “You’re hilarious!”
I swallowed up my giggles when Laura’s stony face didn’t move (only now she looked ready to strangle me).
A boner on a webcam? Seriously?
“Wow sorry,” I said. “I think I was in shock. But why were you guys even using a webcam? You only live forty minutes apart!”
“I know, but since we’re keeping our encounters secret from my brother, we’re sort of easing into meeting up. Or were.” She sighed. “I didn’t even want to use a webcam. We were talking on the phone just fine, but he kept on begging me to come online. He wanted to show me something special. Well now I know what THAT was.”
I couldn’t help but shudder, and it wasn’t from the chill of the cocktail. “God, that’s disgusting. But do you think you maybe somehow transitioned to the topic of his wiener? Maybe he thought you had given him a signal?”
I winced as I waited for Laura’s bitch slap, though like any good friend I was simply playing devil’s advocate.
“Uhh...NO. There wasn’t any signal, because I’m pretty sure I’m not a ‘ho! I mean yeah we flirted at the party, but to go from flirting to that? That’s his boner on the Internet!”
Wow, and I thought I had problems.
I took a long sip of the slushy cocktail. “That’s awful. So what exactly did you say?”
“I basically called him a sick twisted pig. Then he was all like ‘So, I guess I screwed up my chances with you.’ Uhh…YEAH, I think you did!”
“I still can’t believe he’s your brother’s best friend. Like why is your brother best friends with a pervert?” I rubbed my bare arms which now had goose bumps from the icy drink, trying all the while to keep my mind off of Internet boners.
“Oh please, do you really think guys sit around and share that stuff? Like: ‘Hey, what weird pervert shit did you do last night?’ No, they only tell each other when they’ve scored.” She took the straw out of her drink and started chugging it from the glass.
Damn.
“Or maybe he DOES know Mark’s a pervert,” I suggested. “Which is why he’ll kill him if he dates you!”
Laura frowned as she gazed at a couple passing by. “No, he’ll kill anyone who dates me. Which is crazy since my parents are just waiting for me to find a boyfriend! God, they’re all working against each other. But who’s even working for LAURA?”
I smiled. “Well I’M working for Laura. I’m just sorry I have nothing to show for it yet.” I finally saw a smile creep across her face. “Seriously though, today’s like the day of the dicks or something.”
“What?” Her face appeared suddenly confused.
“Oh...never mind.” I decided to save the Mr. Package story for a rainy day. “But really, are you okay? I mean besides all of that?”
“I guess. But I think I’ll stay off guys for a while. So what about you...how’s James?” She clasped her hands together and tried to smile. “Every time you text me you mention another phone call. It sounds like things are progressing.” Laura’s weak smile became a little bigger.
Okay, here we go.
“Actually it’s great. I mean after the initial flirting, he’s revealed himself as this rich writing soul who makes me feel like I can do things I was too afraid to even dream about.” I sighed.
“Wow…that sounds pretty great.” Laura was still smiling but it looked a little forced.
“But…” I began, “there’s a problem. My parents just bought a house in town. So me and my sister are moving back in with them…in eight weeks.” I watched her eyes widen and continued. “And James has no clue I’m an overgrown infant who’s completely controlled by her parents. And even if he keeps in touch and makes a visit someday, I’ll be on some ridiculous curfew.”
I was all out of breath so I took another sip of my drink, feeling grateful for frozen vodka and exotic fruit.
“Wow. Shit. Well let’s be positive and assume he’ll
understand. And let’s assume he visits you too.”
It sounded like a full-of-crap theory but I nodded.
“You could just lie to your parents, right?” She slowly nodded. “Like tell them there’s an office function, and you have to stay out late?”
I shook my head. “I doubt it. They see no reason why I’d be anywhere past ten o’ clock. But why even worry about that now? I doubt he’ll stay in touch once the phone calls are off the table.” I frowned.
“Oh Romes.”
“Maybe I should end it? Before I start to care too much?”
Oh please, as if I’m not already too obsessed.
“Well the way I see it now, with or without your parents he lives in Barcelona. What I mean is…either way you’re kind of screwed.”
I frowned. “What kind of stupid advice is that?”
Laura’s blue eyes were ready to shoot some daggers.
“Sorry,” I quickly said. “I know you’ve had a bad day. But seriously, what the hell do you mean?”
“What I mean is you have nothing to lose! You never knew if it would work out anyway! So tell him the truth about your family. Just wait and see what he says.”
“Can you tell him for me?”
She laughed. “Shut up. Just remember to live in the moment. Whatever happens you have benefited from this contact. Seize the day!”
Laura used a few more familiar quotes to get me back to good, and from there we transitioned into cherry martinis for the rest of the night.
And from that drunken night came a sober one. On this one I was poised to share some very crucial news: Hey James, I wear a diaper and my mom chews my food before I eat it. Do you still want to stay in touch?
Chapter Thirteen
I counted the strokes as I brushed my hair. It was a method of distraction like counting sheep, though I wasn’t allowed to pass out. Instead I was killing time until my phone call with James in six minutes.
No, make that five minutes.
After twenty-six strokes I flung the hairbrush across the room. What next? I stared into the oval mirror again, and straightened out my bright pink top. It was work appropriate but almost not, as there was definitely some cleavage action. It was also a little fitted which was fine, because I’d lost a big five pounds after all.