The Checklist

by Addie Woolridge

  “Can I get you all anything else?” Calvin said, holding the bill.

  “I think we are all set.” Dylan forced a cheery grin onto her face as she sweat through her cardigan.

  “I can take the check.” Nicolas held out his hand in a way that was both apathetic and demanding.

  “I know we are paupers, but really, I think we can treat this one time,” Bernice said, bristling. Calvin looked confused for a moment before handing the check over to Bernice. At least Calvin knew where his bread was buttered.

  “Thanks, Mom!” Dylan said. “Y’all have any plans for the rest of the day?” She half listened as Bernice made an empty attempt at salvaging the conversation. When she’d envisioned this meeting, she thought she’d worked through every possible scenario. Somehow, she’d never imagined Nicolas would bring up the business model of the art world or question her parents’ ability to provide for their family. Yes, she’d grown up without a bedtime, but did Nicolas actually think she’d been raised naked and starving in the streets?

  As they trundled to the cars, Henry and Neale took over her mother’s attempt at conversation, until they reached her dad’s battered hatchback. At some point, Henry had scraped the side of a parking garage wall and never bothered to take the car in, so the exposed metal was rusting. Like most things, Dylan had long ago accepted that this was normal for her parents and stopped caring. But at this moment, she felt piercing regret over not trying to get it fixed before Nicolas arrived. If she was lucky, he’d only make fun of the car for the next few weeks. But with the way things were going, his mocking time frame was quickly expanding past a few months.

  “Guess we will see you both later,” Bernice said, pulling on the still-locked door handle.

  “All right, Mom, I’ll give you a call about tomorrow.” Dylan hugged Neale.

  “Nice to meet you all.” Nicolas waved, getting into their car. Watching the pack of Delacroix make a left out of the parking lot, Dylan exhaled, debating where to start.

  “Well, that was unique.” Apparently, Nicolas had already digested the experience.

  “Initial meetings are difficult,” Dylan said, trying out her most gentle consultant coaching voice. “I mean, you know what they say: never discuss politics, money, or religion over dinner.”

  “In the case of your parents, they probably need to talk about all three. Last Thanksgiving, you were wondering how your family plans to retire.”

  Dylan gritted her teeth. “I did say that . . . about my sisters. But really, their retirement or my parents’ retirement is none of our business. Everyone in the family has made it this far in life, so maybe we can just let it go.”

  “You say that until they’re living on our couch.”

  “You know, I’m not worried about it, so maybe you shouldn’t be either.” Dylan prayed to God there was some Skrillex knockoff on the radio she could use to drown out Nicolas. She didn’t care that it sounded like an android grudge match, as long as she didn’t have to hear his analysis of her family.

  “Well, I don’t know what changed, because you were worried about it six months ago,” Nicolas said, shaking his head.

  “I guess I’ve just made peace with the uncertainty.” Dylan shrugged, irritation causing her hands to shift from ten and two on the steering wheel.

  Nicolas gave her hands a less-than-friendly look, inhaling before he said, “I wasn’t going to say this to your parents, but artists fall out of popularity all the time. And their stuff isn’t exactly mainstream. What your dad does is weird.”

  “Okay, let’s not talk about them,” Dylan said, jamming her finger on the stereo’s power button.

  “You’re nothing like them. Don’t worry.”

  “I’m not worried,” she said, turning the radio up and scanning for whatever could pass as dubstep. Her family was quirky. That wasn’t bothering her. The man next to her was a different story.

  Dylan’s family thought Nicolas was a “toad,” according to Billie, who’d texted her exactly twenty-five seconds after her parents left the restaurant. A text from her notoriously absent second sister felt like a bad omen. Deciding against bringing Nicolas over to her parents’ house, the next day she picked up her hair products while he waited in line at the original Starbucks. She’d tried to explain that it was like every Starbucks he had ever been to, but it was on his itinerary, and he’d insisted on visiting, so they’d agreed to meet for a second attempt at a family meal and a wander through Pike Place later.

  As she wound her way toward the market, Dylan thought it wasn’t an altogether bad thing that Nicolas was doing something on his own. Since yesterday’s breakfast, she’d been trying to come up with a way to address the debacle with her parents, but the three attempts she’d made had been met with some combination of confusion and sarcasm. Dylan was so frustrated that she had nearly thrown her wine at him over dinner last night. She had been excited for his visit, and now that he was here, he felt like a pair of old shoes she had worn one too many times to be comfortable. Then again, they had been together for so long; maybe she just needed to visit a cobbler. After all, she had never been bothered by things like his googling every one of her restaurant suggestions. Both of them liked to know what they were getting into. So why was this chafing at her now?

  Dylan wasn’t sure what was happening, but she did know that the space apart gave her time to come up with a strategy to control the conversation. Hell or high water, she was not letting him bring up her parents’ finances or letting Neale call him the Asshole Formerly Known as Nick.

  After locking the car, Dylan made her way over to the market’s entrance, where Nicolas was standing. Smiling over at her, he said, “You were right, babe. It was like every Starbucks. I thought it would be different.”

  “At least you checked it off your bucket list.”

  “True. And I got a mug, so I’ll have something to show everyone,” Nicolas said, waving the coffee cup at Dylan. “Where are your parents?” He glanced over her shoulder.

  “Probably parking. They said they’d follow me out the door.”

  Nicolas looked down at his watch with a frown. “It’s already 10:07.”

  “They probably went farther down the block. My dad can’t stand circling for a parking spot.”

  “They are seven minutes late. In the law world I could bill for this amount of time.” Nicolas laughed at his own billable-hour joke.

  “You can use that line at your next company party.” Dylan smiled and reminded herself that people’s parents hated their partners all the time, and those relationships still worked out.

  “There they are,” Nicolas said, still chortling. He nodded at her as if she were in on something hilarious and waved at her parents.

  Dylan looked up to see her mother striding toward them like she was going into battle, complete with heavy-duty hiking boots. Henry was wearing the exact same outfit as yesterday, a fact Nicolas would normally comment on if he weren’t openly giggling at Neale’s sartorial choices. For Neale, it was not nearly as odd as it could be. True, fascinators and crocheted coats weren’t common, but once you got past the Moon Boots, she was just wearing jeans and a T-shirt with a few too many zippers.

  “Ready for a bite?” Henry called as the three Delacroix darted across the street, overestimating a gap in the traffic and causing drivers to hit their brakes. Her father smiled all around but did not attempt a hug.

  “Sure are,” Nicolas said, mirroring Henry’s jaunty tone. Her mother rolled her eyes and shot Dylan a dirty look. For her part, she would rather her boyfriend and father out-jaunty each other than take the tone they’d shared over breakfast yesterday.

  Her plan was to keep things as brief as possible. Grab conchas at the bakery and wander the market. An hour in and out. Dylan hoped the act of walking would loosen everyone up. Nicolas could be funny, and if she could catch the right situation, her family would see that. By the same token, the market was packed with artists and artisans making a living with their crafts. If s
he was lucky, Nicolas might even observe how people like her parents paid their bills. Then they could finally put the whole tired financial conversation to bed.

  “There are a lot of people here.” Nicolas jostled into her, pulling her attention back to the present.

  “The market is always crowded on weekends,” Bernice said, slowly herding the group toward the bakery stand.

  From the outside, Pike Place seemed entirely composed of tourists waiting for the fish throwers, but a number of locals were always mixed in. For all the standard fare, the sellers at Pike’s always managed to have that one ingredient you couldn’t find anywhere else. A rare spice or a funny cut of meat was easily had here, making it worth a local’s time to brave the selfie sticks. And there were a lot of selfie sticks out today.

  Neale perked up. “This is one of the oldest public markets in the country.”

  “I didn’t know that,” Henry said, intrigued by Neale’s random factoid.

  “Yup! Before the market was built, farmers used to take their goods to wholesalers on Sixth, who would then sell them to consumers at a ridiculous price. Eventually, some corruption was exposed, and it led the farmers to found the market.”

  “Interesting,” Bernice said over her shoulder.

  “Before World War Two something like two-thirds of the sellers were Japanese Americans. They were forced out, because people are trash,” Neale added, fully leaning into her role as tour guide. “Many of them didn’t recover their stalls.”

  “Shameful.” Henry frowned at the nearest stand as they waited in the bakery line.

  “Now there are two primary beefs at the market. One is between the crafters and the farmers over space. The other is with the city. The market provides social services and low-income housing that city ordinances frequently threaten,” Neale finished, sucking in a deep breath. “Hi. May I have two orejas? Please.”

  “How do you know all this?” Nicolas asked, half smiling as Henry and Bernice placed their orders.

  “Neale loves random facts. She learns everything about a subject. Then surprises everyone with this font of information like seven years later,” Dylan said, smiling up at her sister before turning her attention to the woman taking orders. “Hi. How are you?”

  “Good. What can I get for you?”

  “Concha and a coffee, please,” Dylan said, her attention pulled between the woman behind the counter and her sister’s explanation of which books she’d read on the history of the market.

  “Same as her,” Nicolas said, gesturing to Dylan, then turning back to Neale. “You sure read a lot. Of course, you have the time.”

  Neale’s forehead wrinkled, as if searching for a way to see reading as a bad thing. When she found no logical explanation internally, she asked, “What do you mean?”

  Despite the roughly five thousand people surrounding them, Dylan was convinced the entire market could hear a pin drop, her family was so still.

  “You have a lot of time on your hands given your career.” Nicolas chuckled and walked away from the counter to let Henry pay.

  “What is wrong with you?”

  For a heartbeat, Dylan believed she had only thought the words. At least until Neale smiled at her, and Nicolas stopped smiling.

  “What do you mean?” He phrased the question exactly how Neale had a few moments prior, but the words were menacing. Neale’s smile was replaced with one of abject disgust as Nicolas’s neck began to turn the color of a rare steak.

  “All the information Neale shares, and you decide to pick apart her career?” Dylan could not make herself back down. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Henry paying, his eyebrows dancing up his forehead.

  “I was joking, babe.”

  “No, you weren’t. You thought you were slick. Couching cheap shots in a joke,” Dylan said, shaking her head and starting a brisk walk back toward the parking lot.

  Nicolas blinked at her for a second before pulling even with her shoulder to answer. “What has gotten into you? You always say your family is not normal.”

  Dylan tried not to shove people out of the way as she made for the exit. Checking over her shoulder, she could see her parents and Neale exactly five feet back, doing the worst acting jobs of their lives. If this was how they pretended not to eavesdrop, she would hate to see them onstage.

  “I can say that because I say it with love. They are my family.”

  “Babe, I like them too.”

  Dylan snorted.

  “I’m thinking about you. Do you want them siphoning off your 401(k) when they get old?”

  “Siphoning?” She bit back a response about her parents’ money and focused on the real problem. “What I wanted was for you to try, just a little,” Dylan said, reaching the entrance to the market. “I wasn’t even asking for charm, just kindness and a modicum of respect.” Her voice rose more than she had anticipated. Nicolas hated for her to speak too loudly in public, and she was sure she’d never hear the end of it later.

  “I didn’t mean it like that. I meant that they aren’t really stable. Neale doesn’t even have a job,” Nicolas said, pulling on her arm.

  “Nicolas, they are artists. Not war criminals.” Yanking her arm free, she started to fish around in her purse for her keys. “Do you know how much business savvy it takes to be working artists? I’m sorry we can’t all have CPAs for parents. Actually, no, I’m not.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Nicolas asked, narrowing his eyes.

  “For the love of God, your parents go on the same cruise every year. How do they not die of boredom? I know my family is odd. But that is just as odd as half the stuff my parents do. Odder, even!”

  “That’s absolutely not true.”

  “The thing is, years of cruising with your parents, and I never tell them it’s odd, because I respect them and I love you. That is what you do for your partner: love their familial quirks.”

  “Mine aren’t odd, and they certainly aren’t the mess you have. I see no reason to pretend.”

  Dylan’s head jerked sharply from the parking lot to where her family was standing, now openly listening and completely offended. Her head felt light. Was this what their relationship was? Her talking and him ignoring? Constantly correcting and restructuring her? Was the order he brought to her life worth shrinking every last piece of herself? She couldn’t get any smaller. There was nothing left to shrink unless she disappeared altogether.

  Dylan’s upper lip curled. “It’s like you didn’t hear a damn thing I said. So maybe you’ll hear this. Find a different ride to the airport. Then find a different girlfriend.”

  “Oh!” Bernice shouted, forgetting to be an observer. Dylan turned on her heel and began a dash to her car that would have made an Olympic sprinter jealous. Her only goal was to get in the car before Nicolas had a chance to say so much as a single but, babe . . .

  “See you at home,” Henry called from across the parking lot. “Proud of you.”

  “Thanks, Dad,” Dylan shouted, trying not to feel completely uncool as she leaped into the driver’s side and slammed the lock button. She could hear Nicolas shout something shrill but couldn’t make out the words. Forcing the car to start, she took a deep breath and tried to steady her hands.

  “This is okay. You are a smart girl, and you are going to be okay.” She repeated a silly mantra she had read in Your AAA magazine. She took one deep breath and glanced in the rearview.

  “Oh shit.”

  Nicolas was making his way toward the car and standing in her way so she couldn’t back out. “I am not doing this,” she shouted at the rearview mirror before realizing that he couldn’t hear her. Without thinking, she threw the car in drive. The SUV groaned as she drove over the cement parking block into the flower bed.

  “Sorry. Sorry. Sorry,” she apologized to the plants, her shoulders bunching toward her ears. She had just enough time to be grateful there weren’t any pedestrians on the sidewalk when she cruised over the curb and onto the road.

&
nbsp; Glancing back to the parking lot, she could see Nicolas standing there flummoxed, hands outstretched like she might still try to back out. Across the street Neale was sitting on the sidewalk shaking with laughter, while Bernice raised the Black Power fist, wiping tears of glee from her eyes. Henry was in the middle of a one-man slow clap.

  Dylan blew through a yellow light, rounded the corner, and felt herself relax. Sure, she had destroyed her relationship, but at least she’d never have to listen to Skrillex again.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  “What did I even do?” Dylan asked Milo, a cup of coffee tucked into her lap. The massive dog wasn’t adding a lot to the conversation, but he was taking up most of her twin bed, so there was that. Reaching out her foot to give the dog a tummy rub, she looked out the window. The skies were getting rough, and a big rain was headed her way, echoing the maelstrom in her head.

  “The thing is, dog, I’m not upset about this. Maybe I’m numb right now?”

  Milo moved a little to the left, seeking a better scratch.

  When she’d gotten home, Dylan had immediately gone to her room, and for the first time in her life, her family had given her the blessed gift of privacy. Probably because they were still talking about the morning’s incident and didn’t feel they needed her opinion on the proceedings. Bernice had brought her a cup of coffee and a granite hug, but other than that she was on her own to work through the end of her relationship.

  She had expected waterworks and the big pitiful moments that had characterized her college breakups. When Dylan was younger and she and a boyfriend had gotten in a fight, she would find her baggiest, saggiest pair of sweatpants and wallow in her sense of loss until a friend forced her to get glammed up and go out or the threat of poor grades had dragged her to class. Instead, she’d spent the better part of the last few hours staring into space, alternating between rage at having spent so much time with someone who couldn’t find it in himself to even feign decency and the desire to try to work it out. Dylan looked over at her phone. Nicolas was probably just going through airport security. She could catch him before he got on the plane, and they could try to find a way forward.