by Olivia Janae
She turned over on the couch, feeling the vast, oppressive emptiness of the apartment all over again.
Before, when Charlie would swoop in with a new video game or a movie that she wanted to share with Max, Kate would spend that time with Vivian. She wasn’t alone.
Today, though…
Maybe this was better, she thought. Above all else, she was a mom. That meant no matter how blue-gray she was feeling she could never give in to it, never let it overwhelm her. If Max had been home, she would have been far too distracted to find herself in her underwear watching trash TV for hours and drinking.
She was doing a lot of drinking.
Her head hit the back of the couch, startling her and making her realize that she had once again slipped into a comatose state as she stared blankly at the screen, not hearing it or the music that was playing. She coughed and changed the channel, unaware of what she had been watching.
Pretty Woman – she jumped to change the channel, wincing at the sting that reverberated from her heart to her eyes; the happy smiles on the screen had burned her retinas.
That used to be one of her favorite movies. She and Vivian had watched it twice.
Who knew, maybe it had burned her.
Maybe she was just allergic now.
Maybe she had just reached her maximum threshold of times she could be thrown away and now she didn’t have room in herself for shit like romantic comedies.
She was mad at herself more than she was mad at Vivian or Charlie. Hadn’t she learned how to avoid this?
Her head hit the couch again, and she let it stay there, staring vacantly at the wall. She had worked so hard to never let life break her, but her walls had been down. The damage had been done before Kate realized she was in danger.
And that was stupid.
Yes, she was allergic now.
And poor Max, he was too.
Together, she and Max had won the thumb sucking battle over the months since they had moved to Chicago, and yet, since Vivian and Charlie disappeared, Max’s thumb had been wandering, finding itself back in his mouth after so much hard work. The sight of it, of Max sucking his thumb again ripped at her. It was her fault. She had put her son in a situation where he was so badly upset that he needed that type of comfort again.
That was all her fault.
She was a horrible parent.
She pulled her knees up to her chest, hugging them tight.
Horrible. She was horrible.
A burst of anger flashed through her, and she grabbed the phone, turning the album off and flinging the phone across the couch.
Maybe she just needed a full night’s sleep. It had been so long since something had triggered this feeling of inadequacy and abandonment, she had forgotten about the dreams that had haunted her in the past... dreams of showing up on the doorstep of a new home only to be informed that she was not expected or wanted... dreams where she was informed by a social worker that they could find nowhere else for her to go so she had been assigned to live the rest of her life in a cardboard box behind a local fast food chain.
Meekly, almost timidly, she crawled over to her phone and rested her face beside it. Turning the music back on, she settled into the couch, listening to the heartbreaking blues.
It wasn’t just that she had been broken up with, that had happened a few times since her teen years. It was that her voice in the situation had been taken away. She had absolutely no say in the matter. She hadn’t even been able to explain herself. She had been living life happily and then a power greater than her own had swooped in and removed her, dumping her into the blue-gray, all-consuming depression. She thought she had moved past these feelings but perhaps being an unwanted and unloved child was something you never moved past – not fully.
She sat up and reached for her whiskey on the table. Moving too quickly, she sloshed the drink across her bra. Blankly, she stared down for a long moment, not really caring that the garment was soiled, drunk, but simply watching the color spread. She took another swig and shrugged at the empty room. There was nobody here to judge her – even if she was judging herself.
All right, if she was being honest with herself, it wasn’t just her abandonment issues or lack of sleep – not today. She had always hated the women who fell apart once they were kicked to the curb by a lover.
No, this, her pathetic drunken state, was because today was the worst day of the year.
She had always hated this day. There was no better holiday to remind Kate of just how alone she was, how alone she always had been.
No parents to call her and regale with tales of her birth.
No best friend to show up unannounced with a cupcake or a shot.
No significant other to kiss her cheeks and tell her they were thankful she was born.
She clicked the remote again and settled deeper into the couch, watching but not really seeing the show on the screen.
Should she be doing something else?
She could clean, but she had been unnaturally tidy these as of late.
She could work out... yeah, she should do that. She pulled herself halfway off the couch before giving the idea up.
She could study, but she had been studying so much over the last few months that her hands felt permanently cramped into the shapes of letters and numbers. She had thought that the cello was rough on her hands, but ASL was worse.
Her glare fell across her cello – no, she didn’t want that either.
So, she allowed herself to just sit and stare moodily at nothing in particular.
Why had she let Max go to the jamboree? She knew he was still too young to call her out on her dismissal of the day - much like you-know-who would have done. At least if he was here she could bury herself in him. She could use him as her own personal sun and drive away the drab. They could have gone to the movies or maybe out to dinner, and he would have fought off the loneliness that was gripping her. She could have focused on being a good mother, being a good housekeeper, or a better homemaker. She would have spent the day with him, helping him to bake a cake and waiting nervously while he used the big boy scissors to cut an odd amount of wrap for whatever strange object a four-year-old found fitting for a gift.
She knew if she had told John, he would have insisted on something, too, but perhaps that was the problem. Each year growing up she had been in a different home when this dreaded day had arrived. There had never been any special surprises or knowing cheers because, no one ever knew. She could tell them, yes, and perhaps they would grudgingly buy a cheap sheet cake from the grocery store or something. While that was great and all, no one had ever known her, known her life well enough to know the day was coming on their own. She had simply stopped telling those around her by the age of ten to avoid the awkward vibe of obligation.
What was the point?
She groaned and buried her face into the back of the couch.
There was nothing like this day to remind her of how alone she was.
Kate woke a few hours later slumped over, her face pressed to the seat of the couch, unaware she had dozed. The album playing on her phone was one she hadn’t listened to before, and she wasn’t sure exactly what it was playing on the TV now. An M&M had melted to the side of her face, streaking her skin with blue as she swiped it away. A little more sober now, the Smurf gore on her fingers jarred her into a moment of clarity.
What the hell was wrong with her? She was wallowing like a teenager; that wasn’t like her. She didn’t wallow.
She checked the time and realized it had been five hours since she first sat down. That was unacceptable – and so desirable. All she wanted to do was crumble back on the soft seat and be a lump, but no, she had to get up.
She had to get out of this cold, cold house.
Kate stood unsteadily and headed to the bathroom, washing her face and brushing her teeth. She pulled her clothes on over the whiskey-stained bra and underwear, brushed out her hair and pulled it back into a bun.
She stared at he
rself in the bathroom mirror, bleary-eyed, and decided she didn’t care how she looked. She just had to go before she gave into the soporific call of cooking show reruns. She had to turn that sad music off.
She had no idea where she was going when she got on the train, no real plans set. She had simply gotten on the first train to arrive, pleased when it wasn’t the yellow line train that would take her to Skokie, a distant suburb.
Apparently, though, it had been the purple line train into Evanston because thirty minutes later, she found herself on the beach of Lake Michigan not far from Jacqueline’s house.
She blinked around as she realized this, a little surprised.
She could stop by the Kensington mansion, but that was probably a bad idea. As deadened and alone as she felt that day, Jacqueline had demanded her presence every Tuesday evening over the past months and that was enough.
Plus, if she went, then the matriarch would ask her if she practiced that day and would probably smell the booze on her breath. She was like a parole officer you got for doing something well instead of badly.
It wasn’t worth it.
Instead, she nestled into a groove in the sand and watched the people around her.
It was still cold, as a matter of fact the lake hadn’t thawed completely yet, so there were very few people out. Still, each set of happy parents that chased their children down the sand, each happy and loving couple taking a stroll anesthetized Kate a little bit more. What was their life like? Did they have the same types of problems that she had? Did their smiles cover the fact that they were broken, too?
When she couldn’t take it anymore she rose, brushing the sand off and heading back toward the city.
What were Max and John doing? Should she call and check on them? She decided against it, knowing her black mood would be apparent. They were fine without her.
She passed a lively bar and grill where a group of college students were cheering happily from just inside the doors. Without knowing exactly why, she slipped inside and sighed, feeling the vicarious warmth and merriment wash over her. It brought some feeling back into her toes, and for just a moment she felt better.
“Noel is turning twenty-two! Let’s hear it for the old lady!” The perfectly groomed man in the Northwestern hoodie was calling from the center of the table.
“Table for one, miss?”
Kate jumped. She hadn’t noticed the host to her left watching her closely. “Oh, uh, yeah. Just one, I guess.”
“Right this way.”
Kate watched him go, debating just turning around and leaving. Instead she smiled as she was supposed to do and followed him to a small corner booth meant for intimate dates and, apparently, rejects who were eating alone. She would have been embarrassed had she not felt so tired.
She wasn’t sure she was hungry, it was a little early for dinner but the cheer of the party was addicting.
She watched as the birthday girl was forced into a small, cone birthday hat, blushing as her friends took turns hugging her warmly. Envy, jealous and angry green flooded through Kate. It wasn’t pretty and she was ashamed of herself, but it couldn’t be helped. Like a stone, the envy dropped into sadness. Would she ever have that? Would she ever have people? Did she even want people? People seemed to be predictably disappointing.
Why didn’t she just go out and make friends? It had been easy enough as a kid. All you had to do was walk up to someone and say you’re my friend now and boom, best friends forever. Would the same rule work in adulthood? Could she walk up to a businessman with his suit and briefcase and simply inform him they were best friends forever now? Could she then tell him that the first sleepover would be at her house that Saturday at five?
She was pretty sure they would chuck her in the looney bin.
Casually, she wondered if maybe a dog was what she needed. They were faithful. They loved you no matter what. She could finally get that Lab she had always wanted. As a matter of fact, once the idea occurred to her, it seemed like the perfect thing. Joy filled her for a moment, and she almost stood to leave but... Shit, no, her hopes crashed down as quickly as they had been raised. It wasn’t right to keep a dog in a tiny, urban apartment.
The server came smiling back to her table, and Kate realized she hadn’t opened the menu. “Um, Jack and Coke and whatever your house cheeseburger is?”
“Very good, miss.”
Her eyes fell back to the college students with their cheerful faces. Did they know at all what this was like? Did any of them know what it was like to be lonely in your soul?
She gasped when a large tear rolled down her cheek and quickly swatted at it. She wasn’t going to do that now.
She hadn’t meant to have three drinks, she really hadn’t, but watching the group of college students had been like her own personal masochistic movie. The drinks had kept coming, and she had nursed them, sort of, living in their bitter burn down her throat.
She wasn’t too drunk to function, but through the haze of misery she wasn’t exactly sure how she had gotten from point A to point B. All she knew was that, suddenly, she had found herself on her couch again, back down to her underwear and staring at the patterns in the ceiling.
She had handled this day in the worst possible manner.
She sighed into the gathering darkness. She should have fought harder for Vivian, chased more, insisted, stalked. She should have done everything she could. She should have told Vivian about the money thing early, she could have been honest with her. She shouldn’t have let it bother her; it wasn’t such a big deal. She should have shown up at her loft every day trying to explain. Having people was great, wonderful even, but having people she loved, well, that was a dream not granted to many. Kate craved it with every fiber of her being.
She should have signed more.
What had she been afraid of? Being humiliated? Looking stupid? So what? Did that really matter in the long run? She was an idiot.
She took another sip of the whiskey she hadn’t realized she was holding, slopping it over herself again. She glared at it, set it hard on the coffee table, and flopped onto her back. She could see shadows moving on the ceiling, and hear a siren somewhere in the distance, along with a group of thugs laughing outside.
The din felt sharp, threatening, and she flinched away, burying herself deeper into the couch to get away from the feral city.
She began to hum to herself, hands slowly singing in the air above her.
Happy birthday to me, happy birthday to me…
9
It turned out that all deaf events were terrifying when you didn’t speak the language.
Kate’s birthday had been her low point, the depression taking over in a way that she couldn’t stand. Her mopey drinking disgusted her, so after that day, she got up and out, looking for hobbies. She wasn’t sure if the deaf event she ended up attending counted as a hobby or some sort of self-flagellation. Still, she had wandered into Giordano's and been just as overwhelmed as she had been at the Gallaudet alumni dinner.
It turned out that Vivian had been right in a lot of ways. The moment the crowd had seen her struggling to speak to the greeter they understood that she was there to learn and pulled her in.
The people at the Giordano’s meet-up had kept her working. Now, a few days later, Kate shifted the shopping basket she carried through the produce aisle so that she could stretch the sore muscles in her hands.
She absently felt through the piles of tomatoes for one that was firm enough for Max to eat, and then rounded the corner.
She didn’t know why she still felt compelled to learn ASL; maybe she was just stubborn, but she was going to go again… once her hands stopped hurting so much.
She glanced up, her thoughts moving from sore fingers to cold juices and coffee drinks. But then her heart leapt into her throat, and before she could stop herself, she had twisted, hiding behind a rack of potato chips. At the end of the aisle was Charlie, a bag in her hand as she read the ingredients list.
It w
as ridiculous how hard her heart was beating, Kate knew that, and when a woman looked at her strangely, she could only give a half-assed awkward and apologetic smile back from her “hiding place.”
She glanced around, searching for an exit. She had no idea what Charlie would say if she saw her, but she was sure it would be both colorful and painful.
Charlie plopped the bag into her basket and casually walked around the corner, ear buds in and head bouncing a little as she walked.
Still doing her best super sleuth impression, Kate ducked around the corner, too, watching Charlie and debating with herself. She studied her old friend’s face, the one she had come to associate with laughter. She wasn’t sure she was willing to see what it looked like twisted with hate.
Kate worried her lip, hands gripping her basket.
She should say something. She should just say hi. Yes. That’s what she’d do. Charlie would probably eat her alive, but Kate had to know how her former friend was doing.
It took her another minute and Charlie starting in her direction before Kate built up the courage to stand.
Eyes averted, she started toward Charlie, her mouth dry and palms damp.
“Kate?”
The somersault her stomach performed was enough to make her queasy. Charlie didn’t sound happy to see her at all.
“Charlie!” she croaked and had to clear her throat. “Hi! Wow, um, how are you?”
“I’m fine,” Charlie answered a bit slowly, cautiously.
“That’s great.” Kate’s free hand popped her neck and then went to her back pocket, fell to her side, and then back up to her hip, unable to find a good resting place. “You look good. It’s good to see you.”
“Sure.” Charlie’s eyes only grew more mistrustful as Kate tried to pretend that this was totally normal. “How’s Max?”
“He’s… good.”
“Good.”
Silence fell between them for a few beats, and in it, Kate began to panic. She didn’t want to let Charlie go. There had to be something she could say that would make her stay.
Instead Charlie asked, “So what are you doing on this side of town?”