Grime

by K. H. Leigh

  Jesus, Mitch, it’s just a goddamn phone. I can be so dramatic sometimes.

  When I go back inside Ethan and Gwen are making out on the bed. He has his hand up her shirt and is kneading his fingers into her like a man clinging to the edge of a cliff.

  “Gwen!” She opens her eyes and looks straight at me, her tongue still working in his mouth. “Jesus Christ. Knock it off and help me already.”

  “Yeah, yeah. Fine.” She pushes Ethan away and climbs over him to get to one of the empty trash bags lying on the floor. Eventually he gets up, too, and the three of us listen to Gwen’s terrible music and chat about nothing while we throw away forgotten bits of our childhood.

  “You like tits?” Ethan asks me suddenly.

  “Everybody likes tits.”

  He laughs so hard at that one he has to sit on the sit on the edge of the bed until he recovers.

  By the time Jamie and Val get back with the pizza we're only half done clearing the bedroom. None of us want to eat inside, with the dirt staring at us, so we all sit on the porch, using torn up pieces of the pizza box lids as plates. Ethan gets the cooler out of his car and we all take a beer.

  "Remember the people who used to live across the way?" Jamie asks through a mouthful of Italian sausage. "The ones with the dog?"

  Jesus. Are we doing the remember whens? Seriously?

  "The bulldog?" says Val.

  "It wasn't a bulldog, it was a pug or something."

  "Not a pit bull, a bulldog. Like a French bulldog. One of those little ones."

  It was a fucking rat terrier mutt, but I don't care enough to correct them.

  "Like the queen has?"

  "The queen has corgis."

  "Not bulldogs? I thought she had, like, British bulldogs."

  "Ohmygodidontcare." It all comes tumbling out of me as a single word. "And you accuse me of talking and talking without saying anything," I moan to Jamie. She pokes me in the forearm with her crust.

  "Anyway, like I was saying, those people were dicks."

  "I don't remember the people, I only remember the dog."

  "How long did y'all live here, anyway?" Ethan asks.

  Jamie looks at me. "Dad got out when we were, what, eight?"

  "Yeah."

  "He got this place about a year later."

  "We never lived here full-time," Gwen clarifies. "It was just a weekend-custody thing."

  "I was here a whole summer once," says Val.

  "Really?" I hadn't known that. "When?"

  "A few years after you left. After Gwen’s graduation."

  "When she was staying with me?"

  "Yeah."

  I turn to Gwen. "You never mentioned it."

  "I'm sure I did. And if I didn't it was because you never wanted to talk about home."

  Can she really blame me? I feel a surge of sympathy for Val. It was bad enough spending weekends here. I can’t imagine how pissed I’d have been if our grandparents tried to dump me with Dad for a whole summer. I was lucky to get away when I did.

  The afternoon drags on. Ethan keeps drinking all day. His cooler seems to have an infinite supply, and he progresses from jovial to surly and back again several times. Twice I find him pawing at Gwen in an otherwise empty room. Both times she pushes him away when she sees me. The first time she grins at me, almost sheepishly, but the second time she gets mad at him. “Will you fucking get off me?” she growls as she shoves him in the chest.

  He narrows his eyes at her. “Don’t be such a bitch.”

  “Just help us clean up, all right? Jesus.”

  I tense up, worried for a minute that he’s going to hit her. What would I do if he did? Jump in to defend her? Dude outweighs me by a good forty pounds. But all he does is roll his eyes and walk away to get another beer.

  Soon it’s time for our third trip to the dump. Ethan slaps his hand on my shoulder. “You girls stay here. Mitchell and I have got this one.”

  "It's Mitch," I correct him.

  "Jamie calls you Mitchell."

  "Yeah, well." You're not Jamie, asshole. The last thing I want is to go for a ride with Ethan, but at least it means forty-five minutes without a can in his hand, and I don’t think it’s a bad idea to put some physical space between him and Gwen for a while.

  Jamie pulls the keys from her pocket and presses them into my palm. “Have fun,” she murmurs.

  I glance over her shoulder at Val and Gwen, who are engaged in a heated debate about the name of some guy from some TV show nobody else remembers. “You too.”

  “Don’t wreck my truck.”

  Ethan drums on the dashboard as we start off down the street. “Your sister is crazy, man.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Fucking crazy. I mean, like, all women are crazy. But your sister? She out crazies them.”

  “I bet.”

  “I told her,” he says, leaning back and slouching low in his seat, pressing his palms against the ceiling of cab. “I told her y’all should just hire somebody to clean out this house. Professionals, you know? There’s people that do that. But she was like, no dude, it’s gotta be us. It’s gotta be my brother and sisters. We gotta do it. Shit, man. You could’ve hired some cheap bastards off the internet and it would’ve been done by now.”

  “Wait, this was Gwen’s idea?”

  “Yeah, man. What’d you think?”

  “I assumed it was Jamie.” I try to recall the emails and texts I got arranging today. Were they all from Gwen?

  “No, man, no. Jamie, she and Val wouldn’t even say yes to coming until Gwen told them you’d booked your flight.”

  “Huh.” That’s weird.

  He laughs. “Right? Gwen’s a piece of work. A real piece of work. Love her, though.” He rolls his head over his shoulder and looks up at me sideways. “You think I do? You think I love her?”

  Jesus Christ. “Yeah, of course.”

  “You think she loves me?”

  “Sure seems like it.”

  “You think I’m good for her?”

  God, he’s drunk. “Are you?”

  “I’m asking, man. She’s your sister. Your opinion matters.”

  “I doubt that. Gwen and I aren’t exactly joined at the hip. I don’t think she gives a shit about my opinions on her love life.”

  “To me. It matters to me. Do you think I’m good for her?”

  We’re stopped at a light, so I look him in the eyes. “I don’t know, man. I have no fucking idea what’s good for Gwen. You’re kind of a dick, but I think anyone would probably have to be to put up with her.”

  He grins. “Yeah, gotta be a dick to handle the crazy. I like that, man. I like that.” He rolls back to the other side until his forehead is pressed against the window. “She’s great gash, though. The crazy ones always are.” He closes his eyes and starts singing along with the radio. He’s completely tone deaf, but as long as he’s not talking to me anymore he can sing as much as he wants.

  It’s not until we’re at the dump that he speaks again.

  “I get it, though, man.”

  “Get what?”

  “Doing this house thing yourselves. Closure. Family bullshit. I get it.”

  “Yeah, I guess.”

  “Your sister’s still crazy, though.”

  When we get back to the house Val’s car is gone. Ethan goes straight for the cooler and settles down on the porch with his beer while I go inside. Gwen and Jamie are in the hallway, turning out the closet. “Where’d Val go?”

  Jamie looks up at me. “She’s in the den.”

  “I don’t think so. Her car’s gone.”

  “Did Ethan come back with you?” Gwen asks.

  “No, I left him at the dump,” I reply sarcastically. “He’s on the porch.”

  “What’s he doing out there?”

  “What do you think?” I mime taking a swig from a can.

  “Don’t be a cunt.” She throws an old deflated soccer ball down the hallway, missing the box she was aiming for by a good three fee
t. “He doesn’t usually drink that much, but it’s his only day off all week and he’s spending it here helping us, so cut him some slack.”

  “I didn’t say anything.”

  “You were thinking it pretty loud, though.”

  I pick up the ball and drop it in the box. “He told me this was your idea. I thought it was Jamie’s.”

  “Why’d you think that?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Well, it was mine.” It’s just a split second, but something about the way they glance at each other catches my attention. I wonder if something happened while Ethan and I were gone.

  “So are we not concerned about Val disappearing, then?” I ask.

  “Not really,” Jamie shrugs. “She’ll be back. She probably just needed some air. She’s been working her ass off all day.”

  “God, she’s like some kind of machine,” I agree. “I wonder how she got that way.”

  “She’s used to it. When you’re always go-go-go like she is, it’s hard to stop and slow down. You forget where the brakes are.”

  “Val’s always go-go-go?” I ask. “Doing what? She doesn’t even have a job, does she?”

  They both stop and stare at me with their eyes slightly narrowed, like they aren’t sure if they heard me right or not. Finally Gwen says slowly, “No, but she has her kids.”

  “But they’re all old enough to be in school, right? So what is she so busy doing all day?”

  Jamie’s jaw actually drops open. Jesus. Is this one of those things where I’m about to get my ass ripped open for daring to suggest that stay-at-home moms don’t have it as hard as they like to think? I mean, sure. Fifty years ago taking care of the house was a lot more work. Laundry and dishes and cooking and shit took tons of time. But we have dishwashers now, and it’s not like husbands aren’t expected to help out anymore. I have several friends who are parents, who both work full-time jobs and still take care of their kids. Surely it’s more difficult to be a parent and work than to just do one or the other.

  I’m bracing myself for a wave of postfeminist lecturing when Jamie says, “I’m not even going to pretend I know what it’s like to take care of autistic kids, and I’m certainly not going to pass judgement on Val or Billy or how much time either of them spends doing it.”

  “One of Val’s kids is autistic?”

  They’re still staring at me in a way that makes me feel naked and exposed. “Both of her boys. How do you not know this?”

  How did I not know this? Maybe it was in the subtext of one of those emails or Christmas cards. Or maybe it was in the text text, bold and underlined and written in neon glittery puff paint. I have no idea.

  Jesus fucking Christ. I’m a terrible person.

  They’re just staring at me, staring with so much judgement in their eyes and I deserve it and I don’t know what to say, so I just pick up one of the boxes they’ve filled from the closet and carry it outside. I step over Ethan, who’s fallen asleep on the porch, and heft it across the yard to drop it on the charity pile.

  The sky is turning that weird late-afternoon color. I unlock the rental and get in the driver’s seat. I take my phone out of my pocket. I have two missed texts from Ben.

  Hey babe. How’s it going?

  Everybody recognize each other?? :D

  I put the keys in the ignition so I can listen to the radio while I reply.

  It’s kinda shitty, actually.

  My family is so fucked up.

  We barely know each other.

  Everyone’s family is sort of fucked up

  Yeah, but we’re like strangers.

  You think you’re supposed to have some sort of bond.

  Like a blood thicker than water thing.

  But it’s just shit.

  I’m sorry babe

  You almost done?

  Yeah, there’s only like 2 more rooms.

  Find anything good? Haha

  Just some corpse with a nametag that says Jimmy Hoffa.

  Think that’s worth anything?

  ebay that shit! You can sell anything on ebay

  miss u

  Miss you too.

  Movement in my review catches my eye. Val's pulling up behind me. I watch her in the mirror. She's making faces behind her huge sunglasses, and it takes me a minute to realize she's talking to someone on the hands-free. Her husband, or the kids, or both.

  There's this word Ben found on some blog one time and fell in love with. Sonder. Supposedly it means that weird detached feeling you get when you realize somebody else has an entire existence of their own, separate from yours. I don't know if it's a real word, but it's a real feeling. Watching Val makes me sonderous.

  She doesn't see me, or at least I don't think she does, when she gets out of the car and heads back into the house. Ethan isn't on the porch anymore.

  I sit out here alone for a few more minutes. I could just leave now. It'd be a dick move, but I could do it. It's not like it would change anything between me and my sisters. It's not like there's anything there to change.

  I swore I would never come back to this house, and all breaking that promise has brought me is exhaustion and another layer of self-loathing. When it's over we'll all go our separate ways, pledging to keep in better touch and knowing we won't. There are no more parents left to die. No more random events to bring us together. Fate has an empty hand.

  Of course I don't leave. Instead I get out of the car and go back inside. I can hear everyone talking in the hallway, and I wait to see if it's about me. It isn't.

  "He really wants these standalone sinks," Val's saying, "but that means no cupboard space." Ah, the chronicle of Billy and the downstairs bathroom renovation. She's been bringing it up all day. Seems like one of those things couples fight about that, to outsiders, appears completely stupid, but when you're in the middle of it seems like a metaphor for everything wrong in your relationship. Ben and I have had our share of those.

  The thing is, we haven’t had a fight since I started cheating on him. Happiness is a red flag.

  I think about what I said to Jamie earlier, that if people realize how shitty their situation is they should change it. What a fucking hypocrite I am. I really do just talk without saying anything.

  Fuck them. Fuck them for getting under my skin and making me feel like this. It's my sisters, it's this house. It's all the residual shit, bubbling to the surface. If I hadn't come here I wouldn't be so angsty and insecure. I'm a teenager all over again, and it's all because of this damn house and those damn women. In real life I'm better than this.

  Part of me wants to show them, to prove it to them, to rub their faces in how absolutely completely perfectly okay I am.

  I cross the threshold and they all glance over at me.

  “Good, you’re here. We were just talking -”

  “About what?”

  “About whether we should call it a night and come back in the morning, or power through and just get this done.”

  I pull a trash bag out of the box and peel it open. “I say power through. We’re almost done.”

  “Yeah, that’s what we were thinking, too. But we wanted to make sure you were okay with it.”

  “Why wouldn’t I be?”

  “No reason. We were just extending the courtesy of asking you,” Jamie rolls her eyes. “Problem is, since they shut off the power to the house and it’s going to be dark soon, we’ll be blind. There’s a rental place down the road holding work lights and a generator for us.”

  “Let’s do it.” The sooner this whole thing is over with, the better.

  The trailer is only a third full, so we unhitch it so Jamie can take the truck to pick up the lights. Ethan offers her a hand, then Gwen asks me if I’ll come with her to pick up dinner for everyone. “Remember that barbecue place down the way? We used to eat there all the time when we were kids.”

  “It’s still in business?”

  “Of course. It’s an institution. Want me to drive?”

  I look at
Ethan’s little red car and shake my head. “Nah, we’ll take mine.”

  We’re only in the car twenty seconds before she asks, “What’s wrong with you?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Mitch.”

  “I’m just tired. It’s been a long day.” None of the houses on this street look familiar. They can’t have all been torn down and replaced, can they? I mean, a few, sure. But not all of them. None of this is familiar. “Did you guys tell Val?”

  “Tell her what?” Gwen asks. I don’t answer. She knows what. She sighs. “No, we didn’t say anything. What would be the point?”

  “I don’t know. Just to throw one more log on the ‘Mitch is the Family Fuck-Up’ fire.”

  I can feel her eyes boring into the side of my face, but I don’t look at her. “Is that what you think we think of you? Seriously? Is that how you think we see you? Or is it just how you see yourself?”

  “No. Not seriously. We’re a whole family of fuck-ups and I don’t think I’ve done anything in particular to single myself out.”

  “Jesus Christ, you’re a mean son of a bitch sometimes.” She’s speaking in that tone people use when they’re trying to keep the mood light. Somehow that hits me harder than if she had spat those same words at me with vitriolic fervor.

  “Sorry. Like I said, I’m just tired.”

  “We’re all tired. We’ve all been working just as hard as you.”

  I raise my eyebrows at her. “Have you?”

  She smacks me on the shoulder, but cracks a smile. “If you average us all out, yeah. Val boosts our numbers a bit.” She kicks off her shoes and pulls her feet up on the seat, draping her arms over her knees. “You don’t like Ethan, do you?”

  “Jesus, you too? He already drilled me for my opinions on your relationship. Why do you two care if I approve of him or not? It’s not like I’m ever going to see him again once this thing’s over.”