Duh, Vicky. How can you be so utterly self-involved?
“Yah, and I’m getting a brother, this time,” Michael blurted out, his contempt palpable as he gave his oblivious sister a dirty look.
The poor kid had no idea why he got such a hearty laugh from the rest of the family.
But finally, as my family began to loudly congratulate my fertile sister, I suddenly remembered to breathe. Thankful no one had noticed the food shooting from my mouth. I nonchalantly picked up the pieces of my latke, putting them on the side of my plate.
“You okay?” Dave asked. Okay, so apparently one person had noticed.
I nodded. “Went down the wrong pipe.”
He regarded me strangely for a second but then turned back to his plate. “It’s great your sister’s expecting again, huh?” he said into his peas.
“Sure. She always wanted a big family.” I actually had no idea if Ruby ever wanted a big family, but it seemed like something to say. What else could I say? “Oh, hey, how cool that me and Ruby are pregnant at the same time. Oh, but not for long! Ha ha ha.” No, better that I keep my dirty little secret to myself. As I looked around the table at my assorted family members: grandparents, brother, sister and her family, parents and my soon to be ex-husband, I realized that news of my unplanned pregnancy would not go over well. But I did silently thank Ruby for taking the pressure off me, no matter that it was probably just imagined.
As I stabbed another latke off the platter with my fork, I wondered if paranoia was one of those hormonal symptoms of pregnancy.
“I hope this isn’t out of line or a bad time to say this, but I’ve packed up some of your stuff for you.” Dave said very suddenly and not at all keeping with the jovial theme of the dinner party.
Squirming uncomfortably in my seat, I looked at him. “I don’t really want anything from the house, Dave.”
“Don’t be silly. These are your things. Your computer and your DVDs. What about all your photo albums and everything? I’ve packed it all up for you so you don’t have to come and do it yourself. You should have your things.”
I was torn. It was hard to tell if Dave was just being the same nice, considerate guy he had always been or if he wanted all memories of me out of his home. I guess I couldn’t really argue even if it was the latter since I was doing the same thing by avoiding taking anything from the house that said ‘couple’ or Dave and Vicky. It was important that everything now was to be just Vicky.
“Okay. When do you want me to come get it?”
“Whenever is fine. Just call, but pretty much any time is good.”
Ouch. It was no longer acceptable for me to just drop in. I had been relegated to one of those people you didn’t want just coming over anytime. I was like a parent or an acquaintance or a charity looking to pick up old clothes. Actually, it was worse; I was now ‘the ex.’ ‘Sure you can come, but please, just call first. Maybe I’ll be fucking someone else, and I’d hate for you to see that, so I’ll just need a warning jingle.’
I smothered my irrational hurt and jealousy with another latke.
“You’re pretty hungry, huh?” Dave asked, an innocent smirk on his face.
I looked down at the slab of potato sitting in the shimmery pool of grease on my plate. My stomach lurched and I realized with sudden horror that I’d eaten way too much. This was not good. Morning sickness plus overeating could turn into some pretty serious projectile vomiting. Sadly, I had learned this fact the hard way after a Supersized Big Mac Combo debacle I was disinclined to repeat. I willed my stomach to please cooperate, if only just this one time.
I attempted a smile, feeling the sudden need to do some damage control. “I get these disgusting things once a year and I just can’t seem to get enough of them. You know, kind of like you and your mother’s borscht.” I cringed at the thought of the heinous purple goop. Dave had always had this penchant for his mother’s cold beet soup that was guaranteed to grow chest hair, regardless of gender.
Dave smiled. “Oh God yeah. I just love that stuff.”
“Remember when you thought you were dying?” I couldn’t help but snicker.
“Hey, don’t laugh. I really thought there was something wrong!” Dave scolded, but he was giggling too.
The autumn in which he was about to start dentistry school, his mother sent him away with a massive container of beet borscht. He got drunk one night with his aptly named friend, Tequila Tom, and then ate so much of it, he began to pee orange. Not connecting what went in with what came out, he ended up a panicked mess in the emergency room. It wouldn’t have been so bad if he hadn’t self-diagnosed thanks to Dr. Google. Diagnosis: Cirrhosis (caused by massive amounts of undergraduate drinking).
He and Tequila Tom took a cab to the hospital (thank God it never occurred to them to call an ambulance), and in the ten or so minute drive there, Dave had professed to his friend how if he survived, he was going to propose to me. Oh, the romance…
Leave it to Dave who gave the hospital residents their laugh for the evening, even allowing them to brand him with the nickname BPS or Beet Piss Sally. The beet and the piss parts were immediately obvious when he told me about it later. But I had to ask why they called him Sally. Apparently when he thought he was dying, he began to cry like a little girl. Oh my big strong man.
“At least you learned about a little something called moderation; in both drinking and eating.” I pushed my plate away, silently thinking I could use my own lesson on moderation.
“Yeah, but I still love that borscht.” He paused and then said, more softly, “When I told my mom about us splitting up, she made me a whole vat of it. She figured she could drown my sorrows with food.”
“Excuse me,” I got up from the table, suddenly needing to use the bathroom.
“Vic, I’m sorry,” Dave said.
But it wasn’t him that was forcing me from the table; it was my bladder that seemed to be shrinking daily.
I put my hand on his shoulder. “It’s okay, I’ll be right back.”
By the time I returned, after emptying my bladder and my gut full of latkes, the women had gotten up to clear the table and most of the men were on their way outside to smoke cigars being handed out by Ruby’s husband.
“A bit premature for the cigars, don’t you think?” I asked of my sister as we took the platters of food into the kitchen.
Ruby grinned as she caught a glimpse of her husband. “Oh you know Sam, he’s such a proud papa.”
“Well, it’s great news, Ruby. I’m really happy for you.”
She put the platter of sliced beef down on the counter and slumped heavily into one of the kitchen chairs.
“Thanks, Vic. You know, I’m really looking forward to having another baby, but I could really do without this pregnancy bullshit. I swear, you’re so lucky that you’ve chosen not to go through this. You have no idea how horrible this is.”
I kept my eyes on the casserole dish I was covering with plastic wrap.
Mom stacked the last plate in the dishwasher before looking up at my sister. “Oh shush, Ruby. You should never complain about your pregnancy. Carry with dignity. That’s what we did. You never heard us complaining. And anyway, it’s not that bad. I don’t understand you girls today.”
Ruby snorted. “That’s horseshit, mother. I’m like the morning sickness champ. I’ve puked twice today already. Tell me where’s the dignity in that?”
I wasn’t about to argue with my sister, but by her own definition, I was, in fact, the morning sickness champ, having just rounded out at puke number three.
Chapter 23
Moving day was upon me quicker than I realized. Maybe it was because I really didn’t have much to do to prepare: I had my clothes and basic necessities, but everything else was coming on a truck from Sears. How surreal that my new life would be arriving in one day.
Of course there were lots of odds and ends that I still needed; linens, dishes, blinds, but I figured those things could wait until I began to settle and ge
t the feel of the house. One didn’t want to make a bad window covering decision under duress. So until then, I borrowed a set of clean sheets from my parents and bought a picnic set of plastic cutlery and plates, environment be damned.
But as I woke after my last night on Jen’s couch (thank God: my back couldn’t stand even one more night), I was immediately conscious and excited for the new chapter in my life.
So far the saga of my new house had been relatively stress-free, unlike the rest of my life. Between Zoë and my brother, all the technicalities of buying my new house were taken care of. Dave didn’t want anything to be complicated so he had gone to a lawyer and everything got split right in half. Turns out I was much better off than I realized; not only did I get half of the house’s value, but Dave bought me out of the dental practice (and had to borrow significant money to do so, but it was his choice, so I could hardly feel guilty about that). Although a divorce was never my first choice of tactics to accumulate wealth, I was going to be just fine financially, notwithstanding my low paying part-time job at the real estate office.
So with the money in the bank and no need for a mortgage, my newfound independence was only a legal transaction away.
Seemingly psychic, always knowing when I was awake, Bacco jumped up on the sofa as I reveled in my last moments as a couch-surfing homeless person. In the darkness of the early predawn hours of this winter morning, I could barely see more than the outline of the cat, but it didn’t matter; he was more than willing to do all the work. He rubbed his head on my hand and gave me what I figured was my final goodbye meow.
“I’ll miss you too, buddy,” I said, giving him a scratch between his ears. “I wonder if Jen would be mad if I took you with me to the new place.”
Sadly, I knew she would; since Seth had left the picture, Jen was constantly lamenting that Bacco was the only reliable male in her life. Until she found someone new to replace Seth in her bed, Bacco was who she cuddled up to at night.
There was something comforting about having a cat in the house, making it feel more like a home.
Maybe I would get a cat for my new home…
But after only a few moments of taking pleasure in my scratching, Bacco was gone. It was a good thing: time to get up. Jen was still sleeping and the building had a quiet calm about it, telling me that it was still early. This would be good: some time to myself to get my stuff packed in my two big suitcases and gym bag.
By the time Jen got up, my stuff was ready by the door and I’d put a pot of coffee on for us. I would miss her, the late night girlfriend chats, the hectic mornings, but more I craved my independence. And the thought of sleeping in a proper bed again had me more excited than I cared to admit.
“Hey,” Jen yawned and stretched as she joined me at her tiny breakfast bar. “So today’s it, huh?”
“Yeah,” I nodded, a lump materializing in my throat.
“It’ll seem so quiet around here without you, you know.” She got up and turned away to grab a mug out of the cupboard.
“Yeah, I think it’s best for both of us. I mean, I’m cramping your style; you can hardly bring home guys with me on your couch. You’ve lost your whole staging area.” I attempted a laugh.
Jen shook her head. “Nah, believe me, you’ve been way better to have around. And I’m through with guys, anyway.”
She had been pretty damaged by her final, irrevocable split from Seth, but I still didn’t buy her song and dance about being through with men; this was Jen after all.
Feeling coy, I tested the waters. “I thought you were all hot for my brother?”
A contemplative look settled on Jen’s face as her eyes rolled towards the ceiling. “Yeah, I’d probably do your brother,”
“Okay, ew, sorry I asked.”
She shoveled two spoonfuls of sugar into her mug. “Come on, Vic, just because he’s your brother doesn’t mean you can deny the facts.”
“And those facts are?” I asked cautiously, afraid of the answer.
She began ticking off her fingers. “A: he’s hot. B: he’s got money. C: he’s not married (getting involved with married men had been a problem for Jen in the past) and D: he’s got money and a job.” She grinned, waiting for my endorsement.
“You mentioned money twice.”
She raised her left eyebrow. “And?”
She wasn’t going to get it. I exhaled. “E: he’s a child. Trust me, you do not want to get mixed up with my brother.”
Jen rolled her eyes. “Whatever, we’ll see. Anyway, so tell me about today. Are you totally excited?”
The involuntary smile spreading across my face answered her question. “Yeah, I mean, I know I don’t have anything to even put in it yet, but I’m really excited.”
“You’ll get your furniture today, won’t you?”
I nodded, there was something very satisfying about getting all new stuff. I probably could have gone back to the house and negotiated with Dave for some of our furniture, but this way was better. This meant everything was mine with no recycled memories attached. Brand new, bought for and by Vicky.
“It’s a big deal. It’s really cool that you’re getting your own house. I’m a bit jealous, but I’ll get over it when you have me over for dinner with your brother.”
It was a good shot; I managed to hit Jen right between the eyes with the oven mitt.
* * *
Although Jen had to go into work, she did promise she would try to get the afternoon off to come help me get settled in the house. But until then I was on my own, or so I thought.
As I was cleaning Jen’s apartment as my last ‘thank you’ to her for being such a gracious hostess, a knock came to the door. Wondering who it could be, I snapped off the rubber gloves and tossed them and the rag into the sink.
Looking out the peephole, I saw my brother’s distorted face through the convex glass.
“Hey there, sister,” Steve greeted me, smiling and dangling a key as I opened the door.
I hadn’t expected this level of service. “I thought I was going to pick that up from your office. You were supposed to call me when the deal closed.”
He shrugged. “You know me.” He looked over my shoulder. “So, you alone?”
And his jig was up. “Yes, I’m alone. Jen has gone to work, but nice to know you are so focused on me that you felt it necessary to hand-deliver my key.”
He ignored my sarcasm. “Aw shucks, Vic. Okay well, I guess I’m outta here.” He turned to leave.
“Yeah, nice try. You’re helping me with these.”
His expression soured as he followed my eyes down to the two big suitcases I had packed. “Serious?”
“Serious.”
I grabbed my car key to follow him down, secretly thankful he had shown up; those suitcases ended up being a lot heavier than I had anticipated.
“You’re going to pay for this,” Steve huffed as he lifted the first bag. “Jesus, couldn’t you have luggage with wheels?”
“I’ll get coffee, how’s that?” I followed him out of Jen’s apartment, grabbing my gym bag which was mostly full of immediate needs: underwear, pajamas, allergy medication, toothbrush and charger, assorted face creams and bubble bath. When we reached the elevators, I hit the down button.
Steve leaned the suitcase against the wall as we waited. “Coffee’s a start.”
I had a feeling what he was angling for, but kept my mouth shut and played dumb, unwilling to get into this subject for the second time that morning. I had my own things to think about and was so not into playing matchmaker for my brother and friend.
Chapter 24
When we got to the house, me first in my SUV and Steve pulling up the rear in his Mercedes tank, all my emotions bubbled to the surface.
Not sure whether it was the excitement, the hormones or the rush of horror at the sudden realization that I was going to be living alone, but I needed to get inside to that bathroom and fast.
Abandoning Steve on the sidewalk, I sprinted up to the front doo
r. I shoved my new key in the lock and turned it as expediently as possible. Once inside, I jogged down the hall to the little bathroom to puke.
I had really hoped my first entrance to my new home would have a little more…I don’t know: romance attached to it. There was nothing romantic about puking. There was nothing even romantic about the reason why I was puking.
Cognizant that my brother was probably wondering what the hell was wrong with me (and the last thing I needed was him running to my mother with the speculation that I was pregnant), I quickly flushed the toilet and rinsed my mouth out with some cool water from the sink.
I left the bathroom, noting that the previous owners had taken their shower curtain with them (something I had never considered, but made me glad I had ample bubble bath), I joined my brother in the little kitchen, my suitcases having made it to the middle of the kitchen floor.
“It’s cute,” he said, nodding in appreciation. “It’s good.”
“Thanks.” I felt the need to explain my bolt into the house, “Um, sorry about that, I’ve had like five coffees already today…you know, they kinda snuck up on me.”
Steve looked at me like I was a leper. “Okay, whatever. So show me the rest of the house.”
As I gave my brother the royal tour, I noticed how different the house looked with no furniture in it. It was so barren, but still seemed to hold ghosts of the previous family; the growth marks of the kids etched into the door frame on the far side of the kitchen (how had I not noticed that before?), the baseball-themed wallpaper in the kids’ room, an abandoned (forgotten?) soccer ball in the backyard.
I would have to do some work to neutralize the feel of the home but knew that my new furniture and perhaps a coat or two of paint would go a long way.
“Nice, I think you did a good job, Vicky,” Steve said, his voice as sincere as his words. He really did have some shining moments, maybe Jen was onto something.
“Hello? You here, Vicky?” Zoë’s voice called out, echoing in the empty house.
“Back here, in the bedroom,” I hollered.
Life, Sideways Page 14