Come With Me

by Helen Schulman

  As for that asshole, Dan, it took all the strength she could muster to write back:

  You better believe it motherfucker. I haven’t heard from you in three days! Where are you? Did you get the job? Why don’t you answer my messages?

  Then she dropped the phone off the bed and onto the plush carpeting. She could feel its thud on the roof of her mouth.

  Now her heart was beating in her ears. She was so mad she could spit. Talk my ass, Amy thought. She rolled over to the edge of the bed and slid down onto the floor and slowly crawled her way across that same carpet to the bathroom. She sat on the lip of the tub and drank from the tap. Cool water sluiced down her throat and neutralized some of the acid in her stomach. She leaned on the porcelain and pulled herself up. She stared at her own face in the mirror of the medicine cabinet without recognition. Once I was a girl, she thought. (It sounded like the line from a poem.) A nice pretty girl. Where is that girl? Then she opened the cabinet and took out two Advil and swallowed them. The candy coating was sweet on her tongue. What’s one more? she thought. She took another.

  I am strong, I am invincible. (Amy remembered her mother singing that old Helen Reddy song under her breath as she was vacuuming the house, before Amy’s older brother died—oh, my God, my brother died! Amy thought. Eric! My Eric! Why did that asshole Donny bring you back to life?—Mom wasn’t so invincible after that. There wasn’t much vacuuming done, either.) But right now, Amy was as tough as nails—she told herself this, using that exact cliché, brushing away thoughts of Eric and Donny and The Furrier, all—and she didn’t need to go back to bed. She could brave a hot shower.

  She took off the T-shirt that she’d slept in and stepped out of her panties and turned the water on in the tub as hot as she, or anyone else alive, could possibly stand. She stepped in as the water rushed out of the bottom nozzle, burning the soles of her feet and splashing her ankles, quickly flipped the little metal lever to shower. The hot, hot water felt so good on her face and neck. She put her hands together in a prayer right under the spray to conduct the heat as fast as she could into the rest of her body. Where the fuck was Dan? What did he want to talk about? Was he ready to file for bankruptcy? Running away from home? Did he not love her anymore? She started to cry, tear water joining shower water, her pores leaking poisons and alcohol and grief; she even peed under the shower’s spray. She wanted to empty herself of everything. She picked up a bar of lavender soap and began to scrub. The little boys would need to be fed and dressed and walked to school. She was sure she’d also have to yell at Jack about something. She had a morning meeting to go to. She could kill Dan later in the day. She was “woman.” There was important stuff she had to do first.

  Downstairs, Amy drank her coffee black at the breakfast bar, with a side of dry sprouted toast, facing the twins huddled over their cereal. Not one to lie to her children, she said: “Shshsh, Mommy is hungover. She drank too much wine last night. Don’t ever do what Mommy did, or you’ll have a headache and want to throw up, too. Please be good boys and talk in a whisper. Now eat your Puffins and drink your juice.”

  The Things nodded at her solemnly. They were both so sweet. Their eyes were big and their hair was bigger. Each one had a different nighttime constellation of freckles on his nose, representing either side of the equator, she supposed, their own yin yang. Amy felt a wave of emotion, overcome in the moment with love for them. Thing One was in a blue-striped polo and Thing Two was in a red-striped polo and she hadn’t even had to yell at them—the color trick made it easier for the teachers to differentiate on the fly. Even Squidward was behaving, without his morning run, because she’d let him go in the yard. (She’d deal with that mess whenever.) He was a warm sleek bedroll at her feet.

  Jack came into the kitchen. “Hey, it’s quiet in here,” said Jack. “Somebody die?”

  “Mom has a hangover,” said Theo.

  “That again,” said Jack, patting Amy sympathetically on the back.

  She was the luckiest woman alive. What nice boys she had. If Eric had lived he would have loved them, too. He would have gotten what was so great about them. She wondered if Donny could multiverse her into that slice of heaven.

  She pulled Jack in for a little hug and without meaning to smelled the greasy topknot on his head.

  “Oh, God, I’m going to vomit,” said Amy. “Jack, when did you last wash your hair? You should take some hygiene lessons from Kevin.”

  “It’s all good, Mom,” said Jack. “I’ve got practice third period. I’ll swim the stink out.”

  “Now, that’s being a problem solver,” said Amy, turning away. “Don’t you want something to eat? How about a yogurt or a smoothie?”

  Jack opened the fridge and pulled out three of the Things’ Slurpee yogurts. “Got Go-Gurts,” he said. “Hey, you look nice, Mom, how come?”

  Amy looked down at her work pants and sweater set. “I’m not running today. Morning meeting. Going straight to the office after drop-off, but thanks, cutie. It means a lot.”

  “Sure,” said Jack, one yogurt tube already emptied. He left it slack and gooey like a used condom on her cleanish counter. He picked up his backpack and tore a banana off the bunch in the fruit bowl. Then he ripped off another one for good measure. “See you guys.” He headed out the door.

  “Shower before you get in the pool,” said Amy. “You don’t want to spread your diseases.”

  The door closed behind him with a bang.

  “Oh, God,” said Amy. She rested her head in both hands.

  “Poor Mama,” said Theo.

  “I love you boys,” said Amy.

  Outside school, Amy gave Theo a little shove toward the playground where the kids congregated before classes started. He’d been a bit clingy; maybe because she wasn’t feeling well, or maybe because he missed Dan, or maybe because school for him was a minefield of disasters and he’d learned to be afraid. She would deal with this today. She’d offer to take Naresh out for coffee and talk to him about his kids’ school seriously. With Dan out of work, maybe they’d qualify for financial aid. She would broach Lauren on the subject of borrowing money. Call their mortgage broker to see if there was any possibility of squeezing more out of the piggy bank they called their house. Whatever it took, Amy promised herself then and there to get her sweet kid out of his own private circle of misery. Later, but not now.

  Instead, she kissed his soft curly head, which unlike his older brother’s did not smell of Parmesan cheese because she herself still shampooed it every day; she untangled their fingers (they’d been holding hands) and pushed him into the fray.

  “There’s Blossom!” she said, loudly. Blossom heard her name and cried out: “Theo, come play!”

  At the sound of Blossom’s voice, Theo was shot out of a cannon, a red blur, chasing her or running after her, Amy couldn’t tell which, but whatever it was, it was good.

  Amy had to scan the yard then to find Miles to say good-bye. Miles had no problem separating. He was off in the corner as usual, playing Magic cards with his cronies.

  Amy walked over. “Hi, boys,” she said, but most of the kids didn’t look up. Thomas Hannahan openly sneered.

  “Oh, hey, Mom, bye,” said Miles.

  “Oh, hey, Miles, bye,” said Amy. She kissed him on his Jew-fro, too, which he tolerated, the way he tolerated shots at the pediatrician’s office. She had a thought, as she was walking away, and called out to him, “Maybe tonight after dinner you’ll teach me how to play?”

  “Sure, Mom.” Miles waved her off. Thomas Hannahan stared at her like she was bat-shit crazy.

  Amy hurried across the yard and up and out onto the sidewalk. But a man in a blue sport coat with gold buttons waved her down. “Theo’s Mom!” he called out to her.

  “Yes,” said Amy, her stomach dropping to her knees. “I’m Amy, Theo’s mom.”

  “Well, I’m Chris Powell, Maximus’s father, and something has to be done about your boy.”

  “Excuse me?” said Amy.

  “H
e’s a menace,” said Chris.

  Amy paused. Then she said, “I thought we cleared all this up several weeks ago, Mr. Powell. I checked in with your wife. Ms. Zhang said the boys are playing much better lately, that there’s been improvement, I mean.”

  “Zhang’s out of her mind,” said Chris. “And your kid’s deranged.”

  “Deranged?” said Amy. “Theo is not deranged. He is so not deranged.”

  “He’s deranged and he needs to be disciplined. Which you and your husband seem unable or unwilling to do.”

  Amy took an involuntary step back. It was as if her body instinctively knew to keep away. “Are you kidding?” she said. “Theo is the sweetest child in the world. He doesn’t torture other kids for kicks, the way Maximus does.”

  “Yeah? Well, my son doesn’t break other people’s property.”

  “What are you talking about?” asked Amy.

  “Max’s computer! Theo threw it across the room yesterday and broke it on purpose.”

  Amy was flabbergasted. “That doesn’t sound like Theo, not in the slightest.” She took a deep breath. Could Theo have done such a thing? She didn’t think so, not even in anger. But still . . . She had a long day ahead of her. She didn’t need this right now. She needed to be reasonable.

  “Look, let’s be reasonable,” said Amy. “I have a long day ahead of me and I’m sure you do, too. I’m really sorry about your son’s computer. I am. And I’m sorry if I snapped. It’s been quite a morning already”—trying for levity, she pulled out her phone—“and it’s only eight fifteen.” The effort to power up turned the screen to black; the thing died in her hands. She shoved it back in her bag and forced out a smile. Chris Powell didn’t smile back. “My husband’s out of town,” she said, trying to explain, reaching for sympathy. “I don’t think Theo is capable of such a thing, but I’ll ask him about it and then I’ll get back to you and your wife tonight.”

  “You’ll do more than that, you’ll replace the computer.”

  “Sorry?” said Amy.

  “It’s a two-thousand-dollar fifteen-inch MacBook Pro and he needs it for school.”

  Amy took a deep breath. This was money they didn’t have. “Chris, I can assure you that if Theo is responsible we will replace your computer, but I, as yet, have no reason to think he is. Have you spoken with Ms. Zhang? Did the teachers witness this?”

  “I told you Zhang’s an idiot. She said they were on a field trip yesterday.”

  “That’s right, they were,” Amy said. She remembered now, she’d forgotten to pack lunches and had to make a quick run to the Starbucks on the corner of El Camino to pick up two cottony bagels and two oxidizing fruit plates for the Things to hoover on the bus. Come to think of it, Theo must have survived the trip pretty well because neither he nor Miles nor Blossom’s mother nor the school had bothered to report any differently. Maybe matters were indeed improving.

  “All I know is Max came home with a broken computer and your son broke it.” Chris Powell was turning red now, and sweat was dripping down his temples.

  “Look,” said Amy, “I’m late for work. Let me talk to Theo and the teachers and my husband and we’ll call you later.”

  “You better call or I’ll have my lawyer call,” said Chris Powell.

  “Your lawyer? They’re in second grade,” said Amy. “Are you out of your mind?”

  “You’re out of your mind!” said Chris Powell.

  “You’re sweating and spitting and screaming at me!” said Amy. “Some of your stupid spit is landing on my face!”

  A group of parents had gathered, stopping to look. One nice guy, Bill Harrison, stepped up.

  “Chris, cool down. Come on, you’re both acting like the kids.” He was trying to be funny. But none of this was funny.

  “None of this is funny, Bill. This guy, this guy, he’s insane. No wonder his kid is such a nasty bully,” said Amy.

  “Well, your kid’s a weirdo. And so are you, lady!” Chris Powell said. He looked like he was going to haul off and hit her.

  “Oh, my God, he’s going to hit her,” said a mother, Thelma Jeffers, who always wore running gear. Guess she doesn’t have to work, Amy hiccuped momentarily out of her own darkening reality and thought spitefully, as Thelma ran off toward the school, calling out, “Excuse me, excuse me, we need help out here.”

  Bill Harrison said, “You both need to settle down. You’re creating a spectacle. The children are watching.”

  Sure enough, as Amy turned around, just in time to see Thelma returning with Ms. Zhang in tow, a whole group of children, little children, including her Theo and Chris Powell’s Maximus and Blossom Hernandez, whom she loved like the daughter she did not have, or maybe more like a niece, had gathered to watch her and Chris Powell scream at each other.

  Theo’s mouth was in an O, like a cartoon character.

  Amy tried to pull herself together. “It’s okay, kids, it’s okay, honey, Chris and I were just having a conversation, and I guess we got a little wild, even grown-ups get wild sometimes, but it’s all fine now.”

  “You lying insane bitch,” said Chris Powell.

  Poor Theo. At that moment, like a heat-seeking missile, he tore straight ahead, headfirst, for Maximus’s father.

  Thank God Bill Harrison was able to cut him off, with a firm grasp and an even firmer hug. “It’s okay, buddy. It’s okay. You don’t want to do that. I got you now.”

  Theo squirmed in his arms, but Bill seemed to know instinctively what to do with him. If Amy put pressure on his body, crushing him against hers, sometimes the sensory stimulation was enough to get Theo to cool off. She wondered if Bill Harrison had a child with similar issues.

  Amy should have married Bill Harrison. He seemed like an excellent father. Most likely he was employed. He would have answered her calls.

  “Bill’s right, Theo. Thank you, Bill. Everything’s A-OK, sweetie. Mommy’s fine.” A few tears leaked out from Amy’s eyes as she tried to smile.

  Suddenly, there was a loud clapping of hands, one, two, three.

  All the kids and parents, too, sprang to attention.

  Ms. Zhang had arrived. “Students,” she said. “School is starting, please go quietly to your classrooms.”

  Thelma was panting triumphantly by Ms. Zhang’s side. But Zhang did not have a hair out of place. Today she wore tailored black pants and a short turquoise blue jacket.

  “Mrs. Messinger, Mr. Powell, come with me.”

  That’s not my fucking last name, Amy thought. I would never change my name. Not for love or money. I have no respect for women who change their names! She wanted to scream all the venom out.

  Instead, she followed Ms. Zhang back into the main school building.

  When Amy finally walked into the i.e. office an hour and a half late, Donny was sitting at her desk, twirling around and around in her chair.

  “I’m sorry,” said Amy. “It couldn’t be helped. Dan’s away, some trouble at school.” She took a breath, asking for understanding. “You know. Theo.”

  “This is unprofessional,” said Donny. “Please don’t ever bring your personal problems into work again.”

  She waited for him to break into his weaselly grin, but the corners of his mouth did not change direction.

  Are you fucking kidding me? thought Amy. I’m unprofessional? Who did you come to when you got jock itch? The semester you received an A minus? Sometimes you put the wrong Teva on the wrong foot and keep walking anyway and everyone is afraid to tell you except me. Fuck you, Donny. Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you.

  All Amy could do in this horrible moment was nod her head, supposedly in agreement. She’d wasted enough words and emotions already this morning on someone who would never ever hear her. There was no point in repeating that useless exercise.

  “You wanted to meet, let’s meet,” said Amy.

  Donny got up and led the way into his office. He was in shorts, of course. The long basketball type. A T-shirt and a stupid hoodie. She hated his goddamn bandy
hairy legs. In her head, she thought: no one is ever going to fuck you, Donny. You’re going to die a virgin. But then she quickly took it back. He was just a kid. Lauren’s kid. Amy didn’t really believe her bad wishes could travel from her mind out into the universe, but she reeled them back in anyway; she wanted to make sure. Of course, she didn’t want Donny to die a virgin. Even if he was acting like a total fucking jerk.

  As she followed in Donny’s wake, Naresh rolled his forefinger near his temple, signifying that Donny was a looney tunes, that he, Naresh, was on Team Amy. Amy smiled. The first true smile of the day.

  “Want coffee?” asked Naresh. “I just made some.”

  “Yes, thank you,” said Amy, gratefully.

  “Milk no sugar,” said Naresh, as a statement. He knew how she took her coffee. Amy’s knees went weak with gratitude. Maybe she should marry him. “Donny?” asked Naresh.

  “No,” said Donny.

  They walked into his office, behind the mirror, Donny first, Amy second.

  “Close the door,” said Donny.

  “But Naresh . . .” said Amy.

  Donny gave her a savage look.

  “What the hell, Donny?” said Amy. “What’s going on?”

  “Close the door,” said Donny.

  Amy closed the door. Just when it clicked shut she saw Naresh through the one-way mirror arriving with a mug of her coffee in one hand and his in another. Two-fisted, he couldn’t even knock. She opened it again, carefully, so he could take a step back in time and wouldn’t scald himself.

  “Thanks,” she said.

  “Stay cool,” said Naresh, his voice low and conspiratorial. “Seems like Baby Bear hasn’t had his soy mochaccino yet.”

  She nodded, and closed the door, finally bringing that fragrant milky coffee to her lips. After the morning she’d had, it tasted like a magical elixir. Another sip and she was starting to perk up.

  “What’s up?” said Amy. She sat down in the chair facing Donny’s desk. He’d already sat down in his. His feet, in his Tevas (properly shod, thank goodness) were already up, lounging next to his keyboard. She could see that stupid leather thong that he sometimes wore on his hairy left ankle. Only Donny would wear it some days and not on others. She was a mother. She had children. She knew that once those things were tied on, you were supposed to wear them until they wore out and fell off, or you died—sort of like marriage and commitment.