Drums beat in my head. “Circle of Life” was playing in my bones.
Goddamn Disney. My brain could only think in Disney metaphor, but it was fucking onto something. I scanned the craps table Circle of Life, stunned at what I saw before me. I recognized my past and future selves standing there, betting with their partners, while my present self stood there, betting with the blue-eyed man. Amidst all the temptations that could be brushed under the dirty Vegas rug—sex with a good-looking stranger (or at least more flirting), gambling all my money away, doing more drugs, and drinking until I couldn’t see straight—all I wanted was Aaron. The old Aaron. Before kids.
The inner drums dwindled as dice thumped on the table, and then a quick second of silence until the table let out its unified “aghhhhhhh.” The lovely lady shooter had rolled a seven, just like I had. I looked in the woman’s direction, to give a sympathetic salute from across the table, but the tall man with grey hair was already softening the blow of crapping out with his arm around his wife, kissing the top of her head.
“Damn. Looks like the table’s gone cold,” the blue-eyed man said, shaking his head. “You still in?” he asked me with a not-so-innocent smile this time, his hypnotic baby blues shimmering like the ocean outside the window of the glass pop-up shop room.
I felt a knee-jerk repulsion that quickly turned into alarm, so strong that I felt like I couldn’t breathe. I bolted from the craps table without explanation, speed-walking in heels toward a cluster of Britney Spears–themed slot machines blaring “Hit Me Baby One More Time.” I found an empty row and sat down on a sticky vinyl chair, my breath shallow and shaky. What the fuck was I doing in Vegas, alone, and with my wedding rings off? I didn’t recognize myself. Nothing made sense, including the spread-eagled, schoolgirl Britney Spears on the slot machine in front of me, staring at my ridiculousness. I needed someone familiar. I was utterly lost.
I dialed my mom. In hindsight, a senseless choice. She answered, groggy. It was the middle of the night for her, and me. I didn’t know what I even wanted to tell her.
“Mom, I just needed to hear—“
She interrupted, her voice hazy. “Marnie, Sweetie, it’s Marnie.”
I screamed decades of anger into the phone at her. I hoped it melted her ear off. Extending that whole “doing our best as mothers” compassion to my mom was as hard as I imagined it would be. Shocker. An illuminated Britney Spears looked on, ogling my gaping mother wound. Martha. Maybe Martha could talk some sense into me. But it was all misplaced. I was the only one who could talk myself off this ledge. And I knew what to do to get myself down.
I fumbled my purse open, on a hunt for the mint tin that safeguarded my rings. I slid them back on, where they belonged, as fast as I could. I had wanted to let loose and experience some independence, not explode my life. Thank god Simba had brought me back.
Just then, my phone dinged. My heart jumped, in hopes that Aaron had cosmically felt me put my rings back on and was messaging me apologies and peach emojis. But it was a buttload of missed texts from Danielle.
OMG Owen won’t stop crying. I’ve never seen him like this before.
He won’t let me put him down and we leave for Napa tomorrow. I’m dying. Why didn’t you tell me two-year molars were such misery?
He’s sticking everything in the back of his mouth. I just had to fish a Jenga piece out of there. What do I do? I’m at a total loss here, April.
And why won’t you text me back??
I just cancelled our trip. I can’t leave him like this. Shit.
I couldn’t get into teething and Danielle’s trip being swallowed up whole. Mom Code had already whipped my ass and the events of the last eight hours were finally catching up with me. I was so tired I felt faint. The stamina of my mother self in Vegas was quite different than that of my maiden self, and all I wanted was bed. And food. In bed.
I speed-walked my way from the Bellagio back to the Paris hotel, alone. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d walked this far in heels, and my feet ached. I missed Aaron’s arm to steady me as I weaved through the crowds.
On my way to the elevators, I stopped at the casino mini-mart and picked up some snacks to hold me over until breakfast: Pringles, an energy bar, a one-hitter of Advil, and the world’s tallest water. On an end-cap sat a mini slot machine that Elliot would’ve begged for had he been there. I stood in front of it, barely awake, but judiciously weighing the pros and cons of bringing a slot machine into our lives, for my sweet El. I picked it up and set it on the counter along with my snacks.
“I’ll be right back,” I said to the cashier. I walked past rows of chocolate dice, shot glasses, snow globes, and a mug with protruding jugs that read “Mamelle,” searching for a Violet-worthy item. In the back corner was a rack of stuffed monkeys with Velcro hands wearing Las Vegas t-shirts. I scoffed. It was the kind of toy junk that I found hardest to reckon with. “Who buys this garbage?” I grumbled out loud as I picked a pink one out, answering my own question.
I made the ascent to the twenty-second floor carrying my black plastic bag of nourishment and child atonement. The doors opened and I walked down the long hallway alone. This time, the fun and excitement did not walk alongside me. The Ghost of Vegas Future had visited me, and now I ached to be kissed and hugged by the people I had earlier been so happy to run away from. But being alone in a hotel bed was a decent consolation prize.
I lay there solo, crunching loudly and thoughtlessly in bed, crumbs falling on the sheets. All I wanted was my lifeline to Aaron and for everything to go back to normal with us. Well, not everything. I texted him.
I miss you.
The response dots lit up. I sat up in anticipation, brushing crumbs off of my chest and sheets. He was awake, even though it was way past our bedtime. The dots kept bouncing and bouncing, as if he were writing a novel on the other end. Then his lengthy message came through.
He was there.
Are you okay A.B.?
Yes. Too much to type.
When are you coming home?
Tomorrow. I mean today. Ugh, it’s late.
I’m sorry I was so thoughtless about everything. I saw the heart around our date on the kitchen calendar. I’M THE WORST.
Yes, you are.
And I love you.
I slipped under the hopefully-not-semen-stained covers, finally able to truly bask in the alone time, knowing that Aaron and I had at least made contact.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
The Green-Eyed Man
Sorry,” June whispered, shutting the heavy door.
A stripe of light streamed in through the gap between the bulky, velvety drapes and the large window. It felt like it must be late morning. I gradually opened my eyes. There were no breakfasts to immediately make. Heaven. But my mouth felt like a sand dune and my head pounded. I took a five-minute drink from a water bottle I’d apparently spooned with all night.
“How’d it go?” I asked, returning to the fetal position in bed, like I longed to do every morning of my life.
June opened the drapes up a touch more, letting in the daylight and a view of the Vegas-sized Eiffel Tower. Her wig was off and her purple and gold bikini straps were missing out from under her tank top. She sat on the edge of the bed. “It was amazing. He was amazing. That was long overdue.” She was radiating in an entirely new way, which I didn’t think possible.
“So I was right about these dancer guys being good in bed?”
“You have no idea. Good in bed, good out of bed, good back in bed, good on the floor, good in the shower, and then, good at making me breakfast.”
“He totally rocked you like a little NICU baby.” We laughed with a racy cackle.
“He did,” she said fanning herself, “I’m getting all worked up again.” She hopped off the bed and started gathering her things.
“Did you get his number?”
“No, no. He was unreal, but it stays here. I have to focus on what I need to do next, and how.” Then he must not have been
that good, June. “How was the rest of your night?” she yelled from the bathroom, packing up all her pots of eye shadow.
“Crappy.”
She peeked her head out of the bathroom doorway, concerned. “Let me see your left hand.”
I pulled it out from under the covers. “I thought I wanted a break from everything in my life, which I did, but not like this.”
“And what did it cost you to figure that out?” She had stopped packing and looked at me with a seriousness, like she hoped I hadn’t done irreversible damage to my marriage.
“Only about sixty dollars at a craps table.”
She clutched her chest. “You had me scared for a second.” She picked up a too-long decorative bed pillow and hit me with it.
Oh my god, men are right. All girl’s trips do end with a pillow fight.
We threw ourselves together—hair up and hoodies— grabbed our things from the barely-used room, and jetted. June didn’t have any of her concealment items on.
“Do you think you should wear something in case we see Chet?” I wasn’t sure how high the terror alert was now that the footage had been successfully captured.
“Right,” she said, sliding on sunglasses and pulling up her hood. She looked like all the other hungover people riding an elaborate escalator maze through advertisements for magicians and one of the nine-hundred Gordon Ramsay restaurants in Vegas.
When we emerged from the casino into the hot under-belly of the parking garage, June stopped. “Oh shoot, I meant to get a water. I’ll go back. Do you want one too?” she asked.
“Sure. Give me your suitcase and I’ll get us loaded in the car.”
She handed her bags to me and clicked the car unlocked. I popped open the back passenger door and slid our suitcases on the back seat, when something pink caught my eye. It was a zippered bag with handles, like the kind you get at Victoria’s Secret, free with purchase, and it was crammed halfway underneath the front passenger seat. I pulled the bag out to find that it was heavy and also unzipped.
The gun.
I suddenly remembered June had brought a gun with us. Its brushed-metal barrel revealed itself from inside the bag. Fully-armed camping trips with my dad as a kid where we shot targets and skeet had made me familiar with the anatomy of a gun. I didn’t know the caliber, but I had shot one like this before. I double-checked that the safety was on, which it was, but the thing was loaded. I went to dump the bullets out of the cylinder when I heard a clattering in the near distance. I dropped the gun back into the bag and peeked my head around the car to see June, sunglasses off, face to face with Chet. I jumped back into the backseat in horror, and shut the door behind me. My heart was beating out of my fucking chest as I popped up and peered through the backseat window.
June was yelling at him. “You are a disgrace and a miserable excuse for a father. Our boys deserve better than you. And so do I.” She briskly turned to walk away.
“Fuck yes, girlfriend!” I cheered out loud, alone in the car. Chet leapt after her like a python, grabbed her wrist, and flung her around with force. My stomach tumbled, and it all clicked. That monster had manhandled her this way for years. The reason for the loaded gun. And probably her scar.
My panic turned to lucidity as I snatched my phone, slid it to “video” and hit record. The courts might want to see this too.
Chet verbally laid into June, still holding onto her wrist tightly. “You know what, you just messed up.” He began laughing manically. “As of now, your whole life is gone.”
She pulled herself free and ran to the car. He ran after her with the bladed arms of an Olympic sprinter.
Oh shit oh shit oh shit.
June opened the driver’s side door, sat down hard, and hit the lock button just in time.
Chet zoomed over to the passenger side, like a demon without legs, and clicked his door opener for her car. The doors unlocked. I crouched down low as the video kept rolling. Everything was moving slow. And fast. Chet slammed himself into the passenger seat in front of me.
“Get out of here!” June demanded, fumbling to put the keys in the ignition. He slapped her. She gasped. I tried not to.
“Let’s just remember whose car this is, huh?” he said smiling through his teeth. “Everything you have is because of me.”
“You are sick. And I am done. GET OUT!” She screamed from the darkest place inside of her.
In the blink of an eye, he lunged forward and gripped his hands around her neck. “You’re done,” he said as he tightened his grasp. “You were never good enough for me and no one else will ever want you.”
I felt myself leave my body, and from where I floated above, as if time had stopped, I saw the entire picture of what was happening inside that car, including the pink bag sitting right in front of me. June gasped for air and flapped her hands against the leather seat as Chet overtook her. I slid the gun’s safety off. I cocked it in an instant and steadied it up with Chet between the sight.
“Leave her alone,” I roared from the backseat. He jumped, his startled hands freeing her neck. She coughed and coughed as she looked for the car key. I was incensed. “Get the fuck out of here!” I yelled, sitting up and securing my footing. The scared look on Chet’s face filled me with confidence. He was bumbling for the door handle. “I said get the fuck out of here. You touch her again and I will blow your fucking brains out.”
Maybe I’d watched a few too many Die Hards with Aaron.
Chet ejected himself from the car just as June got it started. With the gun still pointed at him, I climbed into the front passenger seat. He ran, looking back in disbelief and panic. I closed the passenger door and June slammed the car into drive. She was headed right past Chet, but at the last second, she swerved, perfectly clipping his legs, and bringing him to the ground in agony. I looked at her in total shock and adoration. She looked at me the same way. We were both juiced up. I fell back into my seat.
“What just happened?” I said, shaking.
June peeled out of the parking lot and onto Las Vegas Boulevard. I re-flipped the safety on the gun and stashed it back in the pink bag, wanting it out of my hands.
“I think you just somehow pulled a gun on Chet and saved my life.”
“And I think you just ruined his running career.”
“I know,” she said with a slight smile hiding below her rattled demeanor. She breathlessly looked up toward the sky and said, “I’m sorry, Michelle Obama, but I couldn’t go high. I’ve been going high for too long, and that man nearly took me from my boys.” She broke down sobbing and fought hard to drive through the tears and wails, but they wouldn’t stop. I steadied the wheel from the passenger seat. She rounded her back and dry-heaved, and we got the fuck out of Vegas.
It took a good half-hour for both of us to calm down and speak again. Driving down the cloudless highway, my stomach demanded attention. How dare it want an actual meal.
“I know you had sexy breakfast, but can we stop somewhere?”
“Of course.”
I felt around for my phone to check out what food was nearby. Dread set in that I’d left it back in the hotel room until I realized when I’d had it last. It was still on the back seat.
“June. I recorded it.”
“I know. Remember, I was there in front of the café with you?”
“No, no, not that. Just now. Chet. Him yelling at you and then the other stuff in the car.” I couldn’t bring myself to say the word “strangle” out loud. “It’s all on here,” I said, scrubbing through the video, unwilling to watch the actual footage. She put her hand over her mouth for a short while.
“A Chick-fil-A!” I shouted. My favorite hangover food.
June pulled off the highway at the Nevada/California state line and parked underneath the abandoned roller coaster, next to a gas station and the Chick-fil-A. Its parking lot was empty.
“Fuuuuuuck, it’s Sunday.” Chick-fil-A: crushing dreams and LGBTQ people every Sunday since 1967.
Gas-station breakf
ast it was. A chew tin of shredded beef jerky, a bag of almonds, and a package of Haribos. When I returned to the car, June had news for me.
“I just called Cammy. She wants us to send her all the videos. She knows a lawyer who might be willing to help me immediately.”
I sent the damning evidence into the ether.
“She’s got the boys on lockdown at her house until I get there, and asked if I wanted her to call the cops. I said yes.” She looked at me with both anguish and hope. The wheels were in motion and their lives would never be the same. Her eyes were red and bleary. She yawned.
“I’ll drive. Hop out.”
The drive home from Las Vegas felt a million times longer than the drive there, as was always the case. The reckless, excited energy of the Thelma and Louise–style trip had now been replaced with quietude, reflection, and residual shock. While June slept, I watched the lonely cacti and graffiti-tagged shacks, surely full of dead bodies, go by.
My mind floated in and out of all that had gone down, and what was yet to go down with Aaron, once I returned, which was tame compared to what awaited June. I still had some truth to hit Aaron with and I didn’t know how he would react. Maybe June had been right that day when she said our husbands won’t save us. But mine could sure as hell be an active participant in my salvation and he needed to hear that.
I wished I was coming back empowered and refreshed, having wrung out every last ounce of my short-lived freedom, but instead, I was returning absolutely spent—albeit with clarity—and needing to spend about four hours on the toilet. I was also coming home with the new knowing that it was, in fact, possible for me to yank off my own leash.
My phone dinged. It was a text from Marnie. This is gonna be good.
I just had the most bizarre dream that you called last night and screamed into the phone. Can you imagine?! Give those angels hugs and kisses from their Marnie.
As we neared our familiar Orange County roads, canyons, and big box stores, I knew that the cycle of exhaustion and overwhelm would start all over again, likely the second I stepped in the door. June had slept so soundly that she only opened her eyes when I stopped at the traffic light nearest to my house. She sat up, wiped the drool from her mouth and stretched out of her passenger seat pod. She looked over at me.
Adult Conversation Page 21