Then He Happened

by Claudia Burgoa

  She waves her hands and can’t stop laughing at the disaster that is my birthday. I glare at her, unamused. “I’m glad you can laugh at my misfortune.”

  “Sorry, but you gotta admit it’s a little funny.”

  Hilarious, I think bitterly.

  At least none of them made it to America’s Funniest Home Videos.

  I grab my beer, take a sip and say, “Yeah, tragically funny. Maybe as an encore, my brother can get arrested during my graduation ceremony, or they can finally cancel my trip.”

  My parents promised this year would be different.

  They even “insisted” on taking me on vacation after graduation to celebrate my birthday and that I graduated. If telling me they’re finally rescheduling my birthday vacation, then telling me that I have to pay for my own way counts as a “trip.”

  “You’ll have fun and you know it,” Camilla chides me softly. “You’re always saying you miss your family.”

  True. As much as they drive me crazy, I feel like I don’t see them enough anymore. Even though they live less than twenty minutes away. We’re all just too busy trying to get by.

  I take another sip of my drink, taking a deep breath and letting Billy Joel’s piano playing take me away for a moment.

  “I guess,” I concede. “As long as they don’t make a scene during graduation, I’m fine. Even if they bail on me.”

  Speaking of which, I dig into my oversized purse for her graduation ticket. Camilla calls it my “mom friend bag.” She doesn’t like admitting that it’s come in handy for her more than once.

  “As promised,” I say as I try to hand it over. “You get to celebrate my birthday and my third graduation. I’m officially out of school.”

  “Three degrees later, Doctor,” she says and smiles sheepishly, averting her eyes.

  Uh oh.

  “What?” I ask as my back tenses.

  She shakes her head. “I think I might be your birthday let down, babe.”

  “Why?” I deflate.

  When push comes to shove, Camilla is always there for me. Especially when no one else will be. She’s the person who bails me out when I’m in trouble. The only one who cares when I need a pint of ice cream, a stack of romantic comedies and tissues because I went through a bad breakup—or whenever my parents forget me.

  Camilla takes a long chug of beer, avoiding my gaze. Great, my birthday is already disappointing and nerve-wracking.

  “Work,” she says. “If I could avoid it, I would. You know I hate to sleep in hotels. Let alone being away from home for six weeks.” She shivers.

  Camilla is the definition of a germaphobe. There was a stint in college where she’d only let me touch her stuff after using pre-sanitized hand sanitizer.

  Not to mention my bag is the only other place besides her own where she can stand to keep her silverware and straw. Because that’s how much Camilla hates using other people’s stuff.

  “When are you leaving?” I ask.

  “Tomorrow, but it’s okay,” she says, gently patting my hand. “You’re going to be away for two weeks with your family.”

  I stare at my glass, scratching it lightly with my thumb as if there were a label. Being with my parents isn’t really something worth getting excited about. They’ll be too busy checking Charlie’s Instagram to make sure she’s doing alright without them.

  Their poor thirty-year-old daughter apparently can’t survive without her parents. Or what if Sam has to stay because of some godforsaken reason? They still treat him like he is five. Who knows what the twenty-two-year-old “kid” can get into when he is unsupervised?

  My trip sounds more and more like such a blast the closer it gets. I should’ve organized something with my best friend and forgotten about this ridiculous expedition my parents have been promising since I was thirteen.

  Then I look at her and remember she won’t be here. This year is doomed. What happened to the whole golden birthday? I’m turning twenty-seven, on the twenty-seventh of the month. That’s lucky right?

  I hear a snort inside my head. Clearly not.

  “It’ll be fine,” she reassures me. “You’re the most positive person I know, but when it comes to your family…”

  “I’m a neurotic asshole,” I concede.

  “Sometimes for good reason. But what’s the worst that could happen?” she asks, sounding kinda annoyed.

  “I could lose my passport. Or my brother could get lost at the airport when—”

  “That’s the plot to Home Alone, and it’s impossible to lose a twenty-two-year-old man.”

  “We’re talking about Sam,” I remind her.

  “Point taken,” she says. “Buy one of those child harnesses and attach it to him.”

  I can’t help but laugh at the picture of my brother walking on a leash. He would put up a fight first and then think it’s funny and act like a dog.

  Fuck, someone save me. I don’t think I’ll survive two weeks with my parents and Sam.

  When I get home, my cat, Max, is waiting for me at the door

  “Hey boy,” I greet him.

  “Meow,” he answers, purring and rubbing his head against my leg.

  “Did you miss me?” I ask as I pick him up.

  “Meow!” he complains and wriggles out of my arms.

  “I’ll do the same with you when you climb on my bed tonight,” I complain back at him. “Or when you need food.”

  I text my mom a quick goodnight since I forgot to finish our conversation earlier in the day.

  Mom: What are you doing up so late?

  “I’m almost twenty-seven,” I complain out loud.

  Max follows me around as I change. When I climb into bed, I set my phone on do not disturb mode. But not before I receive a message from my older sister.

  Charlie: Can you help me this weekend?

  I groan. She either needs a ride somewhere or she wants to borrow my car.

  “Buy a car, Charlie,” I mutter.

  Eileen: With?

  Charlie: Dad might finally agree to cosign the loan for a new car.

  I stare at the phone unsure of how to answer her message. Option one, “hurray, you’re finally buying a car.” Option two, “what the fuck do you need me for?” Option three is, “do you even have enough money to make monthly payments?”

  Charlie: Unless you want to sign for me. I wish you were a little more supportive.

  Eileen: I can’t sign for you, Charlie.

  Charlie: You can be a little selfish, but I forgive you.

  I spend no less than two minutes screaming into my pillow. I leave Charlie and Mom unread as I fall into a fitful sleep. Yep, my life is just peachy.

  6

  Jason

  I’m trying to unwind with my favorite pastime, kicking back with a beer, crossword puzzle, and binge-watching Game of Thrones. Trying being the operative word because my neighbor’s dog won’t shut up.

  The groceries that were supposed to arrive early in the morning were dropped at six. And then some delivery guy comes twenty minutes later with the wrong address. So by the third time my doorbell rings, I’m well past annoyed.

  I sigh, setting my beer on my new coffee table. Maybe it’s Em again, back for more pestering. Emmeline and Jack let themselves in earlier today. The not so sweet woman came by with a few new furniture pieces for my apartment.

  Isn’t she nice?

  She used me as a fucking excuse to go antique shopping with my brother last weekend. The poor bastard is whipped to the max.

  Who spends his weekends buying used shit and then refurbishes them by hand? Only an idiot in love. Who needs that kind of lame hobby?

  I check the small monitor next to the door and groan. This day just keeps getting better. It’s my cousin, Marek. Why today?

  Why any fucking day with this clown?

  “Cuz, open the door,” he says showing me a six-pack.

  “Go away,” I shout. “The answer is no.”

  “Nothing says welcome to mi casa like
‘go away,’” he says, cheerfully. “My life is a shitshow, and you don’t see me yelling at you.”

  His life is always a shitshow.

  Marek is my only cousin from my mother’s side. His dad was a deadbeat and his mom—may she rest in peace—depended on my parents’ help ever since. He’s almost thirty and still thinks that we’re his clean-up crew.

  I love him like a brother, but sponsoring his art is fucking expensive.

  “Hard life?” I snort as I throw the door open like a chump.

  His face is as pitiful as the beer he brought me. Reluctantly, I let him in, handing him a real beer when we get to the kitchen. I let him grab a seat and take a sip before he ruins my night.

  “What is it this time?” I ask slowly.

  Marek laughs nervously. “Can’t a guy come to visit his best buddy?”

  Sure, if you had a “best buddy,” I think.

  Marek is a world-class disaster. I’m just the schmuck dumb enough to bail him out every single fucking time.

  “Real subtle with the flattery, there,” I say, leaving the kitchen.

  “This is the last favor I ask for the rest of my life,” he says finishing his beer, grabbing a new one, and following after me.

  “Uh huh,” I say incredulously.

  He stands in the middle of my living room, squirming a bit. I honestly don’t give two shits about what crisis I have to fix this time. There’s a time when a guy has to say enough is enough. I just want to finish my damn show before bed.

  I settle back into the couch and do just that, letting Marek flounder on his own for a bit. Then, since I really want to get back to my show, I ask, “What’s the deal?”

  “It’s Charlie,” he says finally.

  “Remind me who Charlie is,” I say dispassionately as I stare at the TV.

  “The girl I’m dating,” he explains. “You met her a couple of months ago. Jack had some office party.”

  I shrug because I have no idea who this Charlie person is. Marek combs through his hair with his fingers and starts pacing around the living room. He reminds me of a deer that’s too skittish to be on the side of the road but too dumb to move out of the way in a safe direction.

  Now that I think about it, he’s been weird since he got here.

  “Marek?”

  “She’s pregnant,” he says, swallowing hard. “She’s keeping it.”

  The fucker’s practically shaking. It’s weird. He’s normally more laid back than I am.

  “What are you going to do?” I ask.

  “Is that even a question?” he says. “I’m not him, Jason. I’m not—I can’t be my father.”

  I nod stiffly. “Okay, so now what?”

  He takes a swig of his beer. I wince. That shit has to be lukewarm by now.

  “You have to help me,” he says, but it comes out sounding slightly like a demand. “I don’t have a penny to my name.”

  “Uh, no offense, bud, but... what the fuck?” I utter.

  What is he asking here?

  He shakes his head. “This isn’t another get rich quick scheme, Jay. It’s about my kid.”

  Marek stops in front of me and says, “Your nice or nephew.”

  I scrub my face. I can feel a stress headache like no other coming on. “Why don’t you ask Jack for help?”

  “I was hoping you’ll convince him to give me a hand too. Maybe give Charlie or me a job.”

  “What about your art?” I question.

  Shit, I have invested years in his work. He can’t just toss it away because of this. Can he? What’s even the responsible call here?

  “I’ll stop for a couple of years until we’re settled,” he says.

  I nod.

  Who’s to say he’s wrong?

  Then again, who’s to say he has any marketable skills and can survive as a real fucking adult.

  “Where are you going to live?” I ask.

  He shrugs. “Charlie lives with her parents, and my studio is too small for the two of us.”

  I sigh, bracing myself for more bad news. “I hate to even ask, but...how old is this Charlie?”

  “Twenty-nine,” he says. “She’s between jobs.”

  Of course she’s between jobs and dating Marek. He looks like a million bucks, but his bank account is drier than the Sahara Desert.

  “Look, if you help me fix this, I’ll never ask for anything ever again,” he pleads.

  I snicker. He won’t ask me for anything, until the next time he fucks up.

  But I guess that makes us both fools. He believes this is the last one—and so do I.

  “Call the Four Seasons or the Ritz-Carlton hotel,” Jack says as I keep browsing my phone for a wedding helper or whatever.

  Twelve hours and six cups of coffee later, Jack and I are on one of his ugly ass couches pulling together a shotgun wedding.

  “What’s the name of those organizing wedding people?” I ask Emmeline.

  “You mean a wedding planner?” She smirks amused.

  “I guess. You know any?” I ask, playing dumb and waiting for her to take over for us.

  Weddings aren’t my scene. In fact, I hate weddings and the whole concept of marriage. It’s just a dumb way to attach yourself to another person who will let you down one way or another.

  She grins and I divert my gaze.

  “You do have a heart, don’t you?” She asks, and I can hear the satisfaction in her voice.

  I keep my eyes plastered to my phone. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “Uh huh,” she says. “What happened to let’s stop fixing Marek’s life? You’re both a couple of gullible saps for trying to pull together a last-minute wedding and making it good.”

  “We can’t leave him high and dry. We’re all he has,” I argue meeting her gaze.

  “Don't you think the bride should get some input in all this?” She arches her eyebrow.

  “Marek says she's just as lost as he is,” Jack finally speaks.

  Sometimes I feel like he enjoys when his lovely woman makes me squirm. Fucker.

  She shakes her head and rolls her eyes. “Even if that’s the case, you can give them a hand. Not just do everything for them. Suggest the venues, but let them choose. I bet she has a favorite color. What if you choose bubble gum pink and she hates it?”

  “Personally, I’m more of a black and teal guy,” I joke.

  “Call him, ask him to bring his girlfriend. Or maybe you can get the families together,” she suggests ignoring my joke.

  That idea isn’t too bad, until I remember one little detail, “Our parents are in Athens.”

  “You two will be there,” she says. “Maybe Jeannette can join. I know June is working on a project so don’t count on her. Alex’s week should be clear. His physical therapist is on vacation.”

  I grimace at Jack. “Does she have our schedules memorized?”

  Jack smiles and shakes his head. “She talks or chats with our sisters daily and with Alex even more. Aren’t you coming too, Em? I’m counting on your contacts to get some of this done.”

  She winks at him and says, “To the family reunion? No. I’ll give you my contacts, but it’s going to cost you.”

  “It’s a price I’m willing to pay,” he answers. “Some sacrifices will be made, but I’ll submit to any of your wishes to make up for your services.”

  “I wouldn’t expect any less from you,” she pauses, licking her lips. “Mr. Spearman.”

  “Incredible. My powers of invisibility have grown. Next stop, NORAD. I’m stealing one of their fancy airplanes,” I say deadpan.

  They kiss and ignore me.

  My body freezes for a moment.

  I hate being the petty third wheel, but what else is there for me?

  Somedays, their love is just too much and too depressing. It threatens to push me toward the past and drown me with the memories of what I once dreamed and can never have. Not that I want some shitty relationship. There’s no fucking way I’ll gamble on love again. />
  I glance at them and repeat inside my head, never again.

  7

  Eileen

  The inevitable sensation of nostalgia mixed with despair churns in my stomach as I approach my parents’ house. I love my family, but sometimes I feel like an outsider. Scratch that, I always feel like an outsider.

  I am the afterthought.

  My sister is the eldest and everything that happens to her is a novelty. My youngest brother is the baby, and who knows why, but he’s always in trouble. I can fend for myself, according to my family. So, there’s nothing left of my parents’ minimal attention worth sparing on me.

  I don’t expect a lot from my family. A lot of the time I expect nothing because that’s just easier. It’s been proven time and time again that I’m their last priority, if even at all.

  When I park in front of my childhood home and spot not one, but three more cars than usual, I know they aren’t going to care about my graduation tickets. Something a lot more important is brewing at the McBean residence.

  Who cares? I tell myself.

  Logically speaking, it can’t be any worse than the thousands of other “emergencies” that have usurped me over the years.

  I hear the commotion as I enter the house. Everyone is talking and of course no one’s making any fucking sense. My sister screams hysterically.

  Typical Charlie, I think.

  The guy who she’s been dating for the last couple of months is right next to her staring into the wall and looking pale. Okay that, admittedly, is weird.

  Who died?

  Mom is on her phone. Dad is pacing back and forth. My grandmother is taking a page out of my sister’s book, squawking and screaming. My grandfather is sitting in the corner of the couch watching TV like nothing’s happening. Maybe he got lucky and went deaf in the middle of this hell storm. My brother is on the other side of the couch, staring at his phone.

  At least some things never change around here.

  I’m pleasantly surprised my aunts and uncles aren’t part of this chaos. I look at the white envelope I hold with my graduation tickets. I sigh, putting them back in my purse. Maybe some other time.