Fancy White Trash

by Marjetta Geerling

  Mr. Ketchum, from three houses down, brings a lawn chair and sets it up in front of Mrs. Duran’s house. Mr. Duran comes out of their house with a cooler. Some of the neighbors help themselves to a beer.

  Piece of Trash Groupie tugs on the Guitar Player’s other arm. “Steve, she’s crazy. It’s not safe to leave you here.” She pouts her clearly collagen-injected lips at him.

  The neighbors appear to be debating the truth of her statement.

  Kait pops her head out the window. “Steve, when are you coming in to see our new baby? Steve?”

  I close my eyes against the pain. Can you die of embarrassment? If the barrel cactus in our front yard was healthier, perhaps I could impale myself on it and put myself out of this misery. Sadly, the cactus would most likely just collapse under my weight.

  “Get me out of here,” I say to Jackson.

  “My dream come true.” He takes my elbow and guides me over to his driveway. Distance in no way keeps me from hearing my mother say, “Steve, no other woman can make you feel the way I do!”

  Jackson hits his forehead with his palm. “Sorry, I’m confused. In the dream, you say, ‘Get me out of these.’” He points to my jeans.

  I slap at his finger. “Don’t make me beg.”

  “Hmm,” he says as he opens the door for me and then goes to his side of the car. “Begging? Now that’s an interesting thought.”

  I try not to smile. “Don’t think you can cheer me up. You can’t.”

  “Wouldn’t dream of it.” He backs onto the road, and we leave my still-arguing family behind.

  The nearest grocery store is sixteen miles down Highway 260, so I flick on the radio. Jackson immediately turns it off.

  “Abby, tell me what’s wrong.”

  “Nothing, and I liked that song.” Even though I don’t remember what it was. Could’ve been a commercial jingle for all I know.

  “I can tell you’re upset about something.”

  Besides the idea of you and my sister being parents together? But I don’t want to touch that with a ten-foot pole tonight. How about, I accidentally outed your brother and now he hates me forever? Nope, not that, either. I fall back on an old standard. “You saw them. Putting on a show for the whole neighborhood. I don’t know why they’re like that.”

  Jackson shakes his head. “That’s not it. You’re used to them. This is something new.”

  I fix my gaze out the side window. Mountains in the distance, cacti arms upraised in the pools of light spread by the streetlights we pass.

  “It’s that big, huh? Let me guess—you’re pregnant!”

  “No!” For that, I hit his arm. Hard. “Not even.”

  Jackson seems not to notice the killing blow I gave him. “Must be Cody then.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Because if it wasn’t him, you’d have already told him the problem and you wouldn’t be upset anymore. So what happened? He doesn’t like you being with Brian?”

  It’s true I have lots of things to be upset about, and Cody is definitely one of them. The whole situation is so messy, I’m not sure where to start or even if I should. Because Cody wouldn’t want his big brother in his business, and as long as Jackson thinks I’m interested in Brian, maybe he’ll back off. But I keep seeing that expression on Cody’s face, how he looked at me like I was a stranger, or worse, one of the guys at school who’s been taunting him.

  We stop at a red light. Jackson turns his head toward me, takes his hand off the wheel, and pats my knee. “Come on now, honey, tell Jackson what’s on your mind.”

  The light turns green. We surge ahead. I look at Jackson’s profile, the line of his jaw and the way his nose turns up ever so slightly at the end. He must at least suspect. He’s known Cody even longer than I have.

  “You know how those kids at school have been harassing Cody?”

  Jackson’s lips tighten. “Yeah.”

  “You know what it’s about?”

  “Yeah.”

  “So, I just thought Brian was a really nice guy, and I told Cody to give him a chance but he got mad at me. Really mad.” I’m pleased at how well Jackson is taking this. It’s like we’re on the same page, completely in sync with each other’s thoughts.

  “So Cody doesn’t like you hanging around Brian.” Jackson nods like it all makes sense to him, which is not the page I’m on at all.

  “No, it’s . . . Well, I think Brian’s gay. So I told Cody to take a chance.”

  “Cody? My brother?”

  Uh-oh, this isn’t going well. “Yeah, you know, because he’s . . . I mean, I thought he was . . .”

  “That’s why they’re teasing him at school? My brother’s gay?” He pulls off the road, jams on the parking brake. “I thought it was because of what happened at Hell Week his freshman year. How he got cut from football. With me as his big brother . . . I mean, it was pretty humiliating.”

  “Nope. He’s gay. At least, I think so.”

  Jackson bangs his forehead against the steering wheel. “Of course he is.” Bang. “Of course.” Bang. “My brother.” Bang. He’s off a few inches on the last bang, and the horn honks loudly.

  He rolls his head so he can see me. “Cody told you?”

  “Not exactly. I just know. Or I thought I did. He says he’s not.”

  “He’s not?”

  “He says he’s not. I think because of all the stuff at school.”

  Jackson’s head rolls the other way. He lifts it an inch. “I should’ve seen it sooner.” Bang. His eyes squeeze shut. “Do my parents know?”

  I shrug, then realize he can’t see me. “How could they?”

  “Do you have any idea how they would take this?” Bang. “It’s all making sense.”

  “What?”

  Jackson looks at me, those deep blue eyes searching my face. “I couldn’t figure out why he wasn’t in love with you. When I asked, he was shocked. All I could think was how can he spend so much time with you and not want to be with you? Now I know. God, I wish I didn’t.”

  I’m not sure what to say. If this was Moments of Our Lives, we’d crash in the car or one of us would have a seizure right now. But our car’s not moving and neither one of us appears to be seizure prone. Instead, we sit silently and watch the flow of traffic pass us by.

  At the Fry’s, we stand in the frozen-food aisle. Jackson holds the door open and the glass frosts over.

  “Cookies and cream? Or something else?”

  When I don’t respond, he grabs two cartons and puts them in the cart. As we roll along, I decide that since Jackson’s paying, we need a few other things. I add a frozen pizza and toaster waffles to the basket.

  “That’s fair,” Jackson says as if a few extra dollars will make up for the years he’s helped himself to our fridge. I pick up some tater tots and french fries and stick them beside the ice cream. I don’t forget the laxatives, but I don’t buy them, either. Touch those things? In front of Jackson? No way.

  We roll from aisle to aisle through the busy store. Moms shop with their kids in tow, an older guy hums along in one of those complimentary Fry’s motorized scooter-carts. There’s a near collision when he rounds a corner and almost takes out a Tostitos display. I toss a few more things in our basket—you can never have too much salsa—and we head for the checkout line.

  “You know,” Jackson says thoughtfully as we stroll through the bakery, “I should’ve known earlier. I mean, he’s really good at sports, but he gets himself cut from football? And I remember there was this girl last year always calling our house, and he made me say he wasn’t home.”

  What girl? But I decide to let it go. Now that Jackson’s on board with the whole gay thing, he seems to be shuffling through memories, looking for evidence. So I don’t tell him that Cody botched his football tryouts because he didn’t want to be on the same team with Jackson. I don’t say that Jackson stuffing Cody’s clothes in the locker-room garbage during Hell Week, forcing him to walk naked in front of the other players, was t
he reason he quit. Plenty of time later to pile on that kind of guilt.

  We are standing behind a woman with three kids, all under the age of five, when I see my favorite soap magazine. Since her groceries overflow the cart and the middle kid keeps trying to slip chocolate bars off the rack and into his mouth, I figure we’ll be here awhile. I’m flipping through Soap Digest, scanning for pics of my favorite daytime hunks—especially Paul from Veterans’ Hospital—when I get sucked into an article about what’s coming up on Veterans’ Hospital. Poor Paul. Malibu, his new wife, isn’t really pregnant at all. But his ex-girlfriend Cari is. Only what no one’s telling Paul is that Malibu and Cari have a secret plan. And that’s when it hits me. The explanation for everything. Baby swap.

  Chapter 11

  Clearly, there was a huge mix-up when I was born. My real parents have no idea they are raising Mona’s wild child. They probably wonder how such a nice family ended up with such a promiscuous, low-class daughter. If only they knew.

  Jackson rams me with the cart, and I take a few steps forward in line. I pick up another soap magazine and scan the contents carefully for any other story lines involving baby swaps that might explain what happened to me. Unfortunately, a test-tube mix-up is unlikely since there’s no way my mom ever had enough money for fertility treatments. Or that she’d even go through the trouble when she already had two kids. The most likely scenario has got to be mislabeling in the nursery. If only I could figure out how to prove it.

  Jackson pays for the food and we are on our way. We load the groceries into the trunk in silence, climb into the car, and pull out of the parking lot. We are not talking about Cody. We are not talking about my baby-swap theory. Basically, we are not talking. It feels weird. Jackson and I have never been at a loss for words. Usually insulting words, but never has a silence stretched so long between us.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask, reversing our roles. Hey, if he can be sensitive, so can I.

  “I can’t stop thinking about my brother. You know I always thought he was too uptight to be much fun, but when I was in Nicaragua I missed him. Really missed him. I didn’t realize how much I like joking around with him, complaining about our parents, all the stuff I took for granted. But for all that, it’s like I don’t really know him.”

  I remember Cody’s cold look. How can someone so familiar become a stranger over a few words?

  “Maybe I’m wrong,” I say, words that rarely come out of my mouth. “Maybe he is straight.”

  “I don’t know.” Jackson shakes his shaggy head. “It kind of makes sense.”

  Another silence. I decide to tell him my baby-swap idea. He laughs so hard I’m worried he’ll pop a blood vessel.

  “Abby,” he says, “there’s only one family passing out bodies like yours.”

  It’s true that my sisters and I are pretty good eye candy, but it’s not impossible that another family could have equally attractive genes. When I tell Jackson this, he says, “Now, if you weren’t sure your dad was your dad, that I’d believe in a heartbeat. But you look too much like your mom to think you were swapped at birth.”

  My dad not my dad? Why hadn’t it occurred to me before? It wasn’t like either one of my parents was particularly good at being faithful.

  “Thanks, Jackson, you really know how to cheer a girl up!” There’s nothing better than thinking you might have a secret parent out there, about to swoop in and inform you that you’re really a princess of a small European country. At least, that’s what happened to Charity on Veterans’ Hospital. Why shouldn’t it happen to me, too? I smile and switch on the radio, hoping to find an upbeat song.

  Jackson sings along, no matter what station I tune in, and it’s the first time I find out how diverse his musical tastes are. From Shakira’s latest to some old-school Beastie Boys, he knows them all. He even sings along to that old Sinatra song “Fly Me to the Moon” that I find on the oldies station. It’s way too endearing. I’ve got to get out of this quicksand of cuteness. And I know just the thing to think about.

  I watch Jackson from the corner of my eye. Does Stephanie look like him? Is that her nose on his face? Did she get her wispy hair from the Jennings side of the family? I should just ask him again, but I can’t quite bring myself to say the words. Stick to the Rules, Abby, and none of this will matter.

  Jackson drops me off at my house and reminds me to take both grocery bags. He makes some comment about how my family’s taken it inside now, and I see that he’s right. We can hear them through the open windows, but at least the crowd on the street has dispersed. He gives me a casual “Later” and doesn’t say anything annoying. Or provocative. Isn’t this exactly how I wanted it between us? I should be happy that he drives away without looking back. But I’m not.

  Hannah is already asleep when I get home with the ice cream. I cram all the frozen goods into the freezer but keep one of the Breyers tubs out.

  “You want some?” I ask Shelby, who is at the kitchen table, braiding her hair into a complicated fishtail.

  “I’m still trying to lose this baby weight.” Shelby frowns at her imagined belly. If anything, she’s smaller than before she had Hannah. Chasing after a toddler can really take off the pounds. Besides, she eats like a jackrabbit: veggies and water 24/7. That she’d had a few spoonfuls of ice cream earlier tonight means she probably won’t eat breakfast tomorrow.

  But I guess the three sleepless nights have gotten to her, because Shelby surprises me when she lets me make her a bowl, half a scoop with some chocolate syrup on the side. She’s too tired to even say something snippy about why Jackson and I were gone so long, an opportunity she wouldn’t usually pass up. I dish myself two scoops, no chocolate.

  “What happened with Mom and the Guitar Player?” I ask between mouthfuls of cookies and cream.

  Shelby is about to answer when I hear Mom’s cries from the bedroom. And not cries of pain or sadness, either. Something I learned when Shelby was pregnant is that no, sex does not hurt the baby.

  “So all’s well then,” I say.

  “Abs, can you do me a huge favor?”

  Huge favors always involve Hannah, but since it’s not like Cody and I will be hanging out this weekend, I agree. And am immediately sorry.

  “Great, because Dean—he’s the new guy at my work, remember? —wants to take me away for the weekend. To Sedona! Isn’t that romantic? We’re going to do some kind of rock therapy.”

  “Stone,” I correct her, thinking how Mom is getting her rock therapy right now from the Guitar Player.

  I lick the last of the ice cream from my spoon and dump the bowl in the sink. Maybe the dish fairies will come tonight. Or more likely, I’ll get stuck doing them tomorrow.

  “Good night. I’ll need all the sleep I can get if I’m watching Hannah this weekend.”

  I slip quietly into my room, careful not to wake Kait or Stephanie. In the closet, I shimmy out of my clothes and into pj’s. Stephanie’s small face is illuminated by the streetlight outside our window. She is so pink and tiny that I have to bend down and kiss her wispy hair. Stephanie doesn’t stir and I worry that if she really is a premie, can I trust Kait to remember the feeding schedule? Maybe I should have Cody make us a spreadsheet or something. But then I remember that Cody won’t be doing anything for me for a while and I hope it’s not too long before I can figure out a way to get him to forgive me.

  When I stand up, I’m greeted by a full moon. Not the kind that hangs in the sky at night. Gustavo is asleep with his arms wrapped around my sister. Since it’s a twin bed, his naked butt hangs off the edge, peeking out from under the sheet for all the world to see. Or at least for me and Stephanie to see. I think about what else Stephanie might’ve seen tonight. I hope she’s not scarred for life.

  Saturday morning. I wake up when Shelby dumps Hannah on top of me in bed.

  “Wakey, wakey!” she calls in her singsong baby voice.

  I moan and roll over. Hannah giggles and sticks a finger in my mouth. It tastes like somethi
ng besides skin. I’m not sure what, and I probably don’t want to know. I squint in the direction of the crib. Stephanie’s blue eyes are open and watching me. They look so much like Jackson’s that for a second I forget blue eyes run in my family, too, and that it’s also true some babies change eye color as they get older. Right now she’s Jackson-blue, and it makes me want to hit something.

  “Dean’s here.” Shelby shoves at me. “I’m leaving, so get up. Hannah hasn’t had breakfast yet.”

  Of course she hasn’t. I sit up. Gustavo’s ass is still hanging off the edge of the bed. Shelby’s gaze follows mine and she cracks up.

  “Perfect, that’s just perfect!” she laughs. She yanks the sheet off Kait’s bed. Kait’s in a baggy black T-shirt and pink undies, but Gustavo is completely naked. Shelby laughs so hard a booger flies out one nostril.

  “Oh!” Her hand flies to cover her nose and mouth, and she runs out of the room.

  Hannah is getting pretty heavy for such a little thing, so I don’t move fast enough when Kait throws her pillow at me.

  “Perv!” she accuses.

  “I’m not the one with a naked boss in my bed. Besides, it was Shelby.”

  “Huh?” Gustavo mumbles, and I see that even nude, his hair is still in that ponytail holder. Either wear it down or cut it off, bud.

  I don’t usually drink coffee in the morning, but I can tell that today I’m going to need all the help I can get.

  After breakfast, Hannah and I are playing her favorite game— take all the pots out of the bottom cupboard and bang them together—when there is a knock on the door. Since I’m the reluctant babysitter and there are at least three other people in the house, I let someone else get it.

  I am not expecting it to be Cody, but he squats down next to Hannah and says, “Hey.”

  “Thas my bang bang!” Hannah points at our spaghetti pot and laughs maniacally.