Unsurprisingly Complicated

by Claudia Burgoa

  Mase: What’s to celebrate?

  J-9: Nothing, I guess. I always wanted to do something special that day.

  Mase: The slimy snail you dated didn’t celebrate?

  J-9: Nope. He was ‘busy’. I bet he was fucking another girl—or two. Let’s not bring slime-boy into our conversation.

  Mase: Where are you?

  J-9: Airport, in Spain. We’re about to take a plane to Russia. We might find a wife for Gabe.

  Mase: What?

  J-9: It’s a family joke. When my parents were friends, Chris told Gabe that in order to find a girl to marry that Chris hadn’t already fucked, he should move to Russia.

  Mase: Did he really?

  J-9: Yep. Chris says the most outrageous things.

  Mase: Your parents are strange.

  J-9: You noticed, huh? But we adore those two.

  J-9: Next year you should take me out on an Anti-Valentine’s non-date.

  Mase: Sounds angsty. What if you’re dating Mr. Right by then?

  J-9: Then we’ll come up with another plan. You might be with Ms. Right and she may not like having me around.

  Mase: That’s a nice one, but there’s no Ms. Right in the horizon. You’re my number one girl now.

  J-9: See, you’ll be great for that Anti-Valentine’s crap.

  J-9: Got to go, the flight attendant just told me to turn off my phone.

  Mase: Have a safe flight, Nine.

  J-9: Stay safe, Mase!

  Mase: Always!

  Mason: Dad, do you need someone from my team to keep an eye on Ainse? You’re not in a safe area.

  Dad: She’s safe, Mason. You do your work, I’ll do mine, Son. I love you.

  J-9: Tours suck!

  Mase: That’s why I worked for my father only when I needed money. Don’t complain, I bet you’re staying at five-star hotels. Where are you guys?

  J-9: The stardom of the hotels doesn’t matter anymore. We’ve been on and off the road for almost a year. We’re in London, where my brothers made Chris and I play with them last night. It was crazy good at first, but once it ended, I was so tired.

  Mase: You played? I wish I‘d seen that.

  J-9: Yes, I played. I wish you had been here. I’m not that bad, if I say so myself.

  Mase: Invite me when you do it again.

  J-9: No, sorry. It was a once in a lifetime thing. I’ll find out if they recorded it. Are you close by?

  Mase: No, and even if I was, I can’t swing by.

  J-9: You’re no fun, sir.

  Mase: You should have fun for the two of us. But not too much; European guys are a bunch of players.

  J-9: My entire family just laughed at your statement. Response from Chris: guys are a bunch of players—girls can be worse. He’s working on convincing me to remain single and celibate for the rest of my life.

  Mase: Will you?

  J-9: Me? Ha! As if. I can be alone, but it’ll be nice to share the fun with a guy. Plus, I love sex, I wouldn’t last long.

  J-9: TTYL. BTW, my brothers say that you’re missing a hell of a tour.

  Mase: Why? What’s going on there?

  J-9: I guess I can’t be sarcastic on text. It’s not that bad, but with the ‘rents, they can’t party much. So long for now and stay safe.

  Mase: Always. Stay in touch!

  Mase: Are you okay? Did you guys make it out on time?

  J-9: Yes we did, Mase. Your Dad said you sent the information about the cyclone down in Queensland. Thank you.

  Mase: There’s nothing to thank me for.

  J-9: My brothers rescheduled their Australia-New Zealand dates for October. We won’t be home until after Thanksgiving. I’m going to miss the pit stop you planned.

  Mase: Then I might head to visit my mother.

  J-9: That sounds like a plan. Take care.

  Mase: Always!

  J-9: Happy Halloween and thank you for the black cat picture.

  Mase: Happy Thanksgiving, Nine. How are you celebrating it?

  J-9: With Peruvian food, which isn’t half bad, but Chris complains that this isn’t as great as tacos.

  Mase: Tacos are good. I know a great place in Seattle. Maybe I’ll take you someday.

  J-9: The perfect place for our Anti-Valentine’s party next year or whenever you’re back in the States.

  Mase: I doubt I’ll make it for the upcoming one, but pencil me in for the next one.

  J-9: It’s a date. Happy Thanksgiving, Mase. I’m thankful that I have you.

  Mase: I’m thankful that you’re in my life.

  J-9: Happy New Year wherever you are!

  Mase: Happy New Year, Nine!

  Mase: I’m in Seattle, only a few minutes from ringing in the New Year. I made a pit stop for a change. Where are you?

  J-9: A secret location that no one should know about with the fam and a few friends. Your dad’s here.

  Mase: The compound?

  J-9: No. Actually in Santa Barbara. I’m sitting on the sand, by the ocean watching the moon. In our spot. Can you see it shine from Seattle—the moon?

  Mase: I can from my office.

  J-9: You’re going to ring in the New Year alone?

  Mase: No. I’m with you, and most times that’s plenty. However, you should be with your family, shouldn’t you?

  J-9: Later. According to my phone, we only have a few seconds left and I’d rather spend it with you.

  Mase: 10

  J-9: 9

  Mase: 8

  J-9: 7

  Mase: 6

  J-9: 5

  Mase: 4

  J-9: 3

  Mase: 2

  J-9: Happy New Year, Mase!

  Mase: Happy New Year, Nine!

  J-9: You think I’ll see you this year?

  Mase: Maybe, if work allows it.

  J-9: Tell work to allow it, I miss you. Stay safe!

  Mase: Always! Stay in touch.

  J-9: xox

  J-9: Happy Spring!

  Mase: Is it really?

  J-9: Yeah, where are you? At the North Pole?

  Mase: No, a hot, dry place that’s close to hell. Why are you so chirpy? And what’s with the hundreds of pictures of the house you sent yesterday?

  J-9: Like? It’s my new place. Well, it’ll be my new place after today.

  Mase: Needs an entire remodeling crew.

  Mase: No. I’m busy, I won’t go and help you remodel and then move.

  J-9: I didn’t ask you to come and help. I would if I was going to remodel myself. Sadly, my parents won’t let me do my own remodeling.

  J-9: Partypoopers. I’m closing escrow today. The contractor arrives tomorrow to pimp it up.

  Mase: Congratulations! Someday I’ll come and visit you.

  J-9: Uh-oh. That doesn’t sound promising. You’re going to miss a hell of a house-warming party.

  Mase: I gather you’re back in the States?

  J-9: Yep. And you’re avoiding something, not sure what.

  Mase: Where are you staying right now?

  J-9: With my brothers, who finished their farewell tour. You should come to help me; they’re ganging up on me. This is becoming a war zone.

  Mase: I’ll cheer for you.

  J-9: If I need to, I’ll contact you to help me bury their bodies.

  Mase: For that, I’m your man.

  J-9: LOL. Stay safe, Mase!

  Mase: Always!

  April

  “Hi, babe.” My eyes flutter open at the sound of the male voice that awakens me from another unattainable dream. In exchange for the granite eyes that abruptly disappeared, I encounter a set of baby blues covered with strands of dark-blond shaggy hair swooped to the side and a big smile. MJ, one of my brothers. “You still look like shit.”

  “Look, feel, and can act like the living dead,” my nasally, hoarse voice adds. He hands me a tray with a bowl and a cup. “If Dad was making a zombie movie, I bet I’d get a part, and they wouldn’t need to apply any makeup.”

  We both laugh, but mine rapidly tr
ansforms into a severe cough. “Did you make me soup, Mattie?” I question as I stir the contents inside the bowl and find chunks of carrots, chicken, and celery. Mm, chicken soup. I try to suck in the aroma, but my clogged nostrils don’t allow it. This nasty flu or cold is hitting me hard. I should start rethinking my career choice. Being a kindergarten teacher is as dangerous as working at a lab that handles high-risk viruses. Though, at least the workers in those places wear special gear to prevent them from contracting a disease. I wear normal, civilian clothing that leaves me unprotected and at the mercy of any virus or bug those little monsters carry around. My bottle of anti-bacterial gel can only do so much to prevent the spreading of those gross germs.

  “Yeah, Coco guided me over the phone,” Matthew says as he throws the disgusting tissues that linger on top of my blanket inside the trashcan he holds. “If our parents didn’t pay her a fortune, I’d beg her to leave them and work for us.”

  Coco has been my parent’s housekeeper since we were born. She helped with tidying the house—never our bedrooms, so we’d learn to be clean—and cooking. My parents swear that if any of us try to take her away from them, she will go willingly.

  “I think she barely works for them, Mattie.” I sip my warm and tasteless soup. “When we were in Santa Barbara she only cooked for us a few times.”

  I did most of the cooking.

  “Stop calling me Mattie, AJ,” he complains. “I’m not four anymore. Matt, Matthew, MJ, Decker Two, or Thug Two are the only ones acceptable.”

  “You sound like the movie, The Cat in the Hat, Matthew ‘MJ’ Decker.”

  I control the laugh to avoid another coughing episode. While traveling around Europe, I found two red t-shirts with a white circle in the middle that read Thug One and Thug Two. They looked exactly like the Dr. Seuss Thing One and Thing Two outfits. I even called the place where my brothers have the t-shirts designed for their concerts and had them make one for Chris that read, The Father of All Thugs. They loved them.

  “JC and I have been talking,” he begins. Not a surprise; they always talk and try to decide what I should do with my life. Decisions that I ignore ninety-nine percent of the time. “You should quit that job.”

  Not again.

  After my parents and I solved a few issues that lingered between the three of us, such as their marriage being hidden from the entire world, and my own secret relationship with my ex-boyfriend, among others, I realized that living away from them and acting as if I didn’t need help was stupid. It didn’t take long to decide a few things. The first change had been moving to Seattle, close to my family, and quit my job as a kindergarten teacher in Austin, Texas—where I used to live.

  Before I made any life changing decisions, my parents and I traveled the world following my brothers through their farewell tour. It was a great time for bonding. The entire family grew as a unit. After my big confession, the one where I told them I had dated their foster son for almost five years … and that I had lost a baby, we tried to heal together. The recipe for a better family life consisted of no more lies, some counseling, and the big trip.

  Once in Seattle, I set up a plan for my future: I’d continue the gratifying job of teaching young minds while running a music school during the afternoons and evenings. A plan my brothers are helping me achieve. During the planning process, I forgot the detail that when I arrived in Seattle, the school year would be almost finished and I’d have nothing to do for the three months, plus the summer—or any source of income. To solve that issue, I applied as a teacher substitute at a private Catholic school that is only a few blocks from my house. Being a substitute is great because I don’t have to plan the curriculum or grade any papers. Well, at least I don’t for the older kids. Another downside; I have to work with older kids. Beggars can’t be choosers, though. My favorites are kindergarten and first grade, where children love to learn, and if you do it right, they’ll keep loving it forever.

  “Money isn’t a problem,” MJ repeats for the third time. “How ridiculous is it that the sub had to hire a sub due to a nasty cold. Not worth it, and you don’t need it. We can take care of you until the school opens.”

  I don’t have to hire anyone; I have to decline requests because I’m ill.

  For my brothers, money isn’t a problem. They’ve been working for our parents since college. They scout new talent for the recording studio, produce music for the artists, and do most of the administrative work. For Gabe, MJ is starting to soak his feet in the film industry. He doesn’t know yet what he wants to do, but he might go back to college to get a master’s degree. Both get paid the big bucks while I live on a teacher’s salary. I have no complaints, but the possibilities of me hitting a six-figure salary are the same as riding a unicorn.

  Currently, my savings are equal to two hundred dollars after the expenses I incurred. According to JC, my brother and portfolio advisor, I’m doing fine. However, I can’t cash any of my investments and the quarter royalties for the music I composed won’t be paid until next month—stupid quarterly contract.

  ‘Money isn’t a problem,’ my ass.

  “Hello, children.” JC arrives and tilts his head. He has the same blue eyes and dark blond hair as MJ and our father Gabriel, but he wears it longer and sports a five-day stubble. He keeps trying to find his best facial hair look. My brothers could be twins, except we’re triplets. “Baby sister, you look like shit.”

  “The two of you keep my humbleness in check,” I grumble. “With those beautiful words you make a girl swoon.”

  “Nothing but the best for my favorite girl.” He winks at me. “How are you, sis?”

  “Sick.” I blow my nose, squirt hand sanitizer and sneeze, then repeat the process all over again.

  “So, we’re not going out tonight,” he concludes, and with a nodding affirmation, he plumps himself next to me. “This isn’t good for that social life of yours. How can I introduce you to Seattle if you’re staying here with the snot and red nose look? Not many will find you attractive.”

  Since I moved in with them—temporarily—they’ve dragged me around the city. We’ve gone to the movies, watched plays, opera, concerts, and gone hiking. They’ve introduced me to some of their friends. It’s fun and different to belong in a place. My brothers have made it possible by incorporating me into their nightly activities.

  “We can play video games,” I suggest. “The Fatal Worlds game is awesome—if not, then Destiny.” One is only a prototype that only they own while the other has become my favorite game.

  “It’s like having Mason Bradley at home, but the annoying version.” MJ heads to the console complaining. “Fatal Worlds is her favorite game, and she drinks the Sam Adams shit—beer we have to replace before he goes berserk on us,” he continues.

  The mention of Mason reminds me of the dream I was having about him. Those big hands caressing my body while his mouth enslaved my lips. The mere thought has me quivery and moist in those parts I shouldn’t be for someone who is my friend.

  “That’s Mase’s beer?”

  “Yeah, he comes to visit often,” MJ tells me. “Stays in the guest room if it’s late.”

  I can’t believe they see Mason more often than I do. Jealousy pinches my ass, but I don’t let that irritate me. It’s the dream, or the fact that I’m going through a dry spell—no sex. A self-imposed dry spell that will continue until I have a steady relationship. If that doesn’t happen in a year or ten, I should be okay with that. No more quick fucks because I need it and end up keeping the guy around, even when he’s a jackass. Those days are over. Right?

  “He would never go ballistic. Mase is a peaceful guy.”

  MJ and JC explode into loud laughter as if I am crazy and have no idea who I’m talking about.

  “Mase, as you call him, is fucking scary,” JC hugs himself and shivers. “That’s a guy I want a keep in my corner forever. You should’ve seen the day he beat the shit out of Porter. Epic.”

  “Missed it, was sleeping after the wh
ole heart attack scare Dad gave us.” MJ snickers. “I wish you had taken a video or a few pics, Jacob.”

  That’s new information. I cowardly don’t ask them to expand on the matter because it might open some unknown door that I’d rather stay closed for now. Maybe I should look for a counselor and continue therapy.

  “I’ll go to the liquor store and buy him some when I’m better,” I offer, and both look at me as if I had lost a marble. “I’ll even stock your fridge with Corona.” That’s the beer they love, and the one Chris worships even though he won’t drink it. My father has to stop thinking he’s Mexican.

  “Will the service include cleaning the house again?” MJ gives me a hopeful smile.

  “Maybe.” Cleaning their pigsty while they are nourishing me is the least I can do. “Now put on that game and let’s have some fun.” I hand MJ the tray with dishes after I gulp all the soup and drink from my water bottle. “Thank you for babying me, little brothers.”

  “There goes the fun,” JC announces, ignoring the remark that I called them little brothers. Hmm, they don’t want to banter today, weird. “She’s going to fall asleep again.”

  Instead of saying anything, I fix the pillow behind my back and get cozy before I fall back asleep. All in hopes of going back to that dream with Mase.

  Mason Bradley, what have you done to me?

  The oppressive humidity of the tropical forest at night is worse than using a sauna wearing winter clothes. A swarm of mosquitoes buzzes around, searching for some fresh blood to suck on. Fucking place. I wipe the dampness from my forehead with the back of my hand; my entire body drips with sweat. A kapok tree is my shelter until Kowalski gives the go-ahead, then we can run to the helicopter that awaits. Instead, the silence of the jungle is broken by a series of rapid-fire explosions echoing through the air.

  “Fuck, Kowalski,” I whisper through the communicator. “What happened?”

  “We’re going to die.” The girl directly behind me shrills, deafening me for a few seconds.

  I let out a heavy sigh, exasperated with these idiots I’m trying to rescue. A group of kids lost their way during their expedition in the Amazon. A militia found them, but they’re asking for a hefty ransom to bring them home. I accepted the mission because I finished up the other job ahead of schedule. If not, these three would be out of luck and taking their last breaths.