American Babe

by Babe Walker

  “Can you not shout?” Donna asked, in a mommish way. I wanted to slap her, but it was too early.

  “Yeah, okay, sorry for raising my voice. This is so fucked, though, if it’s true, and I totally think it is. Why should I trust you?” I pleaded.

  “Fine. That’s fair. I’ve given you plenty of reasons to be skeptical of the life choices I make, but I promise you, Babe, Knox is Vee’s kid, and we need to end this conversation now.”

  Her voice became so stern and serious by the end of the sentence that I knew I’d gone too far. I’d struck a nerve, and when people’s nerves are struck, they can turn crazy. I’d learned that in rehab when I wrongly accused this short girl of stealing a Vanity Fair from the drawer in my desk. I was super wrong and she got super mad and she super tried to cut my hair off in the middle of the night and I super woke up and with feline grace and force tackled her to the ground and super by accident broke her collarbone. Not my fault, but still, not a cute moment.

  ANYWAY. Donna, Knox, me, life.

  “I’m gonna go take a shower,” she said, heading back inside.

  I didn’t say anything else to Donna that morning because I felt I’d said enough. I was basically positive that my grandfather was telling me the truth about Knox but I couldn’t push it any more. I just had to let it sit inside me and rot away my insides like a cancer. A truth-cancer.

  After a few minutes of stillness, I dragged my caped body back into the bright-as-fuck guest room, pulled the covers over my head, and reached for the pill bottle in my Proenza bag on the floor. I knocked back a couple Ambiens and hummed the melody to Lou Reed’s “Perfect Day” until I felt Namaste.

  For being such a dead zone, Maryland was turning out to be surprisingly stressful.

  Before falling asleep, I texted Gen and Roman.

  Babe Why have neither of you texted me to see if I’m alive or dead?

  Gen Obvs we would have heard if you died.

  Babe How would you have heard?

  Gen Like on the news or some shit. Or Mabinty would’ve texted.

  Babe You think it’ll be on the news when I die?

  Gen Maybe

  Babe So you don’t think that?

  Gen It’s poss

  Babe Roman what do you think?

  Babe Roman?

  Babe Romie.

  Babe Romanowsky

  Babe Rebecca Roman Stamos

  Gen I think he’s at Pilates

  Babe So? He keeps his phone on always.

  Babe Whatever.

  Babe Thanks for thinking it’ll be on the news when I die. I mean, I think you’re right. A lot of people are going to be sad/shocked when I die. But that’s actually really sweet of you to acknowledge, Genevieve

  Babe SO do you wanna know what I’m doing/where I am/what I’m wearing or what?

  Gen Not really

  Babe K then tell me what you’re doing

  Gen I’m texting with you

  Babe Cute. Where?

  Gen This dude’s house

  Babe Oh yeah, it’s early there. What dude??

  Babe And since when did we say dude?

  Gen I know, that was horrible, no idea why I said that. This GUY. This GUYs house

  Babe Yeah that feels so much better

  Babe What guy?

  Gen Honestly, I can’t remember his name but his house is the absolute shit. So happy I woke up here. I guess he went to work? I haven’t looked around for a note or anything but he’s definitely not in this bedroom. Or at least I think he’s not.

  Babe Tell me everything

  Gen Honestly it’s not even a fun hookup story

  Babe I don’t give a shit. Dish. Now. I’m so bored.

  Gen Fine.

  Gen I was at Sunset Tower last night with Lauren and Lauren and we ran into these guys who knew them so we all started dancing and I ended up drinking some molly water and making out with this guy’s ear for literally forty-five minutes, which sounds insane but it was sexy and he just wasn’t stopping me and you know how I can go off on someone’s ear if they don’t pull away

  Babe I hate that you like doing that

  Gen I hate it too, but it’s who I am and I can’t change that

  Babe And I respect that. I hate it but I respect it

  Gen Thanks

  Babe So how did you end up in this strange and sexy bed?

  Gen After the club, I decided it’s a good idea to get into this guy’s Ferrari with him. He’s wasted btw

  Babe Gen

  Gen I know. So he really wanted road head and he was hot enough so I obliged

  Babe Pic for proof

  Gen I don’t have one. But if you Google ‘Marc Saudi Arabia Tiger Rescue’ he should be like the first pic that comes up

  Babe Just did

  Babe Hot

  Gen Right?

  Babe I mean, love that for you. Not for me.

  Gen No trust me you’d wanna fuck him Babe

  Babe Trust me I wouldn’t

  Gen Trust me you would

  Babe Trust me. I would not.

  Gen No but like you would. Trust me.

  Babe I think I like definitely, one million percent, would never fuck that guy, even if someone was holding a gun to my head. But LOVE him for you!

  Gen Anyway

  Gen He was really funny and had soft ear skin AND he told me that he had a tiger sanctuary in his backyard

  Babe And?

  Gen Yes! And you know how much I love wild cats. His house is a literal castle. There are three Damien Hirsts in the kitchen. There’s a woman dressed as a mermaid who swims in his pool every day from 5pm to 5am. Could you die?

  Babe I’ll pass, but you do love a wild cat moment. I always thought that was a pinch too Kardashian of you but I’m not here to judge

  Gen Think what you will

  Babe You know I always do

  Gen His cats are amazing. We went in and played with them which is so fun on molly and really the whole night ended up being lovely. There were some other people that came over and I swear one of them was Jaden Smith. AND he gave me these huge diamond studs that he said he was gonna give to some other girl. Such a sweetheart. But I don’t exactly remember having sex with him and I am in his bed and he is not which weirds me out just a tiny bit.

  Babe I think you should grab your shit, call an uber, and pump the fuck out of there

  Gen Yeah, I’m totally gonna do that. After I shower. I smell like a pet store from the tigers.

  Babe Just vomited

  Babe Love you

  Gen Love you. Have fun.

  Babe You don’t even know where I am

  Gen Oh yeah, where are you?

  Babe Donna invited me to her dad’s 80th birthday party so I came to Maryland and I’m meeting like all of these family people that I didn’t even know existed

  Gen Weird

  Babe You have no idea. Stay tuned for updates

  Gen K

  Babe Get out of that zoo

  Gen K

  Roman Hey binches! What I miss.

  Babe Nothing I gotta go sleep. It’s nap time here.

  Roman Where?

  Babe Night my queens

  Gen Later slut

  Roman Fine. Bye. Genevieve call me

  SIX

  Fuck Babies.

  I woke up a little bit later. Six p.m.

  Fabulous, I thought, one more day down basically. Existence in Maryland, albeit temporary, may not have been as hellish as I’d imagined it to be, but I wasn’t trying to sow seeds for a new life and grow roots there. So I figured I’d stay for two more days. I’d smoke a few more cigarettes with underage Cara, find new ways to be passive-aggressive toward my mom, and get to know sweet angel Knox a little bit better. I even mulled over the possibility of burning that carpeted pizza place down, stealing Knox, and taking him to LA to be my assistant/cousin/son/protégé.

  “What’s the possibility of getting a good massage in this town in the next thirty minutes?” I asked as I emerged fro
m the bedroom and into the living room. It was empty.

  “Hello?”

  Was the whole house empty?

  “HELLO?” I said louder. “It’s me, Babe. Is anyone home?”

  “In here,” I heard Knox’s voice say from the kitchen.

  The kitchen was cluttered with cooking supplies and food things but there was no one else around besides the little chef, smock and everything. Is it called a smock? Apron? Chef’s robe? I can never remember the names of tools. Anyway, he was standing on a footstool at the edge of the counter, his little head almost buried in a large metal mixing bowl. “Hey, Babe,” he said.

  “Making dinner?” I asked.

  “Yep, hope you like lasagna!”

  My heart sank to the ugly tile floor and shattered. How would I tell him that I don’t eat cheese or pasta or regular-sodium tomato sauce? From the looks of the room, he’d been prepping this meal all day.

  His little head popped up from behind the bowl. There was a smear of tomato across his cheek. “It’s vegan and raw.”

  “Oh my God,” I blurted, “you scared the actual fuck out of me!”

  “I figured,” he said with an adorbs laugh, emptying the contents of the bowl into a large baking dish, which was almost already filled. “No, no, no. No way I’d make a conventional lasagna in this house. That’s, like, so boring.”

  “And just, like . . .”

  “Unhealthy,” he said for the both of us.

  “Exactly.”

  I grabbed a glass of unsweetened mint tea from the fridge and took a seat on one of the stools at the counter. I watched Knox in his element. He used the flat side of a large spoon (ladle? lasso?) to smooth what looked like a semi-chunky tomato, basil, and yellow-pepper salsa over the top of the lasagna and did so with such grace and command that it almost made me weep into my iced tea. I once had a boyfriend that could cook, like, super well or whatever and everyone was always screaming and losing their shit about how “amazing and oh my Gooodddd so simple!” his food was, but he was a full-grown adult so I wasn’t impressed. But this was like watching a baby breakdance or a dog skateboard. It made zero sense, it was a little strange, but it was beautiful and life-affirming nonetheless.

  He put a sheet of parchment paper over the lasagna and slid it to the side.

  “How are you five years old?”

  “I’m ten,” Knox said seriously.

  “Whatever. That’s what I meant.”

  “I don’t know. Cooking just comes naturally to me. My mom always says ‘be natural.’ ” That could be a good mantra, I thought. He threw a dishrag over one shoulder, kicked his footstool over to the sink, and started to wash his hands with his back toward me. “Like style does for you.”

  “That’s maybe one of the sweetest things anyone’s ever said to me probably.”

  “I loved reading your books. I already told you that, I think, right? I read them two summers ago. Both of them—one right after the other. My mom said they were too adult for me, but I told her that was bullshit and she took them away so I had to buy them on iBooks and read them on my iPod touch.”

  “Wait,” I stopped him, “what’s an iPod touch?”

  “It’s like an iPhone but without the phone part.”

  “Got it.”

  “So anyway, I had to find a way to finish the second book because I really wanted to know what happened with Robert and—”

  Donna, Veronica, and Cara walked into the kitchen, and Knox stopped talking. He just finished washing a few things, wiped down the sink, and came to sit next to me at the counter.

  “Hey, guys,” I offered. None of them looked at me. Cara was wearing something yellow and fleece. Donna came over and put her hand on my shoulder. Through the sheer Prada tank dress I was wearing, her fingers felt long and thin and cold and pointedly chic.

  “You sleep all right?” she asked in a condescending tone. Why was she being weird to me now? Did I hit a nerve before with the maternity thing? Was she threatened by my investigative prowess? Having Veronica around must’ve been stressing her out.

  “Yep!” I gloated. “I needed that! Lot on my mind lately and my psyche was like, ‘Whoa, you need to sleep!’ So I’m glad I slept all day. What did you ladies do? Go to Barneys? Just kidding.”

  “We had a great day, beautiful spring day out there. Some fresh air might do you good, Babe,” answered Veronica.

  “Was that a hint of shade I just detected in your voice, Veronica?”

  But without acknowledging me, she just kept on, “We ready for dinner, Knoxers?”

  “Yep,” he said, hopping down from the stool. “Let me just grab the salad out of the fridge and I’ll take it out to the table. You guys go ahead and sit.” He was so cute.

  The shit my grandfather had said was still eating away at me. I felt phony as fuck. It just wasn’t like me to pretend like things are cool when they’re simply fucking not. As we walked over to eat, a lump grew in my throat. Like I knew I was going to say something about it that I shouldn’t even be thinking. Like when you’re already paying for three Dior skirts and out of the corner of your eye you see a gorgeous, supple camel Loewe bucket tote, and you know you’re going to run over and add it to your tab. But you shouldn’t buy it. You don’t even like bucket bags. You don’t want it. But you need it so fucking bad it hurts.

  They had a small dining room with a six-person table next to the kitchen. Knox had set the fuck out of that table. It was basic because he didn’t have much to work with, but the ideas were strong. He’d put a tiny bundle of fresh-cut flowers on each of our plates and the placemats were laminated collages of fashion magazine cutouts from the 1970s and ’80s. I was excited to move food around on top of Candice Bergen’s face.

  We sat at our designated seats; Knox had made place cards, obviously. His calligraphy could use some work. I was at the head of the table, which, to be honest, made me feel a little awkward. I deserved the esteemed position because I’d traveled the farthest and probably dealt with the most hardship in my life of anyone there, but I could tell that the rest of the women in my “family” were annoyed that Knox was giving me spesh treatment.

  “This looks delicious!” Donna said as the raw lasagna was placed on the table next to a colorful salad and a large bowl of fresh cashew pesto tossed with raw zucchini angel hair. It really did look like some shit I would eat at home at Café Gratitude, one of my favorite Larchmont haunts. This little boy just understood me. They all started to dig in. I decided to refrain until the vulturing had stopped.

  “This is a really awesome dinner, Knox. Is this from your show?” Cara said through a mouthful of lasagna.

  “What show?” I asked.

  “MasterChef Junior. A reality cooking competition for kids. It’s on Fox. I really want to be on it. And NO, Cara, this is my own original recipe. I don’t learn recipes on that show, I’m not a copycat.”

  “Can we please not talk about this again?” Veronica interjected, loudly. “You are not going on that show. Is it possible to get through one meal without talking about that damn show?”

  “Yes, Mom. It’s completely possible to not talk about MasterChef Junior. As long as you’re willing to accept that you are crushing my dreams and hopes.”

  Awkwardness.com

  “So . . .” I said, breaking the dull hum of chewing sounds. “I slept, Knox cooked, what did you guys do today?”

  “Tried to kill myself twenty different ways,” Cara kindly shared.

  “Cara, please,” said an annoyed but totally deadpan Veronica.

  “What. It’s true. You know I can’t stand that girl.”

  Veronica put her fork down and took a sip of the beer she was drinking (out of a can . . . ?). “Cara had her physics tutor today because Rebecca, the tutor, wasn’t able to do their regular Wednesday meeting this week.”

  “Sucks,” I said.

  “I shouldn’t have to go to her on the weekend. It’s cruel and unusual.”

  “Point taken, Cara. Get over i
t now. You can’t get another D this term so we gotta do what we gotta do, okay?”

  “You actually can get Ds and be totally fine,” I assured her.

  Maybe that’s my mantra?

  “Babe.” Veronica and Donna said at the same time with scolding looks. Cara and Knox both lit up.

  “Okay, okay. Just kidding. Listen to your mom or whatever. Always listen to your mom.”

  “Babe, can you pass the salt?” Veronica asked me.

  “Sure.” I said with a smile as I passed it to her with the pepper—you always pass the two as a pair; my Tai Tai once slapped me for passing the salt alone. “See, I never had a mom to listen to.” I then said with a glance to Donna who was strategically not looking at me, “I had a dad, though, he was fabulous, still is. One day you’ll meet him.”

  No one uttered a word. I still hadn’t taken any food, which I guess was rude of me judging by the look on Veronica’s face, so I scooped some rawsagna onto my plate and moved it around. What was her damage?

  “Anyways, so isn’t it weird that you guys are so different? Like, Veronica, you’re basically the opposite of Donna. I mean, you look like her as fuck, but your—”

  “Language, please,” Veronica said.

  “Sorry, AF. But your lives are so completely opposite of each other’s. Donna is never in one place, never sleeping with the same person, never addicted to the same drug, and you’re, like, super normal.” They both seemed a little disturbed by my statement, but I cared zero much. It was the truth! It’s not my fault that Donna was a huge mess of a nonmother. An absentee mom, if you will. “And Knox is the opposite of Cara,” I continued. “No? It’s almost as if they have different parents or at least different moms or something. Like, Knox is so me and Cara is so not. Don’t get me wrong, Cara, you’re very interesting and, like, totally a real American teenager and that has its merits, but it’s just so not me.”

  The table seemed to be looking anywhere but at me. Donna just shook her head as if I was an embarrassment. Whatever, Donna.

  Hey, I was feeling this way so I just put it out all there. Fuck it. Not to mention, I was a little bit boo whore about Veronica ignoring me before dinner and then telling me to alter my speech. I don’t alter my speech. That’s just not a thing that I do or am told to do. I say what I mean, Veronica. Did she not know I was a writer? Words are, like, my thing.