Shrimp

by Rachel Cohn

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  in The City will keep you from flying the coop. You'll stay home another year with us. Maybe you can take some classes at City College. That would be good, right, Sid?" Sid-dad had come into the room and he sat down on the bed next to her, patted her hand, and placed a kiss on her forehead. "That's right," he said. An actual hint of a smile occurred on Nancy's face, and she placed a quick kiss on Sid-dad's lips in return.

  *Cough* ewwww *cough*!

  Since they got back from Minnesota, Sid and Nancy have dropped into a disturbingly low percentile for Bickering Married Couples, and she's touching him all the time now, holding on to his arm, resting her head on his shoulder. And for a supposedly busy-busy-busy CEO, not only did Sid-dad extend his Christmas vacation (which he's never done before--ever) to stay with Nancy for the funeral, but also he's cut back his office schedule so he can be home more while Nancy is "sick." Maybe this is Granny As revenge to me for not mourning for her more than I do, that her death has turned my household into a mortuary of weirdness.

  Nancy asked him, "Could you get me some sugar for the tea?"

  Sid-dad got up from the bed. 'A packet of Equal coming right up," he said.

  "No," she whined. "Real sugar." The shock of Nancy's request made my head want to do one of those 360-degree rapid-spin turns like the psycho possessed child in The Exorcist.

  After Sid-dad left the room I said, "Okay, something is really wrong with you. What is it? Should I be worried?"

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  Nancy patted the space where Sid-dad had been sitting and gestured for me to join her on the bed. "No, you shouldn't be worried. I just need some time. Grief takes a long time to process."

  "I don't understand," I said, trying to put on my sweet voice (even though I don't have one) so I wouldn't sound harsh. "You didn't even like your mother."

  "But she was my mother, and I loved her," Nancy whispered, and a flood of tears sprang from her eyes. Dang, if it wasn't for the tray on her lap, I might have curled up next to her and given her a hug or something disgusting like that. When moms are that sad, it's just...painful. Nancy added, "There were so many issues left unresolved, so many things I was too proud to tell her, and now I just feel so empty. That's the part the minister never talks about in the funeral sermon, about what can God do to cover up all the emptiness in your heart and soul and every part of your being after you've lost a parent and you're left all alone?"

  A silence hovered between us, maybe because Nancy was weirded out that she had confided something so personal to me, and I was weirded out because how was it possible she could feel that empty and alone when she has a husband and three children?

  Nancy removed the tray from her bed to the floor, composed herself, and then said, "The sleeping pill has kicked in so I'm going to take a nap. I didn't rest at all last night. Could you please close the door behind you and tell Dad not to bother with the sugar for the tea?"

  "Sure," I said. I placed a kiss on her forehead.

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  *** Chapter 28

  My mother's insomnia has evolved to the point where she's now taking a sleeping pill late at night instead of in the morning, which means she falls asleep just after 2 a.m . and stays asleep at least till Ash and Josh jump on her bed around seven in the morning. Her new sleep schedule is why I can feel my cell phone ringer, set to vibrate, shuddering against my heart where it lies on top of me while I sleep, approximately at 3 a.m . The cell phone vibration is my signal that a certain Pinto legacy car is idling down the street instead of in front of my house (loud carburetor), and it's time for me to get out of bed and sneak out of the house.

  So this is not the old Cyd Charisse, sneaking out to do some sneaking around. The new sneaking out routine is all about not bothering my mother's new sleep routine when middle-of-the-night hunger, and quality time with Shrimp, calls. This new routine is all about the letters I-H-O-P.

  I could just leave out the front door but that wouldn't be fun, and besides, tapping the security code to open the door can be noisy, and I don't want to risk waking the household. So after Shrimp's vibration signal pounded on my heart, I crawled out of my bedroom window and climbed down the tall tree until I was standing in the backyard, from which I could easily exit the locked gate to the street, except for the little surprise waiting for me at the bottom of the tree this time. Make that big surprise, as in Fernando, sitting

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  in a lawn chair and reading a copy of Hola magazine with a little flashlight.

  "Buenas noches," Fernando said.

  DAMN IT!

  "It's not what you think," I told Fernando. "We just go to the twenty-four-hour IHOP on Lombard Street. I just don't want to wake Mom. You know how she's been having a hard time sleeping." My voice gushed with concern, some of it actually genuine.

  "If that's the case," Fernando said, "why don't I just come along with you?"

  "Why don't you just, then," I stated. That's how confident I am in my relationship with Shrimp since we got back together. I know I can haul Fernando along and Shrimp will be stoked instead of freaked. I'm almost scared by how good things are between Shrimp and me. Easing back into a relationship wasn't that hard after all--it was getting back in that was hard, but once back in, it's been smooth sailing, as Nancy might say, given enough wine. Well, mostly smooth sailing. Nancy is dealing well with Shrimp and I being an official couple again, probably because I'm not going on meltdown this time around if I'm not around Shrimp 24/7. I have other friends now, my own life going, I don't feel like I am going to suffocate if I'm not with Shrimp every second. But now that he and I are back together, it's not like he has an all-access pass to spend the night at my house either, and with the Fightin' Shrimps back at Ocean Beach-- Wallace and Delia versus Iris and Billy--his house is not the nicest place to hang these days. Here is the biggest disadvantage of being an almost-adult: you're having safe sex with your boyfriend, you're in a committed relationship,

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  everyone knows you are doing it, but you still have to sneak around to do it, even though you're doing it right! My senior slump this last semester of my high school career has not been about being tired of school (even though I am), as much as sometimes the only time Shrimp and I can be alone together, in privacy, is during the school day.

  However, the middle-of-the-night meetings are not about tryst times. They are strictly about the award-winning old-fashioned buttermilk pancakes and hanging out with our friends before senior year ends and we all likely go our separate ways. So even though Fernando got into the Pinto with Shrimp and me, he still looked surprised when we arrived at our usual corner booth, where Helen, her new boyfriend, and Autumn were waiting for us. You know Fernando thought I was lying to him when I said IHOE and he thought he would be calling my bluff instead of getting a late-night carb feast.

  "Yo, Ferdie, right on--gimme five!" Helen said when she saw Fernando. He actually high-fived her back, which made me kind of jealous, as he would never high-five me, the boss's daughter. Helen told her new love, "Move over, Eamon. Make some room for my buddy."

  Helen finally moved past the Aryan thing and she's on to a new boy, one who may be a keeper. At least he's sweet, and he believes in relationship as much as reciprocity. Technically he's not a hand-me-down from me, because I never went through with kissing Eamon that night I first met Helen and we hung out at the pub on Clement Street to scope out the Irish soccer guys. She rediscovered him on New Year's Eve at that pub, the same one where no one bothers to ID her. After Eamon got past the initial moment of recognizing Helen and

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  then saying, "Hey, didn't you and your friend give me and my mate the slip a while back?" the two spent the evening slugging back Guinnesses and discussing their mutual contempt for pop punk, Brazilian soccer stars, and the English royal family. Imagine a guy with spiky fire-engine-red hair, green eyes, and crooked teeth, death-pall pale skin; throw in a hot, unintelligible Irish accent along with soccer-dude rock-hard calves and a slight, no
t entirely unpleasant, postgame B.O., and you can understand why Helen was instantly smitten with Eamon. Boom, Helen is back to firm hetero roots, just like the black roots have finally grown over the once-copper hand on her formerly almost-bald head, now grown out to a most excellent shag. Helen's a babe!

  Shrimp sat down next to Autumn, with Fernando on his other side, as the rest of the group has proclaimed that Shrimp and I cannot sit next to each other anymore as apparently we have some PDA issues since we've gotten back together. That's what the bathrooms are there for anyway. I joined Helen and Eamon on their seat.

  Autumn handed me a stack of brochures. "I ordered these for you. Have you ever thought about culinary school?" she asked me.

  "No," I said. Culinary part--maybe. School part--blech. I handed her a bag of beads that Ash and I picked out for Autumn when we were shopping on Fillmore. Autumn is getting her shorter do un-dreaded and into braids, so Ash and I chose an assortment of crystal beads that we can't wait to see framing Autumn's face. Really, though, I suspect the only reason Autumn is getting her hair braided is because she's crushing on the IHOP waitress whose sister owns the 'do salon.

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  Helen asked Fernando, "What's it like to be old?"

  All our forks stopped midmouth at Helen's question, not at the rudeness of the question--no pancake is worth waiting on for that--but at the fundamental importance of the question, one that our group had been pondering on a regular basis.

  Fernando swallowed his pancake mouthful, let out a little burp, and then said, "I don't know. Ask me when I'm old."

  Well, we had plenty of other questions, which is how our IHOP fest turned into an hourlong Fernando interrogation: What does Nicaragua look like? Who were the Sandinistas, anyway? Are grandchildren really so fun and cute, or are they overrated as a species? If you went on Survivor, would you win by lying, cheating, and stealing, or strictly on the basis of sex appeal? Just what are your intentions with Sugar Pie?

  I tell you, by the end of that meal, I can assure you Fernando will never again worry about me sneaking off to IHOP He will shove me out the door and beg me not to make him come along.

  When we got back home Shrimp and Fernando stepped outside the car and had some words in private. I was still in the car, waiting for my last kiss with my boyfriend, when Shrimp popped back into the car and drove off before I could get out. He stopped and parked the car a few blocks away on Lyon Street, opposite the Presidio.

  "What's this?" I asked.

  Shrimp leaned into my face. "Fernando and I, we had a man-to-man chat about boundaries. He said so long as you're home in an hour, he'll be cool about it. But only on

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  the condition that you tell your parents that we're having late-night munchie runs at IHOE He said they won't mind-- what they mind is secrecy."

  Oooh, secrecy as a word coming from my boyfriend's mouth. SO HOT I pulled Shrimp's face to mine and said a silent prayer thanking Fernando for the extra hour on the DL.

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  *** Chapter 29

  The good news: danny is moving to san francisco!

  The bad news.- he's a no-good, cheating dawg who left his boyfriend, Aaron, for another man. Danny's new love is a lawyer (I hate him already) who works in The City, and Danny met him at a club where new lawyer man went one night while on a business trip in NYC, and where Danny had gone to shake off the sad news that he and Aaron's business, The Village Idiots, had failed. Danny and Aaron lost the lease on their café and couldn't afford a new space so they closed up shop, and not long after that Danny met new lawyer man, putting a closing notice on Danny's relationship with Aaron.

  True love may be a lie.

  For a no-good dawg, Danny sure looked chipper when I picked him up at the airport. Danny looked exactly like I remembered him--like me, like Frank-dad, but shorter and sweeter, with an open face that had the gall to be glowing with happiness. At the airport curbside pickup he hopped into my car and kissed my cheek. "It's so great to be in California!" he said. "I just escaped the fourth snow storm this February. I thought if I saw one more snowflake, I would lose it. Ah, California sunshine and CC, too. How lucky am I? This change of scenery is just what I needed. I love it!"

  I kissed his cheek back, but then had to say, "Don't look so happy. I am very cross with you."

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  Danny smiled bigger. The nerve! "Who's looking pretty happy herself?" he teased. Danny lifted a piece of my hair. "Purple?" he asked. Apparently when I proclaimed I would never go for body art as a form of self-expression, I was lying. Shrimp and I were in his rooftop hammock at a rare time when we had the house to ourselves. He was explaining to me about dysentery, which he had in Papua New Guinea, while we were listening to a Prince CD. Then Shrimp and I shared, let's call it a lovely interlude (I told you it would get good again), while the Purple One sang "Erotic City," an interlude so inspired I had no choice but to celebrate it by going to Haight Street to get violet streaks highlighted into my long black hair. Some girls might get tattoos with their boyfriend's name--Johnny Angel or Stud Muffin or whatever--but I prefer a more wash-out-able form of branding to express my love for my man.

  "Don't change the subject," I told Danny. "What's his name, anyway?"

  Danny said, "Terry."

  "That's a girl's name."

  Danny did the whistle-snap. "There's nothing girl about Terry, let me tell you. I have never dated a man that beautiful in my life. Wait till you meet him!" The whistle-snap from Danny? Since when did he become a stereotypical Chelsea boy? Danny is the upstanding homosexual who wears wrinkled T-shirts and blue jeans from ten years ago, he has a scraggly mess of black hair and kind brown eyes with dark eyebrows so bushy he practically has a unibrow, and then there's also his avowed love of Pamela Anderson (don't ask me, I have no idea). Danny is the guy that if you didn't already know he was gay you would think he was a

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  fence straddler at best, not a confirmed Friend of Dorothy. I am all for Chelsea boys, I have great appreciation for their beautiful bodies and exceptional fashion sense, and I, too, share their love for The Golden Girls, but that's not who Danny is.

  "Well, where do you want me to drop you off?" I asked him. 'At Terry's house in the Oakland hills, or at the local intervention clinic for bad bad boyfriends who dump their true love just when the going gets tough for some shallow-vain he-man who probably shaves his chest and gets facials more frequently than my mother?"

  Danny turned down the car radio and turned his body so he was facing me. "Listen, Ceece, I know this is hard. If you think you're taking it bad, you should know that lisBETH hasn't spoken to me since Aaron and I broke up. She's been too busy helping him find a job and a new apartment, like Aaron is her brother, not me. Dad's freaked out. He's never been comfortable with the gay thing anyway, although he always puts on a PC show about how it's all fine, but at least with Aaron he knew what to expect with me. Aaron is a great person--don't think I am not fully aware of that. We had some great years together, but we'd gotten to be more like friends than mates. Aaron and I were over long before Terry came along. The spark had died. So now I am unemployed and treading in dangerous territory. I don't know what I'm going to do with my life now that The Village Idiots is gone, and I'm so insecure with Terry, I'm sure I'm gonna blow it. I could really use some support. Help me out here, okay, Ceece?"

  Faux-wanna-be Chelsea boy or not, he's still my Danny, the half-brother who made my summer in Manhattan

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  worthwhile, the only person clever enough and who would care enough to give me a nickname like Ceece. "Okay," I said.

  "So when do I get to meet the famous Shrimp?" Danny asked.

  "He's out in the East Bay scouting a new Java the Hut location with his brother this afternoon, but he wants us to get together tomorrow. Maybe we could go get coffee and breakfast together or something."

  Danny laughed. "I know your tricks. I am not enabling you to skip school on my account. Let me talk with Terry and ma
ybe all of us can get together this weekend."

  'Are you moving in permanently with Terry?"

  "No. We're gonna see how it goes--no commitments as of now. I needed to get out of New York for a while, and what better place to escape than the Bay Area? I hardly got any time with you last summer, and it would be great to see Uncle Sid again too. Terry has a huge house with a great kitchen, so I can keep myself occupied just fine while he's working during the day."

  Because Danny is a relatively new discovery in my life, I forget that other people besides me, Josh, and Ash have a claim to "Uncle Sid." Sid-dad was a doting godfather to lisBETH and Danny when they were kids, because he and bio-dad Frank were old college roommates and best friends, until Nancy came between them. As I looked at Danny through the corner of my eye, I felt proud to call him brother, and couldn't wait to introduce him to Shrimp and my friends--Helen, Autumn, Sugar Pie--but I can't say I was cool with the thought that Danny planned to hang with "Uncle Sid" during his time in San Francisco.

  Weirder than the thought of Danny interacting with

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  my parents would be Danny interacting with Nancy's mourning period. Mrs. Vogue hadn't been to yoga in a month, and she spends most of her days moping around the house wearing Sid-dad's plush old Ritz-Carlton hotel robe. Neiman-Marcus may possibly go out of business for how long since Nancy has shopped there. While Nancy's cooking skills haven't improved, she has mastered the art of the Duncan Hines mix. We no longer have to sneak sweets into the house because Nancy herself is making them and eating them. I found it hard to imagine how the Danny-Nancy chemistry could mix, especially since they were both at such strange intervals in their own lives.