3volve

by Josefina Gutierrez

  “Why are you here?” Jeremiah asks suspiciously. His eyes staring intently at my face, is making me fully aware of how red and blotchy it must be.

  “Yeah, it’s not Thanksgiving,” Jeremy says, placing his new Batman comics between his textbook.

  “Or Christmas,” Jeremiah finishes.

  “Hell didn’t freeze,” Jeremy laughs.

  “Pigs aren’t flying,” Jeremiah continues. They both high-five, proud of their twinness on display.

  “Ay, niños, enough,” I tell them and kneel in front of them. I can’t take their stupid banter right now. I’m stuck with them, and they’re stuck with me now.

  “Cris what's going on?” Jeremy asks, suddenly serious.

  “What makes you think something is going on huh?” I ask, forcing my irritation deep inside.

  “Because people look like something is going on.” He looks at me obviously annoyed with such a stupid question—teenagers.

  “And you're here,” Jeremiah points out.

  I sigh aloud, “You're right knuckleheads. Something did happen.” I silently prepare myself for telling them.

  “Like what?” Jeremiah asks.

  “You know what we haven’t done in a long time?” I ask them, slapping at their heads.

  “Tell the truth,” Jeremy arches his eyebrows upwards.

  “No, we haven’t—”

  “Cris we aren’t babies,” Jeremy whines.

  “Yeah, just tell us,” Jeremiah urges.

  I lean down in front of them both, placing my hands on a knee. I try to think of how to tell them we are royally fucked. Either way I go, it won’t matter how I say it. I sigh, “I have bad news about Mom and Dad.”

  I close my eyes to push back all the feelings.

  “They're mad because you’re bumming around and can’t keep a job,” Jeremy says and they both laugh.

  “Hey,” I say, seriously wishing I could smack them both in the head like Mom used to do. I pick up their chins so they're both looking at me. “I’m sorry kiddos. I really am, because life just isn’t fair. It’s totally fucked up.” I take a deep breath. “Mom and Dad were in an accident this morning and died.”

  I see tears begin to flood their eyes, finally understanding how screwed we are. They’re stuck with me as much as I am to them. No more snickering and questioning, they both lunge towards me, pushing me back with their weight.

  “I know. Let it out,” I stroke their hair, squeezing them tighter. If only I could reassure them it will be better—get better. But I don’t know if it ever does.

  The counselor approaches us and places two folders on a nearby chair. “I am so sorry for your loss. You have a few days to handle your arrangements without being absent. Then you can bring them on Monday. If there is anything I can do, don’t hesitate to ask.”

  “Thank you.” I take a deep breath and kiss them on the cheek, my anger quickly replaced with pity. “We need to get you home.”

  “Why? Mom and Dad aren't home,” Jeremy sighs, grabbing his backpack.

  “I know,” I reach for the folders and open the door for them to pass. I nod to the counselor and walk after them.

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  The drive home is quiet with plenty of stifled sobs in the back. When we get home, there is a car in the driveway. I turn around and hold my hand out to stop them from getting out, “Wait here while I see who it is.” It had better not be Aunt Marie; she’s such a Nosy Nancy.

  They both nod and lean their heads on their own windows.

  I walk slowly up to the house to check the door. It's already open. I yell, annoyed, “I’m not in the mood!” into the main hallway.

  “I thought you could use some company, and food,” Charlie smirks from the kitchen. “Where are the boys?” he asks, looking behind me.

  “I told them to wait in the car. Wait, I thought you were in a meeting?” I ask, looking at his suitcase and duffel on the kitchen table.

  “Meetings can be cancelled,” he says, putting away his luggage, “I was leaving the airport when I called you.”

  “Thanks for being such a good friend.” I clasp his hand in mine.

  It feels like he winces slightly but recovers quickly, “Well go get them already!” he laughs. “I’m sure they could use a pick-me-up.”

  I smile gratefully at him and wrap my arms around him. “Thank you for being you.”

  “Always,” he whispers in my ear.

  I squeeze him tightly before I run out to the car.

  “Guys, Charlie has food for us. Let's eat, okay?” I tell them opening the car door.

  “When are we going to see Mom and Dad?” Jeremiah asks, pulling on Jeremy’s hoodie to pull his head off the window.

  “Soon. Okay?” I ruffle his hair.

  Charlie ordered Chinese and he tries to occupy our thoughts, but it’s all still too fresh in our minds. The boys hardly touch their food, excusing themselves to go to their room. I haven’t even been in town for five hours and already I’m doing a horrible job.

  “You’re doing fine, you know that right?” Charlie hands me a fortune cookie.

  “Yeah right.” I break it open and read my fortune: Circumstance does not make the man, it reveals him to himself.

  Well great, I’m not a man. Stupid fortune cookie. I throw it back down on the table.

  “I can’t stay long because I have a work thing tomorrow.” He breaks open his fortune cookie and reads the fortune silently, then places it in his pocket.

  “I know. Thanks for coming; you didn’t have to.”

  “Oh I had to. Have you ever kept anything alive longer than a week?” he asks, biting into his fortune cookie.

  “I object! Of course I have.” I scramble my mind to think of examples before he can battle me.

  “Really?” he laughs. “Name one.” He picks up my fortune cookie and eats it.

  I’m still thinking of all the pets and plants I’ve had over the years. Oh, I know! “The plant Nessa gave me when we graduated high school. That thing lived for like months in our new place,” I smile proudly.

  “That’s because I watered it for you.” He shakes his head.

  “Liar,” I say, hurt, crossing my arms.

  “I’m not! I totally watered it every time I went over. Then I left for winter break. After I came back it was dead.”

  I scrunch my face, “Oh yeah, it did die on winter break.” I shake my head stubbornly, “It doesn’t prove anything though.”

  “You killed a cactus for crying out loud. Are you sure you can handle two teenage boys? You know you have to feed them and keep them away from sharp objects, right?” He laughs again at my predicament.

  “Hardy, har, har.” I throw my spring roll at him, but he dodges it.

  He pulls me into a hug instead, “I know this is hard, but if there’s anything I can do, will you let me know?” he says into my ear. The heat from his breath tickles my neck, and I forget to answer his question.

  “Cris,” he whispers hoarsely against the nape of my neck.

  “I will,” I finally answer him, backing away.

  “I have a few things to take care of tomorrow at home before I can come back for the funeral, so I should go.” He kisses the top of my head. “Make sure to call Nessa and let her know what’s happening or she’ll end up worrying.”

  “I’ll do it tonight,” I assure him. I walk behind him to the front door. “Be safe,” I tell him, our usual goodbye—a goodbye we started when I started drinking. Now I think we say it out of habit more than safety.

  He turns around, smiling. “Be safe.” He walks back to his car and drives away.

  I look at the clock on the mantle. It’s not late, but I feel exhausted. Instead of calling Nessa, I text her a short catch-up before grabbing my laptop from my bag and walking to the dining table.

  My mom’s place setting is screaming at me, her voice echoing in the background. She would cut roses from her garden; the petals always looked overgrown on our small wooden table, as if her loved fi
lled them up to capacity—reds and whites exploding over the table in between her baby angels.

  Suddenly I can’t look at them. I can’t hear their voices. So I fill my arms with the angels and roses, locking them away in the hallway closet. I peel off the tablecloth to reveal a bare hardwood table—a table removed of distractions. I put my laptop down and start booting it up.

  I still have the laptop from my first year of college. Dad did extra construction jobs to buy me my first laptop. He said it was a rite of passage, buying his baby girl her first computer. The old thing still works, even missing three keys. I dump the contents of my purse on the table, scattering everything to search for my wallet, phone, paper, and pencil. I make a list of what I need to do for the funeral.

  I search Google for numbers and arrange for a low-key service. I send out a blast email to my relatives to notify them, keeping it short and concise. God I hate them all. My parents didn’t like anyone anyways, so why bother having anyone here to disturb their peace. But I know what Mom would say, ‘We may not like them, but if we don’t tell them, they’re just going to bring it up for the next ten years.’

  Three hours later, I’m finished with preparations. My savings is cleaned out with each mouse click. So, I’m going to need to get a job if I expect to feed us. I pick up my bag to put it in my room. The boys have been quiet; I hope they’re okay. Should I have checked on them sooner? I don’t know! I feel like they should have their space. Or should they not have space now? Ugh.

  I peek my head in their rooms and they’re empty. Empty! I search frantically around the house until I find them in my parents’ room. They are fast asleep in their bed. They look so small and childlike—not like the tall boys they’ve become recently. I don’t bother changing clothes; I get in next to them, pulling them close.

  Today finally hits me in full force. I break down, quietly sobbing, tears rolling down my face onto the pillow. This is the last time I will allow myself to cry in front of others. The last time I will let this get the better of me. I’m a surrogate mother now; mothers don’t let their children see them sad.

  I fall asleep worried how I will be able to pay for back-to-school clothes, food, utility bills and eventually college.

  God sure is playing a cruel joke on us. All I can say is, Bring it on bitch.

  Chapter 3

  I engaged my autopilot the next morning, walking through the motions. I pressed the boys’ suits for them to wear. I pulled on my most conservative black dress and cardigan.

  The wake and funeral went by too fast. It’s all blurs and images. We all went up to talk about how great our parents were—wow…“were”.

  Vanessa and Charlie came down to help me deal with people. Vanessa prepared food and watched the boys while I handled the new motherly duties of pretending to like people who never cared to visit. Charlie handled all important questions for me so I could keep a brave face. My job was to reign in my feelings and keep it all together long enough to cry myself to sleep when alone.

  All five of us are sitting at the dining room table, exhausted and unmoving. I don’t know how I’m supposed to take care of them, especially since I don’t even know how to take care of myself. What do I even want to be when I grow up?

  “I’m tired, can we be excused?” Jeremy asks solemnly.

  “Me too,” Jeremiah adds.

  “You two aren’t hungry? I can make you something to eat.” I pick my head up, more alert.

  “We aren’t hungry,” they shrug. Their usual height and prowess is even more distinguished by their newly adopted seriousness. Their shoulders are slouched and pulled back, heads down, eyes blood-shot red. It pains my heart to see them like this, knowing they aren’t the cute toddlers running away from me after painting my room in my lipstick and eye shadow.

  “Okay. Well, I’ll go up and check on you later,” I say reassuringly, touching their cheeks.

  “Yup.” They wave goodbye to Vanessa and Charlie, and go up to their rooms. They look more gray than brown at this point. Their skin is losing its spark. I sigh, slumping my shoulders forward and banging my head on the table.

  Nessa slings her arm around me, “So what’s the plan chica?” she asks.

  “Hell if I know.” I turn my head on the table to face her. I can feel the table etching into my cheek.

  “Job wise, I mean. I hope you know you have to buckle down and get one now.”

  I growl into the wood, “I know.”

  “I can lend you some money while you look for a job,” Charlie tells me from across the table.

  My hurt boils to the surface and before I know it, I’m yelling at him. “You don’t think I can do this! I can. I can get a job. It’s not like I’m a fucking failure, ya know! You both always treat me like I can’t do anything right.” I rush up to stand in front of the kitchen sink. I hang my head in shame, “Sorry. I just…I don’t need you two to bail me out all the time. I have to do this,” I insist.

  “Cris, we didn’t mean it like that.” Vanessa gets up from the table and walks over. She reaches over and grasps my hand.

  “I don’t want you stressing more than you need to,” Charlie says, softly walking towards us.

  “I appreciate you both looking out for me, but I have to do this,” I insist once again.

  They both nod in agreement and place their heads on my shoulders. We stand there looking out of the kitchen window.

  I remember one night Nessa and I snuck out of the house, and Dad locked every window in the house to teach us a lesson. We had to shimmy through the kitchen window. I still have a scar on my wrist when I snagged a crucifix on my way down: a mark to remember that night.

  To lighten the mood, I ask, “So boys have to eat more than grilled cheese right? Like can I just give them each a box of cereal and tell them to go to town.” I wiggle my eyebrows back and forth, “because, I should probably learn to cook.”

  “I can teach you a few things before I have to get back,” Vanessa jumps in. “We wouldn’t want you to burn the house down,” she laughs.

  “Har har. Obviously, I’m not using the stove. Far too much commitment,” I say, knowing very well it’s going to be the microwave from here on out. I’m replacing my best friends with an unanimated object, whoopee.

  Vanessa shows me nothing but recipes with chicken. Chicken tacos, chicken enchiladas, chicken this and that. God I feel my life becoming Chicken Soup for the Soul. I don’t even know if the boys like chicken enough to eat it every day. But there’s no turning back now. Alla chicken!

  Charlie is spending all his time upstairs playing video games—such a guy thing to do. Boys and their video games.

  “Do you think they are ever coming down?” I ask, trying to make out sounds from upstairs. I think I hear laughter, but I can’t be sure. Laughter is a good sign; it means I haven’t broken them yet.

  Vanessa shrugs in response. “It’s good for them. All that testosterone and what not. Besides,” she winks. “It’s good they get along so well, right?” she says, her voice giving of that sly kick at the end.

  I snort, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Hellooo!” She points upstairs and then stabs me in the chest, as if it’s the most obvious thing since the Cumberbatch sensation swept the nation.

  I pretend it hurts, rubbing the spot. “Hellooo! I think the chicken is getting to you, and frankly, it’s getting to me. What the hell am I supposed to do with all this damn chicken? Huh?” I take a whiff of the oven and gag for effect.

  “Don’t change the subject.” She flicks my forehead. “You know exactly what I’m talking about mensa.”

  “Trust me, I don’t need to fake ignorance.” I cross my arms and lean against the oven.

  “Let me spell it out for you: you plus Charlie equals destiny, chica.”

  I shake my head. “I was never good at math, but I think you have that equation all wrong.” Her mouth is moving and words are coming out, but it’s like she’s speaking another language. It’s not desti
ny. Bitch is cray cray. I love her and everything, but she’s losing it here, and I should be the hot mess right now.

  She clutches my arms. “Destiny.” She waves her hand like some glittering sign above our heads—more like a dim-lit convenient store sign with dying batteries. Hmph destiny my sweet ass.

  At that moment, Charlie walks in, “What we talking about?” he asks, poking at my first attempt at chicken enchiladas. He promptly spits it back out, “Mmm so good,” he lies, swishing water in his mouth.

  “Destiny.” Vanessa does the whole imaginary sign again and winks her eyes repeatedly. I laugh. She totally looks like Shannon from Superstar. Next thing we know she’s going to break out in dance.

  “Are you having a spasm?” Charlie places his palm on her forehead to check for a fever. “Maybe you’ve been cooking long enough, eh,” he jokes.

  “You two are so blind!” She throws her hands up in the air and stomps out of the kitchen.

  “I feel like I missed something, something important.” He looks to me for an answer.

  “She thinks we’re fated for destiny.” I wave my hands, copying her, “Isn’t that ridiculous?” I laugh, looking over at him to second it, but he just stands there looking at me.

  “You seem to think so,” he says quietly.

  “Well yeah, because it is.” I wait for him to join in, but he still doesn’t. He looks more serious now than he has before. He opens his mouth to say something, but then he thinks better of it. “I need to get home. Nessa is here so you’ll be fine,” he says all business like.

  “You’re leaving already? You can’t stay a little while longer? I’m sure your parent’s aren’t expecting you yet.” I feel like a child asking her parents why she has to leave the party so early.

  “I have a life,” he blurts out, hurting my feelings in the process.

  “Fine. Go have your life,” I point at the door. I’m trying my best to hold back tears I didn’t even knew I still had. I’ve cried a river goddammit! And I will not break my “no crying in public” oath.

  He runs his hand through his hair, and his look softens. “You can call if you need anything. I’ll be back tomorrow.”