Monsters

by Liz Kay

  “It’s not the same,” Ben says.

  Stevie lays his card in the grass. It says Daddy in big red and blue letters. The last time Stevie made him a card, I had to write the letters for him. He traced them with marker, but you could still see the black line of my pen underneath spelling out Happy Birthday Daddy. Then he’d covered it with hearts.

  “Benny,” I say.

  “Don’t call me that,” he growls.

  “Okay,” I say, and I nod.

  I rub my thumb across his shoulder blade, but he shrugs my hand off. Sweat pools behind my knees and the dry grass bites at my ankles.

  “How long are we staying?” Stevie says. He’s swinging his arms, wiggling his hips. “Can we look for Gran and Pops’ grave too?” He’s never going to remember Michael. Not really.

  • • •

  I have an hour while the boys are at swim lessons, so I figure I’ll stop at the store. As usual, I’ve forgotten my list, but I know I need spinach. I’m making quinoa, and I run through the recipe in my head. I pick up onion, garlic, shallots. I hold a tomato up to my nose. It doesn’t smell like anything. It doesn’t smell real.

  In the checkout, I see Tommy on the cover of a gossip magazine, not the lead story, but in one of the little bubbles with the heading New Romance? In the photo, he looks like Tommy, but also not. He looks more like a character from one of his movies. He has his arm wrapped around the very small waist of a blonde that I think I’ve probably seen before. She’s beautiful, like a porcelain doll, and very, very young. I think I was probably in high school by the time she was born. He has his head turned toward her, almost in her hair, like they caught him turning to whisper something in her ear.

  I think about calling him, just to see what he’s doing, but I think that would be weird, so I just text him the title of a book I keep hearing about. Have you read this? Should I? I type, and I know he’ll call me by the end of the day. He usually does. I doubt he ever calls the porcelain doll. Not that it matters. None of this matters. Because the reality of my life is organic juice boxes and baby-carrot snack packs. It’s just weird seeing these stories, though I see them a lot.

  Besides, next month, I’m going out to see him, or not to see him, exactly. I’m just going out.

  “There’s a ton of shit going on, final casting, set design, storyboard should be done. I want to get your take,” he’d said when he called.

  “I don’t know,” I said. “It’s hard to get away. How long are you talking about?”

  AUGUST

  THE BOYS ARE COMING WITH ME just till Tuesday. Tommy says they’ll be fine hanging out with Daniel for a few days, but I don’t know how I’ll handle having them there. I don’t like to feel divided. They’ll fly with me and spend a few days at Tommy’s, and then my parents will drive down from San Francisco. It’s a day’s drive, but they can take them to Disneyland and then I’ll meet them all back at my parents’. They’ve been bugging me to bring the boys out anyway.

  The boys are totally excited because they know Tommy has a pool, and this is the single greatest thing they can imagine. He’s not home when we pull up, but Daniel is, and he stands in the front doorway with his arms crossed while I’m still trying to get the boys out of the car. They’ve brought backpacks, and the backpacks could not go in the trunk, and now Stevie’s gotten his caught on the seat belt.

  I turn toward Daniel, hold my arms out for a hug. He looks me over a little too closely. “You look thinner.”

  I don’t say thank you. I know he doesn’t mean it as a compliment. “I’ve just been busy.”

  “And this must be Ben.” He holds his hand out, and Ben shakes it.

  Stevie finally tugs his backpack loose and trudges out to stand next to his brother. I can tell he’s nervous because he’s trying to hold Ben’s hand. It’s an old habit, and Ben’s old enough now not to like it, but he still puts up with it.

  “Stevie?” Daniel asks, and Stevie nods. Neither one of them has said a word yet, and I wonder how long it’s going to take. “Your mom says you guys like swimming.” They both nod. “You want to see the pool?” Stevie looks at Ben, and Ben looks at me.

  “Go ahead,” I say.

  Daniel puts his hand on Stevie’s back and nudges him toward the house. “Now, don’t go jumping in with your clothes on,” he says. “But I bet after lunch you can get changed and go in. By the end of the day, you’ll look like a couple of prunes.”

  • • •

  They do get changed after lunch, and I go out to the pool deck to sit and watch them. They don’t swim so much as jump in, flail their way to the side, and do it again. But they’re happy. They’re squealing and dripping all over the tiles. I like watching them. The sun is out, but it’s not too hot, and I think I could just sit here all day. I dangle my legs in the water and lean back on my elbows, letting the sun slowly warm my neck and chest.

  “Hey,” Tommy calls from behind me, and I tip my head backwards to smile at him.

  He kicks his shoes off and sits next to me. “They look like they’re having fun.”

  “They are,” I say. “They’re loud though.” Today, though, the loud doesn’t bother me. Somehow, out here with all the sun and air, the loud feels fine.

  He watches them for a minute and then calls out, “Hey, you Stacey’s boys?”

  They stop and look at him, and Stevie says, “Yeah.”

  “I’m Tommy,” he says. “Nice to meet you.”

  They’re standing at the edge of the pool, just dripping. They don’t really look at him or me. They don’t seem to know what to do. They’re sort of jockeying to see who can stand behind whom.

  “I’ll give five bucks to whoever makes the biggest splash,” Tommy says.

  Stevie sort of hops. Five dollars is a big deal to him.

  “It’s got to be a really big splash though. It’s got to come all the way over here. You’re gonna have to get your mom wet.”

  I kind of groan, but the boys throw themselves into it, wearing themselves out, and by the end of it Tommy and I are drenched, and I haven’t yelled at them, and the boys think Tommy is the coolest guy they’ve ever met. They’re talking to him now, telling him all sorts of stories and things that they think are jokes but that aren’t really funny. It’s the kind of talk that I tend to zone out, so they have to repeat it a few times, ask, Mommy, did you hear me? He can tell when they want him to laugh, and so he does, and as they’re drying off, he gives them each five dollars, and they totally love him.

  • • •

  For dinner, the boys are eating sandwiches with the crusts cut off, which I would normally never allow. Stevie had said, “Do we have to eat the crusts?” which he always asks, even though I always say, “Yes,” and I did say, “Yes,” but then Tommy took their plates and cut their crusts off and gave me this look that said, Stop being such an asshole.

  “My dad taught us how to swim,” Stevie volunteers after a while, which isn’t even true. He made them take lessons.

  “Yeah?” Tommy says. “Well, you guys are great at it.”

  Stevie looks at his sandwich for a minute. I can tell he’s working up to it, but I don’t know how to stop him. “Did you know my dad’s dead?” he says finally.

  “Shut up, Stevie,” Ben says. “You’ll make Mom sad.”

  Tommy gives me a look like, Jesus, and I’m sure he’s thinking that I’ve broken my kids.

  “Your mom’s pretty tough,” he says to Ben. “But I bet it makes you sad.”

  Ben doesn’t say anything.

  “You know, I did know about your dad,” Tommy starts again, this time talking to Stevie. “I’m really sorry.”

  “It’s okay,” Stevie says. I don’t think he really has anything to add. I think he’d just wanted to say it. It’s like he needs to, every so often. Sometimes I hear him talking to his friends at school, Can you come play on Friday? Did you know my dad is dead?

  • • •

  Once the boys are in bed, I head back downstairs. Tommy is
in the great room on one of the overstuffed leather couches with a bottle of wine, and I drop down next to him, prop my feet on the edge of the table. He hands me a glass of wine and doesn’t say anything. He’s just sitting there, his legs loosely crossed, his foot on his knee, watching me, and it feels like he’s waiting for something.

  “You think I’m a bad mom,” I say finally.

  “No.” He shakes his head. “I think you’re a great mom. I think you have great kids.”

  I try again. “You think I’m smothering their grief.”

  He takes a drink, stalling probably. “I think”—he turns to look at me—“I think the three of you are not the best at grief.”

  “I know.” I set my wineglass down, bury my face in my hands.

  “How long has it been?”

  “Almost a year and a half.”

  “And you think, if you just gut it out, at some point things will get better?”

  This is exactly what I think, but I shake my head. But then I say, “Maybe. I don’t know.”

  “It might work like that for you, Stace, but it’s not going to work like that for them.” He reaches across the couch and grabs my hand. Already I feel like there’s too much in my head, like how am I supposed to think about Michael and the boys and all of this grief when Tommy’s sitting here looking at me? How am I supposed to remember to breathe? He tugs on my hand. “C’mere.”

  I tilt my head. I frown. “I can’t sleep with you with the boys in the house.”

  “Honey, you can’t sleep without me.”

  “What if they go looking for me upstairs and they can’t find me?”

  “It wouldn’t matter if they could. You’re a mess, Stacey. You’re no good to anybody.” He moves closer, slides his fingers deep into my hair, pulls my mouth against his. “Let me help you. Let me fix you up.”

  • • •

  My hair is still wet from the shower. I have my clothes draped across the bed, but I don’t know what to put on. We’re going to the production office today, and thinking about it makes me feel anxious. I pick a pair of gray jeans. They’re skintight, any tighter they’d bruise my hips, but I feel held together. I feel defined. I pull on a tailored navy cotton tee. It looks simple, but it cost a fortune. It’s cut a little lower than I remember, and while it’s not see-through, it hints that maybe it could be. I squirt a bit of mousse into my palm, finger it through my hair, and I pull out my makeup bag, smooth a little lotion over my face. It’s true that I don’t look as tired. This morning it was nearly light out when I woke up. Sleeping with Tommy doesn’t help in the long run though. It just makes me even more restless when I get back home.

  • • •

  When I get downstairs, there are dirty cereal bowls on the counter, and Tommy and Daniel are both in the kitchen. Tommy’s reading the paper. Daniel’s on the phone. He must be on hold because he just twists it away from his mouth. “Morning,” he says. “There’s coffee. Boys have already eaten. They’re in the media room, watching cartoons. You want some breakfast? I bought you plain yogurt.”

  I lean behind him, kiss him on the cheek. “You are my favorite person ever.”

  “Excuse me?” Tommy says, tossing his paper on the counter. “I think I do some shit for you that’s way better than picking up yogurt. I mean, we could talk about some of the shit I do for you.”

  “Oh god, please don’t,” Daniel says. “I can’t hear this kind of talk about Stacey.”

  “Yeah, you know, I feel like no one needs to hear this kind of talk about Stacey,” I say. “Maybe what you could do for me is have a little discretion.”

  Tommy laughs. “Why? You embarrassed?”

  “I’m not embarrassed,” I say. “It’s more like I’m deeply, deeply ashamed.”

  Daniel nods. “You should be, honey.”

  “Oh, shut the fuck up, both of you,” Tommy says. Then he smiles, but his mouth seems stretched a little tight. “For you, Stacey, I have been nothing but discreet.”

  He stands up and walks behind me toward the door, but then he stops, takes hold of my hips. He pulls me back against him and leans down, says in my ear, “But as long as you’re dressed like that, people are still going to think you’re a slut.”

  “Go to hell,” I say.

  “I feel like I’m there already,” he says, but he pats me on the ass as he moves away. “We’re leaving in thirty.”

  “Don’t take this the wrong way,” Daniel says when Tommy’s gone, “but you being here all week makes me sick to my stomach.”

  “Is there a right way to take that?” I say, pulling the yogurt out of the fridge.

  “Never mind,” he says. “It’s none of my business anyway.”

  • • •

  “Jason,” I say when we walk in, and he jumps up from the desk. “The script is amazing. I love it.”

  Jason is not a groper, exactly, but he doesn’t keep his hands still when he hugs me. Over his shoulder, Tommy raises his eyebrows and kind of laughs. Quietly though. He’s not the type to call Jason out on it. I put my hands on Jason’s waist and gently push him back.

  “Pull up a chair.” He waves toward the desk. “I was just looking at casting tapes. I’m down to the last few decisions, but I’ll show you the people we’ve already locked in.”

  “Contracts signed on all of them?” Tommy says. He’s already moving a chair for me.

  “Yeah.” Jason nods. “Sarah’s in, obviously. And we’ve got Allen for the neighbor.” He looks at me. “You know Allen Hayes?”

  I know he means do I know of him, but I don’t, so I shake my head.

  “He’s good. Not much of a résumé yet, but good.” He goes on listing names I don’t know, but Tommy seems happy with them. “So we’re down to the last few key roles and the extras, of course, but I don’t really dip my hands in that.”

  “He just fires the ones that don’t work out,” Tommy says.

  “Yeah,” Jason says. “I do do that.” He motions toward the chair. “So sit down, I want to show you our cast.”

  He sits down too, and he starts pulling up all these clips on the screen in front of us. Tommy stands behind us. I can feel his hand on the back of my chair. We watch a lot of these, and honestly, I don’t know what I’m looking at, so I just say a lot of yeahs, and sures, and seems greats. Tommy seems super invested though. He keeps leaning forward to point at the screen, and every time he does, he brushes against me. If I was trying to pay attention, it would be very distracting.

  “Who’s this?” he says at one point.

  Jason flips through a stack of paper on the desk for a second, but he gives up quickly. “Can’t remember her name. She’s no one yet, but we’ve got her down for the neighbor’s wife.”

  “Yeah,” Tommy says. “She looks good.” And she does, she looks great, and maybe all of nineteen. “I like her for this role,” he says.

  • • •

  Tommy’s daughter gets in from her mother’s before we make it back to the house. She’s apparently been holed up in her room all day, and when Tommy insists she come down for dinner, she holds her phone in front of her plate and spends the entire time texting. She barely eats. I count, and she takes a total of five bites. Three of the spinach salad. Two of the potatoes. I can tell she’s counting too. Her plate looks untouched even after the boys have been excused.

  “Why don’t you put the phone down?” Tommy says in this soft, understanding tone.

  She acts like she doesn’t hear him.

  “Honey?” he tries again. “Sadie, honey?”

  “What?” she snaps. “Jesus, Dad, can you give me like a minute’s peace?”

  He pauses, takes a breath. “Have you noticed that we have company? Maybe you could say hello.”

  She sighs and sets her phone down loudly. She looks at me and says, “Hi, I’m Sadie, and you must be fucking my dad.” She picks her phone back up and turns to Tommy. “Can I go?”

  Tommy drops his head forward, folds his hands at the back of his neck. �
�Fine.”

  She walks out, and I put my hand on his arm. “Well, she’s got a lot of spunk,” I say, in my best Let’s look on the bright side tone.

  “Yeah.” He nods. “I knew you’d like her.” He rubs his face with one hand, but then he pulls on this relaxed smile. “Hey, buddy, what’s up?”

  I turn, and Stevie’s standing in the kitchen doorway.

  “Ben pushed all these buttons and now the movie won’t play.”

  “I didn’t!” Ben says from where he’s hiding around the corner. I can hear in his voice that he’s trying not to cry.

  “Not a problem, man. I can fix it.” Tommy pushes his chair back and stands up, walks into the kitchen. He rubs his hand through Stevie’s hair as he walks past him. “You guys want some popcorn?”

  “They just had dinner. They don’t need any popcorn.”

  “Go tell your mom we’re gonna make popcorn,” Tommy says, and I hear Ben giggle.

  Stevie looks at me, his eyes wide, and I shrug like I’m giving up.

  “She says okay!” he yells, and runs after Tommy.

  I take my glass of wine and walk into the living room.

  “My dad really likes little kids.” I hadn’t seen Sadie, but there she is, sitting in the corner, curled up on this upholstered linen chair. It looks like the kind of spot a little girl would curl up in to read. I bet she’s been hiding there for years. She makes a face. “I mean, not like that. Not creepy. But he likes them.” She looks down at her phone but doesn’t pick it up. “Probably because they believe all his bullshit.”

  The rest of the room is arranged facing away from the chair she’s in, so I just lean against the back of the couch. “I’m not sleeping with your dad,” I say, but Tommy’s right, I am a terrible liar. I’m sure she doesn’t believe me.

  “Whatever,” she says. She doesn’t look up at me. She’s staring at her fingers. She’s found a loose thread at the edge of the chair, and she’s trying to tug it free. “I guess you’re a little old for him anyway. Most of my dad’s girlfriends are like barely older than me.”

  It’s like she wants me to hate her. “You want to tell me why you’re so mad at him?”