Monsters

by Liz Kay

  • • •

  “Everything okay?” Phillip asks as we walk out to the sidewalk.

  “Yeah, just, you know.” I shrug.

  He smiles. “Well, should we go?” He nods in the direction of the bar up the street. He doesn’t take my arm, but he walks next to me, and with the heels we’re almost shoulder to shoulder. With the heels, I wish he would offer his arm like Michael used to. Michael always paid attention to my shoes.

  • • •

  When Phillip drops me home, I ask him in for a drink. He says, “I’ve probably had too much already.” I think, Jesus, are you that out of practice? but I just say, “Coffee, then?” And he says, “Yeah, coffee would be great.”

  I start the pot and then turn around to face him, lean my hands back against the counter. The granite feels cold beneath my palms.

  He smiles. He says, “You look really beautiful.”

  I think, Finally, and I say “Yeah?” I raise my chin a little. I kind of chew on my bottom lip, but he just stands there, all the way across the room, waiting. I hold his eyes for a long time and still nothing. I mean, there’s only so much I’m going to do. The coffeemaker beeps, and I pour him a cup. “Cream? Sugar?” I say.

  “Both.”

  And then he stands there and drinks the fucking coffee, like just drinks it, and I think if I had known that was what he wanted, I would not have invited him in.

  When I walk him to the door, he hugs me, wrapping his arms around me in this awkward, safe mid-arm range. We’re elbow to elbow. And then he kisses me good night in this really chaste, dry-lipped way, and he says, “I don’t want to go too fast for you.”

  I’m thinking, Really? This is fast? so I lean my weight into him, pushing him back against the door, and I pull his lips open with mine. I flick his tongue with my tongue.

  I lean back onto my heels and wipe my lipstick off his lips, and I say, “I think I’m fine. Really. I think I’m pretty good.”

  • • •

  The boys are watching cartoons when I show up to get them in the morning. Stevie’s lying on his stomach, propped up on his elbows. “Hi, Mom,” he calls. He always notices when I come in.

  “Morning, babies,” I say. I squat down and they give me distracted hugs. They’re both looking over my shoulder at the TV.

  I walk into the kitchen, and Jenny pours me a cup of coffee. “I’m making pancakes,” she says. “With chocolate chips. You want one?”

  “I’ve already eaten.” I lean against the counter to watch her.

  “Bullshit.”

  “No, I have. I ate a cup of yogurt.” Or half a cup. Whatever, it’s not like I measured.

  She turns around and ladles scoops of batter onto her griddle. It’s blackened, well-seasoned. She uses it a lot. “How was your date?” she asks.

  I shrug. “Eh. He’s a little slow.”

  She turns to look at me. “Like in the head?”

  “Jenny, he’s a doctor. He’s not slow in the head. He’s just a little, you know, not aggressive.”

  “Oh,” she says, drawing it out like she’s made a discovery, “like slow in bed?”

  “Who knows? Maybe he’s really quick in bed.” I take a sip of the coffee. “But definitely slow to get there.”

  “Ugh.” She makes a face. “I hate that.” She turns back to flip the pancakes. They are perfect, golden, except where the chocolate’s melted out. They smell like burnt cocoa.

  “Anyway, he’s nice,” I say.

  She waves me off. “Who cares about nice? Nice is overrated.”

  “No, nice is underrated. Hence Tommy, international sex god.”

  “Tommy?” she says. She sounds surprised. “You’re not thinking about sleeping with him?”

  “No! It’s just, you know, the whole sexiest-man-alive thing. People seem to like that type.”

  “I always assume that type doesn’t try very hard. Like you should just be so grateful …”

  I laugh into my coffee. “Oh my god, Jenny, can we not? I mean, gross.”

  “Gross?” She leans back against the counter, folds her arms, the spatula still in one hand. “You brought it up. And I’ve seen you flirting and texting, so don’t try to feed me this ‘gross’ line. It would be a stupid thing to follow through on, but you don’t think he’s gross.”

  “No, I mean, yeah, he’s not …” I shake my head. “I meant ‘Gross, we’re friends.’ Jesus, Jenny.” I set my mug down. “And anyway, I thought we were going to talk about my date.”

  “You said you didn’t like him. Too slow.”

  “I like him very much. That’s why I was disappointed by the slowness.”

  She points behind me. “Hand me those plates.”

  She has a stack of little colored plates, so they know whose is whose by favorite color. She knows my kids’ favorite everything. She’s like Mary Poppins.

  “Did he kiss you good night?”

  “Yeah.” I shrug. “I mean, it took a while, but he finally did.”

  “Was it weird?” she says.

  And I realize that if we don’t count Tommy, and of course we aren’t, Michael was the last person I kissed.

  “Yes,” I say. “It was weird.”

  • • •

  I get a text from Sadie in the afternoon. It says, My dad is an asshole. I don’t know what to do. I think about calling her, but I’m in the middle of filling out papers for the boys’ school. We’ve switched doctors and now no one can find their vaccination schedule. I’ve been getting calls from the school nurse.

  I text back, I agree. He is an asshole, but he really loves you. Cut him some slack.

  I think she must be waiting by the phone because she replies immediately. I imagine her sitting in her reading chair, twisting the loose threads in her fingers, hiding her eyes with her hair. He says I’m grounded, and my mom’s in Europe and I have to live with him for the whole month and if he won’t let me see Matt I’m going to scream. I’m going to kill myself. I don’t take this threat seriously. She’s not the type to do anything quick. She’ll sit and starve herself, but she’s not going to pull a razor across her wrists. Well maybe, but not deep enough to matter.

  Still, I reply, Don’t say that. Why doesn’t he like Matt? and then I text Tommy, Sadie is freaking out. Why is she grounded?

  The replies come in so quickly it takes me a minute to tell what’s from whom. Tommy says, Because she thinks she’s in love with this piece of shit, and Sadie says, Because he’s an asshole (Dad, not Matt) and I hate him.

  I call Tommy. “You’ve got to let the piece of shit see her,” I say when he answers.

  “No way.” I can almost see him shaking his head.

  “I’m serious. As long as you’re the dragon at the door, she’s in a fairy tale, and Matt’s her goddamn prince.” I shuffle my papers around, try to copy the primary-care number from my insurance card. “You have to change the narrative. You have to make it boring.”

  “Right.” Tommy laughs, but it’s not a happy sound. “How am I supposed to do that?”

  “You know, give them a bunch of rules. He can come over, but only when you’re home, and they have to stay in the living room.”

  “No,” he says. “I don’t want this kid in my house.”

  “And then sit there and talk to him. Ask him where he’s going to college, what he likes to do, just whatever. He will get tired of her if it means sitting in a room with you. You know he will.”

  “How is this your business anyway? Don’t you have a date or something to get ready for?”

  I hate his tone, but it’s easier to deal with over the phone. “I don’t know, Tommy. It seems like you want to talk to me about everything right up to the minute I disagree with you. You want to break them up? You want to keep her safe? Act like a father and not some possessive piece of shit. Jesus, Tommy, it’s not about you. This kid didn’t happen to you. He happened to her, so stop being such a narcissist. It’s not your pride on the line. It’s her fucking life.”

&nbs
p; I hang up and press my hand over my mouth, pinching my nose closed with my fingers. It’s like I can feel him yelling even with the phone sitting off on the table in front of me. After a minute, I text Sadie, Your dad is an asshole. But then I add, I’ll do what I can, which is nothing, frankly, but at least Sadie doesn’t know that.

  • • •

  Mornings are so loud, and then the boys are off to school and it’s quiet again. Then much too quiet. I used to write in these quiet stretches. Now I have nothing to do. I sort of stand in the living room with my coffee, and then I think about dusting. I’m studying a shelf when the phone rings.

  “Sarah,” I say. I haven’t talked to her in probably two weeks.

  “Jason made us come in at three this morning.” She yawns audibly. “I’m so exhausted. And now he doesn’t need me for the next hour.”

  “Take a nap.”

  “I’ve had too much coffee,” she says. “I’m like bone tired, but when I tried to lie down, I felt like my heart was going to beat right out of my chest.”

  “So you’re calling me ’cause you’re bored?” I laugh.

  “And my heart might explode,” she says. “How’s Nebraska? Distract me from my impending death.”

  “Nebraska’s amazing. It’s like forty degrees outside, and later I might go to the store.”

  “Frigid,” she says, and I say, “No, forty is warm.”

  She laughs. “Oh, hang on. It’s Tommy.” Her voice gets quieter like she’s moved the phone from her mouth. “I’m talking to Stacey, love. You want to say hello?”

  And in the background, I hear him say, “No.”

  • • •

  Phillip asks me out the following Thursday. It’s a doctors’ thing, some dinner, and he needs a date. “Absolutely,” I say when he calls. “I’d love to.”

  He picks me up around five. I’ve toned the hair down. I’ve got less shadow on my eyes. I’m wearing a sleeveless sheath that it’s still way too cold for, but my arms look really good, and my legs are already bare, so what the hell. I’ve got a warm coat.

  “You look beautiful,” he says as I slide into the car.

  I smile, and he backs out of the driveway. It’s a nice car, very doctorly, very sturdy. Four doors, leather interior, heated seats. I sit on my left hip so my knees are pointing toward him, close enough to touch, but it’s not a stick shift, and he keeps his hands on the wheel.

  “So where are we headed?” I ask, and of course it’s a steakhouse, but it doesn’t really matter as long as they’re serving wine.

  We walk in, and to start there’s a mixer, and I’m there with all these midwestern doctors’ wives and I think, Not a fit, this is not a fucking fit. But whatever, I’ve lived here a long time. I know how to blend in. Phillip orders a scotch and soda, and I say, “I’ll have a vodka on ice,” and I feel like, once I drink it, things will be better.

  Phillip has a little stubble coming in, a little five-o’clock shadow, and I like the way it looks on him. I decide I like the way he looks in general. I shift my body so our arms are just barely touching.

  He says, “I should introduce you to a few people.” This time he does rest his hand on the small of my back as he leads me through the room. He’s getting better.

  I can’t keep all their names straight, but Janet is the one with the beige Coach purse, and she’s married to the guy with the red tie. Alex is an internist, and his wife is pregnant and therefore not drinking. I feel sorry for her. Then there’s the couple who are both doctors, and I didn’t catch either of their names, but she’s an OB, and he’s an infectious-disease guy. Cara is a cardiologist, and her husband is named Mark. I don’t know what he does, but he is also not a doctor, and he seems a little embarrassed about it.

  “And what do you do, Stacey?” asks Alex’s pregnant wife.

  “I’m a poet,” I say, draining the last of my vodka. I jiggle the glass like the ice might be hiding more.

  “You don’t say?” says red-tie guy. And then he laughs and says, “You must get good alimony then.”

  I think about saying, Actually, I don’t get any alimony because my husband fucking died, just to be an asshole, but Phillip says, “She does a little screenwriting too. She has a movie coming out. When is it, Stacey?” and I just sort of shrug.

  “They’re still filming,” I say, and I jiggle my glass again and wonder if he’s going to notice.

  “Yeah, she was just in L.A. a few weeks ago on set,” and he says on set like he’s making air quotes, but he doesn’t actually. He keeps his hands down, and his left hand is still on my back, which right now is the only thing that’s going right.

  “Really,” says Cara. “That sounds exciting,” but she says it like it absolutely does not.

  Phillip notices my glass and says, “Can I get you another?” and I flash him my very best smile. I say, “Please.”

  “So what’s the movie called?” Mark asks.

  “I don’t know,” I say. “There’s been some argument about the title”—there’s been some Joe is a pain in my ass about the title—“but the book was called Monsters in the Afterlife.”

  Suddenly Janet is interested. She says, “Hey, I think I’ve heard of that! With Tommy DeMarco?”

  “And Sarah Nixon,” I say.

  “Holy crap, that’s a big deal,” she says.

  I just shake my head. “You know, they had to pay me, so that part of it was pretty nice.”

  Phillip returns with my drink and presses it into my hands. He rests his own hand back on the small of my back, and I think, Good boy, and I turn and smile at him.

  “Thank you,” I say, and I take a sip of my drink. I lean toward his ear. “I was really glad when you called.”

  But then Janet asks, “So have you met Tommy DeMarco?”

  “We’ve been in some meetings,” I say. I don’t add how he doesn’t appear to be speaking to me since I called him a narcissist. I know he’s taken my advice though, because I’ve heard from Sadie, and Matt’s already been over for dinner.

  Phillip says, “I didn’t realize he was involved.”

  “Mmm,” I say, and I nod. “And Jason Collier.”

  “Wow, you really undersold this,” he says. He turns toward the rest of them. “She just said, ‘Oh, I’m working on this little movie thing, I guess.’” He shakes his head. “Jason Collier.”

  Mark says, “Collier is a great director, but I’ve never thought much of DeMarco. He does some weird stuff. Didn’t he do that movie where he’s a drug addict who thinks he’s killed his girlfriend but then it turns out that really he didn’t?”

  I say, “Yeah, that’s Tommy,” and then that seems too familiar, so I add, “DeMarco,” but it feels like I did it too late.

  “He seems like a real playboy,” red-tie guy says, and I laugh because who says that, and then I say, “That’s putting it nicely,” and Janet says, “Really?” in this really engaged tone, and everyone is looking at me a little more intently, and I feel like I’ve just turned into a walking tabloid.

  “I mean, he has a pretty bad reputation,” I say, and then I shut my mouth and focus on the vodka.

  • • •

  Phillip pulls into my driveway and stops the car.

  “If the kids weren’t home, I’d ask you in.”

  “That’s okay,” he says. He turns in his seat to face me. “Can I kiss you good night?”

  “I’d be mad if you didn’t.”

  He leans toward me, holds my neck with his left hand, and he parts his lips this time. I am marginally impressed. I put my hand on the top of his thigh and press my thumb across it, and I feel him shift in his seat. His mouth moves with a little more assurance, a little more need. I twist my chin to the left to free up my lips, and I trace the stubble along his jaw with the tips of my fingers. “I like this on you,” I say, “a little rough against my chin.”

  He says, “I like you,” and he turns his mouth to find mine again, and this time he uses his tongue to tease open my lips. I think, Of
course you do. I think, Who wouldn’t?

  MARCH

  “CRUNCHY OR CREAMY?” I say, holding the pantry door open.

  “Creamy,” Stevie says.

  Ben’s having scrambled eggs for breakfast, but Stevie wants peanut-butter toast. I set the jar on the counter in front of him and walk back to the stove.

  “Do you have a boyfriend now?” Stevie says.

  I turn to look at him, but he’s focused on spreading the peanut butter. “You mean because I went to dinner last night?”

  “And two other times too.”

  “You’re right, we did go two other times. So I guess I have a friend I sometimes go to dinner with.”

  “Is that why you’re not talking to Tommy anymore?”

  I turn back to the stove. Ben’s eggs look a little dry. I slide them onto a plate. I’m so stupid. Of course they would have noticed. We talk all the time, and sometimes my hands will be full, and my phone will start ringing, and one of them will pick it up for me. Stevie always hands it right over, but Ben will talk for a minute or two.

  “I’m not not talking to Tommy,” I say. “He’s just been really busy with the movie. It doesn’t have anything to do with me having dinner.” I set the plate of eggs in Ben’s place. “Can you go tell your brother his breakfast is ready?”

  “Okay,” he says, and he hops off the stool and heads down the hallway.

  I turn toward the sink, run cold water into the pan.

  “Mom,” Stevie says, so I know he’s back. “I really like Tommy.”

  I shut the water off, but I don’t turn around. I say, “I know, baby. I really like him too.”

  • • •

  I don’t hear from Tommy for three weeks, and when I do, I wake up to see a text from him that reads, I forgive you. I pick up the phone and type, Go fuck yourself, and then hit send. I’m in line at the post office when he calls. I’m shipping a box of books. I see his number come up, and I hit answer and hold the phone to my ear.

  He must realize I’ve picked up because after a second he says, “Stacey?”

  I scuff my foot along the floor. I shift the box of books onto my hip.