by Rob Kaufman
“Whatever you say, boss.” Jonathan tapped Philip on the knee. “Whatever you say.”
Jonathan got off I-95 and made a left on North Benson, the main route cutting through the center of Fairfield. The clamminess in Philip’s palms told him they were getting close and he wiped them on his jeans. The car made a right onto Osborne Hill, which within seconds would turn into Jennings, just one block from Angela’s house. As Jonathan slowed down, Philip had the sudden urge to call the whole thing off. For a brief moment he considered waiting until after their appointment with G tomorrow before trying to reason with Angela. But he stopped himself. Like he’d told Jonathan, he needed to try and reason with Angela before things got out of hand. Otherwise, the lawyers would take over and there’d be no turning back.
Before making the left onto Angela’s street, Jonathan pulled off the road to the right, halfway into the shallow, gravelly ditch that served as an emergency shoulder. He put the car in park and turned to Philip.
“Are you sure about this, Philip?” He moved his hand up to his face and brushed the hair from Philip’s eyes. “You don’t have to do this, you know. G is totally on the case and we can have her take care of everything for us.”
Philip took Jonathan’s hand, kissed it, and held it against his face.
“Yes, I’m sure. I want to make this happen for us. There’s some logic somewhere inside Angela’s head and I’m going to make her find it.”
The drizzle turned into a heavier rain that pelted the car like a thousand pebbles, creating metallic echoes that slammed throughout the car. Philip and Jonathan looked at one another in silence, listening to the rain, trying to think each other’s thoughts. Philip smiled, kissed Jonathan’s hand again, then placed it on the steering wheel.
“Let’s get this over with, Jonny,” he said.
Jonathan put the car in drive. “You’ll call me if you need anything, right?”
“Anything,” Philip replied.
They made the left onto Angela’s block, drove past her house on the left, continued to the dead end, and then made a U-turn so the passenger side door was facing the house. Phillip snapped up the umbrella from the back seat and grabbed the door handle.
“Wish me luck,” he said.
“Good luck, Babe. I’ll be waiting,” replied Jonathan.
Philip was about to reinstruct Jonathan to go to Starbucks and not wait up the block in the car. But he knew it would be futile. “I’ll see you in a few!”
Philip got out of the car and slammed the door.
Without opening the umbrella, he ran up the driveway and onto the porch steps. As he reached the top step, droplets of rain fell from the roof’s gutter into his collar and trickled down his neck and back. He wasn’t sure whether the cold water gave him goose bumps or the strange sense of heaviness he suddenly felt around him. He tried shaking the feeling off, along with the rain that had soaked his hair. Nothing worked. The odd feeling still hung on top of him like viscous rain and his hair was still wet.
He peeked in through the porch window. Angela lay on the sofa with one leg stretched out in front of her and the other falling over the side. The television was blaring and countless bags of snacks were scattered on the coffee table beside her. He shook his head in disbelief. What had become of the woman he met not even a year ago — the beautiful, vibrant, confident woman who swaggered into his home with finesse and refinement to capture their hearts?
He turned to the street, half tempted to call Jonathan back, but the road was empty except for a few puddles lining the curb on the other side of the street. He turned back and rang the bell. A faint smile crossed his lips as he remembered Angela’s words on the day she moved in, “Mi casa, es su casa!”
I hope she still means that, he thought, waiting for the door to open. He heard the television noise lower, but the door remained closed. He swung open the screen door and knocked on the wooden door behind it.
“Angela, it’s Philip!” he yelled, knocking a few more times. “Can we talk for a minute?”
He pressed his ear against the door. Other than muffled sounds from the television, he couldn’t hear a thing. He moved back to the window and peered in. The sofa was empty. Searching the room, he saw no sign of life. Maybe she planned to ignore him. A picture of her hiding in a back bedroom crouched in the corner with a blanket over her head passed through his mind. I really hope it hasn’t come to this. His hair was still wet and shirt damp from the sweeping rain and the cool breeze now whipping around the porch sent chills throughout his entire body.
“One more try.” He walked back to the front door and rang the bell. “This is it, Angela. Your last chance.”
Still no answer. He grabbed the phone from his shirt pocket, but before he could dial Jonathan, a shuffling sound came from behind the door, like an old man who could no longer lift his legs to walk. Philip stood motionless, waiting, listening carefully as the scuffling grew louder and then suddenly stopped. When it did, the door opened and Angela stood before him, staring at him through the dirty screen.
She looked much worse than the last time he’d seen her. Her face was as he remembered from their college days: turgid and puffy as though ready to explode from too much fluid; her eyes empty with dark shadows painted beneath them; the corners of her thin lips pointing downward, a permanent frown tattooed above her chin. Her greasy hair was pulled back and held in place by blue rubber bands, the only semblance of color anywhere near her face. She wore an oversized housedress that exposed only her forearms and her legs from the knees down, four limbs the size of winter bark tree trunks, blanched and colorless but for the small tributaries of blue vein lining their surface.
“What is it, Philip? Why are you here?” Her voice was cold, without any sort of inflection.
She sounds like a zombie, Philip thought, forcing a smile and stuffing his hands in his pants pockets. “I thought we could talk, Angie. Just for a few minutes.”
Angela didn’t move or change her expression. “I don’t think my attorney would like that.”
The warmth from the house crept through the screen and hit Philip in a way that sent another chill through his core. His muscles tightened and he pushed his fists deeper into his pockets. He was losing his patience and was about to turn around when his eyes caught sight of Angela’s stomach. Even rounder than the rest of her body, her belly protruded almost to the screen door. Her palm was flat against its edge, rubbing in full circular motions, her face seemingly unaware of this behavior, as though it was as natural as taking a breath. Jonathan’s child was inside that belly, and in that moment his anger receded.
“Please, Angie. I’m just asking for a few minutes. Just us… two friends. Me and you. That’s all.” The look on her face didn’t shift and he thought he was losing the battle until she dragged her feet backward along the wooden floor and opened the door wider for him. “Great. Thanks. It’s starting to get cold out there.”
Angela didn’t respond, but Philip could feel her gaze on him as he strolled past her and into the dining room. The tension was like a thick fog, her silence and unmistakable defiance helping him realize this would be much more difficult than he originally thought.
He looked around the room, surprised at its tidiness. Someone had recently cleaned up and put everything in its place, except for the bags of Cheez Doodles, pretzels and boxes of cookies spread out on the table next to the sofa. He placed the closed umbrella on the counter that passed through the living room and into the kitchen. Although she didn’t offer him a seat, he plunked down on the chair next to the sofa, hoping she’d sit on the couch next to him. She slowly closed the door and shuffled to the end of the table, slipping her pudgy hands in the pockets of her housedress. Her body concealed the view of the television, but Philip could hear the faint voices of soap opera actors reciting their lines as if by rote. He couldn’t understand how anyone could watch such drivel and had to bite his tongue not to say what he was thinking. “I really don’t think this is a good idea, Phili
p. My attorney specifically warned me not to speak with you or Jonathan before…”
“Screw the attorneys, Angela. They don’t know us. They don’t know what we’ve been through together, how we all feel about each other. They have no idea the plans the three of us made and how we only want the best for the baby. To them, it’s all about money. And that’s why I just want you and I to talk this out.” He patted the sofa cushion next to him, gesturing for her to sit down. “As far as I’m concerned, this is a rough patch we need to get through and I know we can get through it by working together.”
She took a step toward him. “Where’s Jonathan?”
The tone of her voice held such disdain, Philip felt a sudden throbbing inside his head. Where was this coming from?
“He’s at the Starbucks filling up on caffeine. I thought it best if just you and I spoke first. We have a longer history together, and I think that’s important.”
He couldn’t remember ever feeling this uncomfortable with another human being. Sure, he’d met difficult clients and had disagreements with friends and family, but there always seemed to be an open channel through which they could discuss and solve any problem.
But Angela had completely shut him out. Still, he wasn’t going to give up until they patched things up or she kicked him out.
With both hands on her belly, she dragged herself to the couch and plopped down at the end furthest away from him. She caught her breath. “How was Florida?”
Philip wriggled in the chair. More contempt. Holy shit.
“It was okay, but we cut it short when we heard from G.” Angela responsively looked down and intensified the rubbing of her stomach. Philip realized he’d hit a chord of some sort. Guilt? Whatever it was, he knew he had to keep playing off it. “We were shocked, Angela. I mean really shocked. If we knew things were bothering you so much, we would’ve come over here and talked about it with you. But you didn’t say a thing.”
“I did say something, Philip. That night on the phone before you left. You knew something was wrong, but you went on your sunny Florida vacation anyway.”
Philip took a deep breath and pursed his lips into a smile. “Angie, you didn’t say anything on the phone that night. You just sounded angry and upset. And I guess I was so busy trying to button things up before we left, I didn’t ask. I can’t read minds, Angie. When something’s bothering you, you need to tell us.”
Angela turned to look out the window, then slowly started shaking her head. When she finally stopped, she looked at Philip, her eyes filled with fury, her face looking larger.
“I am so sick of all this us and we crap, Philip.” She clapped her hands together and began to imitate him. “‘If something’s bothering you, you need to tell us. It’s always we, us, ours. Like you and Jonathan are one freakin’ person. Don’t you think it’s time you get your own identity?”
Philip leaned forward and placed his elbows on his knees, his only way of moving closer to Angela without getting up and sitting next to her. She was talking nonsense, and they both knew it.
“Oh, my, I didn’t know you had such contempt for personal pronouns,” Philip said, hoping for a laugh. He didn’t get one, not even a smile. “Angie, I say we, us, and our because three of us are involved in this thing. I use those words because it’s important for you to know we’re both here for you. Not just me.” He pointed to her belly. “It’s Jonathan’s baby in there, for God’s sake.”
She puffed out her cheeks and turned toward the television.
“And I don’t think that’s what’s really bothering you anyway. What’s the real issue? Are you mad at us for going away and not taking you?”
She chortled and her eyes rolled far back inside their sockets. “Like I’d be able to get on a plane anyway, Philip. Get real. Are you an idiot?”
From the rippling sensation feeding through his veins, Philip understood for the first time what the expression “blood boiling” meant. He closed his eyes. The rain pattered on the roof and he used the sound to help him wash away the notion that this was a losing battle. It couldn’t be. There had to be something he could grab hold of to make her see what she was destroying.
He stood up and approached her, knowing in the back of his mind this was his final opportunity. When she looked up at him, he saw, for the briefest instant, the gorgeous, vivacious Angela staring into his eyes. She was mesmerizing, like the night they’d reacquainted last July, pulling him in with her beauty and charm, allowing him to imagine for a flash of a second that she was open to his words. Then he blinked his eyes and the old Angela was back, leering at him with condemnation and loathing.
“I loved you, you know.” Her voice was low and hoarse. She peered into his eyes searching for something, piercing so hard it felt as if she was looking through him. “I knew I couldn’t have you, but that was okay. Being part of your family was enough for me. Until you both started treating me like a piece of trash.”
Philip ran his hands through his hair and shook his head.
“Treating you like trash? What are you talking about Angie? We cleaned for you, took you out for meals, shopped with you, watched TV and played video games with you. We went with you to see Dr. Jarrett all those times, and we called to check up on you if not every day, every other day. We treated you just like family. Actually, we treated you better than family.”
“Until I got fat,” she said. “Until I started to show and you didn’t want to be around me.” Her voice grew louder and her face looked inflamed. She wiggled around the sofa cushion until her arms were in the right place to help lift her up. When she caught her balance, she took a deep breath and dragged her feet toward him. “Just like in college, you didn’t want any part of me because I was fat. And now fifteen years later, you do the same fucking thing. Toss me aside like garbage.” She was yelling now, heaving after each sentence, trying to catch her breath and find the right words. She pointed to her belly and began to slap it with her hands. “And that’s why I was waiting until after the baby was born before telling you the surprise. I wanted to be skinny and pretty again when I told you.”
Philip was almost trembling; the moment was unreal, as if he’d been sucked into a movie he was watching.
“When you told me what?” he asked, his voice shaking with panic. “What surprise are you talking about?”
She looked up at him, her mouth forming a sinister smile.
“I lied to you and Jonathan. I was too embarrassed to tell you that…”
“You don’t have to tell him shit!” A man’s voice shouted from the other side of the dark kitchen. Philip squinted his eyes and pulled his neck forward, struggling to see who was there. At first he saw no one. A few seconds later the kitchen light flicked on and a man appeared, his face vaguely familiar, the look in his eyes identical to Angela’s.
In disbelief, Philip spun his head around toward Angela, who shifted from foot to foot, rolling her eyes and shaking her head. He thought about calling Jonathan right then, but decided against it, thinking it might create even greater hostility. He tried to remember where he’d seen this guy.
“Tommy, what the fuck? I told you to stay in the bedroom!”
“I know what you told me, Angie. But I don’t like the way he’s talking to you. And I didn’t want to miss meeting Philip again. Philip the fag. That’s correct, isn’t it Philip? You are a fag, right?”
Philip felt a cold tingle of panic rise up from his feet and spread through every fiber of his body. Once Angela said the name Tommy, he remembered the man from the brief encounter in front of her apartment building.
Now he was standing between two psychopaths, wondering what to do next. Respond? Fight? Run? Sweat broke out across the back of his neck and it seemed as though time was slowing down. His limbs felt weighted, his heart heavy, each beat thumping harder than the last. The television noise faded into the background as the ticking of the clock on the dining room wall grew louder. For a moment he swore he could hear Angela breathing on the couch behin
d him. He blinked his eyes and shook his head, trying to get his thoughts back on track.
Philip decided not to press Angela about her lie, knowing it would further antagonize Tommy. So he forced a smile and looked Tommy in the face, choosing his words carefully.
“I think it’s best I go. It was nice to see you again, Tommy.” He looked over his shoulder at Angela. “I’ll be in touch, Angie.”
He started for the door, leaving Tommy laughing from the kitchen.
“Oh, Philip! You forgot something.” Tommy held his umbrella aloft.
Shit. Philip came back to the kitchen and reached for the umbrella, but Tommy snatched it away at the last moment.
“We don’t want him to get wet out there, do we Angie?”
“Tommy! Cut the shit!” Angela yelled from the living room. “Philip, just go.”
Philip took a deep breath and held out his hand. “Either give it to me or don’t. I’m not going to beg for an umbrella.” Philip looked at his outstretched hand, surprised it wasn’t trembling.
Without warning Tommy lunged forward and poked his chest with the tip of the umbrella. Philip smacked it aside, but Tommy jabbed him again, in his chest, his belly, the side of his ribcage. With a quick twist of his wrist, Philip grabbed the center of the umbrella, twisted it back and pulled it from Tommy’s hand. He lifted the umbrella above his head as though he were going to thrash Tommy with the handle, but then slowly lowered his arm.
“I don’t know what you’re problem is, asshole, but I don’t want any part of it. You’re nuts.”
Tommy edged toward him. “I’m the asshole? I’m the asshole?” Tommy was yelling and his voice clapped hard against the pine cabinets. “You and your fag boyfriend get my girlfriend pregnant, then go flying away on vacations and leave her here to rot. You use her like a fucking baby oven and I’m the asshole?”