Marla raises it. “To good friends.” She smiles a fake smile and takes the shot. So stupid.
Dani gets into some heated argument with Liam, and Gavin sits on the floor in the corner and writes a list of points to go over with Marla tomorrow. He had forgotten this part, how everything takes so long with her, how she needs to be reminded over and over and yet not babied. He used to help her with her homework, explaining and re-explaining, but after she dropped out of high school he felt relieved, not just for her but for himself. He wonders how much help she needs, and if it’s more than he suspects.
Eventually, Marla tells them they should exchange gifts to lighten the tension. Gavin gives Marla blocks he’s made from blow downs for the baby, and she doesn’t know what to say. She gives him designer jeans, then Dani opens a record of some guy Gavin doesn’t recognize and she high fives Liam, puts it on. Everyone dances, which turns into sexy time for Marla and Liam. They grind, their eyes locked on each other.
“She’s a goddess,” Dani says, sitting beside Gavin.
Gavin considers his sister, her body moving like nothing could ever be wrong. She has an energy that looks confident, alive, alluring even, and a soft sweetness that could cover anything. But it’s a coping mechanism. He should be helping her more. Liam’s not used to someone like her, a girl who looks like she knows what she’s doing.
“I don’t like it either.”
Gavin grins, surprised that Dani can see what he’s thinking. HAPPY BIRTHDAY.
Dani lays her hand on his thigh, just long enough for Gavin to know she meant to, then he pulls her up to dance.
The next day, Gavin is sick. The skin around his cuticles is peeling away, jumping ship, and there is something terribly clenchy about his stomach. He burps in bed, just to check it out: tastes like dinner last night. Tofu had something on it, something he doesn’t allow. It’s impossible to eat out, he finds. Everything is suspect.
He wants ginger tea for his stomach. Marla is already in the kitchen eating toast.
“Merry Christmas! … want … make … ” She leans back on her chair, and he wants to tell her she’s going to hurt herself. She offers him her plate.
Marla doesn’t get it. CAN’T
“… won’t kill you … one slice.”
MAKE ME SUICIDAL. Her face falls open, and he regrets it immediately.
“When were … suicidal?” She touches him on the shoulder like he might get away.
Gavin bangs the cupboard door on purpose, looking for a kettle. BEFORE
“… probably depressed.”
Gavin looks at her, trying not to make her feel stupid. Of course he was depressed. NOT DRINK, YOU ESP.
Marla roots in the sink to find a saucepan. She rinses it, fills it, and sets it on the stove to boil for him. “… not …”
She’s talking too fast again, not looking at him. Frustrating. Gavin raises his arms in a question, and Marla enunciates like he’s two, her face exaggerated. “We’re not going to fight again, right?”
She’s smiling, but today he can’t laugh. And it’s not funny. His face is itchy and his joints are aching and he just feels mean. He waves her away, knowing she’s trying to talk to him. Marla is like the rest of the world, never having to worry about anything. He takes a cucumber from the fridge and washes it, considers peeling it.
He writes: TRY PROTECT YOU.
“Seriously … my life.”
Gavin thinks about what the right tool would be, how a professional would handle this. WE NEED MAKE LIST.
“… who … you … social worker?”
She’s right. He’s not her social worker. SO TALK THEN.
“… can I do? I don’t … enough for rent … Liam … mad.”
Gavin cuts her off by waving his hand. He points to himself, shakes his head. Marla should know this. CAN’T QUIT YOUR CHILD. YOU EVERYTHING FOR HIM. This is the only thing Gavin knows for sure.
“You’re not—” Marla gets up suddenly, opens the cupboard under the sink, and pukes in the compost bucket. She wipes her mouth and leans over the sink. Gavin watches her shoulders hitch up and down, feeling terrible. Poor Marla.
He gets her a glass of water and leads her back to the table. The water is boiling. TEA?
She smiles in a sad sort of way, shakes her head.
LAST NIGHT HARD. He catches movement from the corner of his eye and flips over a new sheet on his notepad.
“… fuckers are crying?” Dani has her puppy in her arms. She starts to set him down but changes her mind and shoos him downstairs. “On Christmas? What’s the deal?”
Gavin considers Dani, evaluating. She’s dressed up and genuinely concerned. MARLA BARFED, he writes.
“And you?” Dani sits beside Gavin, eyeing the hunk of cucumber in his fist.
“Gavin … food … won’t eat.” The way Marla says it feels disdainful, or maybe it’s just that he’s thirsty and sick. Still, Gavin hates her for a second.
ALLERGIES. FEEL SHITTY. UP TOO LATE.
Dani looks confused, like she can’t figure out if he’s serious or not. Then she shrugs. “You’ll be okay, soon, right? No biggie.” She goes to the cupboard. “Raisins? Rice crackers?”
Gavin nods okay, and catches Marla rolling her eyes. Dani hands Gavin bags and boxes, then turns to Marla and says something Gavin doesn’t see.
Marla closes her eyes and looks at the ceiling. Exasperated? “Totally forgot … be five minutes.”
She throws dishes in the sink and takes off for the bathroom. Dani paces, then calls the puppy, not looking at Gavin, waiting for Marla. She ties a ribbon around the puppy’s neck, her hands trembling. Gavin pushes his chair away from the table. He has no idea where they’re going.
On her way out, Marla says to Gavin. “Make a shopping list … go tomorrow.”
They’re going without him. He watches the door slam, and then he’s alone.
6. COOKIE
MARLA GLANCES BACK at Dani while she drives, counting. One puppy on the floor, a box of Timbits on Dani’s knees, and a tiny stuffed turtle on the seat beside her. It looks good. Dani’s wearing a tailored burgundy jacket, undone, and a stretchy silver skirt of Marla’s with come-fuck-me boots. Marla giggles. “Nice boots.”
Dani looks at her, surprised. “Should I wear something else? Do you think she’ll notice?”
“You can’t see the tops.”
Dani leans forward to check out Marla’s feet, in black flats. “Trade me.”
“You won’t fit into these, She-ra.”
“I don’t care. Trade me. I have to get this right.”
Marla shimmies out of her shoes at a light and drives in her socks. Dani grabs the shoes while the dog gnaws her boots.
“Little fucker.” Dani takes the puppy on her knee and lets it chew her fingers.
“Are you going to ask her today? To sign custody back over to you?”
“Yep.” Dani puts the shoes on and strokes the puppy. “Drive, Marla.”
“I’m sorry we’re late.” It’s a long way, through the city. Marla thinks about asking Dani for gas money, but doesn’t.
Dani crushes pills in a cigarette case and snorts them. “You’re lucky you don’t have to deal with your parents today.”
“Foster parents. Should you be doing that right now?”
Dani ignores the question. “Same shit. Wait until you have a kid.”
“Yeah,” Marla says, although she hasn’t once considered her baby being in a room with Dave and Elise, period. She’s been thinking about Gavin, about how he does everything the proper way and knows everything. He would fit right in with her foster parents. They’re on their annual trip to Mexico right now, splashing in a hot tub.
Dani’s mother lives in High River, a little town with the same twenty-five-year-old houses and vinyl siding as Calgary subdivisions, hemmed in by r
anches and emptiness. People film movies there in the summer because it is all cowboy picturesque, but right now it’s just cold. “I hate this fucking place,” Dani says as Marla pulls into the driveway. Dani straightens the ribbon on the puppy and stuffs the turtle in her pocket. “Wish me luck.”
“Should I drive around a bit?”
Dani presses her lips together. “I don’t know.”
Marla shuts the car off and watches Dani approach the door with a tremor in her leg. Dani knocks, scratches her face, shakes her hair. Marla reaches for Dani’s boots. Her feet are cold.
When Marla looks up again, she sees Kamon, who is as she remembers him, sort of. He used to be an accessory of Dani’s, a smiley pet in a car seat that Dani unbuckled to put new diapers on. Marla remembers feeding him a bottle while Dani drove them to some party. Then he was a toddler who screamed from his playpen or went right for Dani’s meth pipe, fascinated by it, and slept in Dani’s bed once he learned to climb out of his crib.
This Kamon is big, jumping, and wearing all new hockey equipment. He darts out in his socks, dropping his stick. Dani sets the Timbits on the ground and bends to hug him. The puppy licks him, and then Kamon gallops back inside.
Sandra, Dani’s mom, has a perma-glare. She looks pointedly at her watch and shouts something at Dani, who holds the struggling puppy as its ribbon flutters to the snow. Sandra points to the dog and makes a cutting motion at her neck. Dani says something severe, using her hands. She can’t hold onto the dog any longer, and it bursts out of her arms and into the house.
Kamon gets bulldozed by the puppy and turns around to chase it. A big stuffed animal he was carrying lies as if dead in the front entrance.
Dani tries to go in, but Sandra blocks her way. She gives Dani a terrible look, and Marla wants to tell her to stop being such an ugly old bag because it’s freakin’ Christmas. Sandra disappears into the house, and Dani wiggles her fingers for Kamon. She whispers into his ear, and he nods, very serious. She takes two Timbits out of the box and hands them to him one at a time. He grins, then bends down to hide them in his socks. Dani tucks the turtle into the waistband of his hockey pants, then stands up. Sandra’s coming.
Sandra hands Dani the dog like it’s been swimming in a shit lagoon, shaking her head, closing the door.
Dani keeps the door from closing with her foot and blows a kiss to Kamon.
“Bye, Mommy!” he shouts. “Happy birthday!”
Merry Christmas. Thought you were coming with me?
Crap. Had to drive Dani to Kamon. Forgot—so sorry.
No prob. My mom’s dead, so it’s not like she can tell time.
I’ll be there soon. An hour, tops.
You know which cemetery?
Yeah. By Confederation Park. Got it. Sorry.
Gavin does a hundred push-ups and a hundred sit-ups and reviews his list to see if there’s anything new to check off, but there isn’t, so he sits with the phone book and looks for his mom, needing to get back on schedule. There are many Parkers, lots of C. Parkers too. Too many. He looks at a map, circling street names, trying to figure out the closest one, but it’s a pathetic thing to do alone on Christmas.
Gavin tackles something easier: going through Marla’s cupboards and throwing out impure foods. He keeps the garbage can beside him, hauling it from cupboard to fridge to pantry. In go the chocolate marshmallow sandwiches, orange cream popsicles and expired salad dressing. Away with the monosodium glutamate soups, aspartame pop, frozen chicken nuggets. He feels superior as he scoops hydrogenated sugary peanut butter out of a plastic container so he can wash and recycle it later. So no one like him will later be tempted to reclaim it from the garbage.
He’s mid-scoop when Marla appears wearing Dani’s black boots that go nearly to her knee. Dani too, and she looks pissed. Marla stares at the spoon in his hand and the peanut butter falling in the garbage and drops her bag on the floor.
He scrambles to write one-handed, his pad against his knee. I BUY NEW. HEALTHY.
She takes the pad and throws it under the table. “Gavin, what the fuck!”
Gavin retrieves it from the peeling linoleum on his hands and knees. Marla is obviously a food addict. He should go slowly with her. NO WORRY. I COOK.
“No.” She tips the garbage can towards her to see how full it is and pushes it back so hard it falls on its side, cookie sleeves falling out. “… your deal about food?”
He can’t tell her some of it is stuff he can’t have in the house: pasta, chocolate bars, ice cream, honey. He envisions himself putting honey in his tea and shudders. BETTER FOR BABY.
“What … baby … can’t … rules.” She’s spitting a bit, speaking fast. Dani’s laughing.
He nudges the garbage can with his foot. THIS POISON.
Marla holds him by the shoulders, purposely speaking slowly. “This is what I can afford.”
SAID I BUY.
Marla puts her forehead to the wall, her arms above her head. He can see the shape of her belly now, how there’s something there. Someone.
There are still sugary granola bars and kids’ fruit snacks in the pantry, but he leaves them for now. I’M SORRY. He places his pad on the wall beside her until she looks at him.
“… don’t want your food. Do not throw anything else out.” She nods at Dani, who makes her face all serious and salutes. “I have to go.”
Shit. Marla bangs out the door, and Gavin sinks into a chair. It feels like the worst Christmas ever.
Dani sits beside him. She takes the peanut butter and eats it off her index finger. “You had a moment here, looks like.”
Gavin scans the rifled kitchen, empty boxes stacked in the corner and the mostly bare shelves. YEAH. CRAP.
“Think she’s going to send you home?”
Gavin feels panic sliding up his arms and around his throat. Is it really that bad?
“I’m kidding! You kill me.” She throws the empty jar in the garbage and picks up the map with the circles on it. “What’s this?”
TRY FIND MOM.
“Festive. Want to get high?”
Gavin’s not sure if he understood that right. She’s waiting for an answer while he runs through alternate possibilities: What a good tie (time?), good eye?
She holds her thumb and forefinger in a circle beside her mouth and puffs an imaginary joint. “Right downstairs, my friend. On the house.”
The basement is different during the day with its bright fluorescent lights and the TV on. It looks smaller down here, quieter, like Dani’s not putting on a show, but inviting him into where she really lives.
They sit on the table side by side, and he takes the joint every time she offers. He feels mature to be breaking rules, like he’s eating cake in bed and no one needs to know about it. He giggles, thinking about cake, and she smiles. “First time?”
He shrugs: maybe, then nods. She shows him how to hold the smoke deep inside, teaching him, and then they have a secret: he and his friend Dani.
“Fun, right?” She kills it, and they lean against the wall. “Listen, we have to talk about Marla.”
Right. SHE HAS F.A.S. SHE TELL YOU?
“No, but I recognize it. I help with day to day stuff, making plans.”
Gavin hasn’t lived with Marla since they were small and she was the one looking after him. LIKE WHAT?
“There are three things I have to be strict with: having alarms in her phone so she doesn’t miss work, no cooking unless someone is here, and always come straight home.”
Gavin had no idea it was like that, that his sister was unable to really grow up. She always told him about her successes, and he never thought to ask if she needed supervision. LOT OF WORK.
Dani shrugs. “That’s the kind of support she needs. She can’t plan ahead for what might happen, so without help she’s always getting into trouble.”
Gavi
n inches closer to Dani until her warm forearm is against his as he writes. They have their love of Marla in common. GLAD YOU HERE FOR HER. YOU TALK HER ABOUT ABORTION?
She shakes her head. “I’ll go with her.”
BUT IS WHIM—CHOOSE LIAM OVER BABY BECAUSE HE IN FRONT OF HER.
“I know, partner. Listen, be calm. We have to let her go her own speed.” Gavin hugs Dani, his face in her hair and neck, feeling her sink into his arms.
Dani insists on coming with Marla to the abortion clinic, citing the fact that she’s a woman who’s actually had an abortion, which is more than Liam can claim. He’s been testy since she was late to the cemetery. It was windy there, and Marla didn’t know what to do while Liam cried to his dead mother about how proud she’d be of his practising.
“I’m sorry I can’t come today—I have to work,” he says, pouring coffee for them.
“It’s the only appointment they have. I’m almost thirteen weeks.”
“Are you sure this is what you want? I mean, I’m there for you.”
“Just not today.”
“I’m really sorry.” He hands her forty bucks. “Take a cab home, okay? Please?”
He drops Marla and Dani off early, and they drink slushies outside even though it’s freezing.
“You scared?”
“Yeah. Were you?”
“I didn’t have a choice.”
The little room is cold, but they let Dani come in with her. Marla lies in a paper gown waiting for the doctor. She wonders if it will be the same dress for success guy who told her this would happen, doing abortions on the side. “This sucks.”
Dani shrugs. “Yeah. But once it’s done, you’re laughing. No baby, no worry.”
Marla thinks about all the rad parenting ideas she had, like pulling the baby in a wooden sled and how she wouldn’t mind getting up in the night because she’s a light sleeper. “I’m not sure,” she says, because she’s afraid it really is terribly simple.
“Kids are forever. You have to really want them.”
Marla tries to quantify what she wants, hold it in her mind, but she can’t pin it down. It doesn’t include feeling guilty about this procedure or any inkling she can’t be a good parent. It was more about feeling proud of herself for having something in her life that was bigger than just her.
A Handbook for Beautiful People Page 8