by Alex A King
“Almost three years. Basically forever.”
“So tell me this: What do you want?”
Melissa shrugs. “I don’t know.”
“Between now and our next appointment, I want you to think about that. Can you do that?”
“I don’t know.”
44
MAX
THEY TALK TOO MUCH, Max and Vivi. She’s becoming a habit.
So, they talk and talk and talk – about funny things, about difficult things – but has he told her yet about Anastasia?
Negative.
“Does Melissa’s father know she’s in the hospital?”
Vivi shakes her head.
“Why not?”
“Have you ever been through a divorce?”
“Never married,” he says.
“That’s okay,” Vivi says, “this is only my first.” She laughs but she’s obviously embarrassed. “Bad joke, I know.”
“Not that bad,” he says.
“Oh yeah, it’s that bad. But sometimes you have joke about things to release the pressure, or you crack. I don’t know what divorce is like when you don’t have kids, but when you do have kids, and they are your world, you do whatever it takes to keep them. If I tell John about Melissa . . . You’re right, I should tell him. But what if he changes his mind about our custody arrangement? What do I do if he tries to take my daughter away?”
“Is he a good father?”
“He was always a busy father.” Nails tapping on the table. “Yes, John’s a very good father.”
“So tell him. Be honest. It will save you trouble later.”
Isn’t that right, Max?
* * *
He fucks Anastasia, but it’s Vivi’s name in his throat.
“When’s your period due?” he says after.
“Soon,” she says.
“Do you think you’re pregnant?”
“I don’t know, Max. As soon as I know I will tell you, okay?”
She hits the shower without him. While she’s doing that, Max Googles “John Tyler” on his phone. Good-looking man. A lot of him in Melissa.
Anastasia wanders back into the room. “What are you doing?”
The phone goes dark. “Nothing.”
“Max?”
“What, baby?”
“Nothing,” she says.
45
VIVI
VIVI CALLS JOHN.
He asks lots of questions, but not one of them is “Does Melissa need me there?” or, “Do you need me to come?”
Does he say: “I’ll be on the next flight”?
Nope.
Just: “Keep me up to date.”
Vivi doesn’t tell Melissa, doesn’t put his ugly colors on display.
* * *
Max takes her all the way to the cafeteria for coffee. Sits her down with a cup of American Joe and a piece of brown cake.
“John really is a good father.”
Vivi says it like she’s sort of stunned – which she is.
“Maybe he didn’t know what to say.”
She knocks back a forkful of brown crumbs. Is the cake meant to be chocolate or just chocolate-colored?
“Still,” she says.
“I understand,” he says. “I do. But he’s going through your divorce, too. And maybe he didn’t know the appropriate thing to say in that moment. Yes, Melissa is his daughter, but what does he do about you?”
“The part where Melissa is his daughter automatically overrides our differences. I would drop everything and go to her.”
“Maybe he thinks you would feel hope if he comes, and that would prolong the pain.”
“That’s not it,” she says, because she’s trading with inside knowledge.
“Whatever your husband did or didn’t say, you did the right thing. The good thing.”
“What if he uses it against me?” Vivi looks down at the cake. Definitely no chocolate in that thing. “He met someone else and dumped me – what do I do if he takes our daughter, too?”
Max goes quiet. Then: “Was he cheating?”
“Unequivocally, yes. For years, I think.”
She won’t look at him. That’s how it goes when the other partner cheats. They fucked up, but you’re the one buried under a pile of shame. It’s like they put up a billboard telling the world you’re not good enough, you’re not special, you’re not worth fidelity.
Logically, Vivi knows John is the fuck up. Emotionally?
Welcome to Loserville, population: Vivi Tyler.
“Vivi,” Max says. “I need to tell you something.” The man looks haunted. His brother nailed that observation. There’s no time to fret about whatever he’s about to spill, because he’s saying it, slapping it on the table between them. “I’m with someone. A woman. And it’s expected that we’ll marry soon.”
The “Oh” in her head is flat, disappointed. But by the time she says, “Oh, you’re engaged? Congratulations!” she’s managed a quick repair job and the words bounce out.
Vivi, Vivi, what did you expect?
Yeah, not this curl of disappointment.
46
MAX
LIFE IS GOOD.
He has money to live and money to grow.
Work is satisfying.
And soon he will have a beautiful wife.
Keep on telling yourself that, Max.
47
MELISSA
MELISSA SAYS, “YOU LOOK like my grandparents’ bathroom.”
The days are smearing together. She’s using the shrink’s outfits as a kind of calendar. Today Dr Triantafillou is neck-to-toe pink. Pink jeans, pink ruffled top, pink Converse sneakers.
She’s the Sugar Plum Fairy.
Okay, so it looks pretty great. Melissa can’t wait to seize complete control over her own wardrobe. Mom always wants her to dial it all the way down to boring.
“Thank you, Melissa,” the shrink says.
Melissa tilts her head. “Why do you always do that?”
“Do what?”
“You’re always polite. Maybe their bathroom is the most hideous thing ever.”
“Is it?”
“It depends what kind of mood I’m in.”
“What kind of mood are you in today?”
Shrug. “Today I like their bathroom. And I miss it.”
“Why do you miss their bathroom?”
“There’s a proper toilet, for one thing. And there’s this window that gives you a great view of the neighbor’s backyard. They have this cool dog.” Another shrug – she’s full of them. “I just really like their dog.”
“Pets are great company. And they’re good for your body and mind. Have you ever had a dog?”
“No. Dad is allergic. Or so he says.”
“You don’t believe him?”
“Why would I? He pretended to love my mom for years, when he’s secretly gay.”
No reaction.
“Your mother found you in the bathroom, that night, didn’t she?”
Melissa nods. “I guess so. I wasn’t exactly there.”
“Mentally or . . .?”
“I hit my head and passed out.”
“Has that ever happened before?”
“You mean the other times?”
The shrink nods. “If you’re comfortable talking about them.”
“No.” That’s a “No” to both.
“I’m polite,” the shrink says, “because it costs nothing and it feels good. I could take your comment as an insult or a cruel observation, but why? The things you say are a reflection of you, not of me or how I dress.”
The thing about Dr Triantafillou is that she takes a lot of back roads getting to the point. Melissa wonders if this is a shrink thing or a Dr Triantafillou thing.
“You always wear nice things,” Melissa says.
“Thank you.”
“I cut myself because it felt good and it cost nothing.”
Dr Triantafillou leans forward in the farting chair. “But it did cost you,
Melissa.”
* * *
Next time she’s white and gold. Very sophisticated. Very European.
Melissa says, “Do you have those big sunglasses that eat up half your face?”
The shrink smiles. “They’re in my office.”
Melissa closes her eyes. “I figured.”
“Are you interested in fashion?”
Shrug. “I guess. I like how different clothes make people different.”
“I like that, too. Every morning I look in the closet and ask myself who I want to be today. It’s an illusion, of course. No matter what we wear, we are still who we are.”
“You’re, like, the joy police,” Melissa says.
“Do you want to be someone else?”
Stupid question. Who doesn’t want to shove their feet into someone else’s shoes? Yeah, Melissa wants to be someone else. But she’d settle for being herself with the sadness stripped away.
“Maybe that’s why Mom was drinking that night,” she says. “To be someone different for a while. Someone shiny.”
48
VIVI
THREE PEOPLE IN THE room: Vivi, Max (as Dr Andreou), and Dr Triantafillou. The two doctors present Vivi with her options.
It’s a no-brainer.
Vivi says, “Let’s go with Plan A.”
Both doctors nod. They’re glad Vivi Tyler chose the first option. Neither of them believe Melissa Tyler is a danger to herself; what happened rattled her cage – and hard. But they don’t play the lottery with children’s minds and lives, so . . .
“Let’s compare schedules,” Dr Triantafillou says, “and we’ll find a time that works for you and Melissa.”
* * *
Four days later the hospital sends Melissa home. Vivi makes her first outpatient appointment with the psychologist before going up to the ward. Melissa hasn’t mentioned the psychologist yet, but she’ll chirp when she’s ready.
It’s frustrating, all this tiptoeing on eggshells, but she’ll do anything to help Melissa. She’s banking on the new house helping.
Turns out Melissa’s happy-cool about leaving. She wants to go home, but she doesn’t want to make it look like she gives a damn.
She’s shining bright when Vivi takes her down to the parking garage, instead of out front to get a cab.
“You got a car?”
“We got a car.”
Vivi hits the remote. The VW’s lights flash.
“Sweet!” Melissa says, flopping back in the seat.
Wait until she sees the house.
Melissa looks chill, rested, relaxed with the breeze running wild through her blonde hair. Not all tense and pinched, the way she’s been for months now. She’s too thin, though, like she’s over being a girl. Galloping towards womanhood.
Vivi is all frayed nerves, teeth chewing that bottom lip into a meat doily. The tension is killing her.
They cruise. Melissa fiddles constantly with the radio, checking on the dozens of independent stations. Happens all the time, people jumping on the airwaves to blast an album or two, before fading away until next time the inclination strikes.
Then Vivi eases the car past the turnoff to her aunt’s place, and Melissa says, “Hey, you’re going the wrong way.”
“Am not.”
“How come we're not going to Thea Dora's house?”
“Because we're going somewhere else.”
“Not another doctor!”
Vivi laughs. “It's so much better than that.”
“How much better? Better than ice cream?”
“Nothing's better than ice cream.”
“So, it's not better than ice cream . . . Is it frozen yogurt good?”
“It’s close to ice cream, but it’s not chocolate or cake. Or chocolate cake.”
The wheels skid on the dirt road. Vivi kicks it down a notch so they don’t dislodge any organs or wind up in a ditch. The excitement is making her twitchy behind the wheel. Making her Greek, she thinks.
No more cool from Melissa. The girl is jumpy, practically bouncing on the seat. She’s five and it’s Christmas Eve; seven and it’s the day before Disneyland.
Slower, slower.
Vivi cuts the engine outside the cottage. “This is it,” she says. “Not as good as ice cream, but pretty great.”
Melissa stares at the cottage, with its white stucco and big, big yard. Her eyes are donut round.
“This is ours?”
“You bet.”
“So, we're staying here?”
“Considering I've already paid for it, the answer is yes.”
“Good,” she says. “I want to stay.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. But you should have asked me first.”
“You're right.” Vivi measures her words, tries not to spill the wrong ones. “I should have.”
“Whatever.”
Melissa doesn’t waste time. She’s out of the car, racing across the yard. Then she stops.
“Is that a dog?”
Inside, Biff is singing the song of his people.
“Probably just the neighbor's dog,” Vivi says.
“What neighbors? This is, like, nowhere.”
Smart kid.
Vivi says, “Catch,” and tosses her the keys. Melissa opens the door and Biff comes barreling out. Round and round, chasing his own tail, then he’s all over Vivi, until he realizes she’s not alone.
Spotting the stranger, he sits, head tilted, waiting on an introduction.
Melissa wiggles her fingers. “S'okay, I love dogs.”
Biff looks to Vivi for confirmation; he doesn’t just believe. “Go ahead,” she says. “Mel’s the one who’s going to spoil you rotten.”
The gypsy dog pads over to Melissa, leans on her like she’s furniture.
“Can we keep him, Mom?”
“I don't know,” Vivi says.
“Please?”
“Maybe.”
“Pretty please with two cherries on top?”
“Three cherries,” she says.
“Deal!”
Laughing, Vivi kneels beside her daughter and their new best friend. This moment is so much better than ice cream.
* * *
Melissa’s got something on her mind.
“Mom, if I tell you something will you promise you won't be mad?”
“Sure,” she says carefully. She came this close to losing her daughter; no way is she going to screw it up now.
“They made me talk to a shrink.”
“I know. Did you find it helpful?”
Biff rolls over. Legs stuck up in the air, he could be road kill. Melissa takes the hint, gets busy scratching.
“She wanted to know if you get drunk a lot.”
“Try never,” Vivi says. “Why did she ask that?”
“I don't know. Something about you being drunk when you took me to the hospital.”
She looks at Biff. He’s chilling in his happy place. “I wasn't drunk that night. I'd had maybe half a dozen sips out of one of those small bottles of retsina.”
“Okay.”
“Mel, when have you ever seen me drunk?”
“I said okay,” she says, with a boatload of attitude.
But Vivi’s pissed – not at Melissa, but this quack who already has Vivi strapped to a cross.
“I'm going to call her and give her a few pieces of my mind, then I’m going to demand they find you someone else. Her focus is supposed to be you, and not whether or not I had half a glass of wine at a family get-together.”
Melissa’s face crumples. “You made another appointment for me to see Doctor Triantafillou?”
Vivi doesn’t tell her the part where they gave her exactly two choices, and she picked the one she and Melissa could stomach. It was lock her up or let her go on psychological probation.
“Dr Andreou said he wants you to see her as an outpatient. I was following his advice. I thought it was a good idea, to give you someone objective to talk to.”
“Why d
id you do that? I don't like her. Why do you have to turn everything in my life to shit?” Off she goes, running. A door slams; apparently she figured out which room is hers.
The door opens.
“Biff?”
The dog looks at Vivi, then he’s gone, too.
49
VIVI
IT’S LIKE CHRISTMAS UP in here.
Vivi unwraps the sticky wax ring. Everything she needs is in this room, right down to the gleaming white toilet.
Melissa and Biff watch from the doorway.
“Gross,” she says.
Vivi laughs. “What’s grosser: ripping this thing out or squatting to poop?”
“Eww, that's so . . .”
“Gross?” she offers.
“Yeah.”
It’s been a week since they moved in, and the Tyler women have been maintaining a quiet, fragile truce. Melissa speaks in monosyllabic words and Vivi grovels.
She’s been busy this week, repainting the walls, replacing the old shower fixture, painting the ceiling a fresh, clean white. It’s a whole new room – one she can live with. No more squatting.
Now it’s time to right an oh-so wrong. Vivi gets to work with the pry bar and hammer. She taps and the ceramic yields an inch.
Biff woofs
“You don't get the last word,” Vivi tells the mutt.
Probably he wants another meal. Making up for lost time is Biff. His coat has shine now. He’s borderline respectable.
Corner to corner, she pries the thing loose. Dried, yellowing caulk dangles. Silly (gross) String. She dumps a bottle of bleach in the open pipe. Sayonara, bacteria.
Melissa still looks unimpressed. “Will we have to put the TP in the trash?”
Vivi considers the pipe. “Let's try it our way and see if the pipes can handle it. Small pieces. If there are any problems we'll have to do it the other way.”
Mel shrugs. “I'm going outside.”
It’s show time for the new toilet. “Sure,” Vivi says, absentmindedly. “Just stay away from snakes, and don’t eat the fruit until we know what’s edible.”