by Zoe Fishman
Mom has David’s oxycodone prescription in a red purse hanging from a hook in the closet, Teddy wanted to say. Do you know about that?
Instead he just nodded and made his way through the grass, back to the house.
* * *
“YOU SURE KRYSTAL’S mom is okay with driving you home?” asked his mom, as she idled in their driveway.
Teddy had never been to Krystal’s house before. He wasn’t sure what he had been expecting, maybe something a little less green. And by green, he meant the actual color of the house. It was painted a faded chartreuse color that reminded Teddy of Slimer from Ghostbusters.
“Yes,” he answered.
He and his mother both gazed at it. It was small, with a screened-in porch. The paint on its concrete base, a slightly darker green, was flaking off in spots. There were flowers planted alongside it, little bursts of purple and yellow and pink.
Suddenly, two enormous silver foil balloons, a one and a three, floated out of the porch door and bobbed in the early-evening sky. Krystal followed, holding them by their ribbons, smiling broadly. Her bare arms and legs were like Popsicle sticks.
Teddy smiled back and opened his door.
“That’s sweet,” said his mom. “Please give Krystal and Patty my best.” She put her hand on Teddy’s arm. “Have a nice time.”
“Thanks, Mom.” He had asked her to stay in the car.
“Hey, birthday boy! Hey, Sylvie!” yelled Krystal from the steps. His mother waved, backed out of the driveway, and Teddy felt a profound sense of relief. Being around her lately was exhausting, knowing what he knew.
He approached Krystal, feeling shy. She was so pretty. Always so pretty. He blushed, remembering the conversation he had had with his father.
“How are you?” she asked, handing him his balloons.
“Good. I’m a man now, you know,” he replied.
“I know, I can tell. You look different,” she said.
“I do?”
“No. But you do look handsome.”
“Thanks.”
They stared at each other for a moment, ready to talk and talk and talk but unsure of where to start in this new environment, with Patty Platt just behind the front door.
“Well, come in, I guess,” said Krystal. “My house could, like, fit in your living room, but whatever.”
“Krystal,” Teddy replied. “Don’t be dumb.”
“Mom, Teddy’s here!” she yelled into the house, holding the door open for him.
Teddy followed her into a small living room. A flat-screen television sat on a chrome stand to his left, and across from it, an L-shaped and lumpy brown leather couch. The wall in front of him was adorned with an array of framed photos, all of Krystal and Patty, and right in the middle: a very large, very gleaming brown wood cross.
“My mom is into Jesus,” Krystal explained. “But she’s cool with you being Jewish, so don’t worry.”
Teddy wondered how this fact about Patty Platt had somehow escaped mention in the hundreds of conversations he and Krystal had had. They’d certainly talked about his Jewishness enough.
“Hey, Teddy,” said Patty, coming out of the hallway that led to the rest of the house. “Welcome to our humble abode.”
She wore a pair of jean shorts and a gray T-shirt with Snoopy and Woodstock emblazoned across its front.
“Thank you for having me, Mrs. Platt.”
“Teddy, please. Patty. Didn’t we have this conversation before?”
“I’m sorry,” said Teddy. “It smells amazing in here,” he added. It did. Like fried food and frosting.
“Thank you. I made my famous fried chicken for you. Have to pull out all the stops for the boyfriend, you know.”
“Mom!” shrieked Krystal. The boyfriend, thought Teddy.
“Now you guys hang out or whatever, let me finish with this mess.”
“Come on, Teddy, come see my room,” said Krystal. “You can leave your balloons at the table; I’ll just tie them to your chair. Here.” She took them from him and wound them around the armrest at the head of the table.
He followed her down the hall, the kitchen to his left with Patty Platt inside and first a small, pink-tiled bathroom and then Krystal’s room on the right. Five feet from his face was another door, one that led to Patty’s room, he assumed.
Teddy thought of his own house, the vastness of it, all the space they never even used, and felt ashamed.
Inside Krystal’s room was a twin bed covered in various shades of purple, pushed against the far wall under a window shuttered with fuchsia blinds. Along the wall was such a vast collection of stuffed animals, there was barely any room to sit on the bed, let alone sleep in it, and all with giant eyes. Eyes as big as plates, all staring at him.
“I’m really into Beanie Boos,” said Krystal.
“Into what?”
“Beanie Boos. These guys.” She gestured toward the bed.
“I can see that,” said Teddy, surprised.
Krystal came off as so tough, and yet here she was with an army of stuffed animals to protect her in a room that reminded him of melted crayons. There was a turquoise desk and chair against the other wall, and a light-pink faux-fur rug across the scuffed wood floor. It was a lot of room for such a small space. But then again, Teddy thought, Krystal was a lot of personality for such a small person.
“Sit with me,” she said, making room on the bed for them both.
“So how’s your day been?” she asked, her eyelashes shellacked in their signature purple. Teddy was suddenly annoyed, filled with an urge to scrub her face and redecorate her room.
“Okay,” he mumbled.
“Your parents treat you to lunch at some fancy restaurant or something? Give you a car?”
“Give me a car, what are you even talking about?” asked Teddy.
“I see you judging my Beanie Boos. Don’t be a snob, Richie Rich.”
“Richie Rich?”
“You’re being a jerk. You should see your face, all scrunched up like something smells in here,” said Krystal.
“It’s not,” Teddy countered, although he guessed it probably was. “Okay, but that’s a lot of Beanie Boos looking at us. I mean, a lot. And their eyes are so, you know, big.” They both turned their heads slightly to take in the crowd.
“I can turn them all around, to face the wall,” Krystal offered, her voice softening.
“That would take hours,” said Teddy. She reached out to shove him playfully in what would have been his biceps, if he had one. Teddy tightened it reflexively anyway.
“Sorry if I’m coming off as rude,” he said, grabbing her hand as it fell away. “It’s been a weird day, but that’s not your fault. And I’m really glad to be here. I can’t believe your mom made fried chicken. And that you got me those cool balloons. Thank you.”
Krystal moved closer to him.
“Sorry I called you Richie Rich. I didn’t mean it. What was weird about today? Your mom?”
“No, not her so much.” He took an animal from the pile, an iridescent violet-and-emerald dragon with folded wings, and squeezed its stomach gently.
“You know why I’m so into movies?” he asked her.
“The same reason I’m into these guys,” she replied. “They make you feel safe.”
Teddy was startled by the accuracy of Krystal’s answer.
“You’re an emotional savant,” he said. “Like Rain Man or something.”
“Who’s Rain Man?”
“It doesn’t matter.” He squeezed her hand. “But, yeah. Movies make me feel safe.”
“Safe from what?”
“Sadness, I guess. After Delilah died, I watched them all the time. My parents, they were both so sad.” Teddy spoke quickly. He just wanted to get it out.
“And what about you? Were you sad?” asked Krystal.
“Well, I was nine. I was sad that I wasn’t going to have a sister. I was worried about my parents, who cried all the time. But I was also alone. A lot. So movies became my babysitter.”<
br />
“Didn’t your parents talk to you about what had happened?” asked Krystal.
“A little. But mostly I just watched movies, and that was enough. Or it was at the time, anyway. Lately, though, with my mom and the pills and my Bar Mitzvah coming up, I don’t know. I’m thinking about her death, my family, all of it. A lot more. And today, my dad and I talked about it. About Delilah.”
“How was that?” asked Krystal.
“It was kind of nice,” said Teddy. “Until my dad went off on a tangent. But that’s another story. But it got me thinking about my mom. I mean, sure, this happened to all of us emotionally, but physically, it happened to her.”
“Something like that is sure to screw you up,” said Krystal.
“Exactly,” said Teddy. “Did you know that fetal DNA becomes part of the mother? It’s crazy.”
“What’s so crazy about it? Women, like, grow human beings,” said Krystal.
“Right. I guess I never understood the scope of the feat before.”
“Men,” said Krystal.
“Anyway. I have a lot more sympathy for my mom now than I did.”
“Uh-oh.”
“What?”
“You’re not going to let her keep taking those pills, are you? Those pills are not fixing her,” said Krystal.
“I think I’m going to back off,” said Teddy. “It’s getting too complicated for me.”
“What’s complicated about it? She’s taking drugs that aren’t hers. What’s happening to her stash? You checking?” Teddy grabbed a stuffed flamingo from the pile and squeezed its neck.
“Hey, take it easy!” Krystal snatched it back. “The pills are gone, aren’t they? She took ’em all?”
“They’re not gone,” said Teddy. “There’s a new bottle.”
“A new bottle?” Krystal shook her head. “How do you know it’s new?”
“It’s someone else’s prescription. Not my dad’s. His friend’s.”
Teddy stared down into the olive-green fabric of his lap. He did not want to be spending his birthday discussing this with his girlfriend in a pile of alien animals; it was so hot in this room, and the smell of oil from the chicken frying in the kitchen made his stomach turn.
“Teddy,” said Krystal quietly. “This is bad.”
“I know.”
“You have to—”
“I know! I know what I have to do, I know what it looks like and probably is. I know, okay!” yelled Teddy.
He did not like Krystal looking at him like that, her eyes wide with sympathy, her mouth in a tight line. He wished he had never told her. Why had he told her?
“Guys! Dinner’s ready!” Patty Platt hollered.
Krystal got up from the bed. Teddy touched the flamingo again, his hand lingering on its giant head for a moment, and then he got up too.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Sylvie
If Todd Weiner were an animal, he would be an anteater, Sylvie thought for not the first time.
He had a very long and narrow nose, small eyes, and ears so far back on his head that they were practically touching. He also had generous straight black bangs that were pushed to the side by what Sylvie could tell was some sort of hair product, but nevertheless an escaped clump always hung limply across his forehead.
He walked briskly, his shoulders rounded, his too-long-for-his-short-torso arms swinging slightly, as though they were propelling him through the hallways.
How advertising and branding were different, Sylvie still didn’t know, but the latter apparently was more of a bait for millennial business, and that’s what the Weenie, better known as Todd to those who didn’t work for him, was. A millennial branding genius.
As Sylvie made her way through the sun-drenched office to her cubicle, she broke into a very serious flop sweat. So much so that she was forced to stop mid-stride and remove her white linen blazer. Winston, their IT guy, looked around the rectangle of his computer screen and smiled at her.
“Hot as hell in here, right?” he said.
“It’s like the surface of the sun,” Sylvie replied.
She folded her jacket neatly and draped it over her arm. Sylvie had just taken her pill in the parking lot; she had waited until the last possible second since she had to conserve her supply. She hadn’t planned on it, but then the Weenie had sent her an email last night, requesting a meeting with her first thing. Really, she’d had no choice. She certainly couldn’t endure it sober.
She glanced at her watch and picked up her pace. The Weenie did not take kindly to tardiness.
“Amanda?” Even as the waves of relaxation began to course through Sylvie’s system, although they had become less pronounced as of late and were more like ripples, Sylvie panicked. Now her chest was sweating too; she could feel the narrow rivulets streaming into the cups of her bra. “You’re back already?”
Sylvie had not seen Amanda since she’d emerged from her shower, sitting on her couch in a stoned daze as her baby slept, pretending to be a kind and responsible coworker instead of what she really was: a pill-popping thief.
“I only had six weeks, remember?” Amanda replied, not really looking up from her computer screen.
“That’s ridiculous,” said Sylvie.
“Tell me about it.” She still wasn’t making eye contact with Sylvie, which made her very, very nervous.
“How’s the baby?” asked Sylvie, hoping to lighten the conversation. She had forgotten her name.
“Good.” Amanda continued to type.
“Do you have a photo?” asked Sylvie, desperately hoping that she sounded like she cared.
She had two minutes before her meeting with the Weenie. Todd. She had to remember to call him Todd to his face.
“Uh, yeah,” said Amanda. Finally, she met Sylvie’s gaze. But she did not smile. She pulled out her phone, and a picture of the baby popped up.
“Oh, she’s beautiful,” Sylvie dutifully cooed, even though the baby was all forehead. “It’s good to have you back, Amanda. You look great, by the way.”
She did, it was true, Sylvie noticed with jealousy. All the weight had melted off her since Sylvie had seen her last; she looked exactly like her old, pre-baby self, except with eye bags. Sylvie was still carrying her weight, three years later, from the birth of a baby who didn’t exist. A lump rose in her throat as big as a bowling ball. Sylvie choked it down.
“Thanks.” Amanda returned to her typing.
She knew, Sylvie realized. Amanda knew what she had done. Shit.
Sylvie draped her jacket over her desk chair and hustled to the Wee—no, Todd’s—office.
Todd’s assistant, Marlena, sat just outside Todd’s office. She was online shopping.
“Hi, Marlena,” said Sylvie.
“Oh, hey, Sylvie. You scared me.”
“Big sale?” Sylvie pointed at the screen.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Marlena replied, shutting the window down.
“Okay,” said Sylvie.
“I’ll let him know you’re here.”
“Cool.”
Sylvie’s shirt was now sticking to her, and she was reminded of the nights after Delilah, when she woke up soaked from head to toe, as though she had showered when she had not; her body expelling all the maternal hormones gone to waste.
“He’s ready for you,” said Marlena, returning.
“Marlena,” said Sylvie through what felt like plastic wrap coated in Elmer’s Glue. “Could I possibly get a glass of water?”
“I wish. Budget cutbacks. They took our water cooler away.”
“What? When?”
“Last night.”
“Jesus. Okay then, guess I’ll make it work.” She braced herself, noting with relief a familiar ripple of chemically induced relaxation, and walked in.
“Sylvie, hi,” said Todd, getting up from behind his massive desk.
“Hi, Todd,” she replied, summoning all the false cheer she could muster. They hugged awkwardly, only their col
larbones touching, each of them patting the other exactly three times on the back.
“So, how are you?” he asked, returning to his chair.
“Good, good,” said Sylvie, settling down into the swamp of her lower half as she sat down across from him.
“That’s great,” said Todd.
He leaned forward and put his elbows on his desk, forming a triangle with the thumbs and forefingers of both hands. He rested his chin on his thumbs, and Sylvie knew, much to her horror, what was coming next. Even before he uttered the words, she knew.
“So, Sylvie, we’ve had a real come-to-Jesus moment with our budget. As you and everyone else knows, the world is basically on the brink of apocalypse, and the economy, at least for us, is unfortunately no different.”
“You’re not—”
“I’m so sorry, Sylvie, but I’m afraid I am. You’re at the top of the food chain, salary-speaking, and we just can’t afford you anymore. Not if we want to meet our bottom line.”
He unfolded his finger triangle and placed his hands on the desk, facing her with what Sylvie was sure he considered his empathic smile, one he had probably practiced in front of his bathroom mirror that morning.
“Are you seriously trying to tell me that eradicating my salary is going to keep this company afloat? Let’s get real here, Todd. Let’s fucking get real.”
“Okay, Sylvie, I can understand that you’re upset, but there’s no need for foul language.”
“Then be real, you ass. I’m not buying this salary bullshit for one second.”
Sylvie was terrified at the prospect of not having a job, with Paul’s debt and their lifestyle, plus who knew how long it would take her old ass to get hired anywhere else. But she was also filled with—and this was likely the drugs talking—a kind of unexpected elation. It was the same elation she had felt at that stupid PTA meeting. Freedom to say exactly what she was thinking, hurt feelings be damned. And this was even better because the Weenie had no feelings! She had nothing to lose.
“You’re firing me because you can and because I’m too much of a threat for you to keep around,” she declared.
“A threat?”
“Yes, I’m smarter than you. I’m smarter, and I’m quicker on my feet, and every great idea you come up with and claim as your own has come out of my mouth first. That’s the truth.”