Grime (4 page)

“Don’t wreck my truck.”

Ethan drums on the dashboard as we start off
down the street. “Your sister is crazy, man.”

“Yeah.”

“Fucking crazy. I mean, like, all women are
crazy. But your sister? She out crazies them.”

“I bet.”

“I told her,” he says, leaning back and
slouching low in his seat, pressing his palms against the ceiling
of cab. “I told her y’all should just hire somebody to clean out
this house. Professionals, you know? There’s people that do that.
But she was like, no dude, it’s gotta be us. It’s gotta be my
brother and sisters. We gotta do it. Shit, man. You could’ve hired
some cheap bastards off the internet and it would’ve been done by
now.”

“Wait, this was Gwen’s idea?”

“Yeah, man. What’d you think?”

“I assumed it was Jamie.” I try to recall the
emails and texts I got arranging today. Were they all from
Gwen?

“No, man, no. Jamie, she and Val wouldn’t
even say yes to coming until Gwen told them you’d booked your
flight.”

“Huh.” That’s weird.

He laughs. “Right? Gwen’s a piece of work. A
real piece of work. Love her, though.” He rolls his head over his
shoulder and looks up at me sideways. “You think I do? You think I
love her?”

Jesus Christ. “Yeah, of course.”

“You think she loves me?”

“Sure seems like it.”

“You think I’m good for her?”

God, he’s drunk. “Are you?”

“I’m asking, man. She’s your sister. Your
opinion matters.”

“I doubt that. Gwen and I aren’t exactly
joined at the hip. I don’t think she gives a shit about my opinions
on her love life.”

“To me. It matters to me. Do you think I’m
good for her?”

We’re stopped at a light, so I look him in
the eyes. “I don’t know, man. I have no fucking idea what’s good
for Gwen. You’re kind of a dick, but I think anyone would probably
have to be to put up with her.”

He grins. “Yeah, gotta be a dick to handle
the crazy. I like that, man. I like that.” He rolls back to the
other side until his forehead is pressed against the window. “She’s
great gash, though. The crazy ones always are.” He closes his eyes
and starts singing along with the radio. He’s completely tone deaf,
but as long as he’s not talking to me anymore he can sing as much
as he wants.

It’s not until we’re at the dump that he
speaks again.

“I get it, though, man.”

“Get what?”

“Doing this house thing yourselves. Closure.
Family bullshit. I get it.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“Your sister’s still crazy, though.”

When we get back to the house Val’s car is
gone. Ethan goes straight for the cooler and settles down on the
porch with his beer while I go inside. Gwen and Jamie are in the
hallway, turning out the closet. “Where’d Val go?”

Jamie looks up at me. “She’s in the den.”

“I don’t think so. Her car’s gone.”

“Did Ethan come back with you?” Gwen
asks.

“No, I left him at the dump,” I reply
sarcastically. “He’s on the porch.”

“What’s he doing out there?”

“What do you think?” I mime taking a swig
from a can.

“Don’t be a cunt.” She throws an old deflated
soccer ball down the hallway, missing the box she was aiming for by
a good three feet. “He doesn’t usually drink that much, but it’s
his only day off all week and he’s spending it here helping us, so
cut him some slack.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You were thinking it pretty loud,
though.”

I pick up the ball and drop it in the box.
“He told me this was your idea. I thought it was Jamie’s.”

“Why’d you think that?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, it was mine.” It’s just a split
second, but something about the way they glance at each other
catches my attention. I wonder if something happened while Ethan
and I were gone.

“So are we not concerned about Val
disappearing, then?” I ask.

“Not really,” Jamie shrugs. “She’ll be back.
She probably just needed some air. She’s been working her ass off
all day.”

“God, she’s like some kind of machine,” I
agree. “I wonder how she got that way.”

“She’s used to it. When you’re always
go-go-go like she is, it’s hard to stop and slow down. You forget
where the brakes are.”

“Val’s always go-go-go?” I ask. “Doing what?
She doesn’t even have a job, does she?”

They both stop and stare at me with their
eyes slightly narrowed, like they aren’t sure if they heard me
right or not. Finally Gwen says slowly, “No, but she has her
kids.”

“But they’re all old enough to be in school,
right? So what is she so busy doing all day?”

Jamie’s jaw actually drops open. Jesus. Is
this one of those things where I’m about to get my ass ripped open
for daring to suggest that stay-at-home moms don’t have it as hard
as they like to think? I mean, sure. Fifty years ago taking care of
the house was a lot more work. Laundry and dishes and cooking and
shit took tons of time. But we have dishwashers now, and it’s not
like husbands aren’t expected to help out anymore. I have several
friends who are parents, who both work full-time jobs and still
take care of their kids. Surely it’s more difficult to be a parent
and work than to just do one or the other.

I’m bracing myself for a wave of postfeminist
lecturing when Jamie says, “I’m not even going to pretend I know
what it’s like to take care of autistic kids, and I’m certainly not
going to pass judgement on Val or Billy or how much time either of
them spends doing it.”

“One of Val’s kids is autistic?”

They’re still staring at me in a way that
makes me feel naked and exposed. “Both of her boys. How do you not
know this?”

How did I not know this? Maybe it was in the
subtext of one of those emails or Christmas cards. Or maybe it was
in the text text, bold and underlined and written in neon glittery
puff paint. I have no idea.

Jesus fucking Christ. I’m a terrible
person.

They’re just staring at me, staring with so
much judgement in their eyes and I deserve it and I don’t know what
to say, so I just pick up one of the boxes they’ve filled from the
closet and carry it outside. I step over Ethan, who’s fallen asleep
on the porch, and heft it across the yard to drop it on the charity
pile.

The sky is turning that weird late-afternoon
color. I unlock the rental and get in the driver’s seat. I take my
phone out of my pocket. I have two missed texts from Ben.

Hey babe. How’s it going?

Everybody recognize each other??
:D

I put the keys in the ignition so I can
listen to the radio while I reply.

It’s kinda shitty,
actually.

My family is so fucked
up.

We barely know each
other.

Everyone’s family is sort of fucked
up

Yeah, but we’re like
strangers.

You think you’re supposed to have
some sort of bond.

Like a blood thicker than water
thing.

But it’s just shit.

I’m sorry babe

You almost done?

Yeah, there’s only like 2 more
rooms.

Find anything good? Haha

Just some corpse with a nametag that
says Jimmy Hoffa.

Think that’s worth
anything?

ebay that shit! You can sell
anything on ebay

miss u

Miss you too.

Movement in my review catches my eye. Val's
pulling up behind me. I watch her in the mirror. She's making faces
behind her huge sunglasses, and it takes me a minute to realize
she's talking to someone on the hands-free. Her husband, or the
kids, or both.

There's this word Ben found on some blog one
time and fell in love with. Sonder. Supposedly it means that weird
detached feeling you get when you realize somebody else has an
entire existence of their own, separate from yours. I don't know if
it's a real word, but it's a real feeling. Watching Val makes me
sonderous.

She doesn't see me, or at least I don't think
she does, when she gets out of the car and heads back into the
house. Ethan isn't on the porch anymore.

I sit out here alone for a few more minutes.
I could just leave now. It'd be a dick move, but I could do it.
It's not like it would change anything between me and my sisters.
It's not like there's anything there to change.

I swore I would never come back to this
house, and all breaking that promise has brought me is exhaustion
and another layer of self-loathing. When it's over we'll all go our
separate ways, pledging to keep in better touch and knowing we
won't. There are no more parents left to die. No more random events
to bring us together. Fate has an empty hand.

Of course I don't leave. Instead I get out of
the car and go back inside. I can hear everyone talking in the
hallway, and I wait to see if it's about me. It isn't.

"He really wants these standalone sinks,"
Val's saying, "but that means no cupboard space." Ah, the chronicle
of Billy and the downstairs bathroom renovation. She's been
bringing it up all day. Seems like one of those things couples
fight about that, to outsiders, appears completely stupid, but when
you're in the middle of it seems like a metaphor for everything
wrong in your relationship. Ben and I have had our share of
those.

The thing is, we haven’t had a fight since I
started cheating on him. Happiness is a red flag.

I think about what I said to Jamie earlier,
that if people realize how shitty their situation is they should
change it. What a fucking hypocrite I am. I really do just talk
without saying anything.

Fuck them. Fuck them for getting under my
skin and making me feel like this. It's my sisters, it's this
house. It's all the residual shit, bubbling to the surface. If I
hadn't come here I wouldn't be so angsty and insecure. I'm a
teenager all over again, and it's all because of this damn house
and those damn women. In real life I'm better than this.

Part of me wants to show them, to prove it to
them, to rub their faces in how absolutely completely perfectly
okay I am.

I cross the threshold and they all glance
over at me.

“Good, you’re here. We were just talking
-”

“About what?”

“About whether we should call it a night and
come back in the morning, or power through and just get this
done.”

I pull a trash bag out of the box and peel it
open. “I say power through. We’re almost done.”

“Yeah, that’s what we were thinking, too. But
we wanted to make sure you were okay with it.”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“No reason. We were just extending the
courtesy of asking you,” Jamie rolls her eyes. “Problem is, since
they shut off the power to the house and it’s going to be dark
soon, we’ll be blind. There’s a rental place down the road holding
work lights and a generator for us.”

“Let’s do it.” The sooner this whole thing is
over with, the better.

The trailer is only a third full, so we
unhitch it so Jamie can take the truck to pick up the lights. Ethan
offers her a hand, then Gwen asks me if I’ll come with her to pick
up dinner for everyone. “Remember that barbecue place down the way?
We used to eat there all the time when we were kids.”

“It’s still in business?”

“Of course. It’s an institution. Want me to
drive?”

I look at Ethan’s little red car and shake my
head. “Nah, we’ll take mine.”

We’re only in the car twenty seconds before
she asks, “What’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing.”

“Mitch.”

“I’m just tired. It’s been a long day.” None
of the houses on this street look familiar. They can’t have all
been torn down and replaced, can they? I mean, a few, sure. But not
all of them. None of this is familiar. “Did you guys tell Val?”

“Tell her what?” Gwen asks. I don’t answer.
She knows what. She sighs. “No, we didn’t say anything. What would
be the point?”

“I don’t know. Just to throw one more log on
the ‘Mitch is the Family Fuck-Up’ fire.”

I can feel her eyes boring into the side of
my face, but I don’t look at her. “Is that what you think we think
of you? Seriously? Is that how you think we see you? Or is it just
how you see yourself?”

“No. Not seriously. We’re a whole family of
fuck-ups and I don’t think I’ve done anything in particular to
single myself out.”

“Jesus Christ, you’re a mean son of a bitch
sometimes.” She’s speaking in that tone people use when they’re
trying to keep the mood light. Somehow that hits me harder than if
she had spat those same words at me with vitriolic fervor.

“Sorry. Like I said, I’m just tired.”

“We’re all tired. We’ve all been working just
as hard as you.”

I raise my eyebrows at her. “Have you?”

She smacks me on the shoulder, but cracks a
smile. “If you average us all out, yeah. Val boosts our numbers a
bit.” She kicks off her shoes and pulls her feet up on the seat,
draping her arms over her knees. “You don’t like Ethan, do
you?”

“Jesus, you too? He already drilled me for my
opinions on your relationship. Why do you two care if I approve of
him or not? It’s not like I’m ever going to see him again once this
thing’s over.”

Nothing. Gwen says nothing. I glance over at
her. She’s looking out the window, hiding her face from me. Shit.
“Gwen, I’m sorry. Don’t cry.”

“Fuck you.”

“I’m sorry. I just -”

“Yeah. Whatever. You’re tired. We’re getting
married, by the way.”

“Congratulations.”

“Fuck you. Keep your congratulations. Shove
it up your ass.”

Goddamnit. I never say things like that to
people. I think them, sure, but I always manage to keep the worst
thoughts to myself. For some reason I can’t seem to do that around
my sisters. It’s like they’ve torn the door off that cage where I
usually lock those things away. I don’t know how they do it. I
don’t know how they manage to push my buttons so easily when I
haven’t seen any of them in so long.