Not Looking for Love: Episode 4 (11 page)

His father glares at him from where he's stirring the cranberry sauce on the stove, and Tina busies herself with tossing the salad, vinegar and oil drops flying.

"Don't start, Scott. We're having a quiet family dinner tonight," Andrew warns, putting a lot of emphasis on the word 'quiet'.

"What, I'm just saying." Scott opens his beer, and takes a long swallow. With all the whiskey he already drank at my house, I'm not sure it's a good idea, but I don't say anything. The tension in the room takes a while to dissipate though, my anxiety rising again.
 

Scott's standing beside me now, but it's like he's not even in the room. His mom died in this kitchen, I remember suddenly, and I'd give my right arm to have my own mom with me now.
 

After I ask her at least five times if there's anything I can do to help, Tina finally relents and lets me help her set the table.
 

Mike finally arrives at six thirty. His dark eyes traveling over my body as we shake hands, make me wish I'd worn something less tight. I have no idea what Kate saw in him, but I'd much rather he wasn't looking at me at all.
 

"So, we're just waiting for your other brother now, right? And then we eat?" I ask Scott while we're all sitting down at the table. I say it a second before I realize, all the seats are taken and there's no place set for anyone else.

Mike's glaring at Scott, his lips curled up into a snarl. "Oh, no, Gail, Derek's not coming tonight. But I'll let Scott tell you why."

Scott seems to be ignoring both me and him, but the temperature in the room drops like someone opened the window, tension coiling all around us.

I drape my napkin across my lap, looking down at my hands.
 

"I thought Marjorie and the kids would be here, at least," Scott says, sounding like he's in another room.

Andrew's arm freezes as he's reaching across the table to top up my glass of wine. He opens his mouth to speak, but Mike beats him to it, "Marjorie never wants to see you again, Scott. And who can blame her?"

"Can we just eat?" Tina mutters, but I'm not sure anyone but me hears her.

Scott's glaring at Mike, who's glaring right back, and the menacing tension between them is thicker than the walls.

"I thought maybe she'd make an exception tonight," Scott says and chuckles, but it's a hollow, mirthless sound.
 

"I wouldn't, if I were her," Mike shoots back.

"Stop it, both of you," Andrew says. He's not wearing his glasses now, and I notice he has the same eyes as Scott, recognize them by the black shadows.

Scott goes to get another beer, his chair rattling in the silence.
 

His dad starts carving the turkey, and I smile at him as he places the first piece on my plate, but he doesn't really see me.

Scott comes back, and slams his beer onto the table too hard, sending foam frothing from it. I hand him my napkin to wipe it off, but he ignores me, the beer now seeping into the tablecloth.

I'm still waiting for them to go around the table and talk about what they're thankful for, rehearsing what I'll say and hoping I won't come across as too strange, but they all just start eating.
 

I cut a small piece of the meat and bring it to my lips, even though I've never been less hungry in my life. The silence in the room is so absolute, I can hear a clock ticking in another room.

Scott leans back and takes a long swallow of beer, again glaring at Mike. "Well, maybe next year, when I'm gone, Marjorie will come too."

His dad gasps and drops his fork with a clank. "Don't talk like that, Scott."

He took the words right from my lips. My heart is thundering, and my cheek is twitching. Tina lays her hand on mine, but I barely feel it. What's he saying? Gone?

"Why not, Dad?" Scott snarls. "It's been Mike's number one goal for the last three months."

"You're such a drama queen, Scott," Mike says, his eyes blacker than tar. "There's nothing to worry about. Besides, didn't we spend like the whole of last Sunday discussing this thing as a family?"

"You made your choices," Andrew says, glaring at Scott now too. "You're the only one in control of your life."

Scott slams his beer on the table, thick foam frothing over the rim again. "Spare me your new age bullshit, Andrew."

"Nothing new age about it, just hard facts," Andrew counters.

"Stop this, right now!" his dad yells, his voice high and brittle. "Can't we just have a normal family dinner once. Just once."

"Sure, why not?" Scott says and starts eating. "It could be the last one, after all."

 
"You're only bringing all this up 'cause you're too much of a baby to face the shit you cooked up on your own. But none of us can help with that," Mike snarls. "What will your girlfriend think?"

She's thinking she should get up and leave, that she should never have come here. Gone?
 

I try to grab Scott's hand under the table but he snatches it away, pointing at Mike. "I just want them all to know what's going on, so there's no surprises later."

Tina's cutting up her turkey into little pieces, and Andrew is rubbing his head, his eyes darting from Scott to Mike to his dad and back. Scott's dad is staring out the window, his face lax, like the heat rising over the table is not hot enough to burn my cheek.

"Maybe if you stopped doing all that coke, I'd feel safer. It's seriously starting to mess up your brain. Not that you weren't always a psycho," Scott says and then Mike's on his feet lunging across the table, knocking over the cranberry sauce. Scott's chair crashes to the ground as he stands up, but Andrew's already holding Mike back, dragging him from the room.

"This is bullshit!" I hear him yell in the hall. "You're all on his side. Just like always. I'm leaving."

The front door slams, and Andrew's back, glaring at Scott. Their dad is staring at the dark red stain spreading across the tablecloth.
 

Tina wraps her fingers around my arm and pulls me to my feet. "Let's start clearing up."

I take my and Scott's barely touched plate, and follow her into the kitchen.
 

"You just had to start this shit today," I hear Andrew say, his voice razor sharp.

"What? He started it," Scott protests. "And it's all true."

"You're both exactly the same," their dad says. "And you do this every time."

"We're not the same," Scott says, but his voice is farther away now, and I can see Andrew leading him into the hall. A moment later the front door shuts behind them.

"It'll be fine. Something like this happens every time there's a family get together," Tina says and rubs my arm. "I'm sick to death of it. Though usually we at least get to finish dinner first."

My lips curl into a smile to match her own, but there's no sentiment behind it. She leaves me get more plates, and I go to the sink and start piling the dishes in the washing machine. I hope Scott comes back soon, so we can leave. Only I won't be able to ask any questions, because I promised I wouldn't.

Scott and Andrew are standing on the porch, just to the side of the kitchen window, talking softly. The window's cracked open and I step closer, hoping to hear something. It might be the only way I can get some answers.

"Mike's been taking unnecessary risks all year," Andrew says, the anger gone from his voice. "I'm sick of it too. Me and Tina are leaving."

"What do you mean, leaving?" Scott says.
 

"You can go too," Andrew says. "And you probably should, if what you've been saying is true."

The way he says it, like all Scott said before about being gone is a certainty, makes bile rise up in my throat.
 

"What about Dad?" Scott asks.

"What about him? He's a grown man, I'm sick of babysitting him," Andrew spits.
 

"You can leave that out. I'll wash it by hand," Tina says, and I nearly drop the pot I'm holding.

Scott comes in a minute later, looking at me like he wants to apologize, but I can't meet his eyes, afraid all he'll see are the questions.

He pours a glass of water and drinks it.
 

"I told you not to expect too much," he says and grins.

His eyes are clear, and dark blue in this light, and all I really want is to hold him, tell him everything will be alright. But I can't, because I really don't think it will.
 

Andrew comes in, carrying the turkey.

"Go be with Dad," he says to Scott. "We'll finish clearing up."

I brush past Scott and wait by the door while he gets another beer.

"Maybe you should stop drinking," I whisper as he passes, but he ignores me.

In the living room, his dad is sitting on the sofa, gazing at the cold fireplace, clutching a tumbler of vodka. A row of picture frames is arranged on the mantle, a tall woman with long blonde hair smiling at me from the center. It's Scott's mom, I'm sure of it, because he has her eyes. She's wearing a long white dress that's dancing around her legs in the wind.
 

"I'm sorry, Dad," Scott says, but his dad is still just staring at the mantelpiece like we're not even in the room.

I walk closer to get a better look. In the picture next to his mom, a younger Scott's got his arm around the shoulders of a bulky kid. In the next one, Janine and a blond woman and standing are either side of a tall man, holding one of his arms each, while he squints at the camera. The last picture is of two cats, looking away from each other.

Scott joins me by the fireplace. "I see you found my dad's shrine."

I turn to him sharply. "Can you stop talking like that, please?"

But his dad didn't seem to hear.

"Why? He's really proud of his mantle of grief over here," Scott says, loud like he wants his father to hear. "See, I'm even already on it."

"What's with you?" I smack his arm as he points to the photo, adding, "Who's that with you?"

"That's David, Janine's boyfriend."

"Really? I expected him to be better looking somehow," I say. "Janine being so hot and all."

Scott takes the photo and gazes at it. "This was taken right around the time they started dating. Back when David lived with us for a while."

His voice is distant like he's not here with me, but stuck all the way back in the day this picture was taken.
 

"He lived with you?" I ask, because I want him to come back.
 

His father clears his throat. "Yes, David stayed with us for two years, while his mother dealt with her own issues."

"She never stopped dealing with them," Scott adds and places the photo back, whispering to me, "She was a crack addict."

"I'm sorry you had to witness that, Gail," Scott's dad says, and motions for me to sit down in an armchair. "Like cats in a bag they are."

I sit down and smile, not really sure what I to say.

"Speaking of cats in a bag," Scott says, leaning against the back of my chair, his bottle of beer by my ear. "Are you taking the one that's living at my place, or is that what I should do with them?"

I gasp, covering my mouth with my hands, glaring up at Scott. But his eyes are fixed on his dad, who seems like he heard none of it.
 

His dad points to the picture of the cats. "We just lost the black one. I found it dead on Scott's bed in June. She always slept there, even after he was gone. And she died there too."

Scott exhales sharply. "Don't mind him. He's telling you because he thinks it's sweet. Even though it's morbid as fuck."

Andrew and Tina come in, holding hands.

"Maybe you could take it down a notch, Scott," Andrew says, and turns on the TV. "I want to at least watch the game in peace."

Scott's still glaring at his dad though. "You know, maybe you could add Marjorie's picture to the shelf now. Seeing as she's as good as dead to us. There's still plenty of room."

"Really, Scott," Tina mutters.

His dad shoots to his feet and I'm sure he'll strike Scott, but he just turns on his heel and walks from the room, the door crashing closed sending a jolt through my chest.
 

Tina's looking at me, shaking her head, though I'm not sure she knows she's doing it.

"Was that really necessary, Scott?" Andrew asks over the sound of the game starting. "Grow up already."

"Me grow up?" Scott yells and points to the stairs. "When's he gonna grow up and notice what's going on in the real world?"

Andrew wraps his arm around Tina's shoulders. "He knows what's going on. But he won't ever face it."

Scott's cheeks are red and he's breathing hard. But Andrew and Tina are both watching the game now, like nothing's happened, until I'm half sure I imagined all of it.

"We're going," Scott says and I'm on my feet in an instant, saying my goodbyes and following him from the house.

"We packed up some leftovers for you. They're in the kitchen," Andrew yells after us, but Scott's already handing me my jacket and holding open the door.

It doesn't even matter what all that was about, just as long as I never have to witness it again. Anything my Gran can throw at me pales in comparison to Scott's family.

"Big happy family, right?" Scott says once the doors shut behind us. "I told you this wasn't a good idea."

"Who's Marjorie?" I ask, since it could be the only question he might answer.

"She's Derek's wife."

"But they're not together anymore?"
 

Scott's got his hands buried deep in his pockets, and I have to jog to keep pace with him.
 

"They're still married," he says. "Now stop asking questions."
 

There's finality in his tone, and I'm suddenly sure he'll just tell me to go home once we reach his house if I keep asking him questions. But there's one more bouncing around in my mind, the loudest one of all.

"What did you mean when you said you'd be gone soon?"

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Scott stops abruptly, like he's reached an invisible wall and I almost run right into him. I'm standing so close our misting breaths are mixing in the air between us. His eyes are darker than I've ever seen them, deeper too, like I'm looking right into the farthest depths of the ocean, where no one's ever been before.