The Lighter Side of Life and Death (17 page)

We kiss, our bodies jammed up tight together and our hands greedy. She’s two hundred degrees of blistering hot and it’s so much better, and different, than I was expecting. I lick her everywhere, like a cat lapping milk—a feverish, deliriously ecstatic cat that only scratches if you want him to and Colette knows exactly how she wants it. I want to give it to her too but it takes so long that we have to break and talk because I’m worn out. “Sorry,” she says with a hint of self-consciousness. “It always takes a long time when I’m getting to know someone new.”

“So it seems like we’re just the opposite,” I say, smiling as she tucks her hand into my armpit.

She laughs that voracious, sexy laugh again and I can’t believe how incredibly, colossally lucky I am. I smooth my hands over parts of her anatomy I’d only been able to imagine up until now and I guess I should feel nervous, given the gap in our experience level, but I’m too deep in the moment for that.

We talk about our favorite movies and songs and the first
guitarist she ever had a crush on when she was thirteen. I tell her about mastering the perfect smile when I was ten and how I thought I wanted to be a drummer for a while but that I just never clicked with music the same way I did with acting.

“I wish I was like you,” she says. “I’m really interested in law and I think I have the right kind of mind for it, but it’s not like with you and acting. It’s not a passion.”

By now I’ve built up some energy reserves and I dedicate myself to working on her again. Colette breathes heavy and plays with my hair. She coughs as she comes and we drift slowly off to sleep, my arm draped across her ribs. I stay most of the night and we keep waking up and rediscovering each other, sometimes frenzied and sometimes half-asleep. It’s not like anything else that’s ever happened to me. It feels like another life in a parallel universe where my sole purpose is to touch and taste Colette in between snatches of sleep. In some ways I honestly can’t believe I’ll eventually have to leave this room.

The funny thing is that during all that we never straight-out fuck and I don’t even notice until I’m alone in my bedroom later, changing my clothes.

What can I say? It didn’t feel like there was anything missing.

Lynn calls as
I’m stretched on my bed, watching
Relic Hunter
after school the next day. Dad and I picked the TV up two days ago and I’m so tired that
Relic Hunter’
s as much complexity as my mind can deal with. Actually, it turns out the show’s
more
complex than I can handle. Tia Carrere’s kicking some army guy’s ass and I’ve already lost track of who he is and what he’s done to piss her off. Exhaustion’s fast becoming a recurring theme in my life.

Lynn wants to know about my summer plans. Honing my craft? More theater? Shakespeare perhaps?

“I need to land a job that pays more than minimum wage,” I say with a yawn. “Increase my cash flow.” I don’t expect my dad to sponsor this thing with Colette. Truthfully, I’m not sure what he’d make of our involvement. He doesn’t interfere with my life much but this feels different.

“Well, you know you could still pick up some modeling jobs for
extra money,” Lynn suggests. “Only, I know you don’t want to do that anymore.” If she knows, then why bring it up? But that’s Lynn for you, always pushing. “It’s a big crossover area, though, isn’t it? It could bolster your acting career. Do you still take care of your skin?”

“Don’t worry about my skin,” I tell her. “I’m not doing any modeling. That dream is over.”
Her
dream. And I remind her that it’s finished with pretty well whenever she brings up modeling, which isn’t often these days.

“I know,” she sings. “I’m all for the acting, Mason. You’re a rising star.”

This is the short version of what my childhood sounded like. No great sob story, I know. It’s not the worst thing in the world to have someone fawning over you and trying to turn you into something perfect but it’s not the best thing either. Lynn’s faults are just a bit more transparent than lots of other people’s.

She can be really cool at times, though. Like, she’ll try anything once. The last time I was in Vancouver we went snowboarding together and she never complained, even though she kept wiping out. Plus, she’s turning into quite a good writer. Sometimes I check out her opinion column online to chart her evolution.

I get more of a kick out of her from a distance than I ever would if she lived around the corner. Some people are better in small doses. That’s just life.

Anyway, I say goodbye to Lynn and lie there listening to my stomach rumble over Tia Carrere’s dialogue. I close my eyes and silently debate whether I’m more hungry or tired and I guess my stomach wins because I get to my feet and stumble down to the kitchen.

Brianna’s microwaving something garlicky, and two girls with long hair, one redhead and the other a blonde, are sitting at the
kitchen table leafing through a glossy magazine. “Hey,” I say sleepily, scratching at my neck.

The blonde looks up at me with a smile. “You’re Mason, right?”

“Yep, what’s your name?”

“Merilee.” She motions to her friend. “And this is Jane.” Merilee cranes her neck over the table to look at Brianna. “You never said anything about how cute he is.” Jane blushes the way only redheads can and I go over to the microwave to sneak a peek inside.

“Is that garlic bread or pizza?” I ask Brianna.

“Neither,” Brianna says, doing her best to ignore Merilee’s comment.

“Technically it’s garlic bread,” Merilee confirms, grinning at me. “It just looks like pizza.”

Brianna turns to face the microwave. “So you want some?”

“Yeah, sit with us,” Merilee pleads, closing her magazine. “Give us the heads-up on GS. We’re all going there next year, you know. Is it as bad as they say? Like that story about a girl running a blow job lottery and blowing guys in the janitor’s closet. Is that true?”

Brianna looks mortified and this Merilee person’s staring at me like I could walk on water. “I never heard that,” I tell her. “It’s a good school as long as you don’t get messed up with the wrong people.”

Merilee wants to know who the wrong people are and what kind of people I hang out with, but it’s pretty clear that what she really wants is to keep me in the kitchen. “Where’s Burke, anyway?” I ask as Brianna offers me a square of melty garlic bread.

“He has a playdate,” she replies, setting the rest of the garlic bread on the table in front of Merilee and Jane. “You can watch TV in the basement if you want. We’re not watching it.”

“Why do you keep trying to get rid of him?” Merilee asks.

“Why don’t you just go upstairs with him if you like him so much?” Brianna snaps.

“We’re just talking.” Merilee fixes a vicious death grip stare on Brianna while Jane glances helplessly up at me. “Why don’t you take a pill or something?”

“I’m
so sure
that’s all you want to do—talk to him.” Brianna swings around to face me at the counter. “Just go already, Mason.
Gawd
.”

The kitchen’s tension level has already spiked to epic proportions and now I’m smack in the middle of it. “I’ll go when I’m ready,” I say. I don’t particularly want to hang around but I’m not taking any more shit from Brianna. That attitude has to go.

“You see,” Merilee says triumphantly. “He wants to stay.”

“Gawd, Merilee.” Brianna scowls and reaches for Merilee’s magazine. “Talk about throwing yourself at someone.”

“Talk about being a bitch,” Merilee retorts.

“Sounds like your friend knows you pretty well,” I say, staring intently at Brianna. “Can’t you ever be nice? Even just for two minutes? Seriously, Brianna, what’s the problem?”

Brianna pales as she stares back at me. “You don’t know me,” she says grimly. “And you don’t know my friends.”

“Whatever.” My voice oozes sarcasm. “Thanks for the garlic bread.” I flash her the biggest, cheesiest grin my lips can manage and walk off with a mouthful of garlic. The girl’s personality impairment isn’t worth my time.

Burke’s home in time for dinner and we have another one of those traditional family meals where the five of us sit around discussing our day. We’re coming up on the three-week mark but I can’t say this communal-dinner thing feels any more natural than it did on day one. Maybe I’m just too old to get into the idea of siblings and place settings. All I know is that every time I sit down at the
table with them I feel like I’m showing up for Stepfamily Integration 101.

Burke’s chin is covered in spaghetti sauce, even though Nina cut his noodles into inch-long mini-strips. Half the time I cut mine up like that too. It’s a lazy way to eat but who cares?

Dad and Nina are talking about this glow-in-the-dark minigolf place where one of his hygienists held a birthday party for her son. The hygienist was full of good things to say and Dad and Nina want to head over there with Burke and Brianna tomorrow. “You too if you’re free, Mason,” Dad says.

Brianna glances at me from across the table, the tension from earlier hanging in the air, thick as L.A. smog. “Don’t worry,” I say to her. “I’m not planning on going.”

“I don’t care where you go.” Brianna focuses on her spaghetti.

“Brianna!” Nina’s head swivels sharply. She gapes at Brianna, her nostrils flaring. “That’s rude.”

“He started it.” Brianna twirls a long strand of spaghetti expertly around her fork. Her face is expressionless, like she’s trying not to care.

“It’s fine,” I say. “This is her specialty.”

“What?” Brianna drops her fork. Bolognese sauce splashes onto her wrist. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Being a queen bitch.”

Brianna’s shoulders sag. She picks up her fork and mashes into the spaghetti like it’s a pile of potatoes. She’s speechless and the satisfaction spreads from my fingers all the way up to my cheeks. I sit there grinning wildly to myself over a plate of steaming spaghetti. I’m a hero.

“Mason!” Dad rarely shouts but he’s shouting now. “That’s unacceptable. Apologize to Brianna.”

Burke’s eyes pop wide open. He turns in his chair so most of his
body’s facing me. Brianna hasn’t finished pulverizing her pasta. Her face is blotchy and I shouldn’t say it but you know I will. Why step out of the line of fire now? “Sorry you’re such a bitch, Brianna. It must be a tough haul. I mean, it’s pretty well twenty-four seven, isn’t it? You never take a break.”

Dad’s fist pounds the table. “Mason, I want an apology out of you this second and let me tell you, it better be good.”

Brianna drops her fork for the second time. She tears out of the room as Dad glares at me. “Good job, Mason,” he says. “Are you happy with yourself?”

“You don’t understand,” I tell him. “She’s impossible.”

“I don’t care,” Dad yells. “You’re three years older and you know better than to treat someone like that!”

You know what? I’m not hungry anymore. “I’m done,” I say coldly. “Thanks, Nina. It was really good.”

Nina nods and I notice her elbows aren’t on the table anymore. She doesn’t look angry with me, just discouraged. “I’m sorry,” I tell her. “We’ve been having some problems.”

“I know,” she confirms.

“Leave the table, Mason,” Dad commands.

Gladly. I leave my unfinished spaghetti sitting in a heap on my plate and go upstairs. Billy scurries towards me in the hallway, his eyes glowing with malevolence. If he lays into me now I’ll fight back, swear to God.

I pass Billy first, then the bathroom. I stand outside of Brianna’s bedroom, listening at her door. If I heard her crying would I apologize? I don’t know the answer to that but I don’t hear anything anyway, just the distant sound of plates clanking as they’re loaded into the dishwasher.

I never do
apologize to Brianna but glow-in-the-dark minigolf isn’t optional anymore. Dad reserves a one o’clock tee time and I pile reluctantly into his Ford Taurus along with everyone else. The black-lit mini-golf place spews out thunderous pop-punk tunes as we play, making it easy for Brianna and me to blend into the background. Burke, on the other hand, careens around the fake coral reef and kaleidoscope-colored UFOs like he’s on crack.

It’s cool, though; he’s having fun. He doesn’t even mind about coming in second-last. (Nina’s officially the worst golfer I’ve ever seen.) Being the youngest, I guess he’s used to it.

Afterwards Nina supervises him in the video game room while Dad, Brianna and I head for the snack bar. Dad veers off to look for the bathroom and Brianna and I grab munchies and a table for six. “The lighting in this place is really throwing me,” I tell her, holding out my open bag of M&M’s. I was still pissed with her when I fell asleep last night but this morning the anger seemed pointless; we
still have to share a house together. “It could be midnight out there,” I continue, “or the middle of February.” Brianna shakes her head at the M&M’s and slurps her soda. “Next thing you know they’ll be packing us off to Disney World and taking family snapshots with Mickey Mouse.”

Brianna nods dully and gnaws on her straw, hamster-like. If she’s impressed by my sociability you’d never know it. “How’s your hand?” she asks, staring at the single remaining bandage.

“It’s okay. No sign of cat scratch disease or rabies yet.” Before she can contradict me and say that rabies takes a lot longer to show up or that her cat doesn’t have any diseases or whatever the hell she intends to say, I add, “Listen, Brianna, what’s your problem with me, anyway?” Believe me, I say that as patiently as I can. I’m tired of the animosity.

“I never said I had a problem with you.”

“You gotta be kidding,” I say. “It’s like you and your cat are in a frigging contest to prove who hates me the most.”

“That’s not true.” Brianna presses her fingertips down on the table until they turn white. “Does everybody automatically have to like you?”

Pretty much, yeah. But I scoff at that and scoop up a handful of M&M’s. “I just thought if there was a problem we could talk about it.”

“You know, you don’t have to do this,” she insists. “Nobody’s even around to hear it.”

“That’s not why I’m—”

“Anyway, I don’t hate you,” she says, interrupting. “Merilee can be a real pain. I thought I was doing you a favor.” Her voice is calm but her vibes are as defensive as ever. Frustration ripples through me as I scrutinize her. I don’t want to spend the next fifteen months
in constant conflict with this girl I barely know. There has to be a solution.