Fallout (61 page)

I HATE WHITE

The sun through the south window

makes it much too bright in here

by day, and at night, artificial

light glares, wall to wall to wall.

If this move ends up permanent,

I’ll have to talk to Mom about paint.

My plan, though, is to give Nikki

time. Then gently wear down

her defenses. She’ll have to forgive

me eventually, right? There must

be some way to make that happen.

I can’t believe how much I miss her.

And not just the way she fills my bed

with velvet skin and satin hair and

warm spice scent. Without her,

I am incomplete. The worst thing

is, I have no excuse for what happened

with Leah. The message that bitch

left on my phone gave no room

for misinterpretation. Nikki knew

for sure I had betrayed her. And how.

SO FOR NOW, IT’S WHITE

And not just in here,

but outside, too. It

started to snow four

days ago. And it just

keeps on coming down.

Semester break, no

classes for three weeks,

I only have to worry

about driving for my

air shifts. Holidays

mean the “stars” go

home too, so I’m

pulling a few extra.

But mostly, if for no

other reason than to get

out of the guest room,

I’m helping Mom with

her Christmas stuff.

Decorating. Wrapping.

Baking cookies, even.

That’s what we’re doing

now. She tried to get

the boys to help. But

Donald thinks it’s lame.

And David prefers the pup.

GOOD THING

Someone wants to play with Sasha,

I guess. She’s at that gangly stage—

all floppy feet and squirrelly tail,

wagging into the cupboards while

Mom and I measure flour and sugar

and butter.
David
, says Mom,

would you please put on your coat

and take Sasha outside to play in

the snow? If you wear her out, maybe

she’ll take a nice long winter’s nap.

David is willing, so off they go.

Donald and Scott are shoveling

the decks. I’ve got Mom all to

myself, a rare thing around here

lately. We haven’t talked much

since I came back. All she knows

for sure about Nikki and me

is that we had a little fight.

I’ve got a lot more than that

to tell her about, though.

I watch her cross the kitchen

floor. Graceful, like a dancer,

and fit, especially for a woman

her age. Still working out at sixty.

Wonder if I’ll have her energy.

SHE TURNS

Finds me staring, gawking in

admiration like a regular fan boy.

What? A booger or something?

“Nope. Just wondering where

you get all your energy from.”

Can’t slow down. Too much to do.

I have to smile. “You’ve been

saying that since I was a little kid.”

Yeah, and? Nothing has changed.

Still dealing with the fallout of choices,

not her own, made twenty years ago.

Anyway, slow down, you grow mold.

Another favorite saying. “But don’t

you ever get mad about … stuff?”

Hunter, I used to live “mad.” Didn’t help.

I REACH WAY BACK

Into memory, to another

Christmas. I must have been ten.

Kristina was here with Donald.

He would have been three.

Ron was supposed to come

with them that year, so Mom got

them a hotel room.
That man

will not stay under this roof.

She didn’t give a reason, and

I wondered why she was so angry.

On their way out of Vegas,

Ron was arrested. Kristina claimed

it was an outstanding traffic

ticket. We found out later it was

for a domestic violence warrant.

Kristina came alone, checked into

her room on Christmas Eve,

and when she didn’t show up for

our usual family dinner, Mom

was mad.
You can’t ever rely on her.

But she was also worried

and sent Dad out to look for her.

Turned out she was in the ER.

She claimed it was food poisoning.

Poor little Donald hadn’t had

a bite to eat all day except for a candy

cane a sympathetic nurse gave him.

You’d think a nurse would know better.

I didn’t understand until I watched

him bounce off the walls all night.

Kristina came over the next

morning. Spent Christmas Day, and

I mean all day, on her cell phone,

talking to Ron, who was already out of jail.

Mom stewed big-time.
She’s using

again. Six years clean for what?

I overheard her tell Dad. I thought

she was wrong. Turned out she was spot

on. The ER visit was bad dope.

And Kristina was pregnant with David.

MOM WAS ANGRIER THEN

Is anger something

you can outgrow?

Can anyone do it

with practice? Dad                  Maybe it’s a gender

has never quite                        thing. I think I take

mastered the talent.                 after Dad, carrying

anger like he does,

tight in my muscles,

unable to quite let go.

I don’t feel like I’m

mad most of the time,

but it isn’t hard to let

all that stored anger             But it’s hard to talk

come rippling out.               about resentment,

I should get help.                 bottled up inside.

I have it easier than

most people. So why

feel sorry for myself?

Not like very many

people have intact

families. One parent

or the other is likely                Looking at it that way,

absent. Shacked up                  I’m pretty normal. So

Knocked up. Fucked up.         why do I feel like some

sort of a freak? Bigger

question: Why take it

out on people I love?