T R I S T A N
She was not fast. It had been almost half an hour and she still hadn't come out of the grocery store. I had finished my cigarette and started another one. I had sat in every possible position only to find out I wasn't comfortable in any of them. I was bored out of my mind.
Then, finally, she came out, the handles of her tote bag digging in at the shoulder of her sweater, hand reaching for the car keys in the back pocket of her jeans. When the bag slid off and a carton of milk fell to her feet, I smiled. She bent down to pick it up, one hand holding the bag and the other going for the milk. When she came back up, her hair was falling in front of her face. She had to blow it away so she could see what button to press on the car keys.
I was still smiling when she opened the door to the back. Then I remembered how long she had kept me waiting.
"What the fuck took you so long?"
She left the bag under the seat and closed the door again to come sit in the front.
"I was in there for less than ten minutes," she said, putting the keys in the ignition, and then turning around to reach for something she had left in the bag.
"You're such a liar â"
"I got us Twizzlers," she stopped me, holding the plastic bag in my face. I took it.
"You're still a liar. You were in there for at least twenty minutes."
"I know, I'm sorry." She smiled. "There was this old lady in front of me buying groceries to last her a year and then she was trying to use a coupon and it wasn't working and then the cashier had to call for help andâ"
"You lost me," I stopped her, a Twizzler already in my mouth, another one in my hand, waiting for her to take it.
"I know," she said as she took it, still smiling, eyes going for the rearview mirror so she could get us out of the parking lot. "I was trying to see how far you would let me go on for. I'm surprised you didn't stop me right away."
"You think you're funny?"
"Pretty funny, yeah. Why? You don't think I'm funny?"
"Absolutely not."
She turned on the radio. This time, Everywhere was on. Zoey's face lit up. Again.
"I love this song too! What radio station is this?"
I rolled my eyes, "It's not a radio station. It's Richard's Fleetwood Mac CD."
She turned the sound up and the windows down and then started singing again.
I reached for another cigarette, and told her the truth, "You have a horrible voice."
She laughed, "I know!"
"It's terrible."
She laughed some more, "I know!"
"There's something seriously wrong with you."
She turned the sound down, "Where am I driving you again?"
I gave her directions to an art supply store downtown. When she parked the car in front of it, a big, big smile showed up on her face.
"You're getting him art supplies? That's really â"
"Stay in the car." I was out before she could ask why. I could have told her why. It was because I didn't want her coming in with me. Obviously.
When I came out of the store, plastic bag in hand, all the watercolor paints and brushes Caitlyn had told me about inside, Zoey was eating another Twizzler behind the wheel. I got back in the passenger's seat.
She asked, "What did you get him?"
I said the obvious, "It's none of your business."
"I got him a comic book."
"You want me to applaud or something?"
"No." She shrugged, hands back on the wheel. "I was just saying. Do you think he's gonna like it?"
"Of course he's gonna like it."
She smiled, "I really liked it."
"You read it?"
"Yeah, so I can talk to him about it."
"So you're manipulating him," I said. I didn't actually think she was manipulating him, but I would find my way around it. I just wanted to get on her nerves. She had, after all, been getting on mine since we left the house.
She looked away from the road to look very confused at me and ask, "How?"
"You're not actually interested in the things he likes, you just pretend you are, so you can get him to like you, because you need everyone to like you so much, all day, every day. It's sick. You're sick."
She threw her head back to laugh, "I really admire how much effort you put into trying to make me feel like shit."
I shrugged, "Did it work?"
"Obviously not."
"Worth a try," I admitted. "Can I go again?"
"No," she said, but she was laughing again. It was like being slapped right across the face. It was the suspicion that life was not so bad, I was. Me, who had spent years wondering if I was really horrible or if that was just what it meant to be a person.
"I'm gonna go again," I said. She was a pain in my existence, so I was going to be a pain in hers. "I actually don't think you feel the need to make people like you, but only because you know how bad you are at it. There, did that work?"
"Still no." She shrugged, turning the music up. I rolled my eyes. She was going to give me a headache.
She gave me a headache. We were back home, her in the kitchen, baking Sam's rainbow cake, and me in the living room, filling up the balloons, like she had asked me to. I had no air in me, but I did have a headache, just as predicted. I laid down on the couch and closed my eyes. Someone rang the bell. I didn't move. I just waited for Zoey to go and open the door.
She must have, because the next thing I knew, Caitlyn's voice was inside the house. I opened my eyes. She was coming in through the hallway, Zoey behind her, in Richard's best-dad-in-the-world apron, flour on her cheek, and a surprised smile on her lips. It was easy to figure out why. Caitlyn had brought brownies. She held out the plate in front of me when she reached the couch, a shit-eating grin on her face.
"Take one," she said. "I made them with lots of love."
"You mean lots of weed?" I smiled, taking one.
"Same thing." She shrugged, eyes on the brownie in my hand. "Try it."
"You're kidding, right?" This was Zoey, obviously. "This is a kids party. You can't bring drugs to a kids party â"
"I can and I did," Caitlyn said, turning around to hold the plate of brownies in Zoey's face. "Go ahead, take one. There's enough to go around."
"I don't want your weed brownies. I mean, they do look really good, I'm not gonna lie, but no! What is wrong with you?"
Again, Caitlyn shrugged, putting the brownies down on the coffee table and taking off her leather jacket to show a t-shirt that was obviously too big for her underneath.
"Where's the little shit anyway?" she asked after, sitting down on the couch next to me.
I put the brownie back on the plate, and said, "Skydiving."
"You're not gonna eat it?!" she asked when she noticed.
"I feel like shit. You might as well just feed me some vomit."
"Fuck you."
"Fuck you too."
"What is happening right now?" Zoey asked, pointing at the brownies. "You're just gonna leave them there?"
"Yeah," Caitlyn said, going for the remote I had dropped on the floor a while ago and had been too lazy to pick up again. She looked around before turning on the tv though, and said, "These are the shittiest looking balloons I've ever seen in my life by the way."
I looked at them, spread all over the living room, as far as I had been strong enough to throw them anyway, and shrugged, "I have weak lungs."
"Obviously," Zoey said, bending down to grab the brownies, and turning around.
"What was that?" This was me.
"Where are you going with those?" This was Caitlyn.
Zoey ignored both us and disappeared back into the kitchen. Caitlyn turned to me, "Does she have a drug problem?"
"You have no idea," I said.
She smiled, "Did Linda go skydiving as well?"
"No, she went to a spa resort. I don't even think she's coming back today, or tomorrow, or ever if the plan is to get rid of all the toxins in her body."
"What a fucking bitch," Caitlyn said.
"Thank you!" I said. "Zoey doesn't think so. She thinks she's something."
"Something of a fucking bitch."
I leaned back against the couch. She turned on the tv. Twilight was on. I waited for her to change the channel, but she didn't, "You're kidding, right?"
She shook her head, "I fucking love this movie."
"No, you don't."
"What do you mean? It's hilarious."
"How many brownies have you had?"
"None," she said. "But I did lick the spatula a bunch while I was making them."