Day 8 #2
His eyes go from the mushy pile in my hands to his bed. Being sure to avoid me, he pushes his mattress up against the wall, exposing the metal frame underneath. There’s a dark wet spot, and just as Asher steps into the rectangular frame, a muffled voice comes from the house. “Hello?”
“Back here.” The words slip past my lips without thinking.
The look of horror on Asher’s face registers before my mistake does. And before either of us can move, the bedroom door is opening, and Nadine is stepping in.
She gags as she takes a step toward me, sounding like she’s about to dry heave.
Asher is crouched down in his bed frame, one hand holding his mattress up to the wall.
The soggy pile of papers is in my hands, no doubt dripping onto my shoes.
I’ll have to burn them. At this rate, we might have to burn the whole house down.
Nadine jabs her chin at the soggy pile in my hands. “What is that?”
I have never wanted to drop something so badly before, but I hold on, trying to remain calm. I look to Asher, and swallow about nineteen times before the words finally come. “Fish,” is all I say.
Nadine’s bracelets jangle as her hands settle on her hips. “What is it doing in here?” She looks to the dark spot on the floor. “Besides soaking into the carpet pad and floor.” She shakes her head.
Behind me there’s a soft crash and then Asher is standing at my side.
“It was an accident. A joke.” His voice is light, the friendliest I’ve heard it all day.
He nudges his elbow gently into my side and says softly, “Take it into the kitchen, Sid.” Then his voice is strong and confident when he says, “We’re cleaning it up right now. We’ll take care of it.”
I’m still standing at the edge of the kitchen, listening for her response, when she walks past me and out the door without a word.
Asher
Dinner should be at our house tonight, but for obvious reasons it’s been moved next door.
It’s late for dinner, almost eight o’clock, because we had to get fans stuck in all of the windows, and Sidney drove to four different places trying to find a carpet-cleaning machine to rent.
I disassembled my bed for her and moved my mattress into the hallway, but we didn’t speak.
The parents have hardly said a word to us, either, but disappointment practically radiates off of them.
“I’ll do the dishes tonight,” Sidney offers, and I almost feel bad for how shitty she must feel right now. She’s not the kind of person who takes parental disappointment well. My guess is that Sidney is making herself feel ten times worse than her parents ever could.
“Obviously,” her mom says, just as my mom says, “Asher will help.” We didn’t go into details about what happened—maybe the parents don’t want details about who to be mad at when it’s easier to just be mad at us equally. They’re not completely wrong.
Sidney’s poking at a piece of garlic bread when there’s a knock on the door so loud the metal frame of the screen door vibrates against it.
Tom is up out of his chair, a step away from the door, when it swings open.
Nadine steps into the kitchen, one of her usual brightly colored dress-shirt things hanging off of her.
It’s like a giant rainbow fabric-bag. Her blond hair is twisted up into a swirl on the top of her head, and her red lipstick is uneven at the edges, bleeding into the pale white of her skin.
I will never understand how someone can live on a lake and be so pale.
Or cranky. Isn’t lake life supposed to be for easygoing people who love margaritas and cold beer and putting their toes in the sand?
Or has country music been lying my whole life?
“Nad—” Tom’s confused voice is cut off.
Nadine slams a piece of paper onto the table between the dads. “I want you all out in forty-eight hours.”
“Nadine—”
“It’s something every year. A mysterious stain.
” I think of the Kool-Aid shower, wonder if there are stains, and if she knows it somehow.
“A broken piece of furniture.” The deck chair we broke two summers ago.
The one Nadine replaced with the unicorn.
“I find pots in the wrong houses, and cabinets stocked with the wrong things.”
“We share,” Mom says, her voice soft and shocked.
“Because you are too comfortable.” Nadine’s face is cold. “This isn’t your house. It’s mine.”
Kris looks like she might throw up. I know what she’s thinking: for two months out of the summer, these are our houses. We don’t think about the other people who stay here after us. These houses wait for us all year. They’re ours. Our houses on our lake.
“Nadine, we’ve always paid for any issues,” Dad says. That makes my face heat red. I didn’t realize they were paying for issues that Sidney and I likely caused. Why haven’t they said anything to us? Have they been skimming the money out of my college fund or something?
“Yes, but I have to fix them. I have to worry about the state of things for the next renters.” She glances out the window toward my house. “I have to wonder what is happening in these houses.”
Tom rolls his eyes but she can’t see it. “This is awfully extreme, I’m sure we can—”
Nadine shakes her head briskly. “Forty-eight hours and I want you out. You’ll get a full refund for the next seven weeks.”
Dad’s face pales and Mom looks like she might cry. I might cry. Or scream. Sidney is sitting, still and quiet, just like my mom. They both look like they may burst into tears at any moment.
“Where are we supposed to go? It’s peak season, we’ll never find rentals.” Tom’s voice is still calm, his face a mask of cool fury.
“Nadine, please,” Kris says. “We’ve been coming here for years, this is a second home to us.”
Nadine’s eyes look at Kris sympathetically, and for a moment I think she’s going to cave.
But then her chin lifts just slightly and her face is hard again.
And I may be imagining it but I think her eyes settle on Sidney for just a second too long to be comfortable, before she turns back to the four adults now muttering obscenities under their breath. “Forty-eight hours.”
Sidney
After dinner, Mom, Dad, Sylvie, and Greg convene in our living room, and Asher and I are out on the deck after washing dishes in silence.
We sit in white plastic lounge chairs, both of us avoiding the unicorn.
Probably because it’s a reminder of how our neurotic feuding has led to this.
I came out here thinking it would be a good spot to eavesdrop without being obvious, but once the angry voices died down it turned out I couldn’t hear anything at all.
“This is our fault.” I’ve been thinking it since Nadine barged into our house, and I can’t help but say it out loud.
“Ours?” Asher mutters, and it’s the first time he’s really spoken to me since Nadine walked in on us.
Defensiveness wells up inside me, guilt scraping at my throat.
“I’m gonna cruise around the lake and look for rental signs.”
“Can I come with?” I hate how desperate, almost panicked my voice sounds.
There’s a long stretch of silence, and I’m expecting more annoyance from him.
More anger. Because no matter what I say out loud, this is my fault.
There should be smoke coming out of Asher’s ears, for how hard he’s thinking about this simple question.
As if he’s just been asked to go on a boat ride with a serial killer.
I don’t even know why I want to go. Maybe I just don’t want to be alone out here when our parents finally emerge.
The guilt is so much easier when it’s directed at us, and not just me.
The silence is killing me, so I finally break it. “I want to hit something.”
“Not it.” His eyes finally swing from the imaginary spot on the lake where they’ve been fixed and land on me. The lightness in his voice surprises me.
I roll my eyes. “And ruin that pretty face of yours? I would never.”
Asher smirks. “You think I’m pretty.” The familiar snark in his voice relaxes something inside me just a fraction.
“You think you’re pretty.” I hear the whir of a blender and look back at the cabin. It’s not fair that they get to drown their sorrows in peach daiquiris and we just have to suffer. With each other. But sitting here is just making me anxious. I’d rather be doing something, helping somehow.
Maybe my inner monologue has come out, because Asher shifts in his chair and says, “Fine, let’s go.”
He stands and holds a hand out to me. A normal person would probably take it without thinking, but I just stare at it.
As if I’m not sure what to do with such a strange appendage.
He rolls his eyes and grabs my hand, pulling me up out of the chair.
Then he walks away, headed toward the boat.
I don’t know why I’m so unnerved, but I am.
I feel like I’m about to walk into an ambush.
An animal fed treats before being led to the slaughter.
Not that Asher touching my hand was a treat.
Obviously. I think about the other night, the way he touched my face, laid his hand on mine, put his lips on mine, and a little shiver runs through me.
I don’t know if it’s pleasure or fear. Maybe the two feel too similar when it comes to Asher.
He walks toward the boat, and I let myself wait a few seconds, watching him cross the grass and step onto the dock.
He stops and turns toward me. “Are you coming?”