12 Samantha
12
SAMANTHA
G RANDMA, YOU SAID you had a car for me…”
We were standing outside the garage, staring at the teal-blue vehicle my five-foot-one, seventy-seven-year-old grandmother just unveiled.
“This is a car,” she said in her Spanish accent.
“Nooo, this is a land boat.”
“It is a 1966 Dodge Dart convertible. It’s in pristine condition, your grandfather took excellent care of it. It’s a classic.”
I sagged. “Grandma, I sold my Honda for this. This gets like seven miles to the gallon.”
“So? Where are you going? You’ve been here two weeks and you’re just now asking for it.”
She had a point. Still.
I hadn’t wanted to make the two-thousand-mile road trip with Pooter and when I’d mentioned shipping my Honda to California, Grandma said to get rid of it because she had something I could use. It sounded like a good idea at the time. No car payment. I just thought she was going to give me an old Toyota or something reasonable, not the Dart.
“This doesn’t even have AC,” I said.
“You open the air vent down at your feet for ventilation,” she said. “It’s on the passenger side, it gets a nice breeze. And it’s pretty. It’ll get men to talk to you.”
I made a face. “Ewww, I don’t want men to talk to me.”
“Well, you should. If you don’t use it your vagina will shrivel up.”
I laughed. “No it won’t.”
I was going to google this though.
“Here.” She shoved the keys into my hand. “It’s an automatic. It’s been sitting for a few months. You should probably start it up and take it around the block a couple times.”
I let out a long breath. I guess I could just drive it until I got something else. It was free.
“Your mother loves this car,” she said. “Drove it all through high school and college.”
I perked up. “Really?”
That could be a plus actually. Something she might remember. Maybe I could take her around the block with me.
Grandma patted me on the back. “If it breaks down, just open the hood. The men will come. Maybe you should do that even if it doesn’t break down.”
She turned and made her way up the driveway to the house in her robe and slippers. “Take care of your mother,” she called. “I’m taking a shower.”
“You got it,” I mumbled.
When she vanished up the front steps, I sighed and tipped my head back.
Pooter was in the windowsill in my apartment above the garage, looking down at me.
I was the only one not living in the main house. I had a little unit. Just a bedroom, small bathroom, and a cute balcony I could sit on, nestled among the overgrown lemon and orange trees.
I could have taken a room in the house, God knows there were enough of them, but Jeneva said she didn’t want “randos coming in and out at all hours.” Like I had any randos.
Mentally I was still in the spaceship with Xavier.
I hadn’t heard from him in two weeks. He texted the day after I’d gotten here to ask about Pooter’s bowel movements. I don’t know what I expected, but that was somehow exactly it.
I did tell him to forget me. I could still be disappointed that he did it though.
It was just as well.
I was never going back to Minnesota. I’d probably never even see him again. He was too attractive for me anyway. It was probably a red flag. I should just stick with medium-ugly men like I’m used to.
God, why had I said yes to that date? I was still kicking myself.
It was like setting your range to international on a dating website when you know damn well you can’t make it work with some hot Italian in Milan.
I dragged myself to my new land tank and got in.
It looked a little like the Thelma & Louise car. Long, silver trim. It had powder-blue vinyl seats that would be two thousand degrees when the sun hit them. Crank windows. No alarm, no auto start. It did have a radio. Someone had upgraded it at some point—with a tape player. I pushed the eject button and a cassette popped out. Lisa’s Mix Tape was scrawled on the label in blue pen. I smiled a little. Mom. I put it back and closed it.
I opened the center console. A half-empty ancient bottle of Sunflowers by Elizabeth Arden was rolling around on its side next to an equally gross bottle of coconut sunblock. There were maps and a Thomas Guide in the glove box. No drink holder. The car didn’t have a damn drink holder. I scoffed and slammed the compartment closed and turned the key. The car quivered to life, sputtering like an old man waking up. It struggled for a moment, then rumbled into a steady, healthy purr. I could already feel the heat of the V-8 engine coming from the dash and warming my legs.
It was going to be hot. It was going to be loud. It smelled like oil and gasoline.
Free, Samantha.
I’d give it one week. If I hated it, I was heading to a dealership.
I backed into the driveway and lowered the white canvas top. Push button. At least there was that.
I parked it by the porch and went in to get Mom.
She was in her usual chair in the living room.
Dad worked during the day, so the rest of us watched her while he was gone. It was mostly Grandma on the day shift, but I’d set up my laptop and worked from the recliner next to Mom when Grandma needed to run an errand or take a nap. I’d tried bringing Mom up to my apartment once, but she got too distracted by Pooter. She kept asking whose cat it was. I’d tell her, she’d forget, and a minute later she’d ask again. She did this ten, twenty times before I got frustrated and took her back to the living room.
“Mom?” I said, coming in the front door slowly. “What do you think of taking a car ride?” I asked. “I put the top down on the convertible. We can go get Frappuccinos.”
She looked at me confused. “What?”
“Coffee.”
Jeneva told me to explain everything I’m going to do before I do it, so I walked her through the steps.
“First we’ll get our shoes on, then we’ll go outside and drive around a bit. Then we’ll stop and get a latte. Come on.”
She didn’t move.
I crossed the room and helped her up. “You need some time outside. It’ll be fun,” I said, walking her to the door.
She let me put her shoes on, and I got her out to the porch.
Then she saw the Dart. She lit up.
It was the first sign of life I’d seen in her since I got here. I could barely believe it.
The dementia and the medications she was on made her flat. She spoke in monotones like someone drugged, but the second she saw the Dodge she came alive.
“The car!” She beamed.
I smiled. “Yeah. You remember it?”
“Of course, it’s my car.”
I watched her for a moment. The pure joy on her usually expressionless face.
I wondered if the dementia felt like walking through a gray version of the world. And then all of a sudden a bright blue car from your youth appears and you know something again. You remember, and it’s the only thing in color.
Right now my world was also a little gray. The last time I saw color was that night in the escape room.
The promise of something can be so vibrant. And everything feels so dull after it’s gone.
Mom let go of my arm and went down the stairs ahead of me—and got into the driver’s side.
“Oh, Mom? I need to drive—”
She slammed the door.
Shit.
Shit, shit, shit. The keys were in it and the engine was running.
I jiggled the handle to the driver’s door. It was locked. I tried pulling up the lock but it was flush to the door.
“Mom, I have to drive. You can’t drive anymore.”
“Don’t be silly. I drive all the time.” Then she put the car in reverse and started backing toward the street.
Full panic.
“Stop!”
She kept going.
“Mom…” I was jogging next to the door trampling the flowerbeds. “Mom!”
Nothing.
“We have to put the top up! It’s going to rain!”
Please stop, please .
“Mom! RAIN!” I shouted.
She slammed on the brakes. I have no idea why she did it, if she heard me and understood or if it was some deeply ingrained reflex to protect her old car from weather, but she stopped.
The back of the Dart was already halfway in the street. I was panting.
She looked confused for a moment, like she didn’t know where she was. She probably didn’t.
She peered blankly around the cab of the car, then put it in park. I dove across her lap and pulled the key from the ignition.
I slumped on the curb, gasping for air. Holy hell that could have been bad. I was having a heart attack.
Where would she have gone? Would she have just driven off and crashed somewhere? Backed straight out into the house across the street? I was shaking.
I’d have to lock up the keys. I could never let this happen again.
I wondered what kind of things Jeneva had seen like this. Is this why there was a lock on the medicine cabinet? Child dials on the oven? I thought it was for the boys when they were smaller, but now…
Grandma always had candles burning. My whole life there’d been a Virgin Mary candle on the stove. There was no candle now, I realized. Was this because of Mom?
It was.
She was dangerous. Obliviously dangerous. And I was just oblivious in general. What had I almost done?
I had no idea what she was capable of. If I took her driving, would she jump from the vehicle while it was moving? Get scared and grab the wheel? I mean, at best we should be in something with a roof and child safety locks.
She could never ride in this car again. That part of her life was over.
She would never feel the wind in her hair with the top down, see the open sky while her music played in the car she grew up in.
I don’t think I’d realized how small Mom’s world had gotten in my absence. How bad this really was.
I licked my lips. “Mom, let’s go inside and get some lunch, okay?”
She let me take her out of the car. She never even asked what happened to the plans.
She didn’t remember we’d made them.
I was shaken up for the rest of the day after my near accident with Mom. I had vowed that tomorrow would be better, but the next morning at 6:00 a.m. the door to my room swung open and a tall backlit figure stood in the frame. “You’re in my room, bitch.”
I groaned. Tristan .
“Get out,” I said, punching my pillow under my head and putting my back to him.
“Uh, this is my apartment.”
“You haven’t lived here for two years.”
I heard him drop his duffel bag. “Samantha, I’m too fucking hungover for this. Give me back my bed.”
I rolled over to glare at my little brother. “Does this look like your stuff to you?”
He had his arms crossed. “Uh yeah, it does. That’s my headboard.”
“I kept the bed. The rest of the furniture is mine—What are you even doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be in Banff or something?”
“I’m home.” He scowled around at my stuff. “Aren’t you supposed to be on a frozen lake somewhere?”
“Ha ha .”
He sighed and stalked across the room. “Move over.”
He pushed me to the edge of the mattress and got under my comforter. He smelled like cotton candy vape.
“Your shoes better be off,” I grumbled.
Tristan was twenty-four, our parents’ youngest, and a pain in everyone’s ass. He was usually walking the earth somewhere, planting trees for the forest service or guiding white water rafting trips in Colorado or something equally random that kept him out of our hair.
He shifted dramatically next to me and the bed jostled like he was jumping on a trampoline.
“Ugh, why are you even home?” I moaned.
“Not for you.”
Pooter came down from her cat tree and climbed the bed, purring.
“What the hell is that?” my brother asked, sitting up.
“My cat.”
“The butthole one?”
“Yes, the butthole one. And thanks for not donating, cheap ass.”
“Like you needed it? By the time I saw it, you were a millionaire.”
He picked up Pooter and hovered her over his face. She hung there, paws dangling, completely chill as always.
He made a dismissive noise. “Mid.”
“Did you just call my cat mid ?”
He plopped Pooter at the end of the bed and leaned on his elbow to look at me. “So I hear you got locked in a UFO with some hot vet.”
“Oh, so you do check the group chat.” I stared at the ceiling. “He lives in Minnesota. I’ll probably never see him again.”
“Why? I flew to Monett, Missouri, like seven times once for this guy I met on Hinge.”
I lolled my head to look at him. “Wasn’t that the bartender who got your name tattooed on his calf?”
“No. That was Ned. In Nashville.”
“Ahh. Right. Nashville Ned. How could I forget.”
He pursed his lips. “I missed your stupid face.”
“I missed your stupid face.”
Then he lifted his leg and let out a long, squeaky fart. I bolted up and turned on the light. “Oh my God!”
“I told you to get out.”
I hit him with a pillow. “Disgusting! Go sleep in the house. I’m serious.”
He got up and smirked at me. “I want you to know that I’ve done unspeakable things on that mattress. Un speakable .”
I threw the pillow at him and he dodged it.
He grabbed his duffel bag and paused dramatically in the doorway. “I will get my room back.”
“If you come in here again, I’m killing you and burying you under federally protected florals.”
“Your vet boyfriend probably looks like Lord Farquaad.”
“He looks like the High Lord of the Night Court and you could never ,” I snapped.
“Hag.”
“Pick me.”
He gasped. Then he pulled something from his bag. “I brought you peanut brittle from that place you like in Washington. I hope you choke on it.”
“I won’t, just to piss you off.”
He held the box of candy by the corner, dropped it on the floor, slammed the door, and left.
I rolled my eyes and fell back in the bed. I couldn’t go to sleep after that.
I googled homeware stores and Is it illegal to burn a mattress in your yard . Then I fed Pooter, put on slippers, grabbed my shattered peanut brittle, and crossed to the house in my pajamas, eating the candy straight from the box.
When I got in, Tristan was sitting at the kitchen counter with Jeneva’s boys while Grandma made everyone eggs. My brother looked at me and raised a slow middle finger and I stuck my tongue out before biting into a piece of my brittle and taking a seat at the counter.
“How long are you here?” Grandma asked him, standing over the stove.
“I don’t know. As long as I feel like, I guess. By the way, Sam’s in my room, you need to tell her to leave.”
Grandma laughed. “Well if it isn’t Zanzibar himself asking me for a favor.” She turned to look at him. “Request denied .”
“But, Grandma—”
“Nope. You put us through hell. I haven’t forgiven you yet.”
I looked back and forth between them. “Zanzibar?”
Grandma turned off the burner. “You don’t want to know.”
I looked at my brother. “Is it your consequences consequencing?” I asked, sucking air through my teeth.
“Shut up,” Tristan said. “So which room am I supposed to be in, then?”
Grandma plated eggs. “Well, there’s one left upstairs. You’ll have to share a bathroom with the boys. Oh, the game room is open in the basement—”
He gasped. “Yaaaaas. I want the game room.”
I gave him a look. “That’s a community space.”
“So? She just said I could have it.”
“Grandma!”
“It’s empty, Sam. It’s not doing anything for anyone,” Grandma said.
The space was a large windowless room in the bowels of the basement where Grandma used to play Dungeons & Dragons back in the day. She’d painted the walls in the eighties with an epic orange dragon fresco that we all loved. To be fair we hadn’t used the game room in forever, but the wine cellar was in there.
“How are we supposed to get wine bottles if he’s living there?” I asked.
“You can ask me and if I want to, I just might let you have one,” he said, smirking.
I looked at Grandma and she shrugged.
I rolled my eyes.
Grandma served the boys eggs.
Jeneva came around the corner in her robe. She stopped when she saw our brother. “You’re here.”
“You’re so observant,” he quipped.
“I’m surprised you have the balls to show your face in this house again after Easter,” she said.
“Whatever.” He shoveled eggs in his mouth.
I raised an eyebrow. “What happened at Easter?”
“He programmed Alexa to play ‘Zanzibar’ by Billy Joel every time someone said his name,” she said, grabbing a coffee cup from the cabinet. “It took a week to figure out why it was doing it. We’re all traumatized.”
“That’ll teach you to talk shit about me when I’m not in the room,” he said, smiling sweetly. Then he looked at me. “You can have my old apartment I guess, but I want my bed back.”
“Fine. Good. Keeps me from having to call a hazmat team to come get it.”
Mom’s voice came sharply from down the hall. “I have work!”
“No, the office is closed today,” Dad said, calmly.
“It’s not! It’s Monday! Let go of me!”
I knew Dad was hugging her, trying to settle her, and she was struggling to break free. I knew because this back-and-forth happened every single morning since I got here.
Mom couldn’t remember that she didn’t work anymore. She just knew that it was the morning and she went to work in the morning. The truth confused her, so Dad always told her the same thing.
“It’s Presidents’ Day,” Dad said, from the other room.
It wasn’t. It was Groundhog Day. Not really, but basically.
There was some undistinguishable muttering, the rise of Mom’s voice asking a question, Dad reassuring her that there was no job to go to, Mom relaxing, him letting her go—then my parents came into the kitchen for breakfast. “Good morning,” Dad sang.
Then Mom saw Tristan. Her whole expression changed. “Tristan!”
“Hi, Mommy!” He jumped off his stool and hugged her and I watched her face over his shoulder, lit and happy.
Color in a gray world.
The lump bolted to my throat and I had to look at the collection of green blown glass on the windowsill over the sink to keep from sobbing.
I didn’t care that she remembered him. I was glad she did. I cared that she didn’t remember me .
What about me made me less permanent? Why did I fade to gray when everyone else was bright?
Dad came up behind me and gave my shoulders a squeeze like he knew what I was feeling. Maybe he did.
“So I was thinking we could all have a discussion about house rules,” Dad said, helping Mom onto the stool next to me.
“I was thinking the same thing,” Jeneva said, pouring herself a coffee. “We need to figure out a cleaning situation. Especially now,” she said, eyeing our brother. “We need to delegate meals too,” Jeneva said. “Groceries, all that stuff. Grandma can’t be doing all the cooking.”
“I don’t cook,” Tristan said.
“Yeah, we know, you’re useless,” Jeneva said. “You can buy dinner then. And not crap either. I’m not eating pizza twice a week because you suck.”
He feigned being offended and Jeneva batted her eyes at him.
“So no fast food?” Tristan asked.
“No.”
“What about El Pollo Loco?” he said, pursing his lips like he knew he had her.
“I could be agreeable to El Pollo Loco,” she said.
“Same,” Dad said.
“Me too,” I said reluctantly. “I like their beans.”
Grandma bobbed her head. “I’m fine with their food. Braden, Holden, do you like El Pollo Loco?”
My nephews nodded.
Mom did not voice an opinion and nobody asked her for one. Now she was gray.
“Mom? What do you think of El Pollo Loco?” I asked.
She gazed at me.
“Chicken,” I said. “For dinner.”
“Oh. I like chicken.”
I smiled and nodded. “Good. Then El Pollo Loco is on the approved list.”
She smiled a little. “That’s settled then.”
The corner of my lip twitched up.
Dad put a bib on her. He buttoned the back and then kissed the side of her head and went to get her a coffee. I studied her sitting there.
We spent a lot of time at my grandmother’s house as kids. We practically lived here in the summer. The room above the garage used to be the company office before they had to go bigger and rent a space. Mom would drop us off to stay with Grandma and Grandpa and Mom would sit right where she sat now to have coffee with her parents before work. She’d be perfect. Polished and made up.
I always thought Mom was the most beautiful woman in the world. I couldn’t wait to grow up and wear red lipstick and high-heeled shoes like she did—that was actually my nightmare now, but still.
Now she was void of color. Pale, washed out. Her hair hadn’t been dyed in probably a year. It was like you could see the moment she lost agency over herself by the amount of growth between the faded chestnut brown she liked to color it and the gray that had come in since.
“I want to do Mom’s makeup every morning,” I said.
Everyone stopped and looked at me.
Grandma blinked. “She doesn’t need it…”
“She does,” I said, looking at the faces peering back at me. “I’ll take it off at night. I think she deserves to look like she’d want to. Or like she would if she could. And I want to dye her hair too. Back to the color she used to do it.”
Jeneva sucked air through her teeth. “There’s no way she can go to a salon, Sam.”
“I’ll do it here.”
“I can do it,” Tristan said.
“ You’re going to dye Mom’s hair?” Jeneva said, skeptical.
“Uh, I have a cosmetology license?” Tristan said, like this was common knowledge.
“When did you get a—” I shook my head. “You know what, it doesn’t matter. You do the hair.”
Dad was nodding. “I bet she’d like that.”
I put my hand on her wrist. “Mom? What do you think about getting your hair done? Good idea?”
She seemed to mull it over. “Good idea.”
I smiled. “Okay. We’ll do it today.”
We spent the next half hour going over the family schedule.
Grandma would make breakfast every day. She liked doing it and she was a morning person, so it worked. We’d all pitch in for groceries, split four ways between the siblings and Dad. Jeneva took dinner on Mondays and Wednesdays, Tristan took Tuesday and Fridays, I took Thursday and Saturday and Dad took Sunday. We could swap days if we needed to.
It was a nice setup. The whole thing.
We all paid rent here, but it was a fraction of what we’d pay in the real world. The neighborhood was nice, and the place was more than big enough to fit us all.
It was what everyone needed.
Jeneva needed help with the boys. She was a single mom now. Tristan got to save money, I got to be with my family when my family needed me, Dad needed help with Mom, and Grandma needed help with the house.
She really needed help with the house.
My grandparents had bought it in 1975. Five bedrooms, five bathrooms, not counting the apartment over the garage. Three stories, a sunroom on the third floor that overlooked the yard, mature fruit trees, a pond.
And now it was deteriorating. Grandma didn’t have the funds or the people to maintain it.
It reminded me of Miss Havisham’s mansion in Great Expectations . A wealthy estate, frozen in time and crumbling.
There were remnants of some forgotten party still set up in the backyard. Tables and chairs and dusty catering pans, abandoned and left to rust. The carcass of a petrified broken pinata, still hanging from the limb of the big avocado tree, indistinguishable from whatever it used to be shaped like.
I loved this house, but I hated seeing what it had become. It was gray, like Mom’s world. And so ridiculously full of linoleum.
Maybe everyone being here would change that. The capable adults breathing life back into it like CPR.
“What do you guys think about doing some remodeling?” I asked.
Dad put his coffee to his lips. “The house does need it.”
“I agree,” my sister said.
Tristan nodded. “No offense, Grandma, but this place is giving 1962.”
Grandma slid onto a stool. “If you all want to do it, go ahead. I’m too old to deal with it. But how are you going to pay for it, though? I don’t exactly have money laying around.”
We all looked at each other.
“We could take out a home equity loan,” Dad said.
“Split the payments four ways?” Jeneva asked.
Tristan gave a dismissive shrug. “Fine.”
“I’m good with it,” I said.
Grandma nodded. “Well, I’m leaving the house to you kids. Whatever you put into it, you get back when you sell it—”
“I don’t want to sell it,” I said.
“Me either,” Jeneva said. “I want the boys to grow up here, like I did.”
We looked at our brother. He shrugged again. “I like having a place to crash.”
Grandma sipped her coffee. “Well, then whatever you put into it, you get to enjoy then. But it won’t be cheap.”
“It never is,” Dad said.
“We need to figure out a good time,” Jeneva said. “It’s going to be disruptive.”
“We’ll discuss,” Dad said, looking at his watch. “I have to get to work.” He stood and kissed Mom on the cheek.
My phone vibrated on the kitchen counter. I picked it up and looked at it. I did not expect what I saw.
It was Xavier.
“Oh my God…” I breathed.
Dad paused next to Mom.
Jeneva eyed me. “What?”
“It’s him .”
Tristan made a dramatic gasp.
“Who’s him?” Grandma asked.
“The hot vet guy from the UFO,” Tristan said.
“The one who gave her the hoodie she wears twenty-four seven,” Jeneva said.
“I don’t wear it twenty-four seven!” I said, literally wearing it.
“Answer it!” Tristan snapped.
I cleared my throat and hit the button. “Xavier…” I said, as calmly as possible.
“Hello.”
His warm voice felt like I was being wrapped in fleece.
“To what do I owe this phone call?” I asked, scurrying out of the kitchen to the living room. “Pooter’s poops are fine. Her butthole too. Unless you’re calling for something else.”
“I’d like to come see you,” he said without preamble.
I stopped dead in the living room. “You want to come see me?”
“Yes.”
I blinked. “ Why? ”
A pause. “I can come this weekend. Or the one after that,” he said. “Whatever works for you.”
My heart was pounding. “Why?” I asked again.
He was quiet on the other end. “Because I need to be in the same room as you,” he said. “Preferably one with a door that unlocks.”
I had to move the phone away from my mouth like he could see my goofy grin.
“Okay,” I said. “This weekend could work.”
“Okay.”
There was a smile in there.
“And bring me my lava lamp,” I said.
“Of course. I’ll text you with my flight time.”
We hung up.
I was smiling so big my face hurt.
“Giiiirl…” Tristan said from behind me.
I turned around. Everyone was standing in the dining room. Even Mom.
I put my hand on my hip. “How long were you there?”
“Long enough to hear you’ve got a penis flying in from Minnesota—” Tristan said.
“The boys!” Jeneva punched his shoulder, but they were both laughing.
I crossed my arms. “He is not a—You know what? Stay out of my business.”
“No,” my brother said.
“No,” Jeneva parroted him. Then Grandma, the boys, and Dad and Mom all said, “No.” Mom was probably just repeating what we were saying, but it was so funny the whole room started laughing.
I couldn’t help it. I laughed too.
And then I freaked out. He was coming the day after tomorrow.
And also, why was he coming? Like, I got the whole want to be in a room with you thing. I wanted to be in a room with him too. But what was the point? We were too far away to make anything of it.
I decided just for this weekend I wasn’t going to care.