Chapter 9
FLUORESCENT FLAMINGO
IVY
Glitter is the ultimate material on earth.
Think about it. What other substance can bring so much joy and so much irritation just by existing?
It goes in makeup and hair and on clothes and makes us feel like shining, sparkly tree fairies flitting about, causing happiness and mischief, but drop some in the wrong place or around some poor, unsuspecting fool and, well…
They don’t call glitter the herpes of the craft world for nothing. It’s damn near impossible to get rid of that shit.
Which is why I have so much of it stored in Delilah’s bag right now, ready to wreak havoc on every inch of Earl’s home.
“Alright, should we tag team this bitch or split up?” I ask, catching Delilah in the corner of my eye.
She’s standing perfectly still, staring into the open room like she’s seen a ghost or something, and it occurs to me that this is the first time she’s been back in the home she shared with Earl since she caught him cheating.
She was with me when we came to pick up her stuff, but she stayed in the car while I packed everything up.
“Hey,” I say softly, crossing the room. “It’s okay, Lilah. We don’t have to do this. We can go. Or if you want to wait in the car, I can leave the glitter bombs and then we’ll be done with this.” I move to take her bag with our supplies, but when my hand brushes hers, she flinches and pulls away.
“No, no. I’m fine. It’s not…let’s split up. We’ll get done faster, and then we can be out of here. Don’t want to get caught by the nosy neighbors, right?”
Wasn’t she the one who was telling me not five minutes ago that we don’t have to worry about nosy neighbors? I arch a brow, but decide not to push as she unloads the compostable bags filled with biodegradable glitter we made last week.
I might hate Earl, but I love the environment, and while I’m perfectly okay with littering Earl’s life with the microplastics found in real glitter, Mother Earth doesn’t deserve to suffer, too.
We slink through the house, hiding glitter in every crevice we can manage.
Anywhere Earl sits, stands, eats, or even pisses is no longer safe.
The entire house is a ticking glitter bomb by the time we’re finished.
No amount of vacuuming will ever rid him of the shine.
Even every vent in his car has been filled with glitter, just waiting for him to turn on the air conditioning and get blasted.
Since we’re here, I make a few switches in the kitchen that will be imperceptible to Earl’s naked eyes.
I also conduct a chemistry experiment or two in the bathroom, mixing substances in his shampoo bottle that are sure to give results that will delight the man.
I also decide that I don’t love the smell of Earl’s home anymore, so I shove some fruit under the furniture.
It’ll take about a week for the apples and pears to rot, but the resulting stench and fruit fly invasion will be so worth the wait.
“Are you sure you don’t want to order the beehive and hide it under the bed, Lilah?”
“Tempting. But Earl is allergic to bees. A hive under the bed will probably kill him.”
“All the more reason to do it. In fact, let's order two just in case.”
“How did you go from being nervous to drive down the street to attempted murder?”
“Please,” I say with a dismissive flick of my hand. “It would be manslaughter at best. And besides, I can be nervous and homicidal at the same time. Women contain multitudes.”
“You’re evil,” Delilah laughs, shaking her head. We sneak out of the house as quietly as we arrived, and pride thrums in my chest.
“Oh! One last thing!” I hop towards the kitchen, opening the wine fridge Earl had installed next to the dishwasher. Bro doesn’t even drink wine; he just likes to collect expensive bottles to show off to his shitty friends. Fortunately for me, he has wonderful taste in the wine he never drinks.
I pull out the most expensive-looking bottle of red and hold it up between Delilah and me, waggling my eyebrows.
“You’re stealing his wine?” she asks, sounding exasperated despite the sly smirk on her lips.
“Whatever. He’s not going to drink it.”
“Neither will I!” Delilah exclaims, pointing at her stomach.
“Not for a few months. But once that baby is earthside, you and I are going to celebrate.” I tuck the bottle under the crook of my arm
By day’s end, Phase One of Operation Goodbye Earl will be complete.
“Ivy, grab the bottle of Chardonnay from the fridge and a couple of glasses, will you? I think we girls deserve a treat.”
Delilah looks up from where she’s setting the salad bowl on the table, panic in her eyes.
She hasn’t told her parents or Sadie that she’s pregnant yet and even though I’ve been encouraging her to get a move on since she’s well into her second trimester and already showing under her flowy dresses, I can’t force her to admit the truth before she’s ready.
I, however, have been having a hard time keeping my mouth shut. It’s a good thing I don’t have any living family of my own left because I would have blabbed the news to everyone by now. The Lilith I’m about to be his worst damn nightmare.
“Earl,” Delilah hisses over my shoulder. I didn’t notice her coming up behind me, but now I can’t not feel her presence like electricity radiating off a live wire between us. “Keep your voice down. Your daughter is inside.”
Earl tries to inch forward, shoving an arm through the crack in the door. I push further, trapping him between the mahogany and the frame.
“Watch yourself, you piece of shit.”
“You watch yourself, you fucking whore,” he spits, followed by a few choice slurs aimed at my sexuality.
I let them roll right off my back because I’ve always refused to let a man’s opinion of me get me down.
It takes a small man to shit all over a strong woman, and Earl here is the tiniest of them all.
“Earl, let’s talk outside,” Delilah says, her voice breaking.
“Absolutely not,” I say, trying to decide if I should lighten my hold on the door so I can slam it in Earl’s face or push harder and hope his limp noodle arm gets cut right in half.
“Delilah, I know you did this. Glitter? Seriously? You’re a fucking child. What are you going to do next, put salt in my sugar bowl?”
Heh. Guess he didn’t make coffee today, because that’s already been done.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Earl.”
“That’s not my fucking name! It’s the Earl to you. THE fucking Earl. Fucking call me by my fucking name, bitch!” Earl tries to lunge again, but I throw my weight into the door. Fuck it, he can live without an arm. And once the door cuts it off, I’m going to beat him with the loose appendage.
A rough hand on my shoulder gently pushes me out of the way.
Henry is there, his face a terrifying sea of calm rage that I’ve never seen before.
He nudges the door open with his hip, and when Earl tries to push past him, he carefully but forcefully grabs the man by his salmon pink polo collar and lifts him to his tiptoes.
“Listen to me, you rat bastard piece of human garbage,” Henry says in a voice so calm and slow, I might mistake him for an undercover assassin.
“I’ve put up with your shit for years because my daughter chose you.
Some of us actually know a thing or two about being a supportive father.
But now Delilah is done with you, which means I’m done with you.
Now I don’t know what the heck crawled up your butt and made you think it was a good idea to come here and interrupt the dinner I was enjoying with my wife, daughters, and granddaughter, but you best get to digging that roach out because you’re done here.
You want to talk to Delilah? You call me, you call her lawyer, hell, you call God himself if you think it’ll help.
But what you don’t do is show up here at my home ever again unless you want the business end of my boot shoved so far up your ass you could lick the bottom, you hear me, boy? ”
Never in my life have I been attracted to a man, and I definitely see Henry as nothing more than a father figure—I didn’t miss the way he said daughters, not daughter, after all—but that scene he just pulled off?
Hell, I see why he and Suzanne have such a happy marriage. That was objectively very hot.
Henry lets go of Earl’s collar, and he stumbles back, nearly tripping on the porch step in his haste to get away from the door.
“Don’t forget about the paternity test, Delilah. You think you’re getting a dime from me after you and your crazy fucking family pull this shit? Fuck this, I’m out of here.”
Earl half-jogs back to his Mustang—the one he calls a classic since it was built in the nineties but is actually just a hunk of steel junk—and I smirk, knowing that the quarter-pound of Tennessee ham we hid under the passenger’s seat is going to start stinking about his stupid Vanilla Ice-ass sports car any day now.
“That asshole wants a paternity test for Sadie?” Henry fumes, slamming the door shut behind him.
I turn to see Delilah staring at her father with wide eyes, Sadie on Suzanne’s hip a few paces back.
My little girl has tears in her eyes, looking impossibly small in her grandmother’s arms, and the sight makes my heart shatter in my chest.
“Not exactly,” Delilah murmurs. “I’m…well…uh…”
I take Delilah by the hand and squeeze her palm in mine.
“Delilah is pregnant. We’re having a baby.”