3. What Is Normal?
What Is Normal?
For the past few days, I’ve loved falling asleep half-dressed next to Ann with a horror movie murmuring in the background.
I’ve loved waking up beside her in the too-narrow bed, and even grown fond of the same-yet-different breakfasts her dad makes each morning, and him pretending not to notice what we’re up to every night.
What I can’t stand is the awkward way she and her dad tiptoe around the secrets we’re all pretending not to keep.
I know he realizes there’s more to us than just a digital artist and her half-monster book editor girlfriend living out of a van.
As much as I wish I could come clean, it’s not my secret to tell.
Ann wants him to move closer to Al, to our home base.
I know it’s for his protection, but sooner or later, he’ll figure out we’re doing exactly what he feared most when he left Florida.
“Can I get you any more tea?”
Tom’s voice cuts through my anxious thoughts as I sit at the kitchen island, prodding a plate of flapjacks.
“Oh, no. I’m good,” I stammer.
“Still shocked you don’t like coffee,” he says, picking up his mug. “I figured everyone in your industry practically lives on the stuff.”
“Yeah, never acquired the taste,” I reply. “Not unless it’s in a bowl of sugar.”
He gives a polite smile at my joke, but doesn’t seem interested. Instead, he glances at the front door, probably checking if Ann is still getting the mail, before turning back to me.
“I’m still grateful for you both saving me. All that stuff in Florida was… well, I’m grateful.”
I force a nervous smile, unsure where this is headed as he glances toward the door again.
“But are you two still dealing with…” He pauses, then lowers his voice. “Monsters?”
I freeze, my fork hovering as I scramble for what to say.
“What? Why would you ask that?”
“I’m sorry, I’m not trying to put you on the spot. It’s just…” He trails off, straightening with a sigh. “Ann and I were never the best communicators. If we had been, I bet a lot of that stuff wouldn’t have happened.”
My lips press into a tight line as I think about how bad things got, and how grateful I am that they led me to Ann. Tom catches my expression and suddenly looks embarrassed.
“Oh, no, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that,” he says quickly.
“No, it’s okay,” I say, trying to reassure him.
“No, it’s not. Just pretend I didn’t say anything.” He pauses, then adds, “But if you are… please take care of her. I can’t lose her, too.”
I just stare, overwhelmed by a storm of emotions inside me.
The absurdity of Ann needing saving is intertwined with the pain of everything that has happened.
It’s not just the monster hunting or the lies; in this moment, it feels like even Tom thinks I’m the one dragging Ann down this path.
We both know Ann; no one can make her do anything.
However, I can’t shake the feeling that she deserves better than whatever comes next when our time here ends.
Just like I also understand that Tom may never stop worrying about losing another daughter.
Tom looks like he's about to say something else, but the thought is quickly cut off as Ann walks back in through the front door. “It finally came!”
She waves around two envelopes with Southeast Bank branding and hands me one. “We finally have money again.”
I force a laugh, trying to bury the lingering ache as I open the envelope and fish out my new debit card.
“You know you can put those on your phone now, right?” Tom says in an unexpected reversal of generational tech savvy.
“Yeah, but they usually prefer you have the physical card when you do it.” Ann snipes back.
“How did you lose your cards again?” Tom asks.
I blurt out, “Fishing,” at the exact moment Ann says, “Camping.”
We glance at each other, both turning red. Ann jumps in, “My backpack—it fell out of our canoe during our camping trip. Yeah.”
“Yeah,” I reply.
“Yeah,” Tom says dryly, as if we haven’t just confirmed every suspicion he’s ever had.
“Whatever,” Ann huffs. “Point is, we have them now, and it’s time for some shopping!”
I can’t help but smile at the promise of normalcy as Tom slides a set of keys across the counter. “Why don’t you take the truck?”
“No, what if you need it?” Ann protests.
“For what? I'm just going to watch the game,” Tom shoots back.
“Guess I could take the van in for a once-over while we are out,” I say.
“That's the spirit,” Tom says as he starts walking towards the den.
Ann just shrugs. About an hour later, I’ve dropped the van at the only mechanic Tom trusts, and we’re pulling up to a chain mall built over what used to be Ann’s favorite old strip mall.
“Holy shit, they did get rid of it,” Ann whispers in disappointment. “You could get literally anything at Five Palms Plaza.”
“Define anything,” I tease. The look she gives back isn't teasing. “All right, anything. I believe you.”
We park and head for one of the main entrances. Just as I’m about to open the door, something catches my eye in the glass: a vintage white Cadillac cruising past behind us. It looks strangely familiar, though I can’t place why.
“You good?” Ann asks.
“Yeah, sorry, I was just. I thought I saw something.”
“Something like monster something?” she asks, scanning the parking lot.
The idea that monstrous bullshit might ruin our desperately needed retreat leaves me flustered. “No, just, honestly, it's nothing.”
“Okay.” She grips the door handle. “Let's see what fresh hell they turned this place into.”
We head inside, and the mall is exactly as cookie-cutter as we expected: Foot Locker, Auntie Anne’s Pretzels, even a Spencer’s.
It’s so cold compared to the outside that Ann asks to wear my jacket over her sweater, and I hand it over without hesitation.
She wears it like armor. For a moment, everything feels perfectly, wonderfully normal.
At one end of the mall, we find a bookshop nestled amongst the chain stores. As we walk past, Ann tugs at my arm, “Wanna go in? See how your editing work looks on display?”
I keep pulling her past with a sly smile, “No work, we are supposed to be on vacation.”
We keep walking until we stumble across a consignment shop called You Are What You Wear. Ann lights up with excitement, though I’m not sure why—until we step inside and she spots the person behind the register. Then I understand.
“Melissa!” Ann squeals.
“Annie?” The thin brunette squeals back.
Melissa comes around the counter, and the two practically lunge at each other while I try to make sense of the scene.
Growing up, I moved around too much to make a lot of friends, let alone have ones that would greet me like this.
Being part monster didn't help with that either.
So I'm truly at a loss for what to do other than stand there and hope I don't embarrass myself.
Ann grabs my wrist and pulls me close. “This is my girlfriend, Shay!”
“Oh. Oh! I had no clue!” Melissa's mild surprise turns back into excitement as she asks me a flood of questions about our relationship that quickly turns to static in my ears. The entire time, I'm inwardly panicking, worried about what to say, what I could say, that won't draw suspicion.
“Calm down, calm down!” Ann interrupts. “Not everyone's ready for your unique charm, Melissa.”
“Well, if you're not here to show off your girlfriend, then why are you here?” Melissa asks, then eyes Ann's outfit. “Hoping to sell that ratty jacket?”
I go pale just as Ann looks more offended than I think I've ever seen her. “I'm not selling my girlfriend's jacket!”
Melissa goes pale too, until Ann smiles to show there are no hard feelings. They fall right back into animated conversation, leaving me on the outside again. It hasn’t been long, but it feels like an eternity until I finally tug on Ann’s sleeve like a nervous kid to get her attention.
“I think I'm going to go look for a new dress,” I tell her.
“Okay,” she says with a worried look before turning back to Melissa. “It was good catching up.”
“No, why don't you stay. Keep talking,” I assure her.
“Are you sure?” Ann says with concern.
Every part of me is screaming no. Obviously, I want to grab her by the hand and drag her back to her room so I can have her all to myself. But that wouldn't be fair, or normal. So I swallow my pride and just nod.
“Okay, meet in the food court in like 30?” Ann asks.
“That's actually when I go on break,” Melissa says.
“Great!” Ann says.
“Great,” I add.
I don’t linger. I leave the shop and scan the mall for any fast-fashion place that might have a cheap cocktail dress.
The whole time, the scene I just left replays in my head, tangled with Tom’s words, and I can’t help worrying about what kind of life I’m offering the girl of my dreams, and what kind of life I'm depriving her of.
It doesn't take me long to find a shop. I head inside, moping as I do so.
I know Ann loves me, I know she's not going to leave me, or anything like that, and that's what scares me.
I know she'd follow me to the literal end of the earth because she already has, but since we got to her old house, all I've seen are reminders of who she was and the life she is throwing away to chase after me.
And again, I'm scared I'm leading her down the wrong path.
It feels like I'm caught in a whirlwind of ghosts, some of whom I created, all of whom are judging me on what I can offer Ann. And so I return to the point of this whole vacation: if I can just give her a break from monsters, if I can just give her normal, then I'll know it will be okay.
I recover enough to grab a few dresses off the racks, go to the changing room, and try them on. They're a little looser than I like, but I imagine they'll get the job done.