Undead and Unwed

Chapter 8 The Escape from the Big City Trope

You’ll need a travel coffin,” Vlad said.

I peered through a gap in the blinds at Heaven’s car, an adorable VW bug in lime green.

A statue of a naked woman with hips that would put the Kardashians to shame, plus the generous belly and thighs to match, was Sticky Tacked to the dashboard.

She had told me that her car ran on “goddess power.”

“At the very least, you need a panel van, something dark where you can keep her contained.”

“A kidnapper van. Just what I always wanted.”

Heaven’s car might as well be an iridescent green bubble blown from a toddler’s bubble wand. It shouted for attention and couldn’t fit all the luggage I intended to bring, let alone a coffin.

“You can’t have her getting loose at gas stations,” Vlad cautioned. It was hard to imagine Heaven chasing down some unsuspecting dad pumping gas while listening to Kai Ryssdal on Marketplace, but he was right. Heaven was going to be thirsty.

First task: Get a new car in the next couple of hours. But how do you even buy a car? I only bought things for less than $50 that could change my life, like face wash. One of those car vending machines was appealing, but they probably didn’t have hearses or panel vans.

My brain just couldn’t do this. I might as well try to relate to middle schoolers. There weren’t any neural pathways developed in the car or money-management regions of my brain. If you asked me to bake a loaf of bread or heft a bale of hay, I was your girl. But a car loan? Forget it.

New plan: Pack for Heaven and think about car shopping after.

Heaven’s place was filled with even more crap than my apartment, but was neat as a pin.

Boxes and trays of crystals, more tea than one person could possibly ever drink, and used furniture draped with pink and gold scarves.

On the wall behind the couch, she’d painted a mural of a sunrise. She was not getting her deposit back.

A chunky knit turtleneck and miniskirt in fall colors with tights and glasses was hanging over her closet door. Her Velma costume had cozy, Vermont vibes, so I threw it in a duffel along with a random selection of clothes, several nostalgia T-shirts, and her phone charger.

The pantry was stacked with enough Kirkland brand organic coconut water to get through the apocalypse.

Some guy at Plasma4Life had once told me you could use it in a pinch for a blood transfusion.

It was low in sodium, high in potassium, and osmotically neutral, whatever that meant. We’d find out soon. It was coming with.

For a moment, I imagined myself walking into a coffee shop in Vermont and ordering a grande dragonfruit drink without the dragonfruit or the syrup.

The barista would pour coconut water into a plastic cup and write my name on it.

Tiffany Amanda Blair, a girl with a signature drink at Starbucks, moving to a small town to rehabilitate an inn. I could be just like everyone else.

Next on my list: Deal with Gemma. Back in my apartment, I unzipped the slipcover and held Heaven’s phone up to her sleeping face.

Nothing happened.

Glasses! I found a cute pair of oversized tortoiseshell cat-eyes under the coffee table.

When I slipped them on her face, bingo. The phone unlocked.

I headed back to her place again for cute earrings because I wasn’t a monster.

As I rifled through her eight million bangles and oversized earrings, I grabbed a few handfuls of the rocks she was so fond of, and sent a message to Gemma.

Heaven: don’t come over. i need space.

All I needed was for her to stay out of my way for one night, for her own good.

Heaven: could u watch Professor Parakeet? leaving town for a bit

Gemma: really? ur breaking up with me and asking me to watch your stupid bird?

Heaven: yep. thanks!

Let’s be honest, Heaven was better off.

A Google search turned up ten used hearses for sale in Los Angeles. I called the first number.

“I’m interested in the Cadillac hearse with 149,000 miles. I have a very cute green Volkswagen Beetle I could trade in.” Sorry, Heaven.

“It’s available.”

“You don’t know how happy I am to hear that!” The words tumbled out in relief. “Could you deliver it to my apartment tonight?”

“What the fuck, lady. You murder someone?”

A cold chill ran up my spine.

“Just use a trunk like a normal person.” He hung up.

A trunk! I would not be putting Heaven in a trunk.

I called Vlad.

He didn’t even wait for me to finish the story. “Start packing. I’ll send a car.”

“No, that’s too much. I was just looking for some car-buying tips.”

“Look, I’d rather send a car than bail you out of jail tomorrow or, even worse, try to break you out before sunrise,” Vlad said briskly. “Take the car.”

Why was he always right?

“I’ll pay you back,” I said.

“Just get out of town.” Softly, he said, “Tiffenie. I worry about you.”

Two hours later, a guy in a shiny track suit pulled up in a sky-blue hearse painted with fluffy white clouds. The side door read Happily ever after funeral home.

Hmm…it was going to take me a minute to process that one. So much optimism for death.

“You Tiffany?” the guy asked, in a heavy Bronx accent.

“Yes, that’s me.”

“You need help loading a package in this thing?”

“Um, I guess.” From the way he said package it seemed like he meant body.

Upstairs, he wrapped Heaven more tightly in her burrito-style double wrap and eyed me skeptically. In a gruff voice, he asked, “Can you help me carry her down the stairs or do I need to get a guy over?”

“I’m stronger than I look,” I said.

“What’s the camera situation outside? I’m sure there’s footage of her coming in here, but you don’t want a video of her being carried out.”

There was only one cheap camera covering the stairs and our doors. I hit it with some organic avocado oil spray from Heaven’s apartment.

He snickered. “I was thinking black spray paint, but I guess that’ll work. Nothing to say that murder and healthy living don’t go together.”

Awkwardly, we carried Heaven down the stairs, her fluffy slippers poking out from the couch cover. When we were done, we stared down at the paisley pattern while he caught his breath.

“If you’re not up to it, I’ll dispose of her, but that’d be an extra charge.”

I clasped my hand to my heart. “No! This is my friend.” Well, technically, my neighbor with benefits, the benefits being a parking spot and blood swap. I grasped her hand through the slipcover.

“This must be your first time.”

I sighed and nodded. “It was an accident.”

“It’ll be fine. Tomorrow you’ll have some avocado toast and a latte and the world will look the same.”

I looked up into the eyes of this gangster’s helper, or whatever he was. “You’re right, Gary. Tomorrow will be a new day.” Or night, as the case may be. I was moving to Vermont with my dead neighbor in the back seat. It was a move. Maybe not the move, but a move nonetheless.

“My name’s not Gary.”

“What is it?”

“No names.” He glanced up at my apartment. “Vlad said you were skipping town. You need help with the rest of this?”

“Really?”

“Yep. I don’t pull no legs.”

So a guy who wasn’t named Gary, who believed he was helping me dispose of a body, packed a woman I sort of knew into a sky-blue hearse along with three centuries’ worth of knickknacks, a duffel bag of Rainbow Brite T-shirts, and Cat, mewling in a panic in her carrier.

Standing in the doorway, I took in my apartment for the last time.

The slatted light from the parking lot reached all the way to the back wall, exposing all of the imperfections and dust I’d let build up.

The place somehow looked even smaller without my things.

I’d lived here for years. I’d made a home here, or at least, I’d tried to.

So why wasn’t my heart breaking? The Germans probably had a word to describe the absence of feeling when leaving a place that should be beloved.

Maybe the feelings would come later. They probably had a word for that, too.

With Cat protesting loudly, I started up my brand-new car, typed Valentine, Vermont into my map app, picked a route, and hit Drive.

Like my hearse said, Happily Ever After, here I come.