Chapter Three
Should I have waited to quit my job until the next morning? Or maybe even a few days later? Yes. Would I have chickened out if I hadn’t just done the damn thing? Also, yes.
So, when I woke up, I was immediately grateful to my former rash self while simultaneously freaking the fuck out over hitting the self-destruct button on my whole life with zero backup plan.
While I double-checked and triple-checked the pool house for any last-minute things I might have left behind, Marlon snoozed in the backyard. The gardener, Sammy, tended to the raised vegetable beds that Brody had envisioned but never actually maintained himself.
I eyed the comforter and the pillows once more.
Brody had outfitted the place with his parents in mind, but they rarely came to visit.
They were farming people and had Brody late in middle age.
They never really had a grasp on him or his life out here.
I had probably been the first person to actually sleep on these sheets.
In fact, without me and Marlon, this bed would be collecting dust. We’d done him a favor in a sense.
I reached under the bathroom sink for a trash bag.
“For Marlon,” I whispered under my breath as I stuffed the sheets into the trash bag to take with me.
Slinging the bag over my shoulder and with my laptop tucked under my arm, I locked the pool house door behind me.
Sammy, a Deadhead whose long silver braid reached down the length of her spine, tossed a piece of lettuce to Marlon. “I can’t believe you’re really leaving.”
“It’s time,” I said in a cool tone, like I wasn’t smuggling obscenely high-thread-count sheets on my back and making the rashest decision I’d made . . . well, ever. “Going to drop the bedding off to be laundered on my way out.”
Sammy turned back to her work with a shrug. I could have a sack full of cash and she wouldn’t care.
After putting the trash bag in my front seat, I ran inside to leave the pool house key on the kitchen island for Brody’s future army of hot little part-time assistants.
Because old habits die hard, I sifted through the mail on the counter and organized it into the usual piles before opening a box marked FRAGILE.
Under layers of Bubble Wrap and tissue paper and encased in foam was a tall cylindrical glass award. The shiny gold plaque was engraved with Brody’s name and below that: The Outstanding Ally Award.
I snorted. Sure.
A small white card inside read:
Brody,
Thank you for your tireless efforts on behalf of menstrual equity. We know you’re a busy man, and understand you couldn’t accept this award in person, but please know how much we value you as a humanitarian and ally.
—The EveryBODY Project
I repacked the award with a grunt. Brody never would have won this award if I hadn’t organized the period product fund and drive for him after he got dragged for laughing when a podcast host asked him if his moody costar was constantly on “the rag.”
The man just signed the checks! I was the one who saved the day.
My brain didn’t even need to process the decision. I left the pool house keys on the counter and took the box with me before scooping up Marlon. This was my award.
I waved goodbye to Sammy and buckled Marlon into his car seat in the back of my car.
Stealing the award meant reorganizing the floorboard contents a bit, so I pulled out a stack of things and set them on the trunk of my car in order to fit the box in the back seat.
“Are you really leaving without giving me a hug?” Sammy asked.
I wasn’t a touchy person. Not because it made me claustrophobic, but because, as much as I hated myself for it, I had a hard time not overthinking about what it felt like for other people to touch my body and feel the lumps and rolls that I told myself my clothing disguised.
Even with Brody, he had to fight me to leave the lights on at times. I recoiled a little at the thought. What if Brody had just been a chubby chaser? Maybe I was just a dirty little secret kink to him.
God, why couldn’t my brain just shut the hell up? I knew better than to buy into any of that.
Sammy stood there with a basket full of freshly picked produce. “Take this. At least you won’t have to run out to the grocery store first thing at your new place.”
“Thanks,” I said, and wedged the basket on top of the box. I didn’t have the heart to tell her that there was no new place. Yet.
Sammy held out her arms and I stepped toward her with the intention of a one-armed hug.
People weren’t always good at hugging fat bodies.
There was lots of patting or half-hearted efforts, but not with Sammy.
I never knew her that well other than that she always smelled like soil and weed, and she had two pet ferrets named Ben and Jerry, but damn, she gave great hugs.
“Brody will be lost without you,” she said. “But I’m so happy for you. On to bigger things, kiddo! Such great news about that script of yours. You must be delighted.”
My gut twisted. On to bigger things. Right. “Yeah, I’m pretty excited. I better get going,” I told her. “The pear tree you ordered should be here next Tuesday.”
She gave me a thumbs-up as I got into the car and drove down the driveway.
I watched in the rearview mirror as she waved her hands over her head. One last goodbye. So sweet. If I weren’t such a mess at the moment, I might have regretted not getting to know her better, because wow, was she sad to see me go.
The Wunderkind
Written by Vera Stein
DRAFT 1
October 8, 2007
Advanced Screenwriting
Dr. Von Jacques
INT. COFFEE SHOP—DAY
He’s not just making coffee—he’s conducting symphonies in steamed milk. He is an awful and chaotic barista.
POPPY (V.O.)
I didn’t believe in fate until he misspelled my name on a cup and made it sound better.