Faster on My Own: Chapter 2
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When they got home, both of them were hungry. Steven pulled the menu of the pizza place down the street from beneath the cartoon Loch Ness Monster magnet– Caroline’s, of course– and retrieved a cold beer from the fridge. The first savory gulp hit his empty stomach like napalm. A quick burst of nausea rose to meet it, but through the agony in his ribs and back he held his core tight, telling his body that Steven was in charge, and it must submit to his discipline. “What do you think, extra-large so there’s enough for breakfast?”
“No, the fridge isn’t cold enough.” Caroline flopped onto the couch and immediately stacked all the throw pillows on top of her body. “Get a large.” Her head poked through the mound of pillows to observe the mail she was sorting through. Each pointless envelope and postcard fluttered to the ground, joining fallen brethren in neglect until one day in the distant future, when the pile would meet its fate. A couple, though, were chosen. They made it to the table, exalted and liable to face evisceration much sooner. “There’s one for you. How about mushrooms?”
“No way. Mushrooms don’t taste like anything.”
“Sure they do. They taste like mushrooms.”
“You’re thinking of a texture. Tell me what mushrooms taste like without referring to them. You can’t. It doesn’t exist. Do you want the cheesy garlic bread?”
“Okay. Fine. What does cheese taste like?”
Steven flapped the menu against his hand. “It’s got a sort of savory, you know, look you’re not asking that sincerely, so I don’t have to answer it. You’re just trying to prove a point. Everyone knows that cheese tastes like something. I’m getting onions and vegan sausage. Sound good?”
Caroline nodded and retreated back into her pillow mound, but after Steven placed the order, he noticed she was waving a letter back and forth. When he plucked it from her hand, his mother’s name on the return address urged him to put it back in Caroline’s hand, walk out the door, and stay away until the letter disappeared in the clutter. But he was holding it, the pizza was coming, and he had no choice but to tear it open and let his mother’s inane message wash over him, right after he slipped the enclosed check down his sleeve for safe keeping.
Dear Steven,
I hope you’re well. Thanksgiving wasn’t the same without you. Just like the last one, and the one before that. I told everyone that you took some time on a fishing boat. For all I know, that’s the truth, and you won’t see this letter for months. Even though it impressed your uncle Marvin, I hope that you’re not. It’s far too dangerous a job for you. Anyway, you haven’t been missing much at home. Your father works all the time, still. His company is doing well. You probably knew that, if you check the stock prices. I’ve been busy with my foundation. We sent a thousand goats to a village in Africa, but it turned out they already had goats, so we had to send them to disadvantaged families in Philadelphia. It was a tiny bit embarrassing, but we all had such a great laugh about it! Amy’s expecting her second child. It would mean so much to her if you would come by some time to meet her new child and Braden, who’s almost four now. Ben just got promoted. He’s the youngest VP in the history of Procter & Gamble. I wish you were around to celebrate with us. You were always so great at celebrating. Please write me back if you receive this. We all miss you.
With love,
Mom.
While he was reading, Caroline had once again emerged from the pillows and slithered up behind Steven’s shoulder, greedy eyes stealing words from his letter. He snatched it away from her gaze, tore it to shreds, and stalked away before the questions could follow. She’d seen the envelope, seen enough letters from her to guess that she was a family member. Alone in the dark of their bedroom, Steven tried to concoct a lie. He had a penpal, they primarily discussed what it was like to have such a common last name. He sent those letters to himself, to create a fictitious past to any FBI agents that were spying on him. Instead of coming up with a third, he parted the curtains and let the city lights into the dark. It was fine. He had a mother. Most people did.
When he emerged from the room, Caroline sat on the couch between the pillows, which she’d stacked into two equal columns. Four on the right, four on the left. No room for Steven. Caroline cleared her throat. Despite all of this being Steven’s business, and Steven’s privacy being invaded, Caroline must’ve gotten it into her head that she was the one with the right to speak. “I’m sorry. Reading over your shoulder was rude. Inconsiderate. Whichever word you want to use, I’ll admit to.”
“Yes, it was.”
“Which one?”
“Rude.”
“Okay, yes, but you never tell me anything. How am I even supposed to know you have a mother?” Caroline gestured toward the shreds of paper gathered on the coffee table. He’d left them on the floor, scattered among the crumbs. It wouldn’t surprise him to learn that Caroline tried to piece it back together. Curiosity was a hungry little guy, and it would be hard for her to resist feeding him, but the shreds overlapped at random, nowhere near the order which would make them comprehensible. Steven chose trust, though he held it with a loose grip.
He sat on the coffee table across from her. Looking her directly in the eyes was difficult sometimes; they were huge and reminded him of being caught in a spotlight. The mouth or forehead were always safer places to rest his attention. “I do have a mother. She wants me to come home. But my family is evil. Big time evil. So I don’t talk to them, or about them, and I don’t take anything from them. I’m not hiding anything from you. I’m hiding from them, okay?”
Caroline nodded, and disassembled the pillows back into their usual arrangement cluttering the couch. With harmony restored, the two could share the couch, a pizza, a bed, and the restless sleep an unjust world demands.