Surviving Valencia (9 page)

When Adrian and I got back to Madison from Hudson, I started packing to go home to Savannah. Suspiciously needing privacy from me, Adrian had called Alexa while I went in to use a bathroom at a gas station on our drive back and she had booked a flight leaving the next day. I wondered what he had said that had made her evacuate in such a hurry. Normally, we allowed our visits to overlap on one end or the other for a day or two so the three of us could catch up.

“Is Alexa upset to be getting kicked out of our house with so little notice?” I asked as we sat by the window in her foyer, waiting for the taxi to take us to the airport.

“No. She’s fine with it.”

“What did you tell her that made her rush off?”

He raised his eyebrows at me. “Rush off?”

“Don’t be sensitive.”

“
I’m
not. I didn’t tell her anything except that you had just visited your family and were acting a little weird. I said you needed to go home to your own house. We’ve been at each other’s houses for almost two weeks, it wasn’t like she was surprised that we wanted to come home.”

“Why did you call her when I was in the gas station?”

He sighed and shook his head. “Because… it was something to do while I waited for you to use the bathroom? Am I in trouble?”

“No.”

“Well it was beginning to feel like I was.”

“Did she have trouble switching her ticket?” I asked.

“I’m sure it wasn’t a problem,” he said, turning from me and removing a book from the side pocket of his carry-on bag. He found where he had left off and started to read. I hate it when he gets suddenly absorbed in something like his art, or a book, just to end a conversation.

We sat there in silence.

“The taxi is here,” I informed him.

He closed his book and picked up our bags.

“Is the kitty going to be okay?” I don’t know why I asked that. I wasn’t a big fan of Alexa’s cat normally, but in that moment I was concerned, watching him cowering pathetically beneath an end table.

“Alexa will be home in a few hours,” he said.

“What if her plane crashes?”

“Open the door before the taxi takes off without us.”

“What if her plane crashes?” I asked again, opening the door.

“I would be sad, and you would be the proud owner of a cat. Let’s go.”

We closed the door and got in the taxi while the driver loaded our bags into the trunk. Adrian took my hand and kissed my knuckles, “Alexa is going to be fine. So is the kitty. I know you’re thinking about your family, and that’s why you worry about these things. But you don’t have to worry. Everyone is going to be fine.” He kissed my hand again and put his arm around me, squeezing me tight. “Relax, Honey. I hate to see you sad.”

“I’m not thinking about my family. I am thinking about the cat,” I said.

“Okay,” he said, patting my arm.

I put my head on his shoulder and closed my eyes.

The first thing I did when we boarded the plane was order a Bloody Mary. Bloody Marys seem like an airplane drink to me. Adrian covered me up with the meager blanket the airline provided and tucked it around me like I was a child. I pushed it down away from my mouth as he turned off the small fan blowing above our heads.

“I’m not cold, Honey,” I told him.

“Your mother told me something when you were at the cemetery.”

Unease swept over me. I wriggled away from the blanket so I could breathe better.

“Oh, what’s that?” I asked him, raising my eyebrows just a bit, hoping I appeared only mildly curious.

“She said you used to have a problem with stealing.” He laughed and shook his head. “Is that true? I mean, she was wasted when she told me that.”

“Wasted?” I asked, changing the subject back to her problems instead of my own.

“Well, she’d had a lot to drink.”

“Really, that is kind of low of you,” I said. “I mean, mocking my poor mother.”

He stiffened. “Are you serious?
Your poor mother?
Since when can’t we just talk how we want to talk?”

“Could you keep it down?” I whispered. “I was joking. Obviously.”

He looked away and I looked out the window.

“Is it true?” he asked me after awhile.

“Of course it’s not true.”

“She said you buried things.”

“This is absurd. You were both drinking and it must have been a misunderstanding. I mean, really, Adrian. She sang that song about the cherries. Why would you take anything she said seriously?”

“It didn’t seem like the kind of story that could be made up.”

“Anything could be made up.”

“She said that you used to steal things and bury them for the twins.”

“Bury them. For the twins. Umm no.”

“Then why would she say that you did?”

“I have no idea. You know, I wasn’t three years old when they died. I was old enough to understand what was going on.”

“So you never buried presents for them?”

I looked at him, unable to believe he was badgering me about something so trivial and long-forgotten when he was likely to be having an affair.

“You’re giving me the creeps,” I said.

The flight attendant appeared. “Another Bloody Mary?” she asked. I nodded and turned away. Adrian reached into his carry-on for his book and we didn’t speak again until we landed.

I was totally excited for Valencia and Van to come home for Thanksgiving. We all were. It would be their first visit home since they had gone away in August. My mother was practically hysterical over it. It was like some really famous brother-sister team was coming our way. Michael and Janet. Donny and Marie. She bought them new clothes and cassette tapes, stocked up on all their favorite chips and candy, packed care packages to surprise them with when they got ready to leave us again. She washed their bedding so their rooms would be fresh and got a haircut so they would think she was more attractive than they’d remembered. A few days before they were supposed to arrive, I overheard her on the phone with Sears, trying to schedule an appointment for a family portrait sitting.

“You can’t possibly be booked solid. I’ve already bought our entire family new outfits!”

It was true; I ran to my mother’s closet and checked behind her bagged up burgundy evening gown to the place where she hid new purchases before stealthfully working them into her wardrobe. Nestled there in a giant shopping bag from JC Penney’s were five new navy sweaters. Cardigans for the boys, crew necks for the girls, and an impossibly kooky sailor style sweater for me, the family dog. I went back out to the kitchen where she was pacing and twirling the phone cord on her finger. “Yes I will hold.”

“I don’t want to wear that little sweater with the funny collar,” I whispered.

She shook her head but otherwise ignored me.

“I said I don’t like that sweater. Can I wear a sweater like you and Valencia are going to wear? Let’s return it.”

“Stop looking around in my closet,” she hissed.

“Can we please return it? Pleasssssse?”

“Go bother your dad.”

“He’s still at work.”

“Yes, I’m still here,” she said into the phone, brushing me away with her hand like I was a fly. “Friday’s great! Friday it is. Three o’clock. Will there be a makeup artist on the set? Oh.
That
is disappointing. Should we get there early? Yes, I can hold again.”

Spread out on the kitchen table in front of her were drawings of stick figures, labeled with our names. “What are these?” I asked, holding one up.

“Those are ideas for how we’re going to pose for our pictures. Do you like any of them?”

“Really?”
Nice of you to ask, Mom
. I sat down, eager to participate. I selected the one with the boys in the back row and the girls in the front. “This one. Do we just pick one of these or can we do a whole bunch?”

“Oh, they will take all kinds of pictures,” she said, her eyes gleaming.

“I can’t wait,” I heard myself say, and surprisingly, it was true. As long as I didn’t have to wear that sweater.

But her attention had turned back to her conversation with Sears, “Yes, I am still here but let me tell you, I have never been put on hold so much in my life. I am prepared to shell out a lot of money on Friday and you could treat me like the paying customer I am. Now tell me, how many changes of clothes are we allowed?”

I wandered away and found myself in Valencia’s room. I decided I would do something special for her, to welcome her home. I ran back into my own room and climbed up on a chair so I could reach my Barbies off my closet shelf. They looked a little worse than usual, ever since those neighbor girls had played with them. Both of my Barbie wedding gowns had mysteriously gone missing at that same time, but I was getting old enough that such a loss was tolerable. I poured the Barbies out on Valencia’s floor, trying to decide if a better welcome would be to spell something with them or to create a clever scene with them.

Suddenly I had an epiphany: I would create a festive Thanksgiving setting. Somewhere I even had a tiny turkey on a little plastic platter, if I could just find it. I ran downstairs and rummaged through the old wooden toy box in the TV room and miraculously found the turkey. Back up in Valencia’s room I dressed all the Barbies and the one lone imitation Ken in fun fall outfits and arranged them around an upside down Kleenex box. I set the top of the box with tiny dishes and the turkey in the middle, and then I cleaned up the little outfits and shoes strewn about. It looked adorable. Finally I made a little sign that said
Welcome Home Valencia. From Barbie.
I set the sign on the carpet a few feet in front of the scene, just to make sure she saw it and didn’t step right in the middle of the Barbie Thanksgiving dinner.

Unsure of what to do next, I went back to my own room, flopped down on my bed, and started doing my homework. But I went back in and checked on the scene I had created every time I needed a break. Each time I looked at the happy little dolls in the warm glow of Valencia’s bedside lamp, I felt I had created something really good.

              The first thing I noticed when we got back to our house was that Alexa had borrowed one of my Coach purses. I was livid. You would think that as a chronic house-switcher I would be immune to that kind of emotion, but I’m not. No matter how much someone has, they still don’t want people messing with what is theirs. And after I had refrained from raiding her closet! I could handle the house switching, because Adrian likes it and I like Madison, and Alexa’s house is all sparse and clean while ours is cracks and crevices that are never quite perfect. But, to me, there is an unwritten, commonsense rule that you just don’t use someone else’s Coach bag and leave Powerbar wrappers inside.

“It’s good to be home,” said my husband, making a beeline for the stack of mail. I knew that it was a normal thing to do after having been away for almost two weeks, but it rubbed me the wrong way.

He caught me giving him a dirty look. He set down the magazines and catalogs, but remained holding the stack of letters. “What’s up?”

“Let’s have sex,” I blurted out.

“Sure, we can do that in a little while. Do you mind if I look at the mail first?”

“You can do that later. Come on.” I grabbed his arm and pulled him towards the bedroom, but he was still looking through the pile of mail, ignoring me. I let go.

“Adrian…”

“Give me five minutes,” he said. “We just got home. Why don’t you go play on the computer for a few minutes? Or go look at the flowers. Maybe something new is growing back there.”

I drew in a deep breath. I had to talk to him about that letter. I couldn’t take it anymore. “Adrian… sit down.”

He looked up from the letters, “What?”

“I have to talk to you about something.”

“Is it about what we were talking about on the plane?”

“What were we talking about on the plane?”

“About what your mom said?”

“No. It’s about you. And it’s about the mail. I want to look at it with you. Hand it to me.”

He set the stack of mail off to the side of the table by the door and then pounced on me. He kissed me
hard
, like we were in junior high school, or prison. He started yanking off my shirt and his pants at the same time. I couldn’t help it. I started to laugh.

“You’re totally grossing me out,” I told him.

“Tell me how you really feel,” he said, backing off.

“Seriously. You’re, like
, attacking
me, so I will change the subject.”

“You said you wanted to make love!”

“And you told me to go look at the flowers! Anyhow, I didn’t say I wanted to ‘make love.’ I said we should have sex.”

“So you want to fuck.”

I shook my head. “You’re ridiculous.”

“What’s your problem? If you need to look at the mail, then look at it. I’m not stopping you!” he yelled, throwing the whole stack to the floor by my feet.

I looked down at the catalogs and envelopes spewed across the foyer, hating him. He knew me too well. I would never bend down and pick it up. Then I looked up at his red, angry face and we locked wild eyes, waiting to see what would happen next. I considered that were it not for his accomplishments, his talents, his out-of-my-leagueness, perhaps I might find him rather ugly.

“I don’t care. Whatever is in there means nothing to me. Forget it. Just… Whatever it is that you need to be so
secretive
about, just get rid of it. Get rid of it. I don’t want to talk about it again.” I pulled my shirt back down and grabbed the key from its hook by the door. I didn’t look back as I went out into the warm Savannah night.