My Brother-in-Law My Lover

Part two.

I never wanted to go to the Thanksgiving Party, but Dad MADE me.

"The family wants to see you."

"No they don't. They don't even like me."

"They're your family, Claire, of course they do."

"They're strangers, Dad. We only see them a couple of times a year."

"Well, why don't you try to change that?"

"They think I'm weird, Dad."

"I'm sure you're just imagining things. It'll be fine."

"Dad, I don't want to go."

"I'm not asking anymore. Get ready, NOW!"

I was on my best behavior. I smiled, I spoke when spoken to, answering the same boring questions about school a dozen times. Hell, I even left the Iron Maiden t-shirt at home and wore a retainer in my lip piercing; I was practically ready for Sunday school.

Because it's what I was supposed to do, I followed the other teenagers into my cousin's room to play video games. They pretty much ignored me. I was too old to be a 'cute little kid', but too young for them to relate to.

I wish I had thought to bring a book so I could go out to the car and read.

I ended up being the last one on the Playstation, and I was finally enjoying myself. At last, I typed my name in the high score list.

Go fuck yourselves, you stuck-up rich kids.

I wandered back into the kitchen, hoping for some last-minute snacks. Before I could reach the strawberry shortcake, I spied a scrap of paper on the table. Curious, I flipped it over: I want to be selfish. That was Dad's handwriting. I thought you regretted it. Do you want more? More what, exactly, I wondered.

Janet burst into the kitchen, phone in hand and muttering to herself.

"What if something happened? He could be turned over in a ditch somewhere and I'd never know!"

"I'm sure he's fine," I said. "He probably made a stop on the way here." I clutched the note hidden in my hoodie pocket.

Aunt Janet hadn't heard me, redialing her husband's number for what was at least the tenth time.

I sighed. It wasn't an unusual thing, really. No one ever really paid attention to me. I'm the weird quiet girl, daughter of the weird quiet man. Not being seen did have its advantages: I saw what others didn't see.

My aunt and uncle went through the motions, but the smile never reached their eyes. Too many times did I see them leaning away from the other, as though repulsed. Every kiss was a peck on the cheek, like I'd give to my grandma after Dad forced me to. It was none of my business, though, so I never said anything.

I noticed the hug Uncle Billy gave to Dad while we were making our plates. Billy whispered something in his ear, and Dad had blushed.

Hmm.

I took my cake, sat on the couch, and acted like nothing happened.

Someone (probably my uncle) had asked Dad if he wanted more of something, something that could be interpreted as regrettable. I had an idea of why they were late, I just didn't want to believe it. Because, if they were...

The front door burst open. "Sorry we're late honey! There was a line, the register was down, and it took them a while to get it back up. I got into a conversation with the cashier about football, and--"

Aunt Janet cut Uncle Billy off, her voice aggressively cheerful. "Richard! Here,I already made to-go plates for you and Claire...Where is she?"

Hearing my name, I reappeared in the kitchen.

"Here you go!" She shoved the bag in my arms. "Thanks for coming! Better get home before the really bad weather gets here!"

Understanding our welcome had worn out, we headed for the Honda Accord. "Fasten your seatbelt."

I sniffed the air. The car smelled like cigarettes. Dad didn't smoke. I cracked the windows. "You sure were gone for a long time."

Dad looked away from me. "We had trouble at the counter."

"What kind of trouble?"

"The gas pumps were down."

"I thought you were just getting beer."

Dad had always been a bad liar.

"What about that pile of laundry in your room? When are you going to get on that?" "That's got nothing to do with--"

"Your room is disgusting. When's the last time you cleaned? I swear, you never pick up after yourself."

I sighed in frustration. Maybe I SHOULD have turned the note in to Janet. Maybe I should bring this note up to him right here, right now.

I shook my head. No, it wouldn't help me. If anything, it would make everything worse. As long as I could remember, I had been the keeper of so many secrets. Secrets that, if discovered, would get me hurt, even if I hadn't told. What was one more to the pile?

#

Janet closed the front door, casting aside her meticulously-painted Gracious Hostess mask like a pair of chafing high heels. The absence of her smile did far more to change her beauty than any of the designer clothes, high-end makeups, or expensive salon trips ever had. She was furious, and it felt GOOD. The countdown until the nuclear meltdown had finally run out. Time to duck and cover.

"Honey, I'm so sorry. I got pre-occupied, and I didn't think to check my phone..."

"You...were gone...FOR AN HOUR!" A plate soared past my head and shattered against the floor.

"WHAT THE FUCK WERE YOU DOING?!"

"Nothing! Like I said, I just went to the gas station--"

"BULLISHIT!"

"I don't know what you want from me, Janet."

Her pupils were so tiny they were practically slits. "I want to know why you ignored my calls, Billy." Her skin was losing its redness, and her breathing had slowed. Eye of the storm. It told of much worse things to come.

"No answer is going to make you happy."

"I'm waiting, Billy."

There was no getting out of this.

"You want the truth? Fine, I'll confess! I needed ONE FUCKING HOUR away from our so-called 'holy matrimony.' Is that so wrong, Janet, that I went down to the gas station to talk to someone-anyone-that doesn't hate my fucking guts as much as you do? That I had a few beers with my brother-in-law and talked football just so I could scrape a single ounce of joy out of this godforsaken holiday? You were going to explode, even if I had been your obedient little husband bitch and played Happy Family with you or not. NOTHING I DO IS EVER GOOD ENOUGH FOR YOU!"

"Oh, so I'm SUCH a raging bitch for wanting you to spend time with your FAMILY!"

"Your family, Janet!"

"FUCK OFF! I-HATE-YOU-I-HATE-YOU-I-HATE-YOU-"

"Love you too, babe."

Janet shrieked, slamming the bedroom door. I was sure I heard the breaking of glass.

Heineken wasn't cutting it tonight. With shaking hands, I found the bottle of whiskey underneath the sink.

Silly Billy. There was no surviving a nuclear blast.

#

I slept on the couch that night. During my Netflix and Chill session with Jack Daniels, I put on some stupid old sitcom; I couldn't recall the title of it.

(Love and marriage)

(Love and marriage)

I woke up nauseous with my head pounding. I had fallen asleep in my day clothes. Jack Daniels had kicked my ass, and didn't even have the decency to give me a kiss goodnight.

Stumbling through the kitchen, I rummaged clumsily through the cabinets and found the Goody's powder.

(They go together like horse and carriage)

"What was the name of that show," I asked the empty room. The Goody's powder claimed to be "fruit blasted," so maybe it wouldn't taste half as god awful as all the others I've tried. I guzzled my glass, and immediately felt my entire body reject the sickly sweet swill.

(This I tell you brother)

(You can't have one without the other)

I returned to that same cabinet, and found the antacids. I wondered absently how many of these I would have to take to kill me. I took two of them.

And what was the name of that fucking show? I couldn't get the idiotic theme song to leave my whiskey-sodden brain.

Janet was still barricaded in the master bedroom. I twisted the doorknob to find it locked. I knew what I had to do. I had a few more days before I could escape to work again. I needed to make peace.

(It's an institute you can't disparage)

Fuck you, Frank Sinatra.

I was lucky enough to find clean clothes in the dryer. I cleaned myself up until I was convinced even the most sharp-eyed of onlookers would never suspect that I had come off of a raging bender.

I put the Tesla on autopilot and pulled out my phone. I texted Dickie:

Good morning lover boy. I miss you.

I waited with baited breath for him to respond. The Tesla turned into Publix. I waited for several minutes after the car was parked. Please, I begged internally. Please don't blow me off. Unless you do it with your mouth.

(Love and marriage)

(Love and marriage)

Right. I had a mission. I gathered the materials necessary for this most dangerous of endeavors, the cute twenty-something cashier completely unaware that she was arming me for combat.

"Have a great day!"

I seriously doubted I would. I flashed a winning smile and returned the sentiment all the same.

I returned home with no new messages from Dickie, and my mind started to conjure wildly. Maybe after he had time to think about everything, he had decided he wanted nothing to do with me. He felt guilty, or even just thought I was a no-good cheating asshole.

Or, he hadn't been impressed with my skills in bed.

Now, THAT was crazy.

I carried my bags in the house. It was ten-thirty in the morning, and Janet still hadn't come out of our bedroom yet. Best not to breach that silence. Not yet. I got to work.

(Ask the local gentry)

(And they will say it's elementary)

I checked my messages every few minutes on impulse. I had received no new notifications.

Come on, Dickie. Be a little selfish.

Perhaps, like me, he had too much to drink last night and chose to sleep in. Sure, that made perfect sense. It had nothing to do with me. I should just wait a little longer.

I approached the master bedroom, holding a steaming mug.

Here I was, storming the cave of the man-eating dragon armed with nothing more than a cup of dark roast coffee. It was a pathetic weapon, really; I should have brought a sword blessed with holy water.

I took a deep breath before knocking on the door.

I heard the creaking of box springs as she shuffled to the door. Janet was already awake. When the barrier disappeared between us, I immediately caught the sour scent of alcohol. Her hair was unbrushed, dark circles under her eyes and her clothes disheveled. Janet looked at me blankly.

"It's getting pretty late in the morning babe, why don't you come to breakfast?"

Without a word, she took the mug and followed me into the kitchen.

"I made a spread, help yourself."

Janet just stared at me. She didn't even look angry, she just looked...tired.

"Here. I'll set you right up." I started piling fried eggs, bacon, and pancakes on a plate.

"Diet," she said in a weak, strained voice.

I stopped. "What was that?"

"I'm on a diet," Janet repeated, this time with more strength.

How on-brand it was for Janet to not appreciate something I had done for her.

"Come on, honey. It's the holidays. Indulge a little."

She shook her head. "I can't believe you'd ruin my diet like this. I'd have to run on the treadmill for hours to burn all this off."

I sighed. "For the record, I think you're beautiful just the way you are. You don't have to look like the women on TV."

She took a sip of the coffee I had made for her. "I don't remember asking for your permission."

" You shouldn't starve yourself, Janet. It's not healthy."

" And wouldn't you be happy if I did?"

Remember, the mission.

"Have some fruit then." I handed her the bowl of produce I had already sliced.

She accepted it, unsmiling.

(Try try try)

(To separate them)

We ate in silence. I took the plate I filled for her, and ate it myself. We both scrolled on our phones. Dickie still hadn't responded. Did I do something wrong?

(It's an illusion)

That was it. He hated me.

(Try try try)

I texted him again.

I need you. I'm stuck with this bitch. PLEASE.

I regretted it as soon as I sent it. Fuck, now he's going to think I'm needy. I put the phone face down on the table and stared off into space.

(Try try try)

I'm not beaten yet, I thought.

I still had a few moves I could unleash against the unholy fire-breathing beast.

"Janet, I never said what I was thankful for this Thanksgiving."

She looked up from her phone.

I unwrapped a dozen red roses --the flowers for passionate, romantic love-- which had been artfully framed with baby's breath, symbolic of undying devotion.

"I am thankful that you are the mother of my children. I am grateful that you kept the house for all these years."

I handed her the bouquet. "Thank you, for standing by my side no matter what." I leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. "Happy Thanksgiving, Janet Fargo."

Janet said nothing; even she didn't have an immediate comeback for this.

"Okay."

"That's it?" I couldn't stop myself.

"What did you want from me," asked Janet.

"I don't know. A 'thank you'? An 'I love you'?"

"I told you before, I don't like baby's breath. It smells like feet."

"Oh."

"I've told you a million times, weren't you paying attention?"

"I suppose I wasn't."

"You never do."

Janet began picking the baby's breath out of the arrangement, and I walked past her, defeated. I locked myself in my office, and put my head in my hands.

(And you will only come)

(To this conclusion)

Janet, where the hell did it all go? You used to have a heart; did I do that to you?

No one cared if I lived or died, not even me. I felt a manic, humorless laugher well up inside me.

"Nothing matters! Then why am I still here?"

I exited my office, passing Janet and her bouquet of lies. The baby's breath had all been removed, leaving only the red roses. Red, like they were soaked in blood.

Was that from when you cut off my balls, Janet?

"Where are you going?"

I grabbed my phone, wallet, and keys.

"Away from you," I replied, before slamming the door in her face. Enjoy your Thanksgiving weekend alone, bitch.

I climbed into the Tesla again, and turned on the autopilot. I didn't care where I was going. It sent me back to Publix, the last place I had gone. I wandered in, and bought some supplies for the next few days. I had decided to stay in a hotel room until I inevitably had to return to work. I noticed, with some sadness, that the same cashier I had seen this morning was no longer working the register. Maybe she had gone back home to her family.

In the parking lot, I lit a cigarette. I exhaled, enjoying the release. I texted Dickie a third time:

Do you remember that old sitcom that had the theme song 'Love and Marriage'?" I can't remember the title,and it's driving me insane. It makes me think of us.

I clicked send and left in the Tesla, not caring if he responded or not.

I made some phone calls and found a vacancy at The Hilton a city over. I carried my Publix bags inside, ignoring the curious glances by the other guests.

I tipped the bellhop, and he left me alone in a spacious one-bedroom suite. For a moment, I drank in the silence.

Ding dong, the witch is dead! The wicked witch! The wicked witch is DEAD!

I cracked open a celebratory Heinken, and checked my phone with some amusement. Janet had already called 37 times. I sent her a brief message:

I will return on Monday morning. Until then, I will not be answering calls. Love you. I selected 'Hide Alerts' by her name. Sure, there were ways around it, but it should be enough to thwart a weak-minded luddite like Janet.

Through the glass sliding doors, I watched the sun sink below the city skyline, amassing a bottle collection. "It's not spacious," I decided aloud. "It's fucking empty." The room was an empty void where the quiet had grown to a torturous, deafening pitch.

I could throw myself off that balcony and no one would even care.

I laughed. Only the publisher's house would care if I was absent from my office on Monday morning. Those manuscripts wouldn't edit themselves, at least, not for a few more years.

Janet would enjoy a nice life insurance payout, and well, Dickie had already forgotten about me, hadn't he?

Maybe I should just....

I felt my iphone vibrate beside me.

"Fuck off Janet."

My phone lit up again.

"Bitch, what do you want now? My heart on a plate!?" Dull realization drifted clumsily across my drunken mind: Oh, yeah, I muted the Wicked Witch.

I scrambled to open the screen. My heart leapt. It was Dickie!

The name of the show you're thinking of is Married With Children.

I was working out in the yard today and didn't see your texts. I don't carry my phone on me because I don't get a lot of calls.

I typed out a response with fat fingers:

I gott awayfrom janet yuo wanna comm ovr

Where are you?

hte hilton room 319

I'll be there in an hour.

He's coming! He's actually coming!

I pulled out every single tool in my sobriety toolbox. I called room service and ordered a burger and fries in an attempt to soak up the alcohol, while I waited, downing two water bottles to flush it out. After finishing my dinner and downing a third water bottle for good measure. I then took to hiding the evidence of my shameful, gluttonous despair, showering, opening the windows, and spritzing cologne liberally throughout the room. I turned on the ceiling fan to move the stagnant air.

I had started picking up the bottles when I heard a knock at the door.

"Shit!" I hastily shoved the rest of the empty Heiniken into the bag and threw it into the closet.

I unlocked the door, my heart in my throat. I felt nearly sober now, at least, I was desperately hoping I was.

"It's colder than hail in here," Dickie exclaimed, crossing his arms over his plaid-clad chest.

"You have the fan on!?"

"Sorry. I'm pretty hot-natured. Closer to the sun and everything." I smiled, barely containing a laugh.

"I'm about to climb you like a tree."

Damn, he was even more handsome than I remembered.

I allowed him inside. I could still hardly believe he was actually here. I busied myself warming up the room.

Dickie sat down on the suede couch. He looked around anxiously. "She didn't find out, did she?"

"No. No, this is a completely separate thing. I just needed to get out of Oz for the weekend."

"Huh?"

"For a little while at least, the Wicked Witch is dead. Rejoice, my little munchkin! Ding dong, the Wicked Witch is DEAD!" I doubled over laughing, and came to the sudden realization that I was still far, far away from Kansas.

Dickie confirmed my suspicions. "You're hammered, aren't you?"

"Yes," I confessed.

"Can I have a swig?"

I returned with two Heinekin, and explained what had transpired between Janet and me.

"You're going to have to deal with that later."

"I know. I walked away from my own burning house." I put down my drink, staring into the city skyline.

"Can you help me forget tonight?"

"I'll try my best."

I led him to the master bedroom. I sat at the foot of the bed. "I recall that you promised to climb me like a tree."

Dickie smirked. "Timber!" He pushed me onto the mattress with surprising strength. His mouth collided with mine, his tongue out-fencing my slow, clumsy one. His hands grasped at my hair, and I gasped as he pulled.

"Holy shit! Dickie! I never thought you would..."

Dickie started to unbutton my shirt. " The truth is, I need to forget too. I've imagined doing this for a long time. I'm finally brave enough to do it."

He discarded his own shirt, and we held each other in the dim hotel lamp light, skin to skin. He was so warm, so very tiny in my arms. I stroked his silvery hair, inhaling the scent. I shuttered.

"Do whatever you want to me," I murmured.

"Anything?"

"Anything," I repeated. "Hit me, humiliate me, use me all up."

"Are you sure that's what you want?"

"Yes, desperately. More than anything in the world. Punish me. Hurt me so good."