Pop ain’t fucking around with security. We didn’t have much time to prep before leaving for New York. Gloria’s call shook us all up. Fucking imagining you’d never see your kids, then finding out you gotta head out and save one of them? That shit will knock anyone on their ass—even Ma—and she’s tough as nails. Turning back to the right, I see Ma in the kitchen, making a sandwich, with Pop hovering over her. She hasn’t been the same since Alex got here. She’s been more guarded, gentle, and even forgiving.
Looking back to Alex, I see her sitting in the middle of her bed, surrounded by every photo album Ma has. Alex pours through captured memories of a life she missed out on. Her legs are folded and crossed in front of her. With an album open on her lap, she drags her index finger slowly down the center of the page. Her hair is up today, so I can actually see her face. Yesterday she had it down, which was good, because she cried almost the entire day. I had to do a line just to deal with that shit. Fucking tears. Give me some bitch screaming and freaking out, but tears? Screw that. Even Pop can’t handle that shit. Thankfully, there have been no tears today.
Her bedroom door opens, and Pop walks in, carrying a tray with a 7-Up and a sandwich on it. From my vantage point on the front deck, I can easily see both Ma and Alex. Ma is in the kitchen, chewing on her bottom lip. She’s prepared every one of Alex’s meals the last few days so Alex wouldn’t have to leave her room. She never brings the food in, though—she makes Pop do that. I wish she’d just suck it the fuck up already and talk to her. This avoidance shit is driving me nuts.
“Thanks,” Alex whispers, lifting her head and clearing her throat. She forces a small smile, which Pop returns. He hasn’t seen me yet, but he will soon.
“This, uh, standoff you two got going is turning me into a waiter. I’m not a waiter,” Pop says. His eyes travel over Alex and meet mine, making me uncomfortable. He told us to keep watch. I don’t think this is what he had in mind. Feeling the lingering effects of the coke, I flash him a smile and raise my eyebrows. His face doesn’t register the taunt.
“It’s not a standoff. It’s just a… I don’t know what it is,” she says. Back when this was my room, I used to hate how thin the walls were. There was absolutely no privacy. Now, I’m grateful for it. I’m not very skilled at reading lips.
“Well, work it out. Just hug her or something. I don’t know. All this crying crap is turning my balls into a pair of fucking ovaries.” For the first time in a while, Alex bursts out laughing. She covers her mouth with her hand and smiles up at Pop. These two are forming an unexpected bond. I only wish Ma would get her ass in there to see it.
Pop cracks a smile and clarifies that his comment wasn’t a request, but a demand, to which she nods. Just as he leaves the room, PJ rushes in. She circles the perimeter of the bed—twice—jumps on top of a few of the albums, and then jumps down again. Smiling at her, Alex shoves the albums aside and pats the bed. With a wagging tail, PJ jumps up and plops herself down, rolls over, and sticks her legs in the air, whimpering. Damn dog. Ma ruined her. She was supposed to be a scary beast. Alex spends a few minutes rubbing PJ’s belly before the dog has had enough and jumps back up and looks around the room.
Catching sight of me in the doorway, her wispy tail maniacally swings from side to side, and she barks, runs at me, circles my feet, and then runs back to the bed and jumps back on, repeating the process two more times. Alex’s smile falls when she sees me. We haven’t spoken since that night. And I’m sick of it. Even when shit’s fucked up, I’d rather talk to her than not.
“If you’re going to stand there watching me, you might as well come in,” she says. Her voice has an edge to it when she talks to me. With Pop she’s much softer; with Ma she’s less mature. With Ian she’s something else. With me, she always seems pissed off or nervous. But right now, I don’t give a fuck. She’s talking to me.
Abandoning my post, I step inside the room. Her fallen smile morphs into something a little angrier. Her eyes narrow, brows pull together, and her jaw ticks.
“How long have you been out there?”
“Awhile. Somebody’s got to be on guard since you’ve turned into a zombie.”
“How dare you,” she snaps. Her eyes are focused on PJ as the dog rushes over and whimpers at my feet. I crouch down and rub her behind her ears. “What do you want anyway?”
“Stop acting like a baby. Talk to her,” I say. It’s not what I want to say, but it doesn’t fucking matter. She glares, turning to face me.
“Who are you, my fucking therapist?”
Her attitude takes me by surprise, setting off my temper. I came in here to be nice, at least I think I did. I don’t need this shit. “Well, you fucking need one.”
Clearing a space on the bed, I plop down with my right leg bent out in front of me. PJ follows and jumps up between us, her sharp little claws digging into our flesh. I grit my teeth, trying not to show that it hurts. Alex looks down at her lap as PJ settles in on her side.