Scary teenagers! What scary teenagers?
Felix had dated a pothead briefly in college. The fact that she’d been a pothead was the reason the affair had been brief. Although it hadn’t really been an affair. Just lots of mediocre sex. She’d told him marijuana could make you paranoid, but she must have been lying, because his worries went pop! He put the joint on the bedside table, lay down on the carpet, and spread out his arms. A snow angel! The kids’ music wasn’t too bad, either. Humming along, Felix closed his eyes and let it throb through his muscles. He could feel every beat, every note. The music was in his bloodstream, drifting around his body, filling him with endorphins. Was this that Marilyn Manson guy? Not bad for a baby-eating psychopath. Eating! Felix got up. He was starving! Definitely had the munchies. Pizza! He needed a slice of pizza right now. And the strangest thing—he didn’t even care if it was Hawaiian.
He rocked himself up to his feet and paused. Stood absolutely still. Shhh.
A scrabbling noise came from the bathroom. What was that? More scrabbling. There was a creature in his bathroom! Felix grabbed the doorknob and slammed the door shut. Then he shot back into the corner of his bedroom. Panic zoomed out of nothingness. Down the hall, the kids laughed—at him? Had they discovered he was stoned and were making fun of him? Blood pumped in his brain, in his guts, in his throat. Heart palpitations—he had heart palpitations. His heart was about to burst. He was about to burst. Vomit, pass out, burn up. Die.
Breathe, he must breathe.
Somewhere a bell rang. The doorbell? Was one of the parents early? They hadn’t had cake yet. No one could leave—they hadn’t had cake!
Breathe, Felix, breathe.
His hair follicles prickled; flashing lights danced before his eyes. Oh God, this was not good, very not good.
Knocking on his door. Please don’t let it be a parent.
“Dad? Katherine’s here.”
The she-devil.
Another knock. “Felix? Are you decent?”
“Yes,” he said, because he couldn’t think and breathe and talk at the same time.
“Good, because I’m coming in.” Katherine opened the door, then her eyes grew wide and she stepped inside, slamming it behind her. “Felix! Are you stoned?”
“I feel a bit funny.”
She snatched up the joint. “How many hits did you have?”
He cowered in the corner. “Four?”
“Four. This is strong shit, buddy.” She shook her head.
“Please don’t tell Ella.”
“What were you thinking?”
“The party, I was anxious . . .”
“Felix, honey.” Her voice softened. “You shouldn’t smoke when you’re wound up.”
He was a failure, a huge failure. “Please”—he nodded at the joint—“take it away.”
She put it back in the little wooden box he’d dropped on the bed. A familiar routine, no doubt.
“You don’t want a hit?”
“No, Felix.” She frowned. “I never smoke if I’m driving. I’m not as irresponsible as you think I am.”
“But you and Ella, you’re always drinking wine and—”
“I never have more than one glass. I don’t drink and drive, either.”
“Oh.” He couldn’t think of anything else to say.
More banging on the door. “Dad! Katherine! Can we do cake?”
Felix crossed his arms and started rubbing his shoulders. “I can’t go out there. I can’t.”
“Okay. Here’s what we’re going to do.”
Felix nodded again and again. Yes, tell me what to do.
“I’m going to deal with the cake. Is it in the fridge?”
More nodding. “There are paper plates and cocktail napkins and black plastic forks on the counter next to the kettle. And candles. And matches. And a cake slicer. And here.” He shoved his mobile at her, then huddled back into the corner. “You need to take a picture of Harry blowing out his candles and text it to Ella. I promised.”