Fancy White Trash (4 page)

I am too old to play what-if games. I have my new One True Love Plan, and I'm going to make it work. Jackson is the anti-True Love. If I stick to my Rules, I'll be able to forget him in no time.

Chapter
3

By the time Cody and I get back to the pig roast, we've finished the six-pack. I keep looking back toward the fence, but Jackson doesn't come after us. We search the cooler for more Bud Light but only find wine coolers. I take a raspberry and give Cody a hard lemonade.

“My mom can't see me drinking.” Cody thinks he's whispering, but it comes out too loud. He's such a lightweight.

I knock my bottle against his. “Cheers, bud, it's only lemonade. ”

He squints at the label. “You're so right.”

We are not exactly stealthy as we settle onto a picnic bench beside the porch, but Shelby jumps when she sees us.

“Jesus, you scared me!” She has her hand wrapped around the neck of a Grey Goose, and I'm not talking about poultry. Shelby considers helping herself to the good stuff an important employee benefit of clerking at the liquor store. She drinks the vodka straight from the bottle. Tipping it my way, she asks, “You want?”

I take a few swigs, liking how chills chase up my arms. Sometimes I wonder why I bother with beer. “They like those eggs extra-pickled?”

“Huh?”

“Your eggs? The ones you're selling?”

“Oh, that.” She waves a hand too expansively and bumps into Cody's drink. Luckily, he's almost through, so it doesn't spill. “I just made that up.”

Figures.

“I mean, I was thinking about it. And with everyone”— here she stops and sends the Stare of Death at my mom, who is on the other side of pig-pit, laughing it up with Cody's dad—“pregnant, I thought why not? It's not like I'm ever getting married again.”

Shelby is a prime example of why Rule #4, Don't Need Him, is vitally important. She thought Rob, her ex-husband was The One. She thought the Guitar Player was Mr. Forever. As soon as she starts relying on them, thinking they'll get jobs and take over her car payments, they up and leave her.

“Get a life already.” I walk away. Sure, it sucks her boyfriend left her for her mom, but here again, had she followed Rule #3, Looks Aren't Everything, and fallen in love with a more average-looking guy, he would've been so grateful to be with her she wouldn't have had to worry about him ever leaving.

Cody follows me to the fire pit. Too late, I remember there is an entire pig, stick through its ass, hanging there.

“I'm going vegetarian,” Cody announces.

“I'm with you.” The night air is cooling, thus the reason to stand by the fire, but the smell of crispy pig flesh is too much. “Let's go inside.”

In the living room, we find Dad and Shevon making out on the sofa, so we head for my room. Only Kait's in there, crying on the bed. This is not unusual in the last trimester, or so I've read. We close the door and look at each other.

“Tell me about New York, Cody.” We have a shared fantasy in which we drop out of school, score fake IDs, and move to the Big Apple. A place so big that no one knows us, a place so far away our families never find us.

“There's a great place on Second Avenue and Thirteenth Street. One bedroom, affordable as long as we land jobs right away, with some famous Chinese joint below it.” Cody does a lot of research on our fantasy. He looks at real-estate ads online; he knows which buses we have to catch to get there and how much our fares will cost. Periodically, he will buy a
New York Times
and circle jobs he thinks we are qualified for. Barista for me, janitorial stuff for him. It's not glamorous, but it's a dream. Our dream.

“I've got eighty bucks and some change.” I slide down the stucco wall until I'm sitting on the hallway floor. The wood planks are a little gritty, but my head's buzzing and I don't care.

Cody sits Indian-style beside me. “I've got over eight hundred. We're getting there.”

“Are you sure we need three thousand? Maybe we have enough to get started.”

“In the city? Come on, Abs, I've shown you the cost-of-living charts.”

I told you he was anal. Closing my eyes, I say, “Maybe we should shoot for somewhere cheaper. Like Montana.”

Cody puts a hand behind my neck. I feel him inspecting my face. “You don't look so good.”

“You sweet-talker.”

“I'm serious. You're kinda pale.”

I keep my eyes closed and brush away his hand. “Little woozy. Know better than to mix 'n' match.”

Cody tugs me to my feet. “Come on, princess, let me put you to bed.”

“Nooo.” I am dead weight. I know Cody isn't strong enough to lift me on his own. That's why I'm so surprised when I feel him scoop me up, one arm under my head and one under my knees.

I flap my hands in the general direction of his chest. “Cody, put me down.”

“Come on, princess,” a deep voice says. A not-Cody voice. “Someone's had a little too much.”

I open my eyes. Jackson has me tucked against him. I can't help my body from warming just a little. “What's with the manhandling tonight, Jack-Off?”

“Just helpin' out my little brother.”

Cody is anxious, squeezing my hand, feeling my head. “You gonna hurl?”

“I'm fine,” I say. Then, suddenly, I'm not.

Jackson hefts my weight and fakes like he's going to drop me. “Let's get a move on, girlie.”

“Don't—” It's too late. As soon as he starts to move, my stomach heaves and vomit rockets up my throat, out and all over Jackson's shirt. It hits, splatters back on me. The smell makes me gag, and I heave again. Jackson is all, “Oh, man— gross! I can't believe you just did that.”

Next, I am in the bathroom with only a fuzzy memory of Jackson and Cody maneuvering me into the shower. Cody turns the knob, and water blasts down on my fully clad body. Jackson is behind me, propping me up, sloshing barf off both of us with his hands.

“This is not how I imagined our first shower together,” he whispers against my neck.

I make a halfhearted jab to his gut. “Shut up,” I say. The water is clearing my head. I step out of the tub and Cody hands me a towel. I dab at my arms, my wet clothes, then give up and wrap the towel around my head.

“You're welcome!” Jackson's loud voice follows me back to my bedroom. He'd fit right in with my family.

I slam the door. Kait looks up. Her face is wet from crying. In the dim light, I can see the giant hump of her belly, moving up and down with her breath.

Flinging sopping clothes and the towel in the direction of the closet, I say, “Don't ask.”

“I wouldn't.”

I slip into an old T-shirt, one I've cut the sleeves off of, and huddle under my covers. Sleeping with wet hair will give me total bedhead, but I'll deal with that—and the mess in the bathroom—tomorrow.

For tonight, I watch the rise and fall of my sister's belly by the light of the overambitious streetlight in front of our house. I think about that baby and what a sucky world she's coming into. I make a silent vow to her, using my auntie-telepathic skills, that I will teach her all she needs to know to stay safe. By the time she hits puberty, I'll have her reciting my One True Love Rules like a kindergartner rattles off her ABCs.

Before I drift off, the last thing I think of is Jackson. Jackson's hands on me, his breath in my ear. His big, stupid grin. Tomorrow, I'll forget all about him. But tonight, I remember.

“I have amnesia.”

Cody doesn't look surprised. Like me, he is also a fan of daytime TV. He calmly dips his toast into his coffee and bites off a soggy mouthful.

“Seriously.” I etch circles in his mom's blue-checked tablecloth with my fingernail. “I woke up this morning and couldn't remember a thing about yesterday. Not. A. Thing.” That much was true. But later, when I finished brushing my teeth and spit, it all came rushing back. Jackson, vomit, the shower. Amnesia seemed the best course of action.

On soap operas, there are different kinds of amnesia. There's the kind after a minor accident that only lasts a few weeks, or the kind that lasts for months and is miraculously cured during ratings-sweeps week. Then, there's the kind that happens when an actress leaves the show, but rather than kill off the character, they make her disappear for a few months and then bring her back, but played by another actress. Since the character's experience was so harrowing that even her height and facial structure is changed, she never gets her memories back. That is the kind of amnesia I have.

“You're wearing the red tank, like I told you to. Yesterday. On the phone.” Cody is too observant.

“I like red. It's a coincidence.”

“You don't remember the pig roast? Or Jackson coming home?” He offers me a bite of mushy toast. I don't know why he bothers to put the bread in the toaster.

My hands fly to my face. “Jackson's back? Oh my gosh!” My acting is every bit as good as you'll find on a soap.

Cody laughs and gets up to rinse off his dishes. “You ready to shop?”

“Yeah, but I gotta warn you, it's gonna be a tight squeeze in the Benz.
Everyone's
coming. The good news is the Guitar Player is driving.”

Stuffing people into Mom's Mercedes like frat boys on a beer run is a family tradition. Cody has been sandwiched, squashed, and sat on for many a ride. “The only Savage butt I'm touching is yours. Got it?”

We hear Jackson's footsteps on the stairs before we see him. He props himself against the arch leading into the kitchen. “Savage Butts? Great band name. You should tell Steve.”

My face burns. I stare at the white-tile floor. Then I remember that I don't remember, so I jump out of my chair with a huge smile on my face. “Jackson! When did you get back?”

I rush and give him a quick, I'm-just-the-girl-next-door hug.

Jackson looks at his brother.

“She doesn't remember,” Cody says. I love him for keeping a straight face.

“Oh.” Jackson rubs his head. He is sleepy-looking in a rumpled shirt and baggy sweats. “You guys goin' somewhere?”

“No,” I say, because I don't want him to tag along.

“The mall,” Cody says.

Jackson pulls up a chair at the table and props his elbows on the table. “Cool, I need to pick up a few things.”

“There's no room,” I blurt, and it's even the truth. “And don't you have your own car anyway?”

Jackson scratches his armpit. Why I'm fascinated, I don't know. “Yeah, but I hate shopping alone. Cody, can I give you a list? Backpacking is rough on the wardrobe. Mom said I could use her credit card if I needed anything.”

Unlimited access to the credit card? Cody lights up. “No problem. Tell me what you need.”

I don't want to hear about underwear sizes, so I make my escape. “Come over when you're ready,” I say to Cody.

He is already scribbling notes on a pad of paper, Jackson next to him at the table. It's like I'm not even there. Then Jackson catches me watching him and smiles, and I'm more alive than I've been in months. Two months, to be exact. This is not good. I recite the Rules in my head all the way back to my house.

Chapter
4

One of the few advantages of living in the middle of nowhere is that you're never far from an outlet mall. We take the I-17 south out of Cottonwood, passing miles and miles of— no surprise here—cottonwood trees, and stop at the nearest shopping center.

The Guitar Player brings us to a lurching stop in the parking lot and turns off the Meat Loaf CD that he's been blasting since we left home. My head, for about the tenth time, bangs into the metal that is exposed by the giant rip in the roof upholstery.

“Ow,” Cody says for me. I've given up on complaining. Whining only makes my hangover headache worse. I take another gulp out of my water bottle and hope the rehydration kicks in soon.

“Everybody out,” the Guitar Player proclaims, like we're all so comfy that we need any prompting.

Kait wriggles out of the backseat with Shelby, who first has to eject Hannah off her lap before she can struggle out of the car. Once they're gone, I roll off Cody and he lets out a sigh of relief.

“I gotta say, Abs, you're not as light as you used to be.”

“Hey!” I rub my head. “Tell you what, on the way back, you sit on my lap!”

He laughs, gets out, and holds the door for me. I look back and see the Guitar Player and Mom are still in the front seat. Her arms are whipping around like they are debating something intensely. How much hair product he's allowed to buy? The danger of too much Obsession for Men to the fetus? I decide I don't care and rush to catch up to my sisters.

The first place we go is the bathroom. Because Kait is pregnant and has to pee every three minutes and because Shelby has to make sure her hair is perfect. I almost go in with them because there is always the danger that Hannah, who thinks toilets are toys, will flush whatever she can cram in the bowl. Like giant wads of toilet paper or her shoes. But, I remind myself, I'm officially off Hannah duty when Shelby's around. I'm not anybody's mother, and that's how it's going to stay.

Cody and I wait outside, watching the parade of early-morning shoppers. A major bonus of coming to this outlet mall is that some developer somewhere realized that Arizona is hotter than the surface of the sun and so wisely enclosed and air-conditioned this place. Bless that developer, wherever he may be.

One of those senior walking clubs passes by, gray-haired women and balding men in pastel soccer shorts and athletic shoes moving along at quite a clip. There's even a guy in a wheelchair who apparently gets a great upper-body workout rolling himself along the faux-marble floors.