Veneer (34 page)

A double dose. Two pills instead of one.

Mellow didn’t come with a strong hangover, but she could feel it still trying to numb out external input, alternating between acceptance and rejection, sort of the way she was feeling about Deron. There was only so much pain to feel, so much agonizing tape to feed into the projector. Now that the drug was leaving her body, she would either have to take up the fight or lay down her arms. It felt too early to give up on Deron just yet.

In the kitchen, she found Lynn sitting on the other side of the serving bar, a cup of coffee in one hand and a palette glowing in front of her. At the sound of Rosalia’s bare feet on the tile, she looked up.

“You’re going to be late for school,” she said.

The tone may have been casual, but Rosalia was familiar with the many ways Lynn could criticize. That was her role as step-mother, to alienate herself from her husband’s children. Over the last few years, she had done a pretty damn good job.

“And since when do we have sleepovers on school nights?”

Rosalia glanced at the time on the stove. “We’ll make it.” Her mouth felt numb, as did the rest of her face. She wondered if the drug would stay with her all day. It certainly seemed more persistent than the last time.

“
We
,” repeated Lynn, “like there’s nothing out of the ordinary about a girlfriend staying over during the week. What do her parents think about this?”

Shrugging, Rosalia opened the pantry and fished a packet of instant oatmeal from a box. She shook it to settle the contents and then pulled a bowl from the cabinet. “I don’t know, but I bet they’re not the overreacting types.”

“This is still my house,” said Lynn, sipping her coffee noisily.

“No, this is
our
house,” she corrected, seeing the image of her formerly complete family in her mind. Her mom was always smiling, even when she was angry, even when she was sad. It was as if the muscles in her face knew no other way to be.

But it wasn’t muscle; it was a veneer, a mask to keep her husband and child from seeing the pain underneath, from seeing the sickness that would eventually take her. Rosalia flashed on the last image of her mother and felt anger. Turning to Lynn, she said, “You just occupy space here.”

There was no change in the woman’s veneer, no ripple of retribution trickling up from below. She simply looked down at her palette and pretended to read one of the news stories. After a moment, she took another sip of her coffee.

Rosalia put her oatmeal in the microwave and started the timer. Then, remembering her guest, she prepared another bowl and pulled a serving tray down from the refrigerator. There’s cinnamon around here somewhere, she thought, checking each cabinet for a spice rack.

“It’s not lady-like,” declared Lynn. “When I was a girl, we respected the rules of the house, whoever’s house it was.”

“Things change,” Rosalia pointed out. The microwave beeped and she swapped out the bowls. “Would you rather I have Deron over? We could have unprotected sex all night. Or would that be too unlady-like?”

“At least that would be normal. Then maybe your father wouldn’t have to run out of the house so he doesn’t have to confront his le—” She stopped short of saying the word, catching her tongue between her teeth.

“His
what
?” The silence that followed was broken only by the beeping of the microwave.

Lynn narrowed her eyes and placed the palette on the counter. There was hesitation in her veneer, a definite struggle to keep her lips and eyes from moving. It must have been easier, Rosalia thought, years ago when people weren’t always wearing masks. Then, you could see every movement, every nonverbal slip that gave away what a person was truly thinking.

“His lesbian daughter!” Lynn blurted out. Her mouth hung open, perhaps surprised by its betrayal.

Rosalia put her hands on her hips defiantly. “I am
not
a lesbian!”

“You can deny it all you want. I know what I heard.”

“What? Are you out of your goddamn mind?”

Lynn raised a finger. “Don’t you make this worse by taking the Lord’s name in vain!”

The anger inside Rosalia slipped away. It was the mention of God, she realized, the inclusion of religion that pushed the argument into the realm of absurdity. There was no point in arguing if Lynn’s objections were based on the concept of sin.

Rosalia opened the microwave and took down the steaming bowl. “You’re right,” she admitted. “I’m a lesbian.” It sounded funny to say, evoked images of her and Ilya in their underwear having a pillow fight, but her veneer held steady. “I’ve been living a lie for years, but no longer.” She turned, stared directly into Lynn’s hate-filled eyes. “I love the pussy! I can’t get enough of it!”

Lynn’s veneer finally shattered, settled into a level of contempt so intense that Rosalia was momentarily taken aback. “I will abide you,” she said, “for Michael’s sake, but Jesus won’t. You remember that.”

“Are we done? Can I go have breakfast now?”

“You just get to school on time. I’m not signing any tardy notes.”

“Fine,” replied Rosalia, picking up the tray. “We’re just going to eat some breakfast and then have a quickie in the shower and we’ll be on our way. You won’t even hear us.”

“I heard you last night.” Again, the contempt. “
Don’t stop, don’t stop,
” she mimicked and then crinkled her nose. “Disgusting.”

Rosalia had heard enough. She exited the kitchen and started up the stairs, shaking her head at her step-mother’s crazy ideas. Lying about hearing noises from her room wasn’t like Lynn, but then she always found new ways to be an evil bitch. She had probably spent the whole night putting ideas into her dad’s head, turning him against his daughter. Groaning, Rosalia pushed open the door to her bedroom with the tray. She found Ilya seated at the desk, trying to reconcile a wrinkle from her blouse.

“The nice thing,” she said, as if they had already been having a conversation, “is that people won’t know I’m wearing the same clothes as yesterday.” The previously white canvas cycled into turquoise, accented by orange flowers on the left side.

“Except for the smell.” Rosalia set the tray down on the desk and offered a bowl to Ilya.

“Do I really smell?” she asked, reaching for her breakfast. As she did, part of her shirt fell to the side, revealing her bare chest. When Ilya noticed the look on Rosalia’s face, she motioned to the bra on the desk. “I broke a strap somehow, which sucks, ‘cause I loved this bra.”

Rosalia nodded and wandered over to the window. “This is going to sound stupid,” she began, thinking again of Lynn’s accusation.

“What is it?”

“Did we surf the porn wave last night?” Behind her, she heard Ilya choke on her oatmeal.

The coughing slowly changed to laughter. “No,” she said at last, “I don’t think we did.”

“I remember...” Trailing off, Rosalia tried to latch onto the wisps of memory passing through her head. In their inebriated states, they could have reconciled a portal and cruised the network for sex videos without even realizing it. A feeling
was
there, something warm and faintly sexual. The sensation of excitement came back to Rosalia in a sudden flash, weakening her knees.

“That’s strange,” said Ilya, her face turned away. “But then people do strange things when they’re Mellow. Maybe we were talking about you and Deron and you ended up...” She seemed unsure of her words.

Rosalia huffed. Had she reconciled a fantasy of her and Deron for Ilya’s entertainment? It would at least explain the noises.

“Why do you ask?”

“Lynn thinks we were having sex.”

“You and me?”

Turning around, Rosalia found Ilya with her eyebrows dancing. She nodded in reply. “She thinks we’re lesbians.”

“Oh, I think I would remember that.” She smiled broadly.

“Me too.” Another flash, another quiver moving up the inside of her legs.

For a few minutes, they ate in silence. Rosalia was consumed by her own questions, but soon began to wonder about the conflict brewing on Ilya’s face. She could only see her from the side, but her head was down and her shoulders slumped uncharacteristically.

“If I were,” said Ilya. The rest of the question was lost in her rapidly blinking eyes.

“If you were what?” Rosalia leaned against the windowsill, having had enough of her shaky legs.

Ilya’s eyes glimmered red, perhaps from the drug. “If I were a lesbian.”

Rosalia started to respond, but she knew that anything she said wouldn’t be the right thing. There was too much to put out there all at once: her growing suspicions, her acceptance, and even her questions about mechanics. Most confusing was why Ilya had chosen to hide it. Even when they were joking about it before, it wasn’t as if Rosalia had displayed the same kind of abhorrence that Lynn had channeled so easily.

Forgoing words, Rosalia put her bowl down on the windowsill and crossed the room. She didn’t even consider the implications of putting her hand on Ilya’s shoulder.

“Is it too weird?” inquired Ilya.

“No,” Rosalia assured her, “it’s not weird at all. I mean, I thought...”

“It’s not like I was hitting on you. I wasn’t trying to give you the gay.”

“Is that a joke?”

Ilya looked up and smiled, showing her sparkling teeth. There was a tear trailing down the left side of her face. Rosalia put her hand to her friend’s cheek and reconciled it away.

That was the way of things. The indicators of pain could be hidden, but Ilya would still be able to feel the dampness on her cheek, would still feel the lingering teardrop hanging from her chin.

Rosalia chuckled, thinking back.

“What’s so funny?”

“I told Lynn that I love the pussy. Is that something a lesbian would say?”

Ilya smiled politely. “I don’t know. I never finished my lesbian training.” She shook her head. “But, yeah, if I had a step-mother like yours, I’d probably say that just to mess with her head.”

Rosalia wanted to ask her other questions, but it didn’t seem like the right time. If they didn’t hurry, they would be late for school and would have to spend first period in the tardy room.

“I need to shower,” said Rosalia, absently. At her dresser, she pulled out a fresh pair of underwear.

“I promise not to peek,” joked Ilya.

Pausing in front of the bathroom door, Rosalia considered the absurdity of it all. In a couple of hours, they’d both be naked in the gym showers anyway, same as they had been doing all year.

“I’d be insulted if you didn’t,” she replied, stripping off her shirt and tossing it by the dresser. In the bathroom, she grabbed an elastic tie and pulled her hair into a ponytail.

Rosalia studied her reflection in the portal above the sink, going over every inch of her veneer to make sure it was perfect. Over her shoulder, she glimpsed Ilya doing the same.

44 - Deron

It was a long night waiting for a response that never arrived. Deron passed the time by practicing his reconciliation, mystified by its wavering effectiveness. Sometimes he could send out radiating circles of color. Other times, the rubble around him remained a neutral gray. Sitting back against a slanted slab while watching the stars turn above him, he considered the possibility that his message had not gone through. His portal only seemed to work for a few minutes at a time and after that it became inert if it didn’t fade out altogether. There was damage to his chip; he was certain of that. Whether it would hold out long enough to send another message to Rosalia was another question.

As dawn approached and the prospect of hearing from Rosalia dwindled into nothing, Deron faced a tough decision. He could wait outside the walls for another day, hope his portals would stay up and connected to the network. Or, he could venture back into the city and risk being seen. There would be questions and he’d have to be clever, come up with some excuse as to where he’d been. He couldn’t tell anyone about Dos Presas except Rosalia. She’d have to know because he wanted her to come back with him. And she’d have to decide quickly; the longer he stayed in Easton, the greater the chance they’d discover him.

In the end, it was the twitching of the sentry guns that made him opt for the drainage pipe. At night, they hung their heads as if ashamed of not being able to see in the dark. But with the sun rising, they were coming online, resuming their hunt for fleshy targets. Deron made a break for the pipe before the sun broke the horizon. He was up and into the field quickly, finding the whole trip less frightening than before. Down the street, he saw a tram dropping off the early morning workers. When they stepped off, he stepped on.

As the tram glided towards the center of the city, Deron realized that he had no destination in mind. The clock at the front of the tram was blank, but it felt early enough for Rosalia to be on her way to school. Showing up there was sure to get him caught. Instead, he decided to catch her on the way home. Until then, he could just ride the tram around the city or hide out at Gillock Pond.

Deron changed lines a few times at random just to keep the scenery changing and to prevent retracing his steps. After a while, the tram slipped into the Newell District and onto a road with apartments on one side and a two-story strip mall on the other. His dad lived somewhere on this street; Deron remembered looking up the return address on a birthday card once. Sitting up in his seat, he scanned the apartments and spied his dad’s down the road. Deron reached up and tapped the stop button over the window, but unlike his alarm clock, nothing happened. He tried again with the same result.

Across the aisle, an older woman raised an eyebrow at him. Her face flashed, appeared youthful for a moment, and then succumbed to the wrinkles once more. Without saying anything, she reached up and touched the stop button, bringing the tram to a halt.

“Thanks,” muttered Deron as he disembarked. Looking back, he saw the woman was still staring at him as the tram continued its route.

I can’t stay here, he realized. There was just no living half in and half out of the reconciled world.