I lifted my hand to shield the sun from my vision. I couldn’t quite make her out, but X’s rapid movements beside me distracted me from staring too intently at her anyway.
“Shit, shit, shit,” he whispered, slamming the lid over and over like sheer force alone would close it. He suddenly stopped and looked at me. “Okay.” And then he grabbed me by the waist and lifted me, placing me on top of the freezer lid to hold it down.
“One more thing,” he said under his breath, and I watched as he shoved Ron’s blue-looking hand into the freezer, lifting the lid—with me still on it—to do so.
“Gross,” I said, just as the faint click of heels sounded on the concrete floor of the garage. We lifted our heads at the same time, taking in the person X called Mom.
“Bartholomew,” she said, but her eyes were on me. X squeezed my thigh before walking around his car to greet her, stopping her before she came too close. She seemed surprised by this, and took a tentative step forward, giving him an air kiss that he only half-heartedly reciprocated. The scent of very expensive perfume wafted in with her presence, and she clasped her fingers together in front of her as she glanced between the two of us.
Her black hair was styled in a sleek bob, and her face looked eerily free of wrinkles. I’d pegged her near fifty based on X’s age alone, but her face looked like she’d been hiding her true age for many years, under many injections. Even her eyeliner was perfect, with the smallest little wing on the edges. I touched my own eye, marveling at her skill and briefly debated asking her how she did it.
Her dark red lips were turned down as she regarded me. I looked down at my yoga pants, covered in bits from the cardboard box, and I re-secured the strap of my tank top that had slipped over my shoulder, revealing just a hint of my bra. I was sure my hair had long fallen out of my pony, and sweat-soaked, limp strands hung around my face.
She moved to take a step toward me, but her black heels caught the side of a pizza box and she stared down at it like it was a poisonous snake.
I barely heard the sigh escape X’s lips as he took her by the elbow and led her over to me, navigating the strewn pizza boxes like it wasn’t anything unusual.
“Who’s this?” she asked, with a mixture of curiosity and disapproval lacing her words.
I was about to get off the freezer to introduce myself, but remembered that I was the only thing keeping X’s mom from meeting my dead ex-drug supplier, so I flashed a quick smile at X—whose terrified look made me want to giggle in sheer anxiety—and then turned to Mrs. Lockwood.
“I’m Lucy,” I said, with a wave of my hand.
As if she hadn’t heard me, she turned to X with one dark eyebrow raised. “Lucy is my girlfriend, Mother,” he said easily, and his body language appeared to show him completely at ease with introducing me as such. His hand rested on my shoulder, although I was half-convinced the hold on me was to keep me from popping off the freezer accidentally.
Girlfriend. What a strange word. That wasn’t what I really was to X, of course. I was a colleague, really, in the art of concealing a dead body. And we’d done the dirty on his couch, naturally, but I didn’t think those were ways most relationships started. Not that I had a lot of experience with actual, successful, relationships.
The word affected X’s mom, too, but she didn’t continue that line of conversation as she delicately kicked at the pizza box like its existence offended her personally. “Why are you eating preservative-loaded garbage?” Then her head snapped up, and a jingle of her earrings chimed as she pinned me with her gaze. “Did she bring them here?”
I wanted to laugh at her snobbery, but because doing so would only cause complications for X, I decided to go a different route. “Oh, no,” I said, sincerely soaking my words as I clutched my hands to my chest. “Mrs. Lockwood, this is an intervention.”
Her eyebrow was still raised and I wasn’t sure if that was a permanent part of her face from getting so much work done or if she really didn’t believe me. I’d have to sell this.
“It’s just, they’re so, so bad for you. No nutrients—not after being cooked and frozen and reheated. You might as well eat the cardboard box they come in, right? You’re probably better off.”
I felt X’s eyes on me and I wrapped my arms around him.
“No, I take his health way too seriously to ever let him indulge in such processed garbage.” I leaned my head against his chest. “It’s not worthy of passing these beautiful lips, am I right?” I grazed my fingers over X’s mouth and he looked at me with barely-concealed warning in his eyes. “And his skin,” I ran the back of my hand down the side of his face, and could see him visibly flinch. Then I remembered the last thing my hands had touched had been Ron’s dead, decaying body. I tried to communicate a sorry with my eyes, but the damage was done. X would need to bathe in hand sanitizer.
“This skin—all that pizza would make it break out. I mean, he’s lucky enough to have such obviously superior genes,” I gave her an admiring look, and watched her soften slightly at the compliment I was paying her. “And his body!” I exclaimed, my eyes rolling into the back of my head as I feigned fainting. I lifted the hem of X’s t-shirt and pointed at his eight-pack. “Have you seen this?” I asked dramatically. “I don’t want him to ruin all this.” I spun my hand in a frantic circle around the abs, and watched them tighten in X’s discomfort. “It’s like you carved him out of clay. Like Wonder Woman. But, man-form. Superman?”
“Mother,” X said, tugging his shirt down and squeezing my shoulder almost painfully in warning. “What are you doing here so early in the morning? The sun is barely up.”
She clutched the skin at her throat and I half-expected to see pearls there, for how fancily she was dolled up this early in the morning. She stepped forward and brushed her hand across his forehead. “Why, Bartholomew, you’re soaked in perspiration. Are you getting sick? Have you had enough water today?”
He leaned away from her touch. “I just woke up, mom. A little early to be gravely concerned for my water intake. If I’m getting sick, Lucy can take care of me.”
She looked scandalized by the suggestion and turned to me with eyes wide.
“Oh, I’m a great nurse,” I said, and gave her an exaggerated wink. “I happen to have a uniform, too.” Another wink.
X shifted beside me and I stifled a laugh when he squeezed again. “You still haven’t answered why you’re at my home this early, Mother,” X reminded her.
“I just couldn’t sleep. I had a nightmare. You weren’t taking your vitamins and you had jaundice and anemia. Oh, Bartholomew, it was terrible. You don’t even know what it did to my nerves.”
“That sounds super serious, Bartholomew,” I said, raising my eyebrows. “Maybe you should take your mom inside and out of this heat.”
When he hesitated, I added, “I will clean up this garbage I’ve rescued you from! Don’t worry even a little bit.”
He swallowed and I saw a tick in his jaw. “Okay. Can you make sure to close the garage?” He said it very seriously, so I nodded.
“Of course, Bartholomew dear.”
He barely hid the way he rolled his eyes at me and then tossed me his keys. “The one with the white label.”
“Got it.” I waved at X’s mom as they departed the garage and waited until they had closed the door into the house before I hopped off the freezer. It made an obnoxiously loud sound, like a groan from the weight of my ass forcing it down.
I needed something heavy to hold it down, but I closed and locked the garage door before anyone else could walk up the driveway and surprise me.
X had a lot of shit in his garage, hanging on the side racks. Bikes, tools, a bunch of boxes that I determined were empty after lifting them. Most even had the receipts taped to the sides—some of them dating back several years. “Come on, X,” I said under my breath. “It’s unlikely you’re going to return that coffee pot you bought six years ago.”
I lifted his tool box, which was pathetically light, and placed it on the lid. It managed to stay closed for a moment before it lifted and the tool box nearly slid off of it.
On the other side of the garage, he had four really large rims—meant for some kind of fancy sports car, no doubt. I heaved one up, but it had to weigh half of what I did, and my arms were terribly puny. Nevertheless, I rolled one around his car to the freezer and squatted to lift it up and on top of the freezer. It was almost enough weight, but the freezer still opened a crack, and I knew if I left it like that we’d have a very stinky garage in a couple hours.
I brushed away the hair that stuck to my forehead and grabbed a second rim, rolling it across the garage and lifting it on top of the freezer too.
The lid appeared to be secure, but because I was worried that it’d pop up regardless, I grabbed the tool box and placed it between the two rims, and then kept adding. I wanted that sucker to stay closed. So I added all the odds and ends I could find, from a car jack to a box labeled, “Christmas decorations” in very feminine handwriting. His mom’s doing, no doubt. By the time I’d finished, it looked like a pyramid of knickknacks on top of the freezer. Totally normal. Totally not suspicious.
Then I gathered up all the pizza boxes and regretfully placed them in the large trash can by the door before locking the place up and moving out onto the sidewalk to the house.
Being out in the fresh air after being in that stifling and humid garage was so welcome, I almost didn’t want to go inside. I could imagine several different conversations X and his mom were having, none of them I particularly wanted to be privy to. But I knew if I dawdled, X would be trapped with her even longer. And because, for some strange, twisted reason, I cared about him—I just didn’t know what that meant at the moment. And I didn’t want to think about it too hard, because I knew it’d send me running. I couldn’t run from X now. Not when he was likely receiving the sermon to end all sermons from his mom.
So I did the selfless thing and decided to rescue him.
Softly, I opened the door that connected to the mud room attached to the kitchen. As I closed the door behind me, I could hear X’s mom’s shrill voice.
“Frozen pizzas? Really? I’m going to call Fred and have him start catering your meals.”
“Mother, no. Really, not necessary. I’m capable of feeding myself.”
“You call this feeding yourself?” I heard the doors to the fridge open. “You can’t live on sandwiches, Bartholomew. Do you know how many carbs are in that bread?”
“Sure don’t. Why don’t you enlighten me?”
She made a huffing sound, clearly surprised by X’s response. “What is going on with you?” And then in a hushed voice she asked, “Is this because you’re having sex now?”
I couldn’t let that go unanswered, so I pushed open the door that separated the mud room from the kitchen and made an entrance as I accidentally slammed it closed, announcing, “Yes. Yes, we are.”