BIRTHDAY PRESENT TO MYSELF
The inside of our vacation mansion looks imported. I think the designer just walked around pointing at places, yelling “Italian marble! Italian leather! South African granite!”
Addy is already in here somewhere, but the place is so big it’d take me years to find her. Trey, Elliot, and I drop our bags at the door and, as all wizened travelers do, run to the fridge.
A vacation fridge is like a prophet. It can tell you if the trip is the chosen one, or if it’s just another day. For example, most trips I’ve been on with my dad had a mini-bar. Therefore, the sign seemed to say the trip would be fun, but there were some checks and balances to make sure the trip’s bill didn’t get too high. A trip to a place with no fridge meant business. No frippery, souvenirs, or super-sized meals.
As we open the fridge door, I swear beams of heavenly light surround us before we can see inside. Each shelf and drawer is stocked with everything imaginable and unimaginable. The omen is obvious.
We’re on the trip of our lives.
“How is TV lobster dinner even possible?” Elliot asks.
I put a hand on his shoulder. “America, Elliot. America.”
When the fridge starts beeping at us for having the doors open too long, we scamper off to claim our rooms. Elliot and Trey grab two downstairs, but I find the stairwell, go upstairs, and get one facing the backyard so I can watch Dez. I want to make sure she doesn’t freeze to death.
I unpack (dump my bag out onto the floor) and then absentmindedly pull out my laptop to check my email and Twitter even though I was checking on my phone for most of the trip. A few minutes pass and I notice a thick heat filling my cheeks. A mental fog leaves me and I realize I’m staring at two naked lesbians. I stand up so fast my chair tips over. How did I not even know what I was doing? How is it possible to switch off like that?
“Adam?” Addy says from my door. She must see what’s on my screen because she says, “Woah, Papi. I guess I’m going to see that on your accountability report.”
I close the page as my cheeks fill with the heat of shame. This is the first time I’ve ever been caught.
I look at her. She has a half-cocked “I’m sorry” look on her face.
“It just … happened,” I say. “I didn’t even notice.”
“I don’t mean to like, be a bitch when I say this, but I honestly don’t understand how you can not notice.”
“You know how when you’re out with people somewhere, and there’s a small lull in the conversation and, somehow, there’s something about that silence that pulls at something inside of you, and before you know it, you’re pulling your phone out to check your email or Facebook?”
Addy nods and sits on the bed, holding her hand out for my computer. “Yeah. It’s like compulsory. Just a thing you do.”
“It’s like that.”
“Well, I’m going to hold on to your computer, then,” she says. “Let me go put it in my room, then I want to call a council.”
She gets up and walks out of my room. I notice her phone lying on the comforter when it vibrates. Looks like a text from ex-boyfriend Brent:
I’ll never love again because of you.
I know I shouldn’t, but I pick it up, ready to dig into the guy for tormenting my Addy, I accidentally click on the wrong conversation.
Thanks for bringing up that paperwork.
No problem.
The company isn’t the same without you.
I check who the conversation is with. It’s Addy’s boss, Todd Tamlin. Why would he say the company isn’t the same if she’s still working for them?
Aw. You’re sweet.
Thanks for understanding why I had to go.
No problem. Taylor Isbester is a friend of mine.
He owns Isbester Construction based in Bellevue.
Give him a call and tell him to call me for a rec.
If you ever move back, call me. I’ll hire you.
Thanks so much, Todd.
I look at the text over and over. This doesn’t make sense. Why would her boss be telling … Wait. Wait. Wait. Wait.
I read the conversation again. Her boss said the company isn’t the same because Addy quit. I don’t know where she’s going when she “goes to work” or why she’s pretending that she’s still working, but that’s not the point.
She quit her job for me.
She quit her job so she could be with me.
My Addy.
I slide open the text from Brent.
This is Adam, Addy’s brother.
If you ever text my sister again, I will find you and beat you to pieces.
Don’t blame her for your inability to love.
How you love is your own choice and she does a damn good job of it.
I block him and delete the text. I know it’s something she’s wanted to do but hasn’t because she’s too nice. I hear her footsteps marching toward my room, so I lock the screen and put the phone back on the comforter like I never touched it.
“Papi,” she says, appearing in the door. She sees her phone on the bed and quickly comes over to retrieve it. “Come on, I have a proposal for you Knights of Vice people.”
I get up and follow her without saying a word. She obviously doesn’t want me to know, so I’m not going to bring it up, which is probably a good thing considering I could never repay her for coming back.
She came back.
For me.
—
“Knights of Vice assemble!” Addy yells. “Come to me, my darlings!”
I find the back door—though its size makes it more portal to the universe than back door—and push it open. “Dez, what are you doing?”
I don’t see her, but her voice cuts through the darkness. “Setting up my tent?”
“Addy wants to talk to us. If you come to the door, we’ll come out to help you after.”
“I’m not stepping near that house,” she yells.
“Dez, stop being ridiculous,” Addy says, walking out onto to the porch. “Just come here.”
“No,” Dez says.
Addy shakes her head. “Go get the guys and meet me at the Stubborn One’s tent.”
I run down the hallway, knocking on every door. “Hey guys, get out here.”
Trey appears in the hallway and eventually Elliot does, too.
“What’s going on?” Elliot asks.
“Addy wants to talk to us. She has some sort of proposal.”
Trey doesn’t even wait for me to tell him where to go. He just walks toward the living room, leaving Elliot and I to watch him wander aimlessly as he looks for his obsession.
We go outside and stand next to Dez’s half set-up tent.
“Wow, Dez,” Trey says. “I figured you’d still be figuring out what the shape of the tent was supposed to be.”
“Girls can put up tents, too,” she snaps. “Besides, this isn’t my first rodeo. I lived in this thing for three months in middle school.”
“On purpose?” Addy asks.
“I ran away after my dad forgot to take me to soccer practice for the fifth time. Neither of my parents wanted to ‘affirm my deviant behavior’ so they didn’t come for me, which put us in a standoff. I wasn’t going to come back until they acknowledged they were being assholes, and they weren’t coming to get me until I got accepted to Harvard and pooped gold.”
“How did you eat?” I ask.
“I stole family-sized bags of Cheetos from random gas stations on the way home from school. I also slept over at a friend’s house a lot.”
Trey and Elliot take the rainfly from her and start attaching it.
“Okay, well, while you guys are doing that, I’m going to propose—” Addy says.
Trey throws his fist into the air. “Yes! My charm worked. Chica, I do.”
Addy smiles but shakes her head. “Here’s my proposal. Well, I guess it’s more of a reminder than a proposal. You guys are all here together. I know you’ve talked a little bit about this, but I think you should really make sure you look at this trip as more than just finding an album. Use it as like, an intervention camp. You know how The Biggest Loser contestants go to a ranch to fight against their obesity? Well, this is your Biggest Loser ranch, and you can try your hardest to set some good accountability habits while you’re here.”
She looks at us, watching for any objection. “Therefore, I make the motion that no one’s allowed to be alone in their rooms until they’re falling over with sleep. Actually, maybe it wouldn’t hurt if everyone just slept in the same place. It might help break the habit of going to your vice at night, which I know Adam struggles with. Thoughts?”
Trey nods. “That’s a great idea, Addy. She’s so smart guys. Sleeping in the same spot will help. I’m sure of it. Let’s sleep on the porch! That’d be awesome.”
“I mean, we did tell our parents that this trip would help our addictions if they let us go.”
Dez looks at me but says nothing.
“I have an idea,” Elliot says, looking at both of us. “Give Addy your electronic shit.”
“But we have to call our parents every day,” I say.
“I mean, I can call Dad,” Addy says. “Or we can just leave one phone out on the kitchen counter. We’ll notice if it’s missing. The guys can give me their laptops and phones. Dez, you’ve apparently defeated porn so it’s up to you what you want to do with your stuff. It might be good just to hand it over anyway. Disconnect for a bit.”
Addy saying Dez has “defeated porn” sounds so definite. Has she actually defeated porn, or did she just move on? Now that I think about it, what is she hung up on currently? Has she told me? I remember the comment she made the first time she called me. The one about her sponsor saying she was more like a lost teenager than an addict. Is she hiding something? Is she just a lost teenager, or does she really just cycle through things so fast it’s impossible to keep up? I haven’t seen anything about her that screams addiction right now. I’ll have to ask her about it.
“You don’t need to hide yours either then,” I say to Elliot.
He shrugs. “Just because I’m not addicted to porn doesn’t mean I haven’t looked at it. It’s probably messed up some of my views on relational shit, anyway.”
“Gosh, man,” I say to Elliot. “I’m glad you have an optimist for a best friend.”
Trey nods viciously. “He’s a work in progress, Adam.”
“He’s a work for sure,” Addy says.
Elliot shakes his head. “I’m going to tie you all to your beds and make you watch porn.” He lets out a chuckle and we all start laughing, but then he stops right in the middle of a bellow and makes his face go emotionless.
Trey shivers. “I hate that. You know I hate it when you do that.”
Elliot laughs again and then makes his face go flat.
“Elliot, stop,” Trey begs.
“This is hilarious,” I say watching the two of them go back and forth.
“I hate this,” Trey snaps, so I start copying Elliot.
Trey walks away, slamming the back door of the patio. Elliot gives me a fist bump.
Dez is staring at all of us and frowning.
“Well, I’m not going in the house,” she finally says. “So you guys will have to hang out here with me.”
“Would you at least hang out on the back porch?” Addy asks. “Meet the guys in the middle here, Dez. Rein your idiosyncrasy in a bit and get on the bandwagon. Don’t make a mountain out of a dust pile. I know that’s like, your thing, but suspend it for now.”
“It’s not my thing,” she snaps, crossing her arms, but I can tell she knows it is her thing. It’s hard because I know why it’s her thing and no one else does.
She looks at the sky and sighs in disgust. “I’ll meet on the back porch if someone brings me dinner every night.”
“Dez,” Elliot says, almost disgusted. “Are you really bargaining right now?”
“Fine,” she says. “I’ll hang out with you on the back porch.” And with that, she disappears into her tent.
—
Trey makes us TV dinners and gives Elliot the lobster one. He gives Addy one, too, but hers is on a fancy plate, all arranged and set up like it’s a gourmet dinner. He even makes one for Dez, even though she hasn’t come out of her tent. We don’t want to wait for her to eat, so we head out to the back porch and dig in. Somehow, Trey, Elliot, and I start telling our best “that one time I was such a pathetic addict I did this” stories. They’re funny but not at the same time. It’s not like any of us are above doing pathetic addict things. This conversation seems like swimming with floaties around your arms while making fun of the time you didn’t know how to swim.
Addy eventually gives me a look that tells me to cut it out, so when the story pipe comes back to me, I start talking about finishing the album.
“Trey, you’re willing to play electric guitar, right?”
“Yeah, man! Absolutely, that’d be kickass. I’ve always played classic rock so I’m going to have to study up on my folk/Nashville sounds. I got some ideas, though.”
“Elliot, do you play anything?” I ask him.
“Eh, not really.”
“Yes, he does,” Trey says. “Stop being humble.”
Elliot flicks his head to the side. “It’s kind of embarrassing. I got made fun of all the time about it in middle school.”
“Have you noticed you’re not in middle school anymore? Just tell him.”
I widen my eyes. “Do you play the harp with your toes or something?”
“No … I play the cello.”
Trey throws up his hands and begins to points in random directions. “He doesn’t just play the cello; he dominates the cello. He’s the first person at least three Seattle recording studios call when they need a cellist. He’s even played on a Death Cab for Cutie record.”
“You play for the Cutie’s cabina de muerta?”
Elliot looks at Addy. “What did you just say? I hate it when you say stuff I can’t understand. Why do you do that?”
I look at Trey and he’s laughing hysterically.
“Elliot, relax,” I say. “Why are you embarrassed by that?”
“Like I said, I got picked on a lot. I mean, look at me. Emo is short for ‘emotional,’ and unlike other posers, I deserve the title. When shit hits me, it transfigures to concrete. Obviously.”
“Well, you have to play on the album then,” I say. “Mr. Cratcher wanted a cello.”
“I’ll play if we can give the thing a title. This album is such a mysterious thing, I feel like it should have a name.”
Trey nods. “What about: What Do You Mean Where am I From? America. I’m From America.”
“Pancreas Noises?” I say.
Elliot chuckles. “Cancer Ward.”
“El Cocina de Diablo?” Addy says.
“Love, Dark Matter, Jumbo Shrimp, and other Metaphysical Conundrums,” I say.
“Music to Pants Your Friends To,” Trey says in the middle of laughing.
“Ghosts of Christmas Pastors,” Elliot says.
We’re laughing like someone said poop in kindergarten when we finally hear Dez unzip her tent. A few seconds later, she appears on the back porch. She takes a moment to give the house the finger before opening the door to the screened-in area where we’re sitting.
In our silence, I notice the comforting roar of the giant propane heater heating the porch and, strangely, it gives me a hallelujah moment by reminding me where I am and who I’m with. Here’s to more of those. Here’s to hallelujah moments replacing porn.
Dez walks past me, her path aimed toward a nylon camping hammock strung between two of the ceiling supports. She’s changed into gray sweatpants and a striped hooded sweatshirt. Even in sweatpants, she looks like she could win awards in every category of attractiveness.
She puts up her hood and falls into the hammock. She grabs the fabric on its edges and pulls it over her so she disappears. I study her shoulder blades as they press against the hammock, moving and flexing as she tries to get comfortable.
“You look like a banana made out of synthetic polymer,” I say.
“You look like a banana made out of synthetic polymer,” she snaps.
She’s done being mad, I guess.
“Do you want your food?” Trey asks. “I’ll have to heat it again.”
“Yeah,” she says.
Trey disappears into the kitchen to microwave Dez’s previously microwaved dinner. She must hear him come back outside because a lone hand shoots out of the fabric in a very zombie-escaping-out-of-the-ground way.
Trey puts her food in her hand and it disappears into the Hamana (hammock + banana = Hamana). “Thanks,” she says, with a sigh. “Everyone, I’m sorry that I’m a bitch sometimes.”
Trey, Elliot, and I look at each other. Trey mouths, “What do we say?” Elliot shrugs and they both look at me. I throw up my hands in a “why would I know” kind of way, but in the end, I know the most about the tiger in the Hamana.
“Hey,” Addy says, beating me to the punch. “We all have our bad days. Don’t worry about it.”
“I guess I just got swept up in the trip,” she says, not mentioning anything about her family. “I liked being able to forget about being an addict for a little while. I just want to be seventeen instead of like, thirty.”
“Seventeen?” I bark. “I thought you were sixteen?”
“Today’s my birthday.”
I can’t believe I know more about Dez’s problems than the little human facts of her life. I don’t know if I should feel guilty, because she’s never told me when her birthday was, but at the same time, I didn’t ask.
“It’s your birthday?” Trey asks.
“Yeah.”
“Well, a birthday party is more fun than sitting around talking about album names! Elliot, Addy, let’s go find some birthday things.”
Elliot pushes himself off his chair. “Maybe they have flecks-of-gold-fetti birthday cake mix. I’ll check.”
Addy stands, too. “I can cook up some killer cupcakes if they don’t.”
Trey pats my shoulder as they walk by. I flash him a thank-you smile.
“Why didn’t you tell me it was your birthday?” I ask.
“Because having a birthday in December sucks. Everyone pays attention to Christmas and being done with school. Why bother trying to make a birthday happen? Also, you didn’t ask.”
I walk over to the hammock and part the fabric. As soon as I see her face, I smile.
“I’m sorry,” I say. I roll the hammock down and sit on the edge. “Happy birthday. Is there anything you want?”
She grabs my hand and puts it against her face. The tip of my thumb dips into her TV dinner mashed potatoes.
“To be whole.”
“Anything I can actually get you?”
She opens her eyes, and for the first time, I see love staring back at me—not confused attraction or obsessive addiction. I don’t know how I know this, but I do. It’s like when you know someone is watching you but can’t see them.
She gives me the most beautiful and thankful smile in the history of smiles. On a smile scale that starts at Mona Lisa and ends at Jessica Alba, she’s the sun.
She leans up and kisses my forehead. “You’ve already healed five parts of me, I think.”
“I won’t be able to heal everything. I want to, but I’m as unhealed as you are.”
“Five is greater than none, I guess.”
“I could swear I love you, Dez Coulter.”
“Then you probably do.” She grabs my shirt collar and pulls me close to her face. She makes a greater than sign and puts it against my chest.
“I love you, too,” she says. “Saying that is my birthday present to myself.”