This Is Not Over Part 29

No, you tell me something. Tell me a story. The kind of story that will take my mind off what's going on.

What is going on?

I don't want to talk about it. I want to listen.

Let me think.

More than a minute goes by.

Okay, here goes. It's about my dad. I've never told this to anyone.

That's a good start.

But before Thad can go on, I hear from Aunt Tanya: WE NEED TO TALK ABOUT YOUR MOTHER.

I really hate those alarmist caps. My mother should not be my problem.

SHE JUST GOT AN EVICTION NOTICE. SHE NEEDS YOUR HELP.

I can't let that go unanswered, not today.

SHE NEEDS TO GET A JOB.

SHE'S NEVER HAD A JOB.

WALMART GREETER. SANDWICH MAKER. HOTEL MAID. DRIVE HER AROUND AND HELP HER FILL OUT APPLICATIONS.

THAT'S EASY FOR YOU TO SAY.

EVERYONE HAS TO DO THINGS THEY DON'T WANT TO IF THEY WANT TO SURVIVE.

SHE'S IN NO SHAPE TO GET A JOB.

SHE'LL GET IN SHAPE IF SHE'S DESPERATE ENOUGH.

YOU NEED TO STEP UP, DAWN.

I'VE BEEN TAKING CARE OF MYSELF MY WHOLE LIFE. SHE CAN DO THE SAME.

SHE'S YOUR MOTHER.

LATELY, SHE REMINDS ME OF THAT ALL THE TIME.

YOU CAN'T REALLY BE THIS WAY. STEP UP, DAWN. YOU'LL FEEL BETTER.

YOU LIVE IN HER TOWN. YOU HAVE ROOM FOR HER. YOU TAKE HER IN.

IT HAS TO BE YOU.

WHY?.

BECAUSE SHE DOESN'T THINK YOU LOVE HER.

NOT MY PROBLEM.

I DON'T KNOW WHAT HAPPENED TO YOU, DAWN, THAT YOU CAN BE LIKE THIS.

MY PARENTS HAPPENED TO ME.

I'm always hungry because of them, and everyone can smell it on me.

I block Aunt Tanya.

The day just got worse.

You sure you don't want to talk about it?

Tell me your story, Thad. No, better yet, tell me a secret.

I already told you my biggest. That I'm not an addict, that I con my mother into thinking I am.

Miranda's been diminished by all that I have going on right now. Once I do my final presentation in Professor Myerson's cla.s.s, I could exorcise her for good.

Yeah, I get it. You're a bad, bad boy who just wanted to be loved.

And what are you?

We're not talking about me. Are you going to tell me a secret or do I have to go somewhere else?

My father's an alcoholic.

As in, your father the doctor?

The very same. He goes on binges that last days. He plans them ahead of time. My mother thinks he's at medical conferences.

How do you know that?

I caught him once when I was in high school. Just ran into him on the street when my mother thought he was in Las Vegas. He was wrecked. Blacked out. He didn't even remember it later. Or he pretended he didn't.

You confronted him?

Yeah. It was the best talk we ever had. He gets it. The need for oblivion.

He said that?

He said that he gets so tired of being responsible, he likes not having to fulfill any expectations for a while. To be out of control. He said he envied me. That I got to s.h.i.+rk responsibility as a way of life.

He said THAT? It's almost like he was endorsing you being an addict.

He didn't mean to. It just slipped out. But after he confessed, he started to act like an even bigger harda.s.s. Like it was a part he was playing in front of my mom so she wouldn't suspect.

Suspect what?

That my dad and me get each other. That we have what me and my mom don't. What he and my mom don't.

I had the impression you and your dad don't talk.

We don't anymore. And we never talked that much when he was sober.

All those nighttime talks, he was drunk?

That's when he was his real self. He'd tell me the truth about my mom. How she only cares about appearances, and how the world sees her, and she put all this pressure on him to be seen a certain way. Because if you let her down, she punishes you. She won't look at you the same, she won't love you the same, you can just feel it.

Your dad told you all that?

Yeah, he told the truth. With my mom, anything positive is just phony bulls.h.i.+t. I always knew she didn't like my art, that she was just humoring me. My dad confirmed that.

I could almost feel sorry for Miranda. I mean, who could like Thad's art? If his dad claimed to, then he was the liar.

My dad was just warning me. You can't believe anything good from her. All the bad is right there under the surface. She's just keeping up appearances.

But she's the one who's still in your life, right? Your dad isn't.

That's not exactly his fault.

What do you mean?

I blackmailed him, too.

Jesus, Thad.

It was after my dad had thrown me out and he said it was for good. I just needed him to listen to me. So I told him I'd tell Mom about his binges if he didn't help me, and I didn't mean with money. Or at least, not just money. My dad turned around and said he'd give me ten thousand dollars, but that would be the end. We'd never have a relations.h.i.+p again.

He was testing you.

He said that if I ever came back around, he would just tell my mom rather than let me have anything over him.

You chose the money.

Because it's what he wanted. He wanted to be rid of his addict son. I know because I offered to give the money back a week later if he'd have me in his life again. He never answered.

He didn't trust you.

Do you know how hard it is for an addict to give back money?

I thought you said you're not an addict.

I'm not anymore. I got clean for him. I'm going to show up soon and he won't be able to turn me away.

Sounds like someone's heading for a fall.

I have another secret. I've been pretending to be away in Arizona. I've been back in L.A. for a while.

Why have you been pretending?

My mother feels safer with me further away.

But why did you lie to me?

I thought you might feel safer, too.

48.

Miranda

"This is Ed from Dunleavy Construction, just following up on that estimate we gave you. We could get started on the work next Wednesday . . ."

"Miranda, it's Vi. I want you to know I had nothing to do with that rumor. I never told anyone at the a.s.sociation about you violating the ordinance . . ."

"The conference is going well. I hope the time apart is good for you, too. We need to let cooler heads prevail . . ."

"It's Officer Llewellyn. I've been busy with investigations so I haven't been able to call you back. What you described does not sound like cybercrime. There's nothing I can do for you . . ."

"Hi, Miranda. This is Kimberly Zhou. Larry thought we should get to know each other better. I have some time today, if you'd like to meet for coffee . . ."

"h.e.l.lo, Miranda. It's Harriet. Calvin thought I should call. He saw a man who seemed to be skulking around your house, like he was checking to see if it was occupied. He didn't go inside, but Calvin said that might be because he realized he was being watched. We're probably being overly cautious, I don't want to alarm you, but maybe your husband could drive over and make sure everything's okay? . . ."

If that sequence of voicemails tells me anything, it's that I am fully alone, and I am under siege.

My reputation is the least of my problems. If Dawn's man was skulking outside the Santa Monica house, checking to see if I'm there, then how long will it be before he finds his way back to Beverly Hills? She's still after me, and I can't stop thinking about what comes after a dead rat.

Larry and I have never been gun people. I've never been touched by random crime, and until now, I've never been targeted specifically. The alarm used to feel more than sufficient. Superfluous, even. I'd forget to set it for days on end. That seems like a long, long time ago.

I'm on the living room couch with a twelve-inch chef's knife and a saw. I would have preferred an ax, but we don't have one. What we have is a saw that I can hopefully swing like an ax, with the knife for backup in case an intruder enters my immediate radius. It occurs to me that I could go out and buy an ax, but then it would seem like I should just be buying a gun, and it's all become so patently absurd that I can't move. Besides, I'm afraid to step outside; he could be waiting for me, whoever "he" is.

On what counts as a positive note, Thad's started tweeting up a storm. I have almost too much confirmation that he's alive.