In Hot Water Pt. 06

The painted window next to us cracks with a thud, like someone kicked a dinner plate against a heavy bag at the gym. A sliver of glass as long as my chopsticks flies onto the table, splattering my stepmother's soy sauce broth all over the table. Donna stands, and holds her hands up by her shoulders, as if to keep them out of the mess. She looks at the window, then back at me.

The window cracks again, caving in with a bowling-ball-sized hole at the top. The pane of glass leans over the table, bulging where it was hit, but the sides and bottom of the frame hold it in place. Long brown dreadlocks spill into our booth, dripping dark red onto the mud spatter of wasabi paste on shards of green and white glass. From out in the plaza, a woman's shriek corkscrews its way into the restaurant. The hair slowly retracts out the cratered hole, leaving only wet red on top of painted glass. A fog lingers where the hair had been.

My face is on fire.

I can't breathe.

My chair topples over behind me, as I stumble away from our table. Screams and crashing from back in the kitchen. Pots and pans clang into something. Plates or glasses shattering, I can't tell which. Behind me, the unmistakable sound of somebody's lunch coming back out of them.

The fog makes a slow but steady ride into the restaurant. The purified essence of a thousand hot peppers floods into my eyes, and they squeeze themselves shut on my face. Each breath is a sauna of battery acid.

Still gripping both phones, my hands trace the edge of the table, and I try to work my way back to the front door. I reach the next table, and my foot scuffs against a towel on the ground. Donna is coughing somewhere to my side, then my own breath is too loud, and I can't tell where she went. I try to open my eyes, but they insist on staying shut. I can get one of them a part of the way open, enough to see the silver bar of the glass front door. Behind lies an opaque grey wall.

Somebody bumps into me from behind. "Move it!" The man coughs, and gasps for air.

I reach the entrance, and lean my back into the door, then I'm outside, lost in an ocean of smoke.

Shouting. A beep from a bullhorn. A familiar voice is barking orders, but it's muffled.

I don't know which way to go, so I just start hobbling away from the restaurant door, phones still in my hands. Breathing, but not really breathing. Eyes forced shut, but for an oozing sliver on one side. Something whirls across my path in the fog. Then dark streaks follow. I stop to let them by, then continue on, but my lungs are exploding, and my heart pounds in my ears, louder than the shouting and commotion obscured by the fog.

There's no end to the smoke, and I break into a run. I can't tell if I'm out of breath or it's just the smoke, but I'm still on my feet, so I just keep running.

Then I bounce off a squishy round wall.

My hip takes most of the impact, as I fall on my back on the ground. The fog above me clears, behind a thick figure wearing a gas mask. Three stripes arc over the right side of the man's sleeve, and he shouts something into a radio he holds in one hand. He brandishes a black baton, and looks down at me, as I gasp for air, sitting on the cold, wet bricks of the square.

~~~~~~

CHAPTER 28

I push the metal door open into the freedom of the October night. Two police stations in two days, but at least I'm not across town this time.

I don't know what I'm going to do. No phone, no money, and my bank account is frozen. The most powerful déjà vu overtakes me, as I round the corner to front of the building.

She's standing there.

Jessica leans against the wall, a few paces away from the front door. Her hair twirls up in a bun with a stick through it, and an oversized purse sits beside her, in a squished tilt against the side of the building. The zipper of her black fleece jacket dangles under her nose, and her cheeks burn bright red. A yellow floodlight buzzes from two stories over her head.

"I got your text," I say. "You mean it?"

Jessica breathes out fog, and turns to me. "Yes, I do."

"What are you doing here?"

"Waiting for you."

"By yourself? Where's Mom?"

"I think she's with Phil. They were here earlier. She wanted me to go with them, but I didn't."

"Why not?" I stop a pace away from her.

"Because." Jessica pulls herself off the wall, and steps up to me. We're inches apart.

"So they just left you here?" I touch her hips with both my hands, as the fog of my breath mingles with hers.

"I was very firm in the matter. Are you okay?"

"Yeah. Red Haired Lady got arrested. I sort of did it to her. Well, no, she did it to herself. I just told the fat Sergeant who thought I was part of the protest about it."

"What happened?"

"Riots, tear gas. I'm surprised my clothes don't burn our--"

"No," says Jessica, "what happened with Dad?"

"He wasn't there. It was Donna, and she had his phone. Dad's been in jail since Friday. Him and Kirsten both."

"What did the Red Haired Lady want from you?"

"To vouch for her cover story for Todd." I move my hands up and rub the sides of my sister's shoulders. She leans against me and lets me rub. "I declined."

"So where do we stand? Are you in trouble too?" Jessica scrunches up her nose, and the zipper underneath dances back and forth.

"They didn't charge me with rioting, or anything else. The fat Sergeant turned me over to this detective, once they found out who I was. Dad, Donna, and Kirsten are in some deep shit. I may have to testify in the future. They say you'll probably have a deposition too."

"So we're okay?"

"Well, sort of," I say. "The Red Haired Lady knows. About us." I hand my sister a wasabi-soaked business card with a picture of a bird.

Jessica pulls herself off my chest. She studies the card. "Did you record her?"

"I did, but my phone was almost dead, and I'm not sure what it got. The cops wouldn't say what was on it. I think they were trying to play me to reveal more, but I didn't have anything else to tell them."

"Did it have stuff about us, you and me, though? Did you talk to her about us?"

"Yeah, but I don't know if it was still running. Even if it wasn't, apparently she's already started talking. I sat in a room for most of the day again, and at one point the detective who was looking after me came in laughing. He refused to say anything about Donna, other than they found her gasping for air on the floor of the restaurant where I met her, soaked in soy sauce, and covered in bits of glass. She tried, in his words, 'a ridiculous fairy tale' to discredit me."

Jessica smiles. "They don't believe her. They think she's desperate." My sister reaches behind me, and five sharp talons pull me against her chest.

"How'd it go with your phone?" I ask.

Jessica shrugs. "I turned it in about ten seconds after I texted you. I'm worried about the stuff Donna and I talked about."

"Cops said they pull texts from the phone company too, so they'd have those even without your phone."

"Except for the blue dot ones," says Jessica.

"Except for those. I don't think there's anything there to hurt us. And if I'm right, we haven't done anything wrong. And we're in the clear."

Then I do something wrong.

I kiss my sister, and push her against the coarse grey side of the police station, hitting the wall harder than I'd intended. I squeeze her breast through her fleece jacket, and Jessica's moan comes out into my mouth. Streaks of white hot light etch across my shoulder, and she curls her hand around my neck, as I hold her in place. We're wrapped in a cloud of fog, and I'm not sure if it's hers or mine.

A woman shouts, "Hey."

The voice says, "You can't do that here."

I break from Jessica's lips and turn to discover a uniformed officer, and her partner, a man wielding the harness of a large German Shepherd. All of them stand motionless at the corner of the building, and neither humans, nor canine look amused.

"Sorry," says Jessica. "We just got good news."

"Find somewhere else to celebrate."

The officers watch, as I take my hand off my sister's chest, and step back from her. The cop with the K-9 turns and walks down the ramp away from us along the side of the building. Then the woman adjusts her hat and follows the six legs ahead of her.

"Alex," says Jessica, "the policewoman says you're not allowed to kiss your sister against the wall of the cop shop."

"Yeah, I heard. I'm going to have to find somewhere else."

"I have an idea. But you need to be feeling adventurous."

"Always."

"I took some wine from the house." Jessica looks at the bag on the ground. "There's a couple bottles in there."

"You're standing out here with--"

"I'm not done." My sister looks up at me. "I have your money still, plus Mom gave me a bunch of cash and a card when she left. I don't think she knew what else to do, when I insisted on waiting here." Jessica points at a building looming over us from several blocks away. "That hotel."

I take my sister's hand and we weave our fingers together. Jessica lifts the bag off the ground, and then we're skipping down the to the street, bottles clanging to our steps.

As we cross the first intersection, I ask her, "Do you need a hand with that?"

"No, I'm good."

Several crosswalks later and we breeze through a silver revolving door onto a black and gold marble floor, beneath a bright vaulted ceiling. Two men in burgundy jackets cross in front of us towing luggage. A line of people half a dozen deep waits in front of a shoulder height desk helmed by another man in a burgundy jacket. My sister and I stop just inside the spinning door.

"Excuse me," says a voice behind us. I turn and a woman with the same uniform as the rest of the employees weaves around us. She carries a bag over her shoulder, with her wrist up under the strap. Yellow smoke inks over the back of her hand.

My sister looks at me, then leads us to the check in line. A man and a woman dressed like airline pilots leave the desk up front, and the line shuffles forward. After that, a man in a grey pinstripe suit fills in behind us.

"What's the plan, Sis?"

"I want to--" Jessica stops, and cocks her head away from me. Her nose scrunches up, and she squeezes my hand tighter. "You've never called me that."

"Should I not?"

The wheels in the green spin around.

"You can." She smiles. "But only here."

"In a hotel?"

"For now, yes." She turns to face the front of the line. "We get to the front and check in. Then we can be whoever we want."

A woman with long platinum blonde hair stares at her phone, as she joins the back of the line. The neck of her white blouse cuts halfway down her chest, and her pencil skirt hugs her hips tighter than anything my sister would wear. At the front of the line, a woman in a creased green pantsuit departs, and we move forward.

"Anyone we want?"

Jessica holds her focus straight ahead. She's trying to keep her composure, but she's trembling against me.

A man in a dark suit stands his luggage up behind the woman in the tight skirt. He slides off his jacket and pulls it over his shoulder, smothering wrinkles in a baby blue dress shirt. He stares at the woman's skirt.

"When do we start?" I ask.

"At the desk up there." My sister sucks in a breath and her grip on me steadies. "You'll know when."

~~~~~~

CHAPTER 29

I cinch the cushy belt and swipe up our shoes from in front of the bathroom. Behind the door, a fan hums.

The Dragon Lady pushes a chrome cart past the giant beds, each with a neat pile of blankets folded on top. She lets go of the cart and releases the stop on the front door. It swings shut, and she pushes the cart the rest of the way to the dining table by the window.

"We don't have any actual Pop-Tarts," says the woman, taking a plate off the cart. The sleeve of her blazer pulls back when she sets the dish on the table, and the Emerald Dragon on her wrist bids me good morning.

I sit in front of the surrogate pastry, and my head swells when I meet the chair, but the feeling passes. Before me, crumbs of brown sugar and frosting drizzle over a red jelly oozing from diagonal slits in the rectangular dough. It's not a Pop-Tart, but it will do.

The Dragon Lady offers silverware, and I accept. Smoke billows around other items on the table. Some juice, slices of cantaloupe, a bowl of cereal, and two tall straight glasses filled with a dark blue swirl.

The hum from the bathroom grows louder.

I cut a corner off the pastry, and shovel it into my mouth. Smoke and green arranging items on the table, but I'm focused on the blend of frosting and jelly.

Thuds approach, and a white shadow breezes past me.

She whispers three words to me.

I whisper back, but I hope the Dragon hears.

My sister looms over the feast and leans against me. Her arm stretches around my back and grips my shoulder. I set down my fork, and push my chair back from the table.

She steps over my feet, and sits in my lap. Her robe over my robe, over me. I hold the side of her plush white gown to keep her in place atop my legs. Her hair twists into a bun on top of her head, and I'm breathing past the side of her arm.

The Dragon Lady arranges silverware and napkins to accommodate us sitting together. Jessica reaches and pulls a bowl of frosted shredded wheat in front of herself.

"Is your neck okay?" I ask my sister. My voice is barely a whisper.

"Fine." She whispers back. "My head hurts a little, but that's the wine."

I look up to catch the woman quickly turning her attention away. Then she's right back to us, and pushing the two glasses of thick blue liquid closer to my plate. "These'll help."

My sister tilts back the blue offering. A strand of hair not secured within her bun tickles my face. She works the thick smoothie around in her mouth and swallows. "That's really good. Did you order this?" She squeezes my shoulder.

"Our friend recommended it." I hold out my hand to offer credit to the Dragon, who is finishing up loading items on the cart.

My sister takes another drink of blue and sets the glass down.

"Can I ask you a question?" The girl in my lap is not talking to me.

"Sure."

"Could we really pull off married?"

"Oh." The woman in burgundy pauses, and looks at us, seated together in a pile of white hotel robes. "Well, you had me fooled."

"I just wonder if we seem normal."

The Dragon Lady pushes the cart toward the front door, then returns and stands across the table from us.

"I'm not sure what you want me to say. You seem fine to me, but I don't know you."

"We're not supposed to be together." Jessica takes another sip of blue. "People wouldn't approve."

The woman laughs. "Okay, I play relationship counselor more than I ought to. Friends? What's the issue?"

"Family," says my sister. "And friends too." She shrugs against me.

"No offense, but you two are young. Friends you can work out in a lot of ways. Family is harder. Is it just one side?" She points a finger back and forth between us.

"It's both. It's all of them."

"Ouch. That's rough."

I carve off another slice of brown sugar and frosting.

"All I can tell you," says the woman, "is what I see."

"And what do you see?" asks my pushy sister.

"Well, you two haven't stopped touching since you got here. And you make the same face when you look at each other. You have the same eyes. I don't suppose your disapproving friends or family tell you that.

She turns to leave, and I swallow the pastry without chewing all the way.

"That's yours." I point to a folded twenty-dollar bill on the table by the bed, and I swallow again. "For the marriage counseling."

"If I may," says the Dragon Lady, "I want someone who looks at me the way he looks at you."

"I hope you find someone." Jessica lifts her smoothie and drains the rest of the blue in one gulp, then clangs the glass down on the table. She traces her fingers up my neck, and onto my scalp, pulling my hair tight.

"But you can't have this one," says my sister.

Two wet lips stick to my cheek, then peel away.

"He's mine."

~~~~~~

EPILOGUE

My drink is gone.

Phil poured it, and I took one sip. Then Mom said something, and I turned around and the champagne flute had vanished.

Fucking hell.

I'd stomp down the to the living room to look for my glass, but I'm not putting the floor or my feet through that. Phil said the new hardwood is three quarter inch red oak. He's the radiologist who married my mom this morning. They said their vows right next to her new birdbath.

I storm into the kitchen. "Have you seen my drink?"

"No." Mom pushes one of our new cherry cabinets shut with one hand, while she holds a champagne flute with the other. She stands in front of the sink, draped head to toe in a sleeveless white dress, her light blonde hair coifed up in its usual tidy state.

"I'm opening another bottle." I pull open the fridge door.

"Jessica." My mother stares at me. "Let's finish what's already open, before we start on another. Phil just took one outside. We need to get everything set up. Can you get that going?"

I groan, and shut the fridge. "Sure, where am I going?"

"In my trunk."

I snatch the keys dangling from Mom's upturned finger, and stuff them in the pocket of my dress. Yes, dresses have pockets now. A thick wave of heat rushes into my face when I open the door to the porch.

For the record, I'm writing this for school. My internship program asks us to talk about a day that matters to us, and for me that's today. Some of this doesn't fit with the propriety of school or clinics, but I can trim that. I told my brother about this project, and he confessed that he's already written something similar. I had no idea. Alex says he'll let me read it, if I show him this story.

Phil and my aunt Lorna sit at a table at the end of the driveway, under the shade of a fir tree next to the mailbox. They're collecting the wedding gifts people drop off. We should just be using the kitchen table, but for some reason my mother has us spread out over the whole yard. It's still early, and there hasn't been much traffic yet.

Before I can start down the steps, Kevin's black car tears into the driveway. He pulls in at an angle, and parks me in. He parks everyone in.

"Where your boys at?" asks Kevin, as he and Jane exit the car. His brass belt buckle squeezes a pink shirt into some white pants.

"I'm not sure," I say. "Maybe out back."

Kevin disappears around the side of the house, and Jane climbs the porch steps in front of me. Her creased black slacks bend and crimp with each of her steps, revealing the glossy white toes of high heel pumps I've never seen before. She has a frilly white blouse, like a toned down version of a pirate shirt, and her hair spreads into its usual incorrigible dark hive.

Jane pulls me close, and kisses my cheek, pushing my face into her hair. "You look great," she says. "This new?" She rubs the fabric of my dress back and forth between her thumb and two fingers.

"Yes, actually. And I love your shoes." I'd been looking for an excuse to wear this dress. Black, sleeveless, hem above the knees. Pinches my waist tight, then it's loose above and below. Hangs around my neck, and exposes my whole back. Plus pockets. The neckline cuts low in the front, but it's a wedding, so fuck it.

For the record, I'm wearing this dress today to torture Alex, and I've already put it to the test...

My brother and I were walking our new German Shepherd puppies through the park this morning. We were already dressed for the wedding, but had some time to kill. I had Jasper's leash, and my brother had Will's, when these two girls came from the other direction. One of them greets the dogs, but the other girl in this pink sundress like my yellow one starts hitting on Alex. They're talking about Egypt, and she pulls up her dress past her waist to show off some bullshit tattoo of a guy with a falcon head or something. The ink runs from her upper thigh to below her ribs, and my brother leans over to take a closer look. She pulls the dress even higher and we're all just standing there staring at her underwear.