I Am Having So Much Fun Without You by Courtney Maum

Author:Courtney Maum
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Touchstone

13

I DROVE back to Hemel Hempstead grateful to have the steering wheel to still my shaking hands. It hadn’t gone like I’d planned, none of it. Lisa—I’d gotten in and out of there quickly enough to preserve her image as some kind of hallucinatory vision, but the residue of seeing her was wreaking havoc on my nervous system. But I’d done it: I’d behaved in such a way that she wouldn’t want to see or talk to me again.

But I didn’t have the painting. In my mind, I’d seen myself valiantly crossing the Channel with The Blue Bear, surprising Anne not only with the fact that I’d had the chutzpah to pull the gesture off, but with the gesture itself.

I was back to zero. But dammit, I couldn’t stay at my parents’ place forever. Anne-Laure was an intellectual. A lawyer, for God’s sake. I couldn’t give her too much time alone to think.

I pulled in front of the house and jumped out of the car. I dashed into the living room, where my mum was Windexing the coffee table in her robe.

“Goodness, where’s the fire?” she asked, accepting a quick kiss.

My dad was in the kitchen, halfway through a bowl of Weetabix. I grabbed a square and popped it in my mouth. My mother came to the doorway and leaned against the frame.

“I’m going home,” I said, chewing with my mouth open.

My father put his spoon down. “So, did you two talk?”

I got a carton of orange juice out of the fridge, ignoring his question. My mother, sensing tension, went off to Windex something else.

“What, are you just . . . going?”

“She’s my wife.”

My father rolled his eyes. “I hope you have a plan.” He folded his arms on the table, and watched my face for signs. “Oh, Jesus,” he said. “You don’t. Well, Richy. I hope she can forgive you.”

On my way out, I stopped in front of my mother’s “craft closet” next to the guest bathroom, a narrow lair of wrapping paper, streamers, sequins, and other party goods. I grabbed several sheets of blue construction paper, a glue jar, and a pair of children’s scissors, and stuffed them in my tote. I also grabbed the videos I’d started making of my parents, and the camcorder, too. It was the equivalent of me leaving with their portrait: something old, with scalloped edges. It was me, grasping for faith.

My mum saw me to the car with a weathered ziplock full of biscuits and a turkey sandwich.

“I put extra mayo on it,” she said. “Oh, and I found this.” She shrugged a camera bag off of her shoulder. “I don’t think it’s the same make, but I think the video camera will fit, if you want to take it?”

I pulled her to me. “Thanks.”

My dad walked out and gave me a knowing look.

“Go get ’em,” he said, putting his arm around my mother. It was 10:17 in the morning. Things were looking grim for me. I got in the car quickly so they wouldn’t see me cry.

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