Everything Is Fine
Fiction: A man grapples with a relationship and an ex.
This piece from author Kate Hodges is free to read without a subscription. Please welcome Kate in her first appearance in Futurist. We are honored to run her short story.
Three weeks after I cheated on Taylor, we watch a movie on the couch. She lies against me, her face tucked into my shoulder. Her blonde hair makes my neck itch. I grab a pillow from the top of the couch and slide it under her head.
We agree on Inception. The plot is so complicated that we can’t talk, or we’ll miss something vital and nothing would make sense. We watch until halfway. Then we pause it to go make popcorn. I kick the blanket off us. The pillow leaves a wavy pattern on her cheek.
She stands first. I watch her walk towards the kitchen. Taylor is what you’d call delicate. Her hair is light blonde and styled in a wispy pixie cut. She is wearing a yellow camisole with lemons all over it, with matching hipsters. Her favorite color is yellow, because of the sunflower. Her favorite animal is a bumblebee, because of Winnie the Pooh.
We don’t have a microwave. We make it the old-fashioned way, in a large saucepan on the stove. Taylor reaches into the cabinet and rummages in the back. She pulls out all the wrong ones first: extra virgin olive oil, regular olive oil, then finally, corn oil.
“The bottle is really full. I guess we haven’t Netflixed and chilled in a while.”
“I don’t think it’s been that long.” I unscrew the cap from the oil. It pours out fast and spills on the counter. “Damn.”
Taylor rushes to cover it with a dishtowel.
I pour a cup of Orville Redenbacher’s finest into the pan and put a lid on it. One minute later the popping starts. I shake it so the popcorn doesn’t burn. The popping gets louder and faster. When the crackling peters out, I put the pan down on a cool burner and grab a bowl from the cabinet.
I start to carry the bowl back to the living room, but Taylor doesn’t follow. Our kitchen is clean, except for some dirty dishes in the sink. I meant to wash them after breakfast, but I was running late for work. She picks up a plate, and starts to rinse it.
“Let’s leave them to soak. They’ll be easier to clean that way.” I nestle up behind her and wrap my arms around her. “Besides the popcorn is much better when it’s hot.” I hold the bowl under her nose.
Taylor hits play and Leo continues his mindfuck. There are a lot of things we’re not talking about.
We’re not talking about the festival where Alice made the costumes for her friend’s play. I missed the afternoon show because I was getting my flu shot. One thing led to another, which led to me missing the whole thing.
I saw Alice outside smoking a cigarette.
“Josh?” She calls out as I walk by.
I lean in for a hug. “Long time. How have you been?”
“Good, I work for the law firm on the 11th floor. I just got off. We’re done at 3:30 p.m. on a Friday. What are you downtown for?”
I hold up my arm. “I’m part of the walking wounded. I just got my flu shot.”
“How…” She takes a long drag and blows it out. “Responsible.” She stares at me a second. “Want to share a smoke?”
“I’m more of a Nicorette man myself these days.”
“You can do it,” she smiles.
“Nicorette can help.” I finish.
We both start to laugh. The banter is like old times. She throws her stub on the ground and stamps on it with her foot. Pink boots. Black leather jacket. Red lipstick.
“You look exactly the same.” She did. The same long blonde hair with wild corkscrew curls. I used to love pulling on them and watching them bounce back up.
She knew what I was thinking and tugged on a curl. “Boing.”
I could tell that Alice was still a bit of fun.
By the time I got home that night, Taylor was already sleeping. I found Alice on Facebook. Then, she added me on Snapchat. We talked all night long.
Alice and I become favorites on Snapchat and had a twelve-day streak going. We decide to go for a drink after work.
One hot, rainy night in August, about two weeks after our sidewalk encounter, we meet at Ralph’s, the dive bar on Frankford. There’s a band playing that Alice wants to see.
I get there first and I secure a wobbly table. The floor is sticky. There’s an old pool table pushed against a wall in the back under a dartboard.
Alice arrives with mascara running down her cheeks. Her blonde hair is plastered to her forehead.
“You’re soaking wet.”
“Drenched.” She reaches behind her head and squeezes her hair. Water droplets hit the floor. “They say it’s going to rain all week.”
She takes off her raincoat. It’s transparent, red vinyl, so glossy you see your reflection in it. After she hangs it on the back of the chair—I can’t help but notice the Burberry label—she takes a tissue out of the pocket and dabs at the mascara on her cheeks. Then she holds up a coat sleeve to check her reflection.
“Your coat reminds me of a cherry Tootsie Pop wrapper.”
She laughs. “They were my favorite when I was little.” She starts to mimic the commercial, “Mr. Fox, How many licks”—she looks me in the eye—“does it take to get to the center of a Tootsie Pop?”
I chuckle. “I never made it without biting.” I start to drum my fingers on the table to the beat of the band’s song. I don’t know why I’m nervous. “Lollipops were your favorite. That’s weird. I liked M&M’s.”
“Open your hands and smile.”
Alice laughs again and I hold up my hands. She kisses them.
One rum and Coke becomes two and then three. We are chugging from the bottom shelf. We both have drunk too much to drive, and we play pool to try to sober up when the band takes a break. She picks up the chalk, runs it over her cue, then blows on it. Tiny specks of green chalk freckle her nose. Alice leans over and her top slides down, exposing a lacy black bra strap. The band starts up again. It’s hard to hear. She gets up on me. Her lips brush against my ear. She starts to tell me something, but I can’t concentrate. They are brighter and shinier than Taylor’s.
She tries again and cups her hand around my ear. “I love this band!”
I line up my shot. Two ball in the corner pocket and miss. “They sound great!” I yell back.
She also goes for the two ball. And sinks it. “They are going to be huge someday!”
She walks around the table. Her hips sway to the beat. “Definitely, huge.” I agree.
My pocket vibrates. I tap on the notification. (Taylor.) “The last show was amazing! The crowd loved the play. Three standing ovations!!!!! I’m still buzzing!!!! I’m at the cast party. Come meet me.”
“Can’t. Out with a client,” I reply, then add a sad face, signing off, “We’ll def celebr8 tomorrow.”
Alice brings me another shot. I slip my phone in my pocket. “One more for the road.”
“We’re supposed to be sobering up…but still…” I hold up my glass. “For old times’ sake.”
The drinks are bright blue. I down it. “These taste like Smurfberries.”
“What?”
“The cereal. Smurfberry cereal. It was only the best cereal ever.”
“You are mistaken. The best cereal ever is Frosted Flakes.”
I protest, “You couldn’t be more wrong.”
“I can prove it.” Alice imitates Tony the Tiger and beats her hand on her chest. “They aren’t just good—they’re g-g-g-g-great!” As if on cue, the drummer does a crazy Muppets Animal style solo beat on Alice’s ‘great.’
“They may bring out the tiger in you, but even Tony the Tiger know that they aren’t the best. They are merely great.” I cross my arms, confident that I have won this round.
“That doesn’t prove that Smurfberry cereal is the best or even better than Frosted Flakes. It doesn’t even have good in its name. What’s their slogan again?” Alice puts her hand on my arm.
“Guess we’ll have to call it a draw.” I hold her hand and swing it. “This band really is amazing. Dance with me?” I pull her into the crowd by the small stage in the corner. We are grinding to a jazz techno beat. It’s weird. But I like it.
“I’m going to be up there one day.” Alice says, pointing to the stage. I believe her. She is so confident. She says it like a fact. Newton’s Law of Gravity. Alice’s Law of Fame.
The bar has a soft, neon glow, and the crowd is pairing off. We still can’t drive. I offer to walk her home.
“Wait. I want to buy a CD.”
We head over to the merch table. There are bunch of CDs stacked on the table along with a bunch of blue T-shirts with “Saving Cecilia” on them. CDs are $8. Alice hands them a ten. They put the cash in a tin fishing box and count out the change.
The roadie hands her a flyer with the band’s upcoming shows. “I’ll look for you.” Alice beams. I pull Alice toward the door and into the night.
Alice’s side of the neighborhood is a bit more down-and-out than up-and-coming. What kind of man would I be to let her walk home alone? Alice is humming the chorus from one of tonight’s songs. The traffic lights start and stop. It’s as though they are moving to the beat of Alice’s humming.
It’s still raining hard, and we walk under el tracks for a bit of shelter. Alice starts to jump in the puddles on the edges of the pavement as we go down the street. “Isn’t it great?”
“Your shoes are going to be ruined.”
“I like getting wet.” She holds out her hand and raises an eyebrow. “I dare you.”
“My clothes will get soaked.”
“They’ll dry.”
We splash in puddles competing for the largest wave. We turn down an alley, go up some stairs, through a rusty gate and then arrive at her building. She lives on the fourth floor in a tiny studio. It’s not what I expected. There are cracks in the plaster. The cabinets are avocado (and not in that cool retro way). The single bed is push up against the wall. There is a dinosaur print duvet on the bed. Alice is definitely still fun. Her lips taste like smurfberries.
“You taste like my favorite… You’re a smurf.”
“La, la, la la la, sing a happy song.” She half-sings and puts her arms around my neck.
I go in for another kiss. “What will we do with all this Smurfberry Crunch?”
She nibbles my lower lip and finishes the line. “Eat it of course.”
Later, when we are falling asleep, I realize that there is a half-inch space between the bed and the wall. We spoon to avoid it.
The next morning, Alice showers while I brush my teeth. I can’t help staring at her. Alice is fucking beautiful. She’s hot in a way that Taylor, my ethereal Taylor, will never be. Taylor is like a fairy, and Alice is a Bond girl.
After we get dressed, Alice smokes a cigarette on the unmade bed, and this time I take one. I watch our shadows on the wall. She lights a cigarette like a silent film goddess. There is something so confident about the flick of her wrist.
Alice flips on the television. It’s a few minutes into one of the ghost encounters shows. This time the couple has bought a house. Doors are opening and closing on their own. The woman in the specialty alien-green night-capture light hears menacing whispers. “I hope she runs,” Alice says. “I hate it when people in these shows have a chance to run, to get out and sell and don’t take it. If they are really afraid, why do they stay?”
“Fear. Maybe they’ll lose their shirts if they try to sell now. It’s not a seller’s market.”
Alice stands up to dump the ashtray in the trash.
“What about that girl you’re seeing? What was she doing last night?”
“Oh, Taylor? She’s great. She does costumes for plays, and last night was the final show.”
She turns around. “But you came out for drinks with me.”
“Well, yeah. We haven’t hung out in years.” I run my fingers through me hair. “I’ve seen Taylor’s costumes. Lots of times actually. I saw the sketches and then the fabrics draped all over the couches and chairs in our apartment.
I pick up the remote and hit mute. “Plus, fringe shows aren’t always riveting. She dragged me to one where we had to pretend that there was a set. The actors sat on milk crates, and we had to pretend it was furniture. Taylor loved it. She said she could picture it with real money behind it, how good it could be… Taylor wants to get married.”
“Will you?”
“That’s the million-dollar question. I love her. I think.”
“Obviously.”
“When we’re together, it’s fine. It’s perfectly fine. A bit like that Life board game, but—”
“I hated that game. It went on and on with those little pegs in the little cars.”
“But it’s pleasant. I mean we’re happy. And it’s fine.” I don’t want to talk about this anymore. I smile, do jazz hands and sing the game jingle, “You can be a winner at the game of life!”
Alice lights up another cigarette and sighs. “I really need to quit.”
The credits begin to play. Taylor sits up.
“Did you like it?” she asks, but instead of waiting for my answer she carries the empty popcorn bowl to the kitchen.
I follow her. “You’re sure you want to do these now?”
“I don’t want to see dirty dishes first thing in the morning,” she says. She fills up the sink with hot water. Then she starts to add all the plates from earlier. Alice would leave the dishes. The thought jumps into my mind and won’t stop flashing like a giant Times Square billboard. Alice would leave the dishes. Alice would leave the dishes to soak overnight. Alice would splash you with bubbles. And her T-shirt would get wet. Alice on the kitchen table… Alice is FUN!
Later, when I finally make my way upstairs, Taylor is already in bed, scrolling through her phone. “There’s a spider in that corner. Can you take care of it?” I take off my shirt and watch the spiderweb sway in the air. I close the window to make it stop.
“Tomorrow. I don’t have anything to hit it with.”
I yawn, then get into bed.
She switches off the lamp. The room is lit by her phone screen. She smiles a Novocain smile. “I feel it lurking. I won’t be able to fall asleep.”
I sigh. “It will be gone tomorrow.”
I look at the ceiling. Everything is fine.
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