Her head rests against my shoulder and she looks up at me, giving me a grateful smile. “But it was really hard. It is hard.”
“I know, darling. I know.”
Thoughts still running through her head, she unwraps a Caramello Koala from the tray of snacks we pilfered from the kitchen. Breaking off the head, as is her ritual, she pops it into her mouth. Then she reaches behind her toward me. I open my mouth and she drops the other half inside.
“Hmmm, thank you,” I mumble with a full mouth. “Wow, who are you? Is this an imposter? The Rissie I know would never share her Caramellos.”
Her fingers reach back and to play with my hair as she says, “I’m just trying not to be a bitch, remember?”
I test the theory and reach for another koala from the plate.
She grabs a handful of my hair and yanks.
“Ow!!” I playfully yell, “I’m calling the police! Tell them I’m being attacked by a bitchy notbitch!” “Go ahead, they’ll side with me. I’m pretty, remember?” Her eyelids flutter prettily as she says it.
My arms come back around her middle and I hug her as tightly as I can. “Yes, darling. You’re pretty.”
She giggles happily, drunkenly, and does a little dance as she unwraps another chocolate.
My heart almost bursts with contentment.
I don’t know how we got here.
But I don’t know the way out, and I hope she doesn’t find it either.
CLARISSA
w.”
“O
I think I’m the one who says it. I don’t know for sure. My eyes aren’t open and I never, ever
want to open them ever again.
“Matthias?” I say after a while when I don’t hear him respond. It sounds like a yell to my ears, but it’s probably just a murmur. It’s hard to yell through a mouth that won’t open without cracking.
Somehow, I roll over onto my side, feeling the wooden floor creak underneath me.
Wow, how drunk did we get? And how drunk am I still?
“Matthias?” I say again. But there’s still no response.
I’m going to have to open my eyes, aren’t I?
Maybe I can just lie here forever.
I can work from here.
They can set up the tables around me, I can wave to guests from here, and now and then, the cleaners can turn me on my side and mop under me.
It’s settled.
Here. Forever.
Shit, except… now I need to go to the bathroom.
Now I really need to know where Matthias is. He needs to push me to the bathroom.
“Are you there, Matty, are you there?” I call him by the nickname I only dare to call him when we’re both blind drunk.
Still no answer.
Maybe he’s dead.
I wouldn’t even blame him.
If I had a choice, I wouldn’t want to live through this either.
“Good morning!” I finally hear him say, in a voice that can only come from beyond because there’s not a chance that he sounds that chipper after last night.
“Ughhhhh-uhhhh,” I groan. Maybe it’s better if he doesn’t speak.
“I’m going to need to put that through google translate,” he jokes.
“I said… ‘Shut up. Headache.'”
I feel him move next to me, and put something in my hands.
“Whadis?”
He squeezes my hand around the object. “It’s a bottle of water. Drink it. I’m going to get something greasy for us to eat.”
“Ughiwannaleepaneverwayup.” I don’t even know what I was trying to say there. But apparently, he doesn’t have the same problem.
“Well, you can’t sleep and never wake up. I’m too busy to organize your funeral right now, in case you haven’t heard, I’m supposed to get engaged and I’m not in the mood for looking for another woman who can actually hold her liqueur.” “Dieasshole.”
“You’re right, you’re not a bitch at all.” He kisses me on the cheek, jumps to his feet and leaves.
Over the course of however long, I manage to sit up, lie back down, sit up, and fall back down again, but it must be at least twenty minutes because Matthias knocks on the door and there’s nowhere in the West Village where you can get breakfast in less than twenty minutes.
I contemplate letting him stay out there, but at some point, I’m going to want to eat whatever greasy thing he’s brought back. “Coming. Geez, why didn’t you take the keys?”
I pick up his shirt that still has my scent on it, wrap it around me and make my way to the front door, hoping that no one else will be around. “Next time, take the damn key, Matthi-” I stop.
It’s not Matthias.
“Hey Clarissa, looks like you started the party without me.”
***
Nine months ago
“Clarissa. Are you crying? Oh, my dear, come here. Tell Uncle Gerry what’s going on. Is this about Damien?”
I don’t know where he came from, but it’s actually comforting to see a familiar face at the bar. Not only because the bartender has threatened to cut me off.
“He needs to pay, Gerry. He can’t do this to me. No one messes with a Masters!” I quote my father and thank him for instilling me with a sense of familial pride.
He gestures to the bartender to bring me another drink. “I know, dear, I know. And what are you going to do about it?”
“What can I do? He’s a Baxter, I can’t touch him.”
Gerry pats my hand and slides his chair a little closer, a smile on his face. “Well, I’m a Baxter too, sweetheart, or have you forgotten that? In fact, I’m the most powerful Baxter. And I’m not going to let my nephew do this to you. You deserve better. So, we’re going to have a drink and talk about what can be done, okay? And maybe we can come up with some ideas on how to make sure that he doesn’t get away with this.”
“You think so?”
“Oh, sweetheart, if you and I put our heads together, there’s nothing we can’t do.”
***