I went to bed, drunk, at 1am.
Earlier, at 11pm, my sister-in-law, Jenna, had called, and I had immediately realized that my already depressing Valentine's was going downhill: I hadn't been fond of my brother since he developed a habit of lying to me midway through his high school career, and, while my younger brother's wife tried her best to be kind to me, I couldn't help but be sharp and standoffish with her.
Guilty by association was my rationale, however cruel it was. I never said I was a saint, and my sudden sour mood was enhanced by the alcohol already running in my veins.
"What in the Hell are you doing calling so late?" I groused, glancing at the clock on the wall. It was a mystery to the girl who lived two floors directly above me: she had never learned how to read a dial clock.
"Oh—well, I just thought I'd see how your day went," Jenna said kindly, and I snorted derisively. "Is that bad?"
"Chatsky's burned down this morning so I'm out of a job, and I spent the whole day watching Nazis march across a screen holed up in my apartment with a twelve pack and a cheese ball because my neighbors won't leave me the fuck alone."
"Oh..." she said, trying hard to come up with something positive to say. "Why won't your neighbors leave you alone?"
"Because I lied to shut my neighbor up and now they're all interested," I muttered.
Well isn't this ironic, I thought bitterly, I excommunicated my brother for lying and here I am admitting that I lied. Wonderful hypocrite, I am.
I sensed Jenna, as she tended to do, was waiting for me to ask how her own day had gone. I slipped to the ground next to my refrigerator, bottle opener in hand.
"How was your day?" I asked, genially enough, and the woman had launched into a detailed report spanning the breakfast in bed to the romantic candlelight dinner by the river.
"He even left cute little clues to lead me to the reservation confirmation!" Jenna gushed, causing me to scowl. "We had the best seats in the house!"
By the end of it I was quite inebriated, and was looking for a way out of this conversation.
"It's midnight," I slurred irritably. "Don't you have somewhere to fuck off to? Isn't Ben home?"
Jenna, as usual, ignored my unpleasantness and eked out one last infuriating bit of happiness: "I'm pregnant!"
My immediate reaction was to disavow myself of any babysitting services whatsoever, and to flatly inform her that I hated children.
When she hung up, still bubbly, I sat there for a minute, glaring at my shadowed, rickety cabinets and feeling overwhelmed by the world.
I had never been a very cheerful person, even at the best of times. And seeing my college dropout younger brother succeed when he was so close to failure—I admit it, I was jealous and wanted him to feel the bitter taste of defeat—made me downright spiteful. It wasn't something I enjoyed or even really meant to happen, but being reminded that Ben had seemingly managed to flunk out of college, marry his ridiculously nice, perfect girlfriend of one year, and land a cushy, well-paying job without even trying—that was what ate at me.
I had never landed anything by chance or luck in my life. Life happened to my brother and it all managed to be in his favor.
For a while I'd been hoping that there would be a messy divorce: If that were ever to happen, it didn't seem imminent.
With a scowl, I set the phone on the ground, and got to my feet, heading unsteadily for the bathroom. I felt stupid: Was I this petulant and bitter? How pathetic!
"I need a hobby," I muttered, my words slurred so completely that only I knew what I meant to say, "One that doesn't involve genocide."
My schoolwork was taxing, I even taught a few undergrad German courses. I had no job now, I had obligations to classes and professors, and students, and God knows what else that I'd managed to forget at the moment, and my younger brother had a perfect life.
I knew I was being overly melodramatic even then. I had nothing particularly miserable to lament: I should have been happy for my brother to have landed on his feet.
My head spun dizzyingly, and I couldn't keep two thoughts straight.
Staggering towards the tile-lined shower stall, I stripped off my clothes and stepped under the jet: The steamy heat helped to ease my mind, and I leaned my bare back against the wall and let the water pelt my chest and stomach.
I washed my hair and didn't bother shaving my legs; it was too cold to wear anything short. When I stepped out of the bathroom, wrapped in my blue terry robe, I felt my head swim and the ground rush up to meet me. My stomach churned, and I crawled wildly towards the toilet, craning my head over the rim just as bitter, alcohol tinged vomit burst forth.
I threw up until nothing came but dry heaves and the muscles in my chest contracted cruelly, but to no end, and then let myself collapse weakly next to the porcelain station, curled up like a shrimp. I was trembling, though I wasn't cold.
When I had nothing left to expunge, I managed to get to my bed and bury myself under a mass of covers, still loosely wearing my robe. I went to sleep like that, with the digital clock on my dresser shining in blue digits: 1:03am.
I woke up the next morning to the keening shriek of my apartment phone, and I threw off the covers, swearing in both English and German, slurring them together into something altogether vile. My robe hung off of my shoulders, and I half stumbled into my kitchen. My contacts didn't want to cooperate and I only located the phone because it went spinning off into a corner when I inadvertently kicked it.
"Why the fuck are you on the floor!" I hissed, snatching up the offending cube of plastic, and putting it to my ear. "What!" I barked into the phone, and jerked the terry cloth robe further across my stomach from where it had been displaced. My head pounded, I was disoriented, and I was angry at being awakened so rudely.
"Ms. Hammel? This is detective Norman Daniels." The voice was almost patronizing.
It took me a few seconds to sort through my mind, and slowly, my temper dissipated, leaving me rather sheepish and uncomfortable. I stood in my kitchen, blinking owlishly at my surroundings. The television was still on. I jerked, realizing Daniels was waiting for an answer.
"Oh!—I mean, of course, I...got a little drunk last night." I could feel myself redden, and I licked my lips, and grimaced.
Did I throw up? What happened after Jenna hung up? I can't remember anything. Shit. What did I say to her?
"Of course," came the dry reply. "I was just calling to remind you that we have a meeting at 2pm scheduled."
"Of—of course...I remember," I said slowly, and I glanced at the clock. 11:47. "I haven't forgotten."
The silence was drawn out just long enough to drive home Mr. Daniel's dry skepticism.
"Well, I'll see you then, Ms. Hammel," he said, and I nodded.
"Right—right, see you," I said quickly. "Bye." He hung up, and I leaned against the counter top for a few minutes, rubbing my temple and gritting my teeth. In addition to this Chatsky's fiasco, there was something important from last night that flitted on the edge of my consciousness like a dream that I couldn't recall.
Outside, Angie's twin girls were—
That was it.
My sister-in-law was pregnant. I flinched, realizing rather blithely that I would soon be some hideous variant of Aunt Marie.
The phone went off again and I stared dazedly at the caller ID: Home. I still insisted on calling my parent's house home, for some reason, though I hadn't lived there since I began grad school, and lived full-time in my own apartment. I considered my apartment to be my home, but my parents' house was Home.
I sighed, and answered it: "Hello?"
"Marie?" It was my father. "Hey, did you get the chocolate?"
A smile crossed my face. "Yes, I got it. Thanks, Daddy." My dad and I were quite close, and were typically of a like mind. "Hey, dad? Did you see on the news yesterday? The Chatsky's where I work burned down. I'm shit out of luck, I'll have to find another job."
This seemed to surprise him: "No! I didn't see. You're going to have to find another job somewhere? Where?"
"Yeah. I don't know yet. I've got to talk to a detective this afternoon about it—the burning I mean...they think it's arson."
We talked for a few more minutes, and then my dad, in a rather flat tone, mentioned Jenna having called yesterday saying she was pregnant. I frowned slightly.
"What's mom think about it?"
"She's not too happy, either," said dad. "He's only twenty-one, she's only twenty. Ben said Jenna's parents are already planning a baby shower." My father's tone was enough to telegraph his opinion. Neither of my parents had been in favor of my brother's decision to quit college and marry Jenna, whereas Jenna's parents had been all too thrilled.
I heaved a long sigh. "Do they know if it's a boy or a girl?"
"A boy," dad said, "They're naming him Casper."
"...Great," I said, rather sarcastically, with my eyebrows raised. "He sounds like a food."
"Those are capers," my dad reminded me, and I laughed. I felt worn out, and I realized that my legs were shaking from weariness as I stood on them. I never could sleep soundly on nights I got drunk.
"Still. Who names their kid Casper?"
My dad didn't answer that directly and settled for something roundabout and vaguely chastising. I didn't mind it; it only meant he agreed with me but wouldn't say so out loud.
We talked for a few more minutes and then my dad had to go, so I went and got dressed to meet detective Daniels. As was my habit, I checked my e-mail before I left: Too many to count, mostly from students asking questions, others from the various newsletters I subscribed to, and very few of any real interest.
I answered a few of the simpler ones, left the rest for later, and talked to Charlotte and Nora for a few minutes, and then got my keys and purse to leave.
I was in a considerably better mood by then; Nora had mentioned that there were openings at the store where she worked and she would put in a good word for both Charlotte and I. The sky overhead was a clear blue, and the weather was pleasant and cool.
Vicious in the next chapter! Review! Tell me how you think I'm handling this! I'm really happy to hear that people are enjoying this so far.
...You don't think that Marie's diatribe was too much? I want to give her a degree of personality and a background...I can't stand people just putting original characters in there without anything except their physical description...because background is just as important as anything else. Consider this a Character Development Chapter—a CDC.