Without a Net Read online

  Meg sat back down on her bed, crossing her legs to keep from wetting herself. When she heard a final laugh and the front door click shut, she leapt from her bed, snatched her bedroom door open, and bolted to the bathroom. Aunt Vi was also stepping into the bathroom, but Meg barely acknowledged her surprised face as she pushed her aside and lurched toward the toilet. She didn’t even bother to shut the door before tearing her shorts down and sitting. Her shoulders lowered as she sighed in relief. Peeing had never felt so good.

  “Hey!”

  “Sorry! Emergency!” Meg said as she kicked the door closed in her face. A twinge of guilt hit her, but she pushed it away, justifying her actions as having been caused by Aunt Vi in the first place.

  A few minutes later, she finished washing her hands and exited the bathroom, to find Aunt Vi leaning against the wall outside the door.

  “It’s bad for your bladder to hold it, you know. You’ll start pissing yourself when you sneeze. Take it from an old fart like me.”

  Meg laughed. “I’ll keep it in mind.” Despite Aunt Vi’s revolving door of conquests and unapologetic cheating on her girlfriend, Meg truly loved her.

  Vi ducked into the bathroom as Meg went back to her room and to the painting she’d been working on right before she’d nearly peed her pants for the first time since kindergarten.

  A few minutes later, Aunt Vi appeared at her bedroom door. Meg had kept it open after the woman left, in hopes of drawing in some of the cooler air from the living room. Vi had a bundle of sheets and pillow cases in her arms. Gross. “Do you have any towels or sheets needing a wash? I’m gonna run down to the laundromat and I have a little more room. Save you a trip.”

  Not having to lug her laundry up and down three flights of stairs and across the street trumped any queasiness of intermingling her sheets with her aunt’s. “That would be great.” Meg dropped the brush she’d been using into the cup of water next to the easel. She sorted out a couple towels and the sheets from her laundry bag.

  “Holy crap almighty, it’s warm in here!” Aunt Vi said when she stepped into the room to take the laundry. “We need to get you a window unit or something, kiddo!”

  “I’ve gone to the hardware store and few places around here to get one, but they’re all out everywhere.”

  “There’s this new thing called the internet, my dear.” Aunt Vi teased as she took the sheets Meg held out to her.

  Meg lowered her head and stared at Aunt Vi with her arms crossed. “Very funny. I just haven’t gotten around to it and opening the window usually helps. Until today.”

  “That’s all about to change.” Aunt Vi said as she walked to the door. “The city is unbearable without AC starting about now. I forgot how warm this room gets.” She turned around to look at her before leaving the room. “I know a guy. We’ll get you all set up.”

  Aunt Vi always had “a guy”. It sounded so mobbish.

  “Is this the same guy who sold you and Sherri those fake tickets to Hamilton?”

  Aunt Vi’s face clouded. She’d splurged on front row tickets the month before to celebrate her and Sherri’s anniversary. They’d been so cute, Sherri all done up in a pretty dress with high heels and Aunt Vi in a stylish suit, complete with a bow tie.

  “He’s not gonna be ripping off anyone else any time soon,” she said cryptically.

  Meg laughed. “What? Did you send Kneecap Larry to see him?”

  Kneecap Larry was a plumber over in Flushing that Aunt Vi and her mother knew from high school. The story in the family was that one of their friends had been verbally assaulted by a group of boys from a nearby neighborhood on her way home from school. Larry overheard the girls talking about it and took it upon himself and a tire jack to teach the boys a lesson. After all was said and done, he’d spent ten years in prison for busting all of their kneecaps. When he got out, he went to work in his father’s plumbing business. A couple of years later, he married the girl he’d defended. The joke in the family was that anytime they needed retribution, they’d call Kneecap Larry to take care of it.

  Aunt Vi raised a knowing eyebrow. “Worse. Sherri has a friend who works at the IRS. We got him audited.”

  “You’re a scary person to piss off.”

  “Don’t you forget it, Megsie. But never for you. I got your back, coming and going.” Aunt Vi winked and turned to leave, but stopped and looked over her shoulder. “Oh, yeah. Sherri’s coming over for dinner tonight. She wanted me to ask you if you’ll join us. I’m going to try to fit some steaks on the little grill out on the fire escape. If it’s okay with you that I go through your room, that is. Otherwise I can fry them up.”

  Meg tried to think up an excuse about joining them for dinner. She wouldn’t be able to look Sherri in the eye without thinking about the parade of women Aunt Vi had brought to the apartment.

  Aunt Vi shifted the laundry to her other hip. “Sherri thinks you don’t like her since you hide away every time she’s here.”

  “I like Sherri a lot.” I just don’t like lying to her, she thought to herself.

  For good or bad, Aunt Vi was impervious to her thoughts. “Good. Because she’s a keeper. It would be difficult if you didn’t like her. You know, since you’re like family, and all.”

  Aunt Vi made to leave again, but Meg couldn’t hold it in any longer. “Can I ask you something?”

  Aunt Vi backed up and faced her. “Anything, kiddo.”

  “Well, if you and Sherri are serious, well…um…” She wished she hadn’t started. It was none of her business.

  “Yeah?” Aunt Vi dropped her head and raised her eyebrows in expectation.

  Meg suspected Aunt Vi knew what she wanted to ask. She moved from one foot to the other. “Well, normally when you’re serious about someone, there isn’t so much, um, well…” How could she be delicate? She couldn’t. She had to be direct. “Is Sherri okay with all of your other girlfriends?”

  Aunt Vi scratched the back of her neck. Meg felt even more awkward for having brought it up. When Aunt Vi finally answered, she wished she hadn’t.

  “You see, kiddo, not really. She isn’t okay with it. But, what she doesn’t see doesn’t hurt her. Know what I mean?”

  “Oh.” It wasn’t what Meg expected and her respect for her aunt took a steep dive. She’d struggled with being judgmental before she knew the truth, but now she knew. It made her a little sick to her stomach.

  Aunt Vi repositioned the wad of linens. “I see the look on your face, kiddo. I know how it seems, but it’s our deal. Sherri knows I see other women. She doesn’t like it, and she doesn’t ask about it, but she respects the way I am. I respect her by not telling her the details.”

  Meg wasn’t sure how to process it. “Then why…” Meg started before she realized she should have kept her thoughts to herself. She stopped mid-sentence. It wasn’t her business.

  “Why do I see other women? Probably for the reason you think. I like sex, kiddo.”

  Merely thinking about it made Meg blush.

  Vi shook her head and smiled. “Sherri made a decision several years ago to work the night shift at the hospital. And she works two jobs. It doesn’t give us a lot of time to be together, let alone get naked and bump uglies, you know what I mean? She works twelve hour shifts, six and seven days a week, and she sleeps all day. I have my day job. So, rather than pick fights with Sherri about not getting enough intimacy, I get those needs met with a few friends.”

  Meg felt like she shouldn’t judge, but she couldn’t help it. Aunt Vi seemed to anticipate her thoughts.

  “You’re wondering why she doesn’t give up the second job so she can spend more time with me.”

  Meg nodded. “It’s none of my business, I know.”

  Aunt Vi laughed. “I’d rather you ask than making up your own version of our admittedly untraditional situation. She’s working the second job so she can save enough mon
ey to retire early so she can quit both jobs and we can be together. Like I said, I know it isn’t conventional, but it works for us.”

  “I understand.” Meg lied. Even her first years at college hadn’t been as active as what she’d seen of Aunt Vi’s sex life. Meg needed a deep emotional connection with people she slept with. Aunt Vi called the women “friends”. They didn’t seem to do anything else but have sex. Was that all they were to each other? Fuck buddies?

  “I’m glad we had this talk, Megsie. I didn’t know how to bring it up and I’m not one to hide things. I am who I am. But I value your opinion of me.” Aunt Vi pushed away from the doorjamb. “Oh, by the way, I’ve appreciated you being discreet about it with Sherri. I wasn’t about to ask you to lie for me, because there’s nothing worse than a liar in my book. But I do appreciate you not waving anything in her face. We have a good thing going and, like I said, she’s good with not knowing what she doesn’t know.”

  With that, Aunt Vi took the laundry to the laundromat and Meg returned to her painting as she tried to process what Aunt Vi had told her.

  13

  It was Thursday, but it didn’t really matter to Fiona what day of the week it was. Almost a week had passed since she’d taken the pregnancy tests and she couldn’t seem to lift herself from the funk she’d descended into.

  Funk?

  More like a massive depression, uncontrollable anxiety, hair trigger rage, and an endless stream of other debilitating emotions. Long hours spent at the office did little to help create a sense of normalcy about the awful new direction her life had taken. If anything, work had kept her from doing much personal introspection, which was both a good and a bad thing. At some point, she was going to have to face the terrifying facts of her situation, but for now she was standing next to the printer in her office, hugging a cup of decaf coffee, absently staring out the window.

  Someone cleared their throat. She looked over her shoulder to see Twyla standing in the doorway. The copier had finished spitting out copies of a contract for a client she was meeting with later in the afternoon. Who knows how long ago they had finished printing?

  Fiona didn’t even have it in her to feel her normal self-consciousness around Twyla, who was always dressed to the nines with perfect makeup and freshly styled hair. Twyla could have passed as a fashion designer rather than the law firm’s efficient office manager.

  “Hey.” She forced a smile. Everyone liked Twyla. Despite her carefully poised appearance, Twyla was one of the warmest, down to earth people Fiona knew.

  Twyla held a stack of papers out to her. “Fiona, love, I found this in the breakroom.” Her whisper conveyed her slightly faded North Carolina accent. “It was in the refrigerator. The half and half was sitting on the counter next to the coffee maker.”

  Fiona sighed and looked into the cup of coffee she held. She hadn’t even noticed there was no creamer in it. It was also the second time in as many days Twyla had returned something of hers she’d found in an odd place. The first one had been her cell phone, which she’d left on a cookie platter in a conference room after meeting with a client.

  She took the file from Twyla. “Thanks. I didn’t even know I’d misplaced it.”

  Twyla waved her hand in the air. “My mama used to tell me I’d lose my head if it weren’t screwed on tight,” she said with a wink. “You best be careful you don’t lose your pretty little head, Miss Fiona.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Fiona gave her a genuine smile, the first she’d given in a week.

  Twyla came into the office and sat on the edge of Fiona’s small desk. “Whatcha, doin’? Gathering wool?”

  How long had she been staring out the window?

  Fiona looked at her watch. “I’m printing out contracts for the meeting with Margin Corp this afternoon.”

  Twyla gestured toward the machine. “You’re gonna need to put some paper in the printer, then.”

  Fiona looked down and saw a single page in the tray and not the five copies of the thirty-six page document she expected. A red light saying the tray was out of paper was blinking on the digital display.

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake.” She slammed down her coffee cup and grabbed a package of copy paper from the shelf. Normally, she watched her mouth around Twyla, but she was past caring about most things at the moment.

  “You doin’ okay, girly?” Twyla asked, rubbing her own stomach and nodding at Fiona’s.

  Fiona stopped what she was doing and stared at her. Did she suspect?

  “Gregory noticed you were a little peaked, too.” Twyla took the paper from Fiona’s hands and cleared the alert on the panel.

  “I’ve got a few things on my mind.” Fiona used a few tissues from the dispenser on her desk to sop up the coffee she’d spilled when she’d slammed down her cup.

  “Well, I’m a good listener if you want to share.” Twyla filled the paper tray and shut the door on the copier.

  Share what? That her life was ruined? She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Twyla was only trying to help. “I’m good. But thanks. I appreciate it.”

  Twyla patted her hand. “Gregory told me to tell you you’ve been working hard this week, and you should leave at a decent time this evening and take tomorrow off. It’s a half-day anyway, because of the holiday weekend.”

  “Holiday?”

  Twyla glanced at Fiona’s stomach again and moved toward the door. “The 4th of July, silly. It’s Monday. Don’t tell me you forgot. You’re coming out to Brooklyn to watch the fireworks from our rooftop, remember? I’m making Mama’s key lime pie. Hector married me for my pie.” She paused at the door.

  Fiona felt cornered. She wasn’t ready to hang out with people, not with everything that was going on weighing on her mind. “Time sort of got away from me. I’ve got some stuff I need to do and, well, can I change to a maybe for your party?” She probably wouldn’t go, even with the prospect of Twyla’s amazing key lime pie. She had to do some thinking about her situation. Burying herself in work and staring off into space wasn’t going to fix anything.

  Twyla didn’t seem surprised and turned to leave. “Sure, sweetie. Remember. I’m a good listener.”

  14

  Sweat dripped from the sides of Meg’s face and ran in rivulets down her back. Shrugging off her small hydration pack, she keyed open the glass inner door to the apartment building. She held the door open with her foot as she lifted the bottom of her baggy T-shirt to blot her forehead. She’d caught her breath and she felt good, invigorated. The loop she’d taken around Morningside Park after her volunteer shift at the animal shelter had been short, but exactly what she needed. Being shut up in Aunt Vi’s apartment all afternoon on her day off would have been suffocating, even if the day was a scorcher.

  As the door clicked shut behind her, the door to the apartment closest to the main entrance swung open. An older woman with wispy white hair stuck her head out to see who was in the hallway. When she saw Meg, she stepped out and leaned against the doorframe in a casual pose of crossed arms and ankles. The shapeless housedress that hung off the slight woman made her arms and lower legs look like sticks. She shook a knobby finger at Meg. “You’re dripping wet, young lady. Did you fall into a fountain while gallivanting around our quaint park?”

  Meg smiled. “I definitely thought about it, Mrs. Skinner.” She wiped the sweat from her forehead on the shoulder of her T-shirt. “It’s a hot one today. I hope you’re staying cool.”

  “I got no fat under this ancient hide. I’m always cold.” Mrs. Skinner slapped her upper arms, and without pause she frowned and shook a fist at the ceiling. “I thought you mighta been that no good McCandles finally coming to fix my toilet.” (Mrs. Skinner pronounced it “ter-let”). “I called him three days ago and he hasn’t showed his mick face at my door yet.”

  Meg enjoyed Mrs. Skinner’s oh-so New York accent even as she cringed at the casual use of the racist
slur to describe the building’s handyman. Despite Mrs. Skinner’s derision, Meg liked him. He’d repaired the loose threshold to Aunt Vi’s door and had mentioned how busy he was keeping up with all the work in the five-story, twenty-unit apartment building. If he’d heard the comments, Meg doubted he’d take offense. It was a New York thing to give people grief.

  “What’s wrong with your toilet? Want me to take a look at it?” It was probably the flapper and it needed the handle shook.

  Mrs. Skinner made a motion with her hand. “It keeps on running. I jiggle the handle and it does nothing. It sickens me to think about all the water wasted, flowing into the sewers, especially with all those people in third world countries walking miles and miles to get a bucket of muddy water. McCandles replaced the dumaflache before, but it only works for a few days and then starts running again.”

  Dang. Not the handle. But now she was committed to at least look at it. “I can’t promise anything, but I’ve fixed a few running toilets.”

  Mrs. Skinner studied her with squinted eyes, looking her up and down before she answered.

  “You’re not gonna try any funny business, are you?”

  “Funny business?” What did Mrs. Skinner have in mind?

  Mrs. Skinner pointed her bony finger at her. “You’re one of those Lesbonese gals, am I right?”

  “Lesbonese?” Meg knew what she meant, and under normal circumstances she’d have been angry about it, but Mrs. Skinner didn’t seem to mean any offense by it. In fact, she seemed very matter of fact. If anything, Meg was amused.

  Mrs. Skinner pushed away from the doorjamb. Meg was a good foot taller than Mrs. Skinner, but she still felt a flicker of intimidation.

  Mrs. Skinner waved her in and followed her into the apartment. “It’s the politically correct name for your type, if I’m not mistaken. We had other names for them back in my day. Not such nice names, so I won’t repeat them. I got nothing against the likes of you, but I don’t want you kissing on me or grabbing at my tuckus.” Mrs. Skinner smacked her own butt and did a little shimmy as she led Meg to the bathroom. “I’m too old for all that. At 92, I’m too old for most things. Maybe if I was 20 or 30 years younger, I’d give it a go, see what all the fuss is about. God knows the men I’ve known weren’t the prize catches they thought they were. Not even my Herbert, rest his soul. But right now, the greatest pleasure I get is a good BM and the toilet noise is making it difficult.” Meg tried not to laugh at Mrs. Skinner’s running dialogue. The neat apartment, although decorated in furniture from another era, was the exact floor plan of Aunt Vi’s, so she knew where she was when the old woman stopped before a closed door. “I get all tense with the anger I have for that no good McCandles not doing his job in a timely fashion and my innards bunch up, stopping the movement, if you get my drift. Now, I’m all bloated up. I look like I’m in the family way.” She held her hands against her stomach, pressing the house dress against her, and Meg nodded at the non-existent roundness Mrs. Skinner was trying to show her.