Page 14 of Bloody Bargain
Bleary-eyed, still half-blind, I felt across the empty side of my bed for the vibrating menace. The alarm grew louder, screeching its high-pitched, damnably cheery tune. I found the stupid thing under a fold in the sheets and swiped the alarm to snooze. Momentarily nostalgic for the old clocks you could hit with a fist in the morning, I immediately succumbed to sleep again.
Mr. Happy Buzzkill went off fifteen minutes later. I grabbed it and threw it across the room. As soon as I realized I’d thrown my six-hundred-dollar phone in a fit of hungover rage, I jumped awake, searching for it on my carpet.
It lay innocuously next to my closet. I scrambled off the edge of the bed in my underwear and silk cami, cradled it in both hands, and closed my eyes.
“Please, please,please,” I drew out, enveloping it between my palms. I prayed to Cell Phone Schrodinger. “Don’t be cracked.”
Then I opened my eyes, pressed the home button, and breathed a sigh of relief.
As I padded barefoot to the bathroom, I checked all my social networks. Work was strictly no personal phones, so my messages built up quickly when I was working a lot. Meredith invited me to a party; I rsvp’d maybe. Her place was pretty far from my apartment, so even though it had been a while since we’d last caught up, I probably wouldn’t go. Not that I didn’t love her in the way you love your college friends that seem to have more exciting lives than you, but work was draining, and I wasn’t desperate to socialize with people I was jealous of.
I turned on the shower, waiting for the water to get warm by surfing through the photos from the bar the night before. I snickered aloud, liking my favorites as I went. Marissa and Reed balancing shots on their heads. Like. Reed and Gavin raising pints of frothing hops heaven high. Like. Glenn dipping me on the dance floor to some twerk-it rap remix. Aww yeah.Like.I seconded a series of comments dissing Ben’s stupid Yankees hat, lit my scented candle, and peeled off my clothes. An aromatic puff of energy-boosting body wash later and my hangover was old news.
No matter how much better my head felt, my stomach wasn’t having any of it. I’d opened my fridge, hoping something would sound appealing, but nothing came to mind. I actively went through a short list. Eggs? Ew, gross. The pancake batter I’d mixed up over the weekend? Too sweet. Leftover stir fry from last night when I tried out my new wok? Ugh, queasy. I grabbed the orange juice, shut the fridge, and opened the bread drawer. Toast it was.
My tablet beeped on the countertop as I watched the toaster unenthusiastically. I squinted at its lock screen. A video call? From…
“Oh shit!” I hissed, dodging into the living room to throw on clothes. My birthday suit was not appropriate for this call.
Just as the line was about to go dead, I leapt across the counter and swiped the answer icon. My screen went black for a moment, then Uncle Jim’s aging face popped up, nostrils first.
“Hello?” he called loudly, altogether too close to the camera. “Can you see me, hon?”
“Uncle Jim!” I huffed, sliding off the counter. My toast popped up behind the screen. “How’s the birthday girl?”
He squinted at me, smiling but obviously unhappy. He wiped his thick, grey whiskers with a calloused hand. “It’s almost ten at night. What are you doing with orange juice?”
I slid the glass off screen. “Long day at work,” I shrugged. “Just wanted something refreshing.”
“You’re working night shifts again, aren’t you?” he gruffed. A dog barked in the background at something on television.
Having never successfully lied to my uncle, I grabbed a piece of toast and started munching. With the most serene expression I could muster, I said, “I’m happy. And safe, I promise.” A tall, awkward girl walked on the outer edge of the screen. “Hey, Jess! Get over here!”
Uncle Jim moved over, sliding their home screen around the kitchen counter until they both fit. I munched happily on my plain toast and orange juice. Jess was growing up so fast. Sixteen, as beautiful as a pageant queen. She was just too awkward to know it yet. I’d always said she got the good genes.
“Hi, sis,” she said. I creased my brow, getting close to the screen.
“Hey, is that,” I began with great concern,“is there something on your face? Whatisthat?”
Jess put her hand to her jaw immediately. I got so close my face took up the entire screen, as if somehow getting closer would magnify my view. She looked at me in horror.
“Ha!” I laughed, sitting back. “Cool it, birthday girl. No zits. But seriously, you’ve gotta be, like, six feet tall. And boobs? You’re not allowed to get any older. It stops now.”
Teen rage was quickly replaced by a snicker. Jess and I smiled at each other with identical grins.
“Got your present,” she hedged.
“Yeah, did you like it?”
“Now that’s something we need to discuss, young lady,” Uncle Jim cleared his throat in his sternest voice. He shook his finger at me. I was well-acquainted with the gesture. As a child, I had been a resident of the perpetual state of You’re Grounded. I shared a moment of dubious glee with my sister as our guardian crowded her out of the camera eye. “A paintball gun? We do not condone violence in this family.”
“Uncle Jim,” I said sweetly. “Every kid around here probably has one. It’s not violence. It’s more like… a water balloon fight with paint.” I smiled innocently at him. “It teaches teamwork, and gets her outside to play. Would you rather help her with home ec homeworkorrrrteach her how to shoot someone in the butt?”
“Hey now,” he said, slightly panicked at the smirk tugging at his mustache. He clasped the edge of the kitchen table. “That’s a loaded question.”
“Yeah, c’mon, Uncle Jim. I swear I’ll only use it at the park,” Jess echoed, clasping her hands together. Our uncle closed his eyes and sighed. With the lines of deepest regret on his face, he nodded.
“Oh, alright, alright,” he mumbled. Jess exploded from her chair and hugged him tight. Without the fortitude to deny my little sister such happiness, he slowly melted into a laugh, patting her slender hands with his leathery knuckles with deep ravines carved by years of welding and hard labor.
