There was a chaotic method to some of the madness. Certain things seemed to be grouped together. A stack of board games piled on a chair, a CD collection. But all around it was garbage and decaying food. Broken, useless trinkets and appliances.
Vanessa called me from somewhere deeper in the house and I picked my way over the clutter on the floor to a hallway that was so crowded with stuff I had to turn sideways to squeeze through it. Vanessa stood in a room at the end trying to lift a fallen armoire off a pile of clothes.
“I got it,” I said, heaving it up and leaning it against the wall. Only after I had it moved did I realize there was a man under it.
Vanessa was already digging her dad out from under shirts and pants. “Dad, you okay?” she asked, pulling him to his feet.
He brushed his sweater down, a sock still draped over his shoulder. “Fine, fine, pumpkin. I put some laundry on an open drawer and it must have been too top-heavy. Toppled it onto me. Had a nice little cushion for the fall though.”
Vanessa looked back at me, a tired expression on her face. “Thanks for helping.”
Her dad gave me a broad used-car-salesman smile. “We haven’t been formally introduced,” he said, extending a hand. “Gerald Price.”
I was feeling nauseous. My eyes were starting to water. “Adrian Copeland,” I managed, shaking it.
Gerald put his hands in his pockets and rocked jovially back on his heels. “So, Vanessa tells me you’re a lawyer.”
He smiled up at me like nothing was wrong. Like I hadn’t just lifted a dresser off him and we were running into each other in a Panera or something.
I couldn’t make small talk with him here, standing in this garbage pile. I was having a hard time breathing. Not just because of the smell, but because the room was so crowded with junk it was giving me anxiety. The floor under my feet was uneven. I was standing on blankets and balled-up socks and my head was too close to the ceiling. I felt claustrophobic.
“I’m sorry, excuse me. I need to step out.”
I left them standing there. I didn’t stop moving until I was outside again on the porch, gulping fresh air.
How the fuck had Vanessa grown up in this? I wouldn’t say my own childhood was without trauma, but this made me feel like calling my mom and thanking her.
Three minutes later I was still on the front porch when Vanessa came out and plopped down next to me on the weathered bench I’d retreated to by the screen door.
I shook my head. “Wow.”
She scoffed. “I prefer a four-letter word, but sure.”
I looked over at her. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude back there. I just needed to get some air.”
She sighed. “It’s overwhelming, I know. Especially when you’re not used to it.”
“You’re used to this?”
“I’m used to a lot of shit.” She laughed a little mirthlessly. “I found a raccoon living in one of the closets one time. Once you realize you’re one open window and a hoarded bathroom away from living with trash pandas, the whole second half of your life begins.”
I laughed, even though it wasn’t funny.
She nudged my arm. “So, you still believe that whole ‘other families just do better PR’ thing?”
I snorted and shook my head at the yard. “Has he always been this way?”
She took a deep breath and blew it out in the cold air. “Pretty much. But this is honestly the worst it’s ever been,” she admitted. “It gets worse every time something big happens. Mom, Melanie. Annabel. I think it’s his way of dealing with it.”
She dug into the neck of her shirt and pulled out a yellow tube of Carmex.
I squinted at her. “Did you just pull that out of your bra?” I asked, watching her put it on.
“Yeah. Leggings don’t have pockets. Plus it gets cold and won’t squeeze from the tube unless I keep it somewhere warm. I call it my boob stick.” She smacked her lips. “Want some?” She held it out.
“No. I don’t like the way that stuff tastes.”
“Yeah, it’s kinda gross. But it makes your lips super soft.” She pressed her lips together again and put the tube back in her bra.
I dropped my eyes to her mouth for a flicker of a second. Her lips did look soft…
I looked away from her.
A car pulled into the driveway of the house across the street.
“Oh, so now he’s home,” she mumbled.
“Who?”
She rubbed her hands on her arms. “Brent. He lives there with his boyfriend, Joel.”
“How old’s your brother?”
“Twenty-one. Joel is too. They’re high school sweethearts. He’s been living over there since he was fifteen.”
I arched an eyebrow. “Your dad let him?”
She shrugged. “He was over there all the time anyway. It was just across the street. And Dad still made him come home for dinner every night and holidays. It was sort of a win-win. Brent got out of this house, and Dad got to put shit in his room.” She laughed dryly. “Joel’s family is nice. Brent’s in a good place over there. He’s got the most potential of all of us to end up somewhat unscathed by this fucked-up family,” she muttered.
We watched Brent get out of the passenger side. He stopped and looked at us for a second before waving. Then he went around to the trunk and grabbed some grocery bags and went into the house with another young man.
“So what does he do for a living?” I asked.
She scoffed. “Lose money? He was a student. He went to college for business, but he graduated last spring. Absolutely refuses to get a job. He’s always got some disastrous side hustle he’s super into.”
“Like what?”
“Oh God, herbal supplements, skin-care products—you name it. To be fair, I did like the leggings though.” She blew into her hands. “Right now he’s trying to get me to invest in some business he wants to start. Not interested.”
“Why doesn’t he just go to a bank? Get a loan?”
She pressed her lips into a line. “Can’t. His credit is fucked. All our credit is fucked. When Melanie got sick, we almost lost everything. The medical bills were astronomical, and insurance didn’t cover even half of it. Dad had to file for bankruptcy. We were living on credit cards at the end.”
She stood up. “You want to wait for me in the car? It’s trash day the day after tomorrow. I figure since I pay for the service, I might as well fill the bin. I realize it’s an effort in futility at this point, but at least it’s something.”
I pushed up on my knees. “I’ll help you.”
She paused by the door. “You sure? There’s probably at least one of the hepatitises in there.”
“If you’re getting one of the heps, I’ll get it too,” I mumbled.
She laughed and it made her eyes twinkle and I felt instantly glad I offered.
I didn’t want to go back in there—but neither did she. And I wanted to help her. Even if the thing we were doing was pointless, making her feel less alone in it wasn’t.
Gerald was standing in the kitchen when we came back inside, blowing on a mug of soup. “He returns,” he muttered.
Vanessa gave him a look as she pulled some trash bags from under the sink. She shoved one into his chest. “Help.”