Five Shadows

Chapter Forty-Eight

"How's it going with your old man?" I was passing an alley with a bag full of bacon when the voice came from up from the concrete and formed a shadowy being.

"You shouldn't scare a person like that." I tried to play it cool, like The Murderess hadn't just taken ten years off my life, but she laughed, "You should see your face." I ignored her. She fell into step beside me. I looked around. "Don't worry. All anybody else sees is a shadow. Like, a traditional shadow." Great. Then it would just look like I was talking to myself.

"So. How's the new roommate situation?"

"Fine."

"Are you still salty about last time I was over? It's called tough love, Nora."

I glared. "My dad is fine. We're both adjusting to a new normal."

"Uh-huh. He seems like a jerk."

"Hey, that's my dad you're talking about." My words were a match that wouldn't light. A young man looked up at me as he walked by. I bopped my head, like I had earbuds in and was singing along.

"Smooth," The Murderess said. I looked sidelong at her.

"You're the one who accosted me on the way home from my bacon run."

"Accosted? Or stopped to say hi? Much easier to pretend you're rocking out in public than explain who you're talking to to your dad." She had a point. "Look, all I came to say is you and I both know you have an inner bitch. Don't be scared to let her out." We were walking past another alley and before I could answer than I was trying to more Pa or Millie-like, more gentle, she had sidestepped between the buildings and disappeared into the darkness of dumpsters and trash bags. I was at my building anyway.

Dad lounging on the couch when I walked in. Barbara lay curled at his feet. Petulant jealousy rubbed me like a blister. "Here Barbara!" I pulled out a rawhide I'd bought her at the store. She was more interested in the bacon, but I scooted her away.

"Took you a while," Dad said without looking up from my computer.

Maybe The Murderess rubbed off on me, or maybe I was this side of hangry, but I snapped. "Maybe they waited on you hand and foot in the Big House dad, but I guess things just aren't as cushy here." I gave the door a firm shut and yanked off my hat, mittens and coat all the while avoiding my dad's gaze. Inexplicably I was waiting for an apology, though I wasn't sure why. If he didn't give me an apology for ruining our family, humiliating us, and leaving mom in financial despair, I don't know why I thought he'd lob me an "I'm sorry" over sending me out for bacon.

I stormed into the kitchen and poured myself a glass of wine. To his credit, dad didn't ask for any. By the time the potatoes were rolling around in the boiling water like a slow-motion mosh pit, my anger had slipped, if not completely subsided. Barbara's enthusiasm over the rawhide helped. A silly text from Gwen helped. The wine helped.

Still, dinner was tense. We avoided talking about dad's employment opportunities and focused on obvious comments like "Supposed to be breezy tomorrow" and "Good soup." With only a puddle of my dinner left I said, "Dad, we can't go on like this. It's so uncomfortable." He looked surprised.

"Uncomfortable?"

"Yeah. It's so tense around here. I think we need to have an airing of the grievances."

"Like in Seinfeld?"

I looked up from my soup. "You're a Seinfeld fan?"

"It was all anybody could ever agree to watch in the common room." He pointed at my mostly bowl. "No soup for you."

Oh. My. Gosh. Did my father just make a joke? Technically I guess he stole it from the show, but still. He applied it well. I snorted a little laugh. "Best episode ever."

After that, we had Seinfeld. In the same way Eric had root beer floats as a happy memory with dad, I had Seinfeld. In uncomfortable silences one of us would throw out a quote. When I wanted to throttle him, I'd quote at him instead. One day, in lieu of storming out of the apartment and slamming the door, I started doing Elaine's signature dance moves until he relented, promising to call Carol's ex at the towing company if only I would stop. I did and he did. I texted Marnie: "Seinfeld: bringing people together since 1989." She responded "Never seen it!"

"Well get ready for it, because it pairs well with croque madams." The next day, I went to her apartment for her cooking lesson and to introduce her to the wonderful world of inane comedy, Seinfeld-style. "You really have to watch an entire episode!" I wailed over her computer. YouTube had thousands of little clips, but no full episodes. "Ugh. Here. Watch this montage while I get the bechamel sauce going." I planted her in front of the computer, but she swung back around toward me.

"I think Ryan misses you," she said without making eye contact.