Catsby: A Novel

Chapter 2: Part 1

The history of my first and only summer in the city really begins the night I had dinner with my cousin and her husband Tucker Boobcannon.

Tucker and I were in a psychology course together our freshman year of college. I remember him leaning over my shoulder one day, and thinking he was going to kiss me. Instead of giving me a peck on my cheek, he started copying the answers off my exam. We were both busted for cheating and put on academic probation for a semester. He bought me a beer for causing me trouble, and—for reasons I still can't fathom—we became fast friends. I don't think he had many friends, to be honest, on account of him being something of an asshole.

Dandelion was my first cousin. She was born and raised in Louisville, so I didn't see her that often until we both ended up at Iowa. I introduced her to Tucker one night, and before I knew it they were hooking up. Right there in front of me. 

It was an uncomfortable night.

After college, they moved to Park Slope. If you had money and children—both of which they had in terrifying abundance—it was the part of Brooklyn to be in. As I emerged from the subway, I marveled at how different the neighborhood looked from my own. I was renting a small beach house on the Jersey Shore. Even though they were only an hour's train ride apart, Brooklyn was light years ahead of New Jersey in terms of fashion and dining. In New Jersey, people were eating quinoa. In Brooklyn, people were wearing it.

I followed Apple Maps to the Boobcannons' address. Two hours on foot later, I found myself in Queens. I cursed the ghost of Steve Jobs. I settled into the backseat of a taxi in a pool of sweat. As we traveled back to Brooklyn, the little TV screen in the cab assaulted my senses with an endless loop of Jimmy Kimmel clips. Finally, just as I'd reached the point that I wanted to Kimmel myself, the car pulled to a stop.

I stepped out onto a beautiful tree-lined street. Row after row of charming, two-story townhouses extended in either direction as far as the eye could see. I rang the Boobcannons' doorbell. As I waited for an answer, my eyes drifted to their neighbor's house to the right. In the second story window, a curtain was drawn to one side. A furry figure clad in a maroon-and-black Star Trek uniform stared down at me. I raised my right hand and parted my fingers. The odd creature snapped the curtain closed without returning my Vulcan salute.