Frankenstein's Girlfriend

7: Sunrock

The liquor cabinet in the dining room––faux-oak finish, Plexiglas doors, tiny plastic knobs––could fetch $35 at a garage sale, $40 at a generous flea market. It contained dusty flasks, untouched wine bottles and glasses, even a crystal-esque decanter partially filled with brandy. The lower drawer was stuffed to the brim with bottle openers, cork screws, wine stoppers, and Swedish instructions for building a wine rack that accompanied a do-it-yourself kit, which disappeared into the basement 5 years ago. It was an exquisite collection of misguided presents from friends and family, none of whom thought to themselves, while picking out a gift for the Kavanaghs, “Have I ever seen Mark or Shannon drink?” They just seemed like the kind of couple who must.

Dominating the Kavanagh’s dining room was a giant, low hanging chandelier. If you were seated at the bulky wooden table with the Kavanaghs, and asked Mrs. Kavanagh to pass the horseradish or a crystal from the chandelier, either task would present the same level of difficulty.

Eating in the kitchen made more sense. It was spacious with newly-installed marblesque counter tops and a long, spare wooden table. However, placing food on that table would’ve required finding new homes for stacks of textbooks, issues of Sports Monthly, newspapers with entire articles highlighted, and junk mail that was opened, scanned, and strangely, not thrown away immediately. These items formed an intimidating cityscape of partially-read paper, which sprawled across the table’s surface.

There was a side of applesauce on Dana’s plate, placed neatly across from a blackened taste-free chicken breast and five mushy stalks of asparagus. Dana swirled the applesauce with her spoon, imagining she was mixing in papaya chunks and Juiceroo’s patented Energy Realization Powder™. Surveying her largely untouched plate, Dana had the idea of purchasing a bulk tub of energy powder from the corporate catalog, so she could dump the stuff on top of all her family meals from now on.

“Did you sign the application I emailed you?” Shannon asked her husband while slicing her asparagus into tiny, precisely cut morsels with her tiny, precisely manicured hands. Dana’s mother knew the disappointing answer to her question before she asked it. If Mark had signed the application, she would have it by now.

“The signing website,” Mark began to reply, sweeping barbeque sauce across his chicken for sweet relief from the lack-of-flavor. In college, Mark was a basketball-playing rock of a man, but when it comes to physical deterioration, time itself is capable of the most flagrant fouls. Though his wrinkly face, one result of this natural corrosion, did enhance his gravitas. The best way to get respect in a family full of talkers, Mark discovered, was to say almost nothing for twenty-five years. That way, when he did talk, the words carried almost mythic weight. Words like these, which Mark spoke after he finished his first bite of chicken:

“…must be broken or something.”

“It works,” Shannon corrected. “I use eSig all the time. Are you still using Internet Navigator?”

This required some thought on Mark’s part. He did use Internet Navigator, because it came with “the goddamn computer,” but he also tried viewing the site with Firescape, an alternate browser that somehow found its way onto his desktop. Firescape loaded his fantasy basketball sites very slowly, so he unplugged the computer and decided to take a walk to the drug store for some cheap ice cream. The only part of that explanation he’d be able to get out, before being interrupted, was the part about still using Internet Navigator, and then he’d be pressured into taking that community college class again. The one called “Just Browsin’: Learning The Ins-and-Outs of The Net!”

Luckily, Shannon’s impatience – symbolized by Shannon tucking her straight, ash blonde hair behind her ears while sighing audibly – bailed him out of four long Saturdays from noon to 4 pm.