Spoiler Alert

12 - Mothering

Tony took one look at the Hot Pockets. "Is it the cheese and pepperoni?" he folded his arms, all insolent-like, completely ignoring the fact that I was missing my boots, my hair was mussed, my makeup was smeared, and I looked like I had spent the night in a Walmart mini fridge. 

"Why don't you come on outta there and come see for yourself," I shouted up to him with a bit of insolence of my own.

His grin disappeared as he took a half step back into the darkness of the apartment. He eyed the street, which was empty except Mrs. Paternath on the corner, who was watering her flower boxes. Even though he knew her, and had spoken to her through his window, his eyes lingered on her, as if she may sprout claws. After a moment, she noticed him and waved. Tony almost collapse in on himself. 

"Yeah, you can't do it, can you?" I said, dryly.

"Lydia," Marina grumbled. "Stop."

"No," I said, "let him come get it."

Tony seemed to stop breathing.

"Let him get chased by Reapers, loose his favorite pair of boots, get shin splints from hopping cereal shelves and bowing down to almost-dead strangers . . ." I breathed, feeling all the tension from the morning's events bloom into my head like so many mushroom clouds. "Or maybe he can get off the couch for twelve seconds and clean up the kitchen, or take a shower, or change his freaking socks!"

I threw the Hot Pockets hard at my lazy-butt of a brother. Since he had the reflexes of a sedated rhinoceros, he was unable to get out of the way in time. They hit him square in the chest and exploded from the box, littering the front steps. 

Tony whimpered, then shut the door and locked it.

"You really should stop doing that," Marina said. "It's more work for you in the long run."

I sighed. She was only too right. Tony was going to be a nightmare tonight because of this incident. He didn't take any sort of criticism very well, especially when it came at him in the full daylight, via projectile food, and in front of Marina (whom I was sure he had a hot leathery crush on). I would have to spend the rest of the evening reassuring him, pandering him, and grossest of the gross: mothering him.

Tony's development had halted, paused and retreated since my mother had died. He went from a slightly lazy teenager who could barely make it to a crap job, to a full-blown toddler who could barely put on his own pants--tantrums and all. This change took place in the space of a few weeks and although I had hoped it would get better, it had not. 

Worst still, Tony seemed to think it was my job to do what my mother no longer could. I had to nag him to bathe, to eat, to go to sleep at a decent hour, to brush the crumbs out of his facial hair once in awhile. I was even responsible to take him to the doctor whenever he developed an inexplicable infection, rash or mental episode. Although lately, he hadn't been able to leave the house. And since he was twice my size, I couldn't force him. This worried me the most. If something happened to my brother, if he hurt himself somehow, I would never be able to save him.

I felt tears threaten my mascara. I shook my head. "What about me?" I said to Marina. "Who is going to help me?"

Marina put her arm around my shoulder. "I did just rescue you from a Walmart filled with murderous demons."

"Yes, but who will make sure I do my homework and change my sheets and fill out my college applications?" I whined.

Marina laughed. "Homework? College? You'd have to go back to school first."

I shook my head. Not happening. Not ever. We were not kicking this old school, we were kicking this my school and that meant I was a free cash-collecting entrepreneur. Everyone knows entrepreneurs are always dropouts.

I wiped the tears from my eyes, embarrassed to have shown my pink paisley side. It was uncouth, unseemly and very much unlike me. 

I was a stoic! Leather and chaps! RayBan sunglasses and Doc Martin boots!

The front door creaked open and Tony peered out with bloodshot eyes. He lingered there, staring, trying to make me feel bad.

"Tony . . . I . . ."

In an instant, he threw open the door and lobbed a litany of water balloons at us. I was so surprised, I had no time to react.

Water exploded into my face, all over my clothes. My vintage folklorico dress was soaked--releasing the odor of old closets and mothballs, but I didn't care. Marina and I each picked up one of the many water balloons that hadn't burst and charged Tony, laughing our butts off.

We didn't notice the car quietly park down the street, nor the stranger inside, watching us.

A stranger who would become very much a part of my life soon.

And my death.