513 WORD STORIES
It’s Not Your Fault
By Audrey Berns
Every other weekend, instead of sleeping in her own room under her green and yellow Merimekko bedspread with matching sheets, she had to sleep in her dad’s waterbed with the smelly leopard print comforter and the personal items on his pine nightstand that he never bothered to hide. Things like his credit card statement showing a purchase at XXX Video, a canceled check for $4,200 made out to the Par-A-Dice casino, and the slimy tube of KY jelly that had been squeezed in the middle instead of from the bottom like you do with a tube of toothpaste.
He never had dinner ready. In fact, he never had anything in his fridge, so they walked to the grocery store a few blocks away. He didn’t want to drive because he’d scored a spot right in front of his building and it was impossible to park in this neighborhood.
They always bought the same things: boil-in-the bag frozen spaghetti, a package of pre-mixed salad with tiny flecks of carrots, Polish sugar cookies, and the smallest carton of milk he could find because it would go bad when she went home. Her dad was wearing shorts and she asked why he shaved his legs. He said it was for his Iron Man triathlons and that he even shaved his nuts and was going to compete in Hawaii that fall if his goddamned knee ever healed.
When they got back he would stand at the stove poking at the bag of frozen spaghetti, trying to submerge it in the water and swearing as little spits of boiling water burned his wrist.
Sometimes they’d go to the corner tavern after dinner and he’d ask her if she wanted a shot and a beer in front of the waitress. She’d say, “No a Coke,” while the waitress laughed The waitress brought a bread basket even though they weren’t having dinner. She ate rolls spread with soft pats of butter that came wrapped in gold foil; while he drank scotch after scotch, talked to the waitress, and slumped in his seat whenever she had to take care of another table.
Back at his apartment, she had her routines. She would look at the old photo albums and eat the Polish cookies while her dad watched Magnum PI. She would check out his medicine cabinet, where she found pink nail polish and a box of tampons and blue eye shadow. She would sit on the toilet seat and paint her nails and then begin applying the eye shadow, first just on the lids, but then in larger and larger arcs all the way up to her eyebrows.
When she came out of the bathroom, her father was asleep. She took the car keys out of the pocket of his leather jacket and went outside. She unlocked his car and sat in the driver’s seat, pressing in the clutch and putting the stick shift through all the gears as she had seen her father do. She thought about the day she would turn eighteen and not have to come here anymore.