Slack: A Day in the Life of Ford Aston

Spencer laughs when I wince but I don’t even turn around. I know who it is. Sister Anne Catherine.

My childhood nemesis.

She does not accept my silent surrender and leans in to whisper, “Rutherford, behave yourself.”

My mother looks over at me with disapproval, Spencer shoots his finger again and covers his fake laughing mouth like he’s ten, and when I look over at Ronin, he’s smirking.

Rook is reading the bulletin intently, like she’s studying for a test.

God, I love her.

My heart begins to beat wildly and I suddenly have the need to flee, but my mother grabs my coat sleeve when I make to rise, and I settle back down.

“You’re here now, Ford,” she whispers. “Just relax and enjoy it.”

And that is how I spend the wee hours of Christmas Day. Desperately wishing I was anywhere but church as I kneel, sit, stand, wish Sister Nemesis peace, and then force myself not to freak out when she grabs my hand to shake it.

She does that on purpose.

There’s no way I’m taking communion, so as soon as our row gets up for it, I pat my mother on the shoulder as my only warning, and make my escape out the back. I stuff my hands into my coat pockets, sorta proud of myself that I lasted a whole hour in there, and then spy Ronin’s black truck across the street from my Bronco.

I could put Rook’s present in the truck. I walk over to the Bronco and open up the glove box.

Oh, God. Looking at Sasha’s gift wrapping handiwork almost makes me feel sick. What must she be thinking right now? I grab both presents and my knife and stuff them all in my pockets. I jog back over to Ronin’s truck. The doors are locked but the back glass window slides open when I try it. I hop in the bed, reach my hand in, and drop the little Eric Cartman package on her seat.

I hope she doesn’t sit on it, but if she does, she’ll definitely know it’s there. I close the window and hop out, then spy my mom’s Mercedes down the street. Sasha would definitely be disappointed in me if I never gave that bracelet to her. And since I’m not sure if I’ll go home tomorrow for dinner—that’s asking a lot, even if it is Christmas—I better drop it off now, too.

I have a remote on my key chain that unlocks her car, so I slip in the driver’s seat and prop the little gift bag in the ledge of her GPS console, and then get out and lock it up.

I feel a little bit like Santa Claus and some of the dread and unease melts away as I walk back to my Bronco. I pocket my gift-wrapped knife and drive home. It stopped snowing and the sky is clear and black, with more stars showing than you usually see in the city.

When the elevator opens to my penthouse hallway, I’m half expecting that psycho-pet to be here waiting, but she’s not. I’m alone again. I’m not sure how getting rid of the pets will affect me. I’m not even sure if I’m serious about it. I’ll probably call Pam up tomorrow begging for one. Surely she can’t have scheduled one for Christmas Day. There’s still time if I want to change my mind.

I’m just not sure.

I hang up my coat and change out of my suit and into some sweats and a t-shirt.

What a f**king day.

I pour some whiskey into a rocks tumbler and take a long slow sip. This is what I’ve needed since this morning. Teach me to drive all over two f**king states. My phone buzzes an incoming call and I look at the time. Almost one thirty. And it’s my mom.

“Mom?” I ask, like she does every time I call, as if she didn’t have caller ID and know for a fact that it’s me.

“Ford,” she says with a lightness in her voice. “You have caller ID, why do you always ask if it’s me?”

I laugh.

“I just wanted to thank you for the gift, Ford. It’s lovely. And who may I ask is Sasha?”

My laugh dies. I forgot she signed the card. “She’s a kid who sold me the bracelet.” I tell my mom the story of where it came from because Sasha would’ve wanted me to, and I can tell she’s choked up about it. I even tell her what happened with her dad and the news broadcast. My mom is smart. She’s not delusional, she knows what I do. She knows that somehow I’m connected to this girl’s father. She knows Spencer, Ronin, and I are guilty as f**k of just about everything they say about us on TV. She knows. But she accepts me. My parents have always accepted me. The weirdness was never a factor. We chat for almost eight minutes. I don’t think I’ve ever talked to my mother on the phone for so long in my life.

“I’m so sorry that happened, Ford,” she says as the conversation winds down.

“Yeah, me too. I might drive up there tomorrow and see if she needs anything so you should probably just get Gary to come keep you company all day.”

She sighs. “I miss your father every day, Ford. I do. He was my whole life. But he’s been gone for two years now and I’m lonely.”

I nod, like she can see me. “I understand. It’s OK.” I’m not really sure that it is OK, but she needs to hear that, so I say it anyway. I’m not capable of much empathy, but I can fake it. And they never know the difference, so what the f**k. It doesn’t cost me anything to pretend to understand and be nice.

We say our goodbyes and hang up.

Chapter Ten

Everything seems to be changing all of a sudden. This morning I had a routine. I’m not sure if it was a good routine or a healthy one, but it was there. Running, pets, solitude.

And now, I’m not sure where I am, let alone where I’m going.