Sample Sunday: Nothing Else Matters

Chapter 14

At six o'clock sharp Stu and I showed up at the Sullivan house to pick up Amber for dinner. A full hour before we were supposed to be there. I figured I would feed her some line about missing her too much or some garbage like that.

"Scott, what the hell?" Amber asked as she opened the door in a towel with her hair soaking wet. "You're like an hour early."

"Don't you want to see me? I couldn't wait to have dinner with you." Now that much was true. I couldn't wait to see the expression on her face after an evening with the Kincaids. "I just really want you to meet my family," I added.

"Hey, what's up," Stu said with a nod of the head.

Amber looked at him for the first time and nearly jumped out of her skin. Or I guess she nearly jumped out of her towel. Stu's black hair, black clothes, and black lipstick really caught her off guard.

"Oh, this is my little brother, Stu. You've probably seen him around school."

"Goth guy is your brother?"

"I have a nickname?” Stu quipped. “Cool!"

"Yep, he's my brother."

"Is he coming to dinner with us?" Amber was trying hard to hold in the panic.

"No."

"Oh," she sighed.

"You're coming to dinner with us. I thought you could come to our house since you were so nice as to have me over last night."

Amber massaged her temples with one hand while holding up the towel with the other. "I gotta get dressed," she said, swinging the door open so Stu and I could enter.

As soon as we sat on the sofa, little Crystal Sullivan entered the room. She stood at the end of the room for a moment and stared at Stu. I could tell she was trying to make heads or tails of him in her mind. She probably had never seen anything quite like my little brother in her short, sheltered life. After a few moments, she took a few more steps into the room and approached Stu. She stared at him more closely, squinted her eyes and said, "Are you Satan?"

Stu laughed his high-pitched chuckle. The one he does when something is truly funny. Then he stopped suddenly, looked Crystal directly in the eyes and said, "Yes," with an eerie calmness.

Crystal screamed and sprinted out of the living room. Seconds later, Mrs. Sullivan came in holding her daughter.

"Oh, honey, I'm sure he was just kidding. Satan is not sitting in our living room. Scott, did your friend here say he was Satan?"

"Um, well —"

"I'm sorry ma'am. Don't blame my brother. I was just kidding. I'm not Satan."

"See, honey," Mrs. Sullivan reassured her daughter.

"I just worship him," Stu added. I pretended to cough so as to hold in my laughter as Mrs. Sullivan's eyes grew and her expression froze. Then she slowly backed out of the living room without saying another word.

After she left, Stu and I did our secret celebratory handshake. This was going to be easier than I thought.

***

Sam wasn't expecting us to bring a visitor for dinner. It wouldn't have mattered anyway. She wouldn't have changed the menu. Carbs, carbs, carbs. Pasta with no sauce, rolls, lentil beans, rice, steamed vegetables for balance, and bran muffins for dessert. Stu usually managed to smuggle in some Burger King for me, but that night we decided just to ride Sam's Crazy train.

"What's the matter? You don't like my cooking?" Sam asked as she stared at Amber's untouched paper plate of food. We had real plates, but Sam refused to use them, claiming she didn't have time to do dishes. I was excused from doing dishes because, hey, I was Scott. I needed to train. And the last time she had asked or commanded that Stu do dishes, he invited his friends over and used the cups and plates for paintball gun target practice. So real dishes were only used for special guests. Amber apparently wasn't special enough.

"Oh, no your cooking is delicious. I'm ... uh ... I'm just on a diet," Amber lied. "Yeah, I'm on a diet." She smiled politely and pushed her food away.

Sam huffed, and then eyed her up and down. She even dipped her head under the table to get a look at her legs. "You should not be on a diet. You have the worst muscle definition I've ever seen. Well, except on Stuart." Stu glared at her, but bit his tongue. I knew he'd get her back for that remark before the end of the night. "You need to lift some weights and build up your upper body strength." My mother stood and started pulling her hair back into a tight ponytail. I cringed inside knowing where her line of thought was going. "Stand up," she ordered Amber.

"What?" Amber looked at me, then Stu, then back to me. She looked more terrified than a kitten in a room filled with rocking chairs.

"You heard me. Stand up. Let me see what you got."

Amber slowly rose from the table as Sam walked over to the counter separating the kitchen from the dining room and assumed the standard arm wrestling position.

Amber looked at me again, pleading with me with her eyes. She desperately wanted me to get her out of this. I clasped my hands behind my head and leaned back in my chair as I thought about the barrage of questions her father had fired at me the night before. Ah, revenge was sweet.

Sam won within seconds, and then forced her into three more matches. By the time Amber returned to her seat, she was rubbing her shoulder in pain.

"That was a pathetic showing, little girl," Sam said before shoveling pasta into her mouth. "Before you go I'm gonna let you borrow some free weights so you can work on that." Actually, what she said sounded more like gibberish because her mouth was full of food, but I was more than happy to translate for Amber. "I mean, any woman who wants a future with Scott has to at least be able to hold their own against me. Do you know I’ve placed in the top ten of my last six marathons?”

Amber nodded her head and tried to seem impressed.

“I’m poised to win one in Italy next week. I’ve been training meticulously for six months. I only make Scott do one triple five a day. I do three. Does she know what a triple five is?” she asked, pointing to Amber with her elbow. I quickly explained before my mother added, “You should join us some time. You need to work out. I don’t want any weak grandchildren. That reminds me." Sam jumped up and retrieved a small jar from the cupboard. After placing it in front of me, she said, "Go take a piss."

Amber's eyes bulged as I stood from the table, unbuckled my pants, and headed to the bathroom.

On my way back, I caught Stu stuffing his nose in Amber's hair and saying, "Can I borrow your shampoo? I can come by and get it myself. I know where you live." Amber cringed. And before she had time to recover from that I slammed my jar of urine right on the dinner table.

Amber covered her mouth and gagged.

"What's your problem?" Sam asked, taking offense to Amber's reaction. She probably thought Amber was criticizing her cooking again.

"Nothing. I'm fine, Mrs. Kincaid," Amber said after swallowing hard.

"Mrs.? Do you see any ring on this finger?"

"No, I just assumed you were married at some point. Maybe to Scott's father or something." Amber scrunched down, trying to disappear into her chair.

Stu and I exchanged glances. We hoped Sam would ignore the father comment and not go into any details, but we knew our mother. We knew what was about to happen.

"Please, I've never even met Scott's father. I picked him out of a catalogue."

Amber's lips parted, but no words formed. A confused expression befell her face as she turned to stare at me.

"Sperm donor." Sam offered as explanation. I'd dealt with the reality of being a test-tube baby years ago, but it still kind of hurt the way my mother was so willing to bring it up in front of a virtual stranger. "Yep, I searched for three months for the perfect athletic specimen. I even had the clinic ask a few men to come back in and test for their body mass index. Can you believe they don't test for that in the first place?"

I felt heat rising to my neck. I knew Sam was insane, but how could she be so cold and callous about her own child's parentage? It was like she didn't care that she had practically turned me into a science experiment.

Stu must have sensed my discomfort because he decided to turn the tables. "At least your father has credentials, Scott. I'm the product of Sam's drunken one night stand after she lost yet another race."

"Stuart!" my mother yelled, anger rising.

"What? Am I lying? Who was it that beat you that time, Sam? Was it one of those genetically enhanced Kenyans?" Stu waved his hands in the air as if he was talking about the boogieman.

"Don't you need to go find a pretty little dress to match your lipstick or something?"

"Yeah, I'll get right on that after I write you a love song. I think I'll call it 'Son of Sam.' It'll be about how my mother turned me into a serial killer."

"Go to your room!" she yelled, slamming her fist into the table.

"Gladly!" Stu pushed away from the table, and then bolted upstairs.

Sample Sunday: Nothing Else Matters

Chapter 11

"Do you like it?" she asked, patting her newly dyed hair. "I did it for you. I know you prefer blondes."

"You dyed your hair for me?"

"Oh, it wasn't that big of a deal. My hair wasn't that dark. It only took three hours."

"You spent three hours dyeing your hair for me?"

"Well, I want to make you happy. I want you to know that this is more than just some high school romance for me. I'm in love with you, Scottie. This is for keeps."

"Whoa."

Amber grabbed my hand and pulled me into her house.

"And I know you're serious about me, too. We've been dating for sixty three days. That's five days longer than any of your previous girlfriends."

"Whoa. You've counted?"

"Of course. Every girl wants to get past the two month mark with you." She pulled me into the dining room where a veritable feast had been spread out.

"What's this?"

"Well, I thought about what you said on Friday night and I finally realized that you weren't trying to break up with me. You were trying to take our relationship to the next level. You wanted to meet my family. So tonight we're having dinner with my parents."

"Parents?"

Amber's house was located just around the corner from the celebrated Rainbow Row in Charleston, South Carolina. From their living room you could see Fort Sumter where the initiating shots of the Civil War were blasted. I would've given anything to be able to jump into the frigid Atlantic and swim out to that island instead of sitting at the table across from Amber's stiff parents and her bratty little sister. I wasn't intimidated by the fact that her father was a judge or that the plates on the table were probably worth more than my car. What made my throat tighten and hands shake was the fact that Mr. Sullivan had asked me five different ways in about three minutes what my intentions were with his daughter. Meanwhile, Amber smiled at me like a lovesick mute who offered no assistance in the form of diverting her father's attention from me.

"So who are you voting for in the election?" was his first question that didn't directly pertain to his daughter. Instead of being relieved at the Amber reprieve, I was once again panic stricken as I realized I hadn't made a final decision. But judging from the McCain-Palin sign in his front yard, I was pretty sure he didn't want to hear that. Or else he'd spend the rest of the evening trying to sway me to his side.

"Peter, not at the dinner table." Mrs. Sullivan’s words were like a life preserver. I would have kissed her if I didn't think Amber would jump across the table and beat down her own mother in a jealous rage.

"What?" Mr. Sullivan asked innocently of his wife as he looked up from his soup appetizer. "I can't ask the boy his opinion? He sure better have an opinion by now. The election is in two days. You are eighteen aren't you?" he asked me.

"Yes, sir," I said, reaching for water to quench my suddenly parched throat.

"You registered?" he continued, dabbing his Yosemite Sam moustache with a napkin.

"Yes, sir."

"Peter, really? Can't you ask him a question that's a little less volatile?" said Mrs. Sullivan who was a dead ringer for Vanna White.

Meanwhile, six-year-old Crystal kicked me under the table then whispered, "You better vote for McCain. Obama is a Sofa list."

"Socialist, honey. Obama is a socialist," Vanna, I mean, Mrs. Sullivan corrected her daughter.

"That's my girl," Mr. Sullivan said before hi-fiving Crystal.

"Why don't you ask him where's he's going to college? He has so many schools after him, he can go anywhere he wants," Amber said, gushing so much I half expected her soup to explode out of the top of her head.

"Where do you intend to matriculate?"

"Um, I'm leaning toward Cal State Fullerton. I'd love to play baseball there."

"California? I don't want my little girl living amongst all those liberals. You know they let gays get married there?"

"Excuse me … what?" I said nearly choking on the spoonful of soup I'd tried to get down. Who the hell invited Amber to California? Was she really planning on going to any school I went to?

"I know. It's ridiculous. Men marrying men. Women kissing on women. It just ain't right." He misunderstood my confusion.

"God made Adam and Eve not Adam and Steve," Crystal volunteered while folding her arms smugly.

"Amen, baby," Mr. Sullivan said, hi-fiving his daughter again. "Anyway, you and Amber should go to a school right here in South Carolina."

"May I use your restroom?" I said, standing abruptly. This had gone too far. I couldn't take anymore.

"I'll show him where it is." Amber leaped from her seat, grabbed my hand and led me toward the family room.

Once we turned a corner, Amber flung her arms about my neck and planted a kiss on my lips. "I love you so much, Scottie," she said when she let me up for air. "I'm so happy we worked through our problems. We're going to be together forever." She kissed me again, and then skipped off toward the dining room.

I slipped into the bathroom and texted Stu.

Five minutes later, as a salmon dish was being placed in front of us, my cell phone rang. I answered it and feigned shock and dismay to what I heard on the phone although all my little brother said to me was "You owe me for this. I was in the middle of a really awesome guitar solo."

"I'm so sorry, Mr. and Mrs. Sullivan, but apparently my brother missed the last bus and he's stranded in North Charleston. I have to pick him up."

After a few handshakes and a couple of reluctant hugs, I was released from that prison-like hell without further interrogation. Thankfully, they weren't bus riding type people and didn't realize that the Charleston Area bus system didn't stop running until 10:50 on Sundays.

***

Stu was on the floor about to burst with laughter when I told him about my evening.

"Do you see this?" he said, pointing to his face. "I'm crying. I'm actually crying. I've never heard anything so hysterical in my life."

Suddenly finding the humor in the whole situation, I joined in the laughter as well.

"But seriously," I said a few moments later, breaking up the hilarity of the moment. "What am I gonna do? How can I break up with Amber without her going Fatal Attraction on me?"

"Why do you need to break up with her all of the sudden? Just let it end naturally like all your other relationships."

"What do you mean? How do my relationships usually end?"

"Well," Stu sat up and crossed his legs Indian style. "You usually date three types of girls. One: the hot gold-digger. She dates you until someone better comes along, then she dumps you and moves on. Two: the hot psycho. She's completely possessive and drives you crazy from day one, but you stay with her as long as you can because the sex is good. When you can't take it anymore you get caught making out at a party with another girl and she dumps you. And Three: the hot romantic. She's completely in love with the idea of you, but once she dates you and realizes you not only have nothing in common but that you'll never love her as much as she loves you, she cries a little, and then dumps you and moves on."

"Whoa, you've put a lot of thought into this," I said a little surprised at his summation.

"Reyna and I came up with these categories about a year ago after Savannah and Ashley fought over you in the girls' bathroom. They were both type twos."

"Reyna." I sighed.

"Yeah, Reyna. Now, she's the kind of girl you should be with. But that'll never happen."

"Why not?" I asked, starting to get offended.

He looked at me like I was dumber than a boat made of Corn Flakes, then said, "Because she doesn't fit into one of the categories."

I mulled this over for a moment while Stu set up Guitar Hero on the Xbox. I was a walking stereotype. My little brother was able to sum up my love life in like fifty words. And he'd had the help of Reyna of all people. No wonder she wanted nothing to do with me romantically. She would take it as an insult to be my girlfriend.

"Wait a minute," I said finally. "Why wouldn't a relationship work with the hot romantic? Why wouldn't I be able to love her as much as she loved me?" I asked, thinking I'd found a flaw in his reasoning.

"Because you'll never be able to love any woman as much as you love Reyna," he said simply as he started strumming to “Dream On” by Aerosmith. "And the sooner you realize that, the happier you'll be."

"I do realize it."

"Seriously?" Stu turned off the game. "All right, Scottie. It's about time."

"What do you mean?"

"Scottie, you've been in love with her for years."

"I have?"

"Yes, but you've let Sam's prejudice keep you from acting on your true feelings. What made you finally come around?"

I shrugged. "I guess I started thinking about who would be by my side if I wasn't a star athlete. Who would still care about me if I never threw another touchdown pass for the rest of my life? Besides you, there was Reyna." I didn't want to tell him that the reason I started thinking about this was because lately I thought my body was giving out on me and I feared that a career in sports wouldn't be in my future.

“So, what’s it like? The whole being in love thing,” he asked.

“It sucks!”

“Ooookaaay. That’s so not what I expected you to say.” Stu sat down Indian style on the floor and waited for me to elaborate.

“Well, it does. It feels like…it feels like an eighteen wheeler is sitting on my chest and the only relief I get is when I’m around her. Then I feel free.”

“Wow. That was equal parts terrifying and beautiful.”

“Exactly,” I said.

Stu stretched out on the floor and clasped his hands behind his head. “How did we end up like this?” he asked. “How did we grow up with a lunatic for a mother yet still turn out relatively normal?”

I shrugged. “I think it was easy for you. You came out of the womb hating Sam. You did everything in your power to be her exact opposite. If she told you the sky was blue, you’d insist it was green just to piss her off. So, of course, if she’s crazy and racist, you’d be sane and tolerant. It took me a little while longer.”

“How’d it happen for you?” Stu asked.

“Do you remember the summer I went to soccer camp in New England?”

Stu rolled his eyes. “How could I forget? I was only five, but I remember Sam trying to make me learn golf. She thought I could be the next Tiger Woods.”

“I was eight-years-old and my mother had sent me a thousand miles away for six weeks. In all that time, she only called me twice. Once to make sure I was doing my daily triple fives and once to try to get me to convince you to stop throwing your golf clubs at her.”

Stu giggled. “That was the best part of the summer man. I think I clocked her once in the head. If there was a golf club throwing competition in the Olympics, I’d definitely get the gold.”

“Any way,” I said, interrupting Stu’s only happy memory of his mother. “I shared a cabin with fifteen boys from Ghana, Nigeria, Brazil, Angola, and Japan. Each of them talked to their parents every day and got care packages and letters from them all the time. Sam had taught me all my life that those people were somehow defective because of the color of their skin. Well, that got me thinking. If they were defective and still received unconditional love from their parents, what did that make me? So, I couldn’t bring myself to hate them anymore. Not when they were obviously better than I was.”

Stu stood up and put a reassuring hand on my shoulder. “You’re not defective, Scott. And Sam does love you in her own sick, twisted way. She just doesn’t know how to show it like a normal human being.” Suddenly it was as if he was the big brother and I was the little brother drinking in his wisdom.

I felt a lump develop in my throat. How pathetic was I about to cry because my mommy didn’t love me?

“Man, she has really screwed us up,” Stu said sitting back down on the floor. “You have a complex about feeling worthwhile and I apparently think the sky is green.”

I laughed and then hit him in the head with a pillow. Stu always knew how to lighten the mood at just the right time.

"In any case, we’ve got some work to do. Since you finally know how you feel about Reyna, we have to figure out a way to get rid of Amber.” A grin spread across Stu’s face that I have to admit was a bit creepy. Or maybe it was just the black lipstick that made it creepy. “I think it's time to give her a taste of real psycho, Kincaid style."