The Figgs Read online

  The Figgs

  The

  Figgs

  A NOVEL

  ALI BRYAN

  © Ali Bryan 2018

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical — including photocopying, recording, taping, or through the use of information storage and retrieval systems — without prior written permission of the publisher or, in the case of photocopying or other reprographic copying, a licence from the Canadian Copyright Licensing Agency (Access Copyright), One Yonge Street, Suite 800, Toronto, on, Canada, M5E 1E5.

  Published with the generous assistance of the Canada Council for the Arts and the Alberta Media Fund.

  Freehand Books

  515 – 815 1st Street SW Calgary, Alberta T2P 1N3

  www.freehand-books.com

  Book orders: LitDistCo

  8300 Lawson Road Milton, Ontario L9T 0A4

  Telephone: 1-800-591-6250 Fax: 1-800-591-6251

  [email protected] www.litdistco.ca

  Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication

  Bryan, Ali, 1978–, author

  The Figgs / Ali Bryan.

  Issued in print and electronic formats.

  ISBN 978-1-988298-25-2 (softcover).

  ISBN 978-1-988298-26-9 (EPUB).

  ISBN 978-1-988298-27-6 (PDF)

  I. Title.

  PS8603.R885F54 2018 C813‘.6 C2018-900104-6 C2018-900105-4

  Edited by Kelsey Attard

  Book design by Natalie Olsen, Kisscut Design

  Author photo by Life Photo

  Printed on FSC® recycled paper and bound in Canada by Marquis

  To my always Mom, for being my mom, always

  To my Dad, for without the Weedon family crest, there may not have been a story

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Acknowledgements

  Author

  June stood in the middle of the basement. It was a mess. Tom had been spilling orange pop on the carpet since 1995. There was a stain in the corner that still smelled faintly of rum and spaghetti, where Derek had puked after a school dance. At some point, Vanessa had drawn a lipstick happy face and covered it with the couch, and there was a trail of hardened wood glue stretching from Randy’s workshop to the bathroom. He blamed the glue on Tom. The plan had always been to replace the carpet when the kids grew up and moved out, but they were still here, all three of them, and now a third of the basement had been swallowed up by two decades worth of stuff.

  “I’m ready.”

  “Jesus Murphy, Randy, you scared me.” June clutched her chest. Her husband stood behind her in rubber gloves and a respirator.

  He pulled the mask down around his neck. “What do you think?”

  “Do we really need facemasks?” June wrestled on a pair of rubber gloves. There were two more sets on the ping-pong table for Tom and Vanessa.

  “I had them in my workshop.” He tossed her a garbage bag.

  June tucked it under her arm. “Where are the kids? I told them we were starting at nine.”

  “They’re finishing their pancakes.”

  “You made them pancakes?”

  Randy was engrossed in trying to peel apart a garbage bag. After several attempts it opened and he flapped it up and down. He looked like a children’s entertainer, all hair and hysteria and mismatched socks.

  June marched to the base of the stairs. “Tom, Vanessa, get down here.” She looked at the clock above the TV. “It’s already after nine.”

  Vanessa yelled, “I’m not coming down until I have coffee.”

  “Where do we start?” Randy was already digging through a box balanced on an old weight bench. He held up a bag of beeswax pellets and a container of wicks.

  “Those are Vanessa’s.” June pushed her limp bangs out of her face. “From her candle-making phase.”

  Randy moved the box to the side as Tom lumbered down the stairs, a ribbon of syrup on his cheek. His hair was big like his father’s, and he was still wearing last night’s work shirt with the cartoon mop embroidered on the lapel.

  “Gloves are on the ping-pong table.” June pointed.

  “Why’s Dad wearing a mask?”

  Randy sat cross-legged in the corner, the respirator secured over his face, flipping through a yellow picture book.

  June’s nose twitched. The basement’s usual scent of floppy disk and microwave popcorn had been replaced by Go-Kleen Now! — the industrial cleaning products Tom imported from China that smelled like schoolyard orange peels.

  “How long is this going to take?” Vanessa stood at the bottom of the stairs, her eye makeup thick in shades of death, the rest of her skin pale as a scone. Her blue-black hair was slicked beneath a headband with ears.

  “However long it takes.”

  Vanessa’s pet cockatiel, Jerry, stood on Vanessa’s shoulder with his head cocked. June thought he looked like a small chicken. He had a slightly deformed beak that made it look like he was always smiling.

  “I have a friend coming over at ten.”

  “But you knew we were cleaning the basement today.” June made fists. “And why is Jerry here?”

  “He didn’t want to be alone.” Vanessa petted Jerry’s head.

  Tom rifled through a bin of comics. “How come Derek doesn’t have to do this?”

  “Yeah,” Vanessa said. “How come?”

  Randy removed his facemask. “This is such a sad little book.” He hugged it to his chest.

  June sighed and looked at her two oldest children. “Because Derek had to work this morning.”

  Vanessa stormed across the basement like a yeti to where Randy sat. “Derek gets out of everything.”

  “He’ll go through his things later. Just focus on your own stuff.” June felt the beginnings of a hot flash. “There’s garbage bags over there and anything you think you can sell, put it over by the washer and dryer.”

  Vanessa dug into a laundry basket and held up a CD. “Michael Bublé?”

  “Never mind,” June bristled. “The stuff in there is mine. That big microwave box by the storage closet is yours. Sort through that.”

  Vanessa hovered over the basket. “What the fuck is this?”

  “Vanessa, language.” Randy hauled himself up from the floor.

  “It’s a personalized travel journal,” June said. “One of the technicians gave it to me at my retirement party.”

  “You don’t even travel.” Vanessa replaced the leather book. “And before you say anything, road trips don’t count.”

  “Why wouldn’t they count? Besides, when have I had time to travel? I’ve only been retired five months.”

  Tom emptied the contents of an old pencil case into a garbage bag.

  “Still,” Vanessa balked, “it’s not really your thing.”

  “Well, it might be,” June argued. “If we can ever get out of this house and move into something smaller.”

  Vanessa had found her flute and was busy assembling it. “And what about Dad’s workshop?”

  June studied Randy for a response, but he was still in the corner holding the yellow picture book, looking like he had been abducted and placed in a sad Ukrainian library.

  “What is that?” June said.

  Randy flipped the book around. You Were Chosen. The title was written in bleak uppercase letters. A homely baby sat alone beneath it, grasping what resembled a stone tool. Then the subtitle: An Adoption Story. That part was written in a fancy script. June remembered tracing it as a child. She recoiled.

  “Where did you find that?”

  Randy held up an open banker’s box.

  “Leave that,” she waved. “That’s all Mom’s stuff. We’ll do that last.”

  On the other side of the room Vanessa stood amongst a mosh pit of stuffed animals and played the flute. June didn’t recognize the song.

  “Smells Like Teen Spirit,” Tom said.

  Vanessa stopped, “Correct!” and then continued playing.

  June surveyed the room. They were fewer than fifteen minutes in, and it was twenty times worse than when they started. There was no place for anything. Tom leaned against the ping-pong table reading a yearbook, and Vanessa looked like she was trying to make the stuffed animals and a Cabbage Patch Kid levitate.

  June hollered over the flute. “You guys really need to start taking some responsibility. I mean…” She paused to kick a board game out of the way. “You should not all be living at home still.” June looked for Randy’s support but he was in the corner doing bicep curls with ancient metal dumbbells. “Randy?”

  “Hu
h?”

  “Back me up here.”

  “Right.” He placed the weights on the ground. “Your mother has a point.”

  June moved a set of badminton rackets to the sell pile. “You know I read the other day it’s actually now a syndrome. When adult kids still live with their parents. Like toxic shock or restless leg. Something like adult entitled dependence disorder or entitled dependence. Psychologists are treating it like a disease.”

  Randy looked worried. “A disease?”

  “What kind of disease?” Tom asked. “Like herpes?”

  “Gonorrhea,” Vanessa said.

  “No,” June scolded. “More of a trend. Like gluten-free diets.”

  “Or anal bleaching,” Tom said.

  “Thomas!” June said.

  “But Marty and Dawn still have Elijah living with them,” Randy said.

  “He’s in his fourth year of med school.”

  “What about the Dekkers then? Don’t they still have two living at home? And I’m pretty sure the girl is older than Tom.”

  “She’s in a wheelchair.” Tom played with a protractor.

  “So?”

  “Dad, she can’t feed herself.”

  “She can’t?”

  “She has a feeding tube.”

  Randy frowned.

  “Are there any more pancakes?” Vanessa snapped the flute apart.

  Randy brightened. “I can make another batch.”

  “I’ll have some too.” Tom held up a compass. “Can you do half blueberries half chocolate chips this time?”

  June glared at her husband.

  He froze en route to the stairs. “Yes. But not until we get some more done around here. Tom, put away the geometry set and get to work. Vanessa, do something with all your friends.”

  Friends. That’s what those stuffed animals had been. June exhaled and tried not to think of those years of Vanessa’s life. “Thank you,” June muttered, picking up her ukulele and moving it to the clear side of the room where she’d set up a chair and a music stand. The ukulele had been an impulse buy. The salesman had a lovely beard and told her retirement was for making music. She ran her fingers across the fretboard before setting it on the chair. So far, she could play “Three Blind Mice.”

  June took a step back and bumped into a caramel-coloured spring horse. It had been hauled out of the closet and now trembled in its frame. She stroked its rippled mane. “Vanessa, remember this? This was your all-time fave.”

  Vanessa threw a graffiti-covered binder in the garbage. “Who, Percy?”

  “Yes, Percy. That was it.” June petted the chocolate saddle, the plastic smooth. “Remember I made you a bunch of cowgirl outfits to go with it? All those little plaid shirts with the tassels and the sequin pockets? And you always wore the hat with the beaded band even though it was too big and you couldn’t see out of it?”

  “It was my favourite, until Tom sat on it naked.”

  “I didn’t sit on it naked,” Tom piped in. “That was Derek. I peed on it.”

  Randy was wearing blue swim goggles that were too tight. “Why would you pee on Percy?”

  “I don’t know,” Tom replied, carrying a stack of comics to the sell pile. “I was five.”

  June wiped her hand on her pant leg.

  “Mom?”

  “Derek?”

  June looked up to see her youngest son at the top of the stairs. He was the tallest of her children, arguably the most handsome, with a lean body and a touch of her ginger coloring.

  “Aren’t you supposed to be at work?”

  “I need to borrow the car.”

  Randy interrupted. “How about taking the bus? Or your bike? It’s a nice day for some responsibility.” He looked at June for approval.

  Derek ignored his father. “It’s important.”

  “What’s wrong?” June recognized the worry in her son’s face. She’d memorized it from years of bedside conversations about war and death and lice. Nights the hall light had to be left on.

  “I need to get to the hospital.”

  “What for? Is someone hurt?” June’s heart rate quickened.

  “Is something wrong?”

  Randy took off the goggles.

  “Marissa’s having a baby.”

  “Who’s Marissa?” Randy asked.

  Derek gripped the handrail. “Can I just take the car? The contraptions are really close.”

  “Give me two minutes.” June tore off her rubber gloves. “Your father and I will drive you.”

  Derek looked sickly.

  “Wait for us upstairs.”

  Vanessa chased Derek up. “Blond Marissa or Asian Marissa?”

  June had never seen Vanessa move so fast.

  Derek didn’t reply.

  “Who’s Marissa?” Randy asked again.

  “Did you hear that?” June brushed bits off her shirt. “The contraptions are getting close.”

  “Yeah, but he’s nervous,” Randy said. “His friend’s having a baby.”

  “His friend’s not having a baby, Randy.” She took the stairs two at a time and stopped at the top. Randy hurried behind her. She turned to her husband, a stair below, nearly knocking him over, and looked him in the eye. “Derek is having a baby. Marissa and Derek are having a baby. Together.” June clasped her hands into a ball. “Your son is about to become a father.”

  “Derek’s having a baby right now?” He touched the wall to steady himself. “You can tell all that from him wanting to borrow the car?” He scratched his neck and looked back for Tom. “I don’t even know who Marissa is. Do you know her?”

  June darted through the kitchen searching for her purse. “No. Maybe. I don’t know. Get your shoes on.”

  Randy sat down at the table, pulled on a pair of sneakers, tied them, and slumped back in the chair. “But why is he only telling us now?”

  Tom had joined them upstairs and was switching his wallet from an old coat pocket to the one in the jacket he’d just put on. “I’m guessing he just found out.”

  “Derek,” June hollered in all directions. “We’re ready. Where are you?” She looked out the window to see if he was waiting outside. A red Civic was parked out front. “Whose car’s that?”

  Tom looked out the window and shrugged.

  Vanessa thumped into the room and returned Jerry to his cage. She’d put on her Petland uniform and was fixing her nametag to the shirt. “There’s a red car out front?” She jostled Tom out of the way and threw open the curtains. “Leslie’s here. Give me a sec.” She picked up her boots and ran out the door in her sock feet.

  “Derek,” June shouted.

  “I’m right here,” he said from behind her, annoyed. “Can we just go?”

  “Yes,” she said. “We were all waiting for you.”

  Tom was first out the door, with Derek right behind him.

  “I’ll drive.” June barrelled past both of them and pressed the door-open button on her key, more times than necessary.

  “I can’t believe I’m going to be a grandpa,” Randy said.

  Someone had parked too close to the hedge, and the Figgs had to shuffle down the driveway in single file. As June approached the van, Vanessa was already in the back row with her friend. One side of Leslie’s head was shaved, while the rest of her hair was arranged into a blond pompadour. Her hairstyle belied her age. Her body language was much too mellow for a woman in her twenties. June could see laugh lines and sun-spots. She recognized Leslie’s shirt was from a place where only nurses and women in search of common-sense clothing seemed to shop. Last week, Vanessa had bought pre-ripped fishnets from a store that sold Deadpool backpacks and adult onesies.

  “Who’s that?” Randy whispered.

  June whispered back, “Vanessa’s friend.”

  “Her friend?” Randy peered into the back seat. “She’s kind of old, no?”

  “At least forty,” June mouthed.

  Randy grimaced. “Why is she coming to the hospital?”

  “I don’t know.” June held on to the door handle. “Maybe you should say something.”

  “You say something,” Randy argued. “You’re better at that stuff.”

  Derek pounded on the window from inside. “We have to go.”

  They jumped and wrestled open their doors. June adjusted the steering wheel and mouthed say something to Randy.

  He fiddled with his buckle. “Hi, Leslie. It’s a…it’s nice of you to join us.”

  “Hello,” Leslie said politely.

  June put the van into reverse, the seats behind her full of knees. “Vanessa, honey, don’t you have to work today?”