Rooting for the Apocalypse (4)
Chapter 4: Let the Guy Buy You a Fish
Drama ensues when Athena invites her dirtbag boyfriend on her dysfunctional family’s vacation.
It’s eleven in the morning with the time change and the sky is gray and the air is chilly and all the palm trees and convertibles and beautiful people add to my sense of impending doom. I shiver. Athena takes my arm.
Not a bad flight, she says, for the nine-hundredth time.
The guy sitting next to us was farting the whole time, I say, fidgeting like I’m trying to invent a dance.
I thought that was you, Athena says.
There were some collaborations, I say, through chattering teeth. I didn’t think the west would be so gray.
It’s like that in the morning. A fog rolls in off the ocean so it’s a little cool, and then it burns away by noon and it’s beautiful. It almost never rains.
What the fuck is that then? I point to a dark cloud hovering over the city skyline.
It won’t rain. Bet ya five bucks. Athena checks her watch and then her phone, and then scrunches her eyes as though one of them is lying. She says, Dad’s late, of course. You can never be late for him, but he can never be on time.
Maybe he got in a crash, I say.
Please try not to sound happy about the possibility of my dad getting hurt.
New plan: we don’t meet your dad. We don’t go to the beach. We hang out here and start a new life. I’ll be a chef. You can be a fighter jet pilot.
Tempting buuut I’m a ballerina or I’m nothing. C’mon, you're psyching yourself out. Athena rubs my arm.
What’s he driving? A humvee?
He wishes. It’s a rental car. He told me it was a luxury model. I told him to just get the cheapest one — who’s he trying to impress?
And then we’re meeting your sister and — what’s his name? Chad, at the motel?
Brad. Yes. You know, you didn’t have to pay for our room. Dad would have covered it.
Like hell I’d let your dad pay for our room. The vacation house is one thing; he was doing that one way or another. But the reason we need an extra hotel room is because I’m here.
Dad probably would have paid for me to have my own room anyway. He and mom have separate beds, though once I did find a condom in his briefcase.
It felt better doing it this way. Also — gross.
Human sexuality is a beautiful thing.
When beautiful people do it. Not goopy old people who are my girlfriend's parents.
There he is.
A sleek red sedan cuts across two lanes of traffic and swerves into the not-a-spot in front of us. The trunk pops open. Athena shakes her head and pinches my arm. I load Athena’s suitcase and then toss my backpack in. Athena rides shotgun and I slide in the back. Frank peers over his belly at his lap, fiddling with his phone.
Hi daddy, Athena says, sunnily.
Hi, Frank, I say.
Frank grunts.
Athena rolls her eyes at me through the rearview mirror. She says, Thanks for picking us up.
Frank scowls, and says, Flight info was wrong. This damn phone.
Did you restart it? Athena asks.
I did everything, Frank says. The damn phone had the wrong flight time. They patched in a download and now nothing works.
He swerves out of the not-a-spot, almost clipping the van in front of us, and then guns it onto the highway. Nobody talks. Athena puts down her window and the smell of salty air fills the car. Frank puts the window up. Voices ooze from the radio, discussing government plots. It’s hot and tense; I can feel flecks of spit from the radio voices hit me in the face.
I stare out the windows, trying to take in as much as I can. To the left: a hill studded with mansions. To the right: a quay latticed with sailboats, motorboats, and yachts.
We crest a hill and a gleaming city looms on the horizon. Just before we enter her embrace, Frank takes a hard left, and we’re driving through an industrial wasteland. The journey ends in the pockmarked lot of a dinky motel.
We pull into the only empty space. I hop out and take a deep breath. Athena follows. Frank sits in the car, staring at his lap again. The trunk pops open.
Your dad’s quite the conversationalist, I say.
See, it’ll be fine, Athena says. You’ll just ignore each other the whole time.
I unload Athena’s suitcase, and then sling my backpack over my shoulder. We wait for Frank to disembark, which is a process. First, his feet spill out (shiny leather boots). With three great heaves, he manages to extract the rest of his bulge from the vehicle. He turns his pudgy eyes on the strung-out couple fighting on the balcony.
Goddamn drug addicts, he mutters. He gives Athena our room key and then waddles away.
Race ya! Athena says, and dashes to the room.
I chase after and pass her. She stops and darts backward.
Faked you out, our room’s the other way! she taunts.
I manage to close the gap to just three doors before she opens one and slips inside. I knock.
What’s the password? Athena whispers through the door.
I love you? I say. 
Gross. Try again.
It’s cold and I’m scared and the pigeons look hungry.
Athena swings the door open. She says, You could have just slid a buck under the door. I respond to bribes.
I faceplant onto the bed not covered in Athena’s clothes. Athena crawls on top of me and rubs my back.
Your dad’s cool, I mumble through the blanket. I think we’re going to be best friends.
I’m sure you will.
Where’s your mom?
She’s probably sleeping.
At two in the afternoon?
She doesn’t travel well. She hates to fly. She probably took a sleeping pill. And a glass of wine.
Ah, that’s the life.
Yeah, we should all be so lucky. C’mon what do you want to do? Athena kneads her palms energetically into my back like a cat. We have a whole four hours to explore.
I want to lie here and sleep.
Rejected! Athena slaps the back of my head.
Ow! Too hard.
I’ll tell you when it’s too hard. Athena rolls off of me and tries to tug me out of bed.
I don’t wanna go to school.
We’re going exploring! Athena succeeds in dragging me halfway off the bed, where I lie like a sandbag.
Fine, I’ll just explore without you, she says. She opens the door and sunlight rushes in.
Hold your horses, I say. I’m coming.