The Katydid

by Johanna Nauraine

It’s December 24th and I’ve been drunk for two days. I figure, if I’m unconscious when Christmas rolls around, I won’t miss Katy and the kids. They’ve been on Bainbridge Island the past week, visiting Katy’s parents. I’m not welcome there, for reasons I don’t care to enumerate.

My chocolate lab, TJ, and I are hanging out on my leather sofa, starring at the tiny red and white Christmas tree lights, blinking madly in the gathering gloom. I’ve been telling TJ stories about my youth — a highlight reel from my days as a high school soccer star. He looks vaguely interested, which only makes me feel worse about how far I’ve fallen. Finally, bored with my nostalgic soliloquy, I start falling asleep. Just then, carolers arrive on my front porch and break into a rousing rendition of, “It’s a Holly, Jolly Christmas.” I think there must be a special place in hell for people who urinate cheer all over you like that.

After they leave, I grab the remote and start channel surfing. Then the doorbell rings. I harumph my way up from the sofa, stumble to the door, and peer through the peep hole. It’s my best friend, Marty, bleary eyed and holding a pineapple. I open the door and he says, I figure you’ve already had too much alcohol so I brought you a fruit.”

“You’re a fruit, ya big boob.”

I take the prickly thing out of his hands and set it on the credenza. “I’m about to walk TJ.”

“Good, I’ll tag along. Dogs of a feather must stick together.” His grin is just weird enough that I laugh.

Once we’re outside, I admire the Christmas lights on houses in the neighborhood. This year, my house is naked, not even the usual Mr. Frosty blow-up in the front yard. I pull my black sock hat lower on my head and give a big sigh. “I hate Christmas!”

“You’re just sore at being alone.”

“You’re alone and you don’t seem to mind.”

I’m not alone. I’ve got you and TJ.”

TJ sniffs at a snow covered bush and then does his business. Marty, ever the conscientious one says, “Aren’t you going to pick up his poop?”

“Why do you think I have kids? To walk the dog and bag his poop.”

“Oh, you’re a real gem. Father of the year.”

“Don’t rub it in.”

I can’t help thinking about what it would be like if my family were here. We’d be running around like meth addicted squirrels, buying last minute crap for each other. I have to admit, I’ve always thought that craziness was kind of festive.

Marty and I walk along in silence, admiring the snow covered evergreens up and down the street. TJ is pulling on his leash, like he’s chasing a warm donut. I say, “Slow down, boy.”

I see a penny on the sidewalk and reach down to pick it up. Katy is always teasing me about my habit of collecting street change, thinking some day it will make me rich.

Marty slaps the back of my head. “You know, I’ve always envied you.”

“Why’s that?”

“I’m a bald, forty year old guy, who’s still picking up women in bars and subsisting on day old pizza. You’ve got Katy and the kids.”

“Yeah, and they’re all pissed at me!” I kick a nearby snow bank and think about the argument between Katy and me. Even to my own ears, I sounded like a bozo, trying to explain to my levelheaded wife that I’d purchased a sailboat in November. It had taken me four weeks to work up the nerve to spill my guts. Why I decided to go all Oprah right before Christmas, I’ll never know.

Before Katy could say anything, I described the boat’s beauty — her shiny brass fittings and polished wood interior — the way she floated on the water like a pristine swan. Katy looked gobsmacked, so I quickly added, “She’ll be great for family vacations.”

Then, my super smart wife asked the inevitable. “What did you use for money?”

Well…. that had been my dilemma. How was I going to pay for my sexy dreamboat? At forty five, I was still earning a paltry, $40,000 a year, as a manager at Walgreens — barely enough to support a robust pot habit, let alone a family of four and a fabulous boat.

The November breeze, whipped around my head, rattling my ears. I stood on that boat dock, feeling hopeless — the same Baltimore dock where I’d worked as a teenager — running errands and cleaning boats, surrounded by wealthy men who’d sail to Cuba just to buy their Cohiba’s.

Then it came to me, like a voice from God. I could raid my daughter, Cassie’s college fund! $70,000 would make a good down payment on the boat.

I paced back and forth for fifteen minutes, battling my conscience. A better man would have taken longer to shed all semblance of filial responsibility, but not me. Fifteen minutes was my limit.

Maybe Cassie could attend a community college, or earn a scholarship. Maybe she could enroll in a work-study program or my wife’s well-to-do parents could pay for her schooling.

I stared at my heart’s desire, her snowy sail flapping in the breeze, her silky smooth hull like a debutante’s breast. I knew then, that buying the boat was a fait accompli.

When I finally got up the nerve to tell Katy what I’d done, she was four alarm furious. Her eyes grew big as sand dollars and her neck began turning a frightening shade of red. Suddenly, I felt claustrophobic in our too small bedroom.

Her voice, an octave higher than usual, screeched like a myna bird. “How could you steal money from our daughter’s college fund?! We worked long and hard for that money.”

“You mean, I worked long and hard for that money. You stayed at home, remember?”

“But you wanted it that way, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, I guess. But now I want more.”

“More than me and the kids?”

“Not exactly… I want to own something so extravagant it will change the trajectory of my life.”

“What’s wrong with your life?”

I sat down on the bed, my head in my hands. “Shit, I don’t know.” Katy was so damned mad, I could almost smell smoke, wafting off her skin. I imagined her eyes shooting bolts of lightening in my direction. Finally, she’d said, “Tell you what… you can spend the holiday without us and see how you like it. If you get lonely, just wrap your arms around that fucking boat! The kids and I are going to spend Christmas with my folks. You need to decide whether you want to be a part of our lives or not.” She stomped out of the room, slamming the door behind her.

Just then, Marty speaks, startling me out of my trance. “Maybe you should grovel.”

“That’s like telling me to hug a porcupine.”

“Well, what are you going to do?”

“Christ, I don’t know.”

Marty looks over at me, his cheeks ruddy from the cold. “You’re not going to like this, but you should sell the boat.” TJ looks up at me with his big, brown, labrador eyes, and I intuit his agreement.

“You’d get the money back. Cassie would have her college fund and sometime in the distant future, Katy might be willing to have sex with you again.” He puts his arm around my shoulders and hugs me against him. His body feels warm and solid. “Come on, brother. This is your family we’re talking about!”

I look over at him. His red hat is perched on his head like a seagull, and his black and white striped scarf is wrapped around his bearded throat. Despite his incongruous apparel, he looks, for all the world, like my personal angel.

Then he says, “Let’s drive to the marina and have a good-bye party on your little princess. We can take a case of beer, sleeping bags and beef jerky — all we need for a holiday sleepover! TJ can come too.” Then he stops dead in his tracks, grabs me by the shoulders and shakes me like a rag doll. “If you have any sense at all, you’ll say good-bye to the Katydid.” I laugh. Marty is always nicknaming things. Then he says, “Maybe we should call her the Katydidn’t.”

I groan. “Let’s head back. My nuts are freezing.”

TJ barks as we approach the house. I guess he’s hungry. I open the front door and experience a rush of disappointment. There are no Christmas smells, vanilla, cinnamon and bacon — yes, bacon — a holiday tradition from my childhood.

There are no holly berries or mistletoe, no spiced cider or candied apples, no tacky Christmas music or fighting over who gets to lick the cookie bowl. But more than that, there are no welcoming kisses from Katy or hugs from eight year old, Kyle or my sweet, thirteen year old, Cassie. Standing there, in the doorway to my home, I realize the boat is no comfort. In fact, it suddenly seems superfluous. I miss my family.

Marty and I shed our winter gear, tossing it on a bench in the front hall. I say, “I think you’re right. I’m going to sell the boat. I don’t know what I was thinking — that I could be something I’m not? More than I am?”

Marty shakes his head, as if he’s totally frustrated with me. “You’re family adores you! Don’t you know that?”

“Katy’s parents are so well off, I’ve always wondered what she saw in me.”

“Well, it wasn’t money, ya big dope!” He looks at me expectantly. “Well? Are you going to call her?”

“Jesus. Let me drink a beer and contemplate my dwindling options.”

We sit on the sofa, swigging our beer and watching the little lights twinkling on the Christmas tree. TJ settles at our feet and I rub his big doggy head. Then I look over at Marty. “A sleepover on the boat?! Dude…you’re beyond strange.”

“Just sayin.’”

“I wonder what Katy and the kids are doing. I guess it’s time I found out.” I pull out my phone and call Katy. She answers, but instead of a barrage of criticism, there is angry silence, barreling across the air waves.

“Katy, I’m going to sell the boat. It was a stupid, egomaniacal impulse.”

I wait to hear what she’s going to say, but still, there’s nothing. “Katy, I miss you and the kids. I would never give you up for something as superficial as a sailboat. I guess I just wish I had more to offer all of you.”

She sighs and says, “You’re an idiot! We don’t need you to prove you’re some big kahuna.”

“I love when you talk dirty to me.”

“Shut up and listen! We love you just the way you are. A boat might be nice but it’s completely unnecessary.” There’s a lull in the conversation and I begin snapping my knuckles. Then she says, “Why are you breathing so hard? Were you running or something?”

“No, babe. I guess I’m nervous, talking to you.” She’s silent, as if the wheels in her head are spinning. I clear the frog in my throat. “So, how are you guys doing out there on the island? Having fun? Miss me?”

“I’ve been thinking of you with alternate sides of my brain. One side is pissed at you for taking a wrecking ball to our family finances, and the other side is still in love with you, despite your recent obsession with overpriced fiberglass.”

“TJ and I are climbing the walls.” She laughs. “What if we came home early — like tomorrow?”

“Oh, babe. You’re gonna make me cry.”

“Have you been lonesome?”

“Marty and I are just about to break open a pineapple, if that tells you anything.”

“You guys are bizarre.”

“What time will you fly into Baltimore?”

“We’ll probably take the 11:00 a.m. flight.”

“Terrific! I’ll be there with bells on.”

I hear what sounds like a sniffle on Katy’s end of the line and wonder if she’s crying. “You okay, babe?”

“I’m sorry I got so mad about the boat. Mom and Dad and the kids have been trying to convince me it’ll be great for the summer. They’ve already got trips planned to the Caribbean, and mom and dad said they’d help with Cassie’s college fund.

Marty, whose been sitting beside me, eavesdropping the whole time, nudges me hard. When I look over at him he winks and mouths, “I told you so.”

I get off the phone and shake my head. “Dude! They want to keep the boat?! ”

Marty has tears in his eyes. “You’ve got a family you barely deserve!”

https://www.bristolnoir.co.uk/the-katydid-by-johanna-r-nauraine/