Love and Chaos Read Online Free Page B

I open a bottle of Merlot that someone brought home. It’s pretty nasty—very acidic, which Merlot shouldn’t be (I know I sound like a wine fuckwit, and I’m at peace with that). But it’s wet and alcoholic and that is what I need to survive the rest of the day. I’ll buy another to replace it. As I’m pulling out the cork, I notice that the old green curtains above the kitchen window are torn. Like, seriously torn. I could fix them! That would be a good peace offering for Julia. Maybe she’d like me again.
    So I climb on the kitchen counter, slightly unsteadily, carefully take down the curtains, pick up my toast and wine, and with the curtains tucked under my arm, head back upstairs.
    La-di-dah! Thank hell for booze, right? I bet it would be easy to make new curtains for my bedroom, too. Maybe I could—Oh … shit.
    I tripped and spilled wine everywhere . All over the curtains, and the carpet and wallpaper outside Julia’s and Pia’s rooms. It’s all one big, red stain.
    I’ll just hand wash the old curtains now and then fix them and then deal with the other cleanup later. The curtains probably need cleaning anyway, right? They’re like a hundred years old!
    I try to wash them. I really do. But the stain won’t come out.
    Wait! Brain wave! I’ll make curtains out of that new yellow cotton I just ordered instead. It’d be an even better peace offering for Julia, and yellow would look great in the kitchen! Yes!
    I should always drink and sew.
    Because then, an hour later, when I head back down to the kitchen to hang our brand-new, beautiful yellow curtains, I feel warm and loose and absogoddamnlutely peachy keen.
    I climb up onto the counter, wobbling slightly. The kitchen so looks different from up here! And I carefully reach up to rehang the curtains.
    BANG!
    The front door slams, surprising me. I lose my balance and instinctively grab at the curtains as I fall backward off the counter and whoomp hit my head on a chair or the table or something, ripping down the entire curtain rail off the window frame at the same time. I land hard on my back, plaster and paint and wood chips showering over my body like confetti.
    The pain is immediate.
    Like the shrieking.
    Julia. Of course. “What the fuck are you doing!? You’ve destroyed my fucking kitchen!”
    I can’t move, so I just lie on the floor and close my eyes, my head bangbangbanging . It really hurts. I can feel the throbbing reverberating in my cheekbones, the shock of the fall bringing a painful lump to my throat and tears to my eyes. What kind of person cries after she falls over? What am I, some kind of sissy?
    God, I feel so detached from myself. It’s like I’m watching myself lying prostrate and alone on the kitchen floor. Alone. Always, always alone.
    I wonder when my dad will call.
    “You’re drunk again,” Julia says. “And you reek of cigarettes.”
    I move my arms up, slowly, over my head, so that I’m hiding my face in the crook of both elbows. Maybe if I lie here long enough she’ll go away. I wish I wasn’t here.
    Then I hear the front door bang again. It’s Pia. On the phone with Aidan, as usual.
    “No, you pick a restaurant. Why? Because I am not the goddess of food!… Ha, you are a sweet talker.…” I hear her footsteps approach the kitchen. “Oh … merde. Aidan? I’ll call you back.”
    Julia: “She’s drunk.”
    Pia: “Angie, are you okay?”
    Julia: “She’s fine! She’s like one of those alcoholics who survive tornados!”
    Julia leaves the room; I can hear her stompstompstomping up the stairs. “Sort it out, Pia! This is your goddamn problem!”
    I’m not Pia’s problem. I’m not anyone’s problem except my own.
    “Ladybitch?” Pia says softly. But I don’t reply. I don’t even move. I can’t. I just lie still, in my bubble of aloneness, my arms still covering my face, and listen to the whompthump of the pain in my head, and a weird rocking feeling in the base of my throat. A tear escapes my right