Perfect Tunes - Emily Gould Page 0,43

sniffed Marie’s butt. “Wow. Yeah, she definitely—ugh, fuck.”

Disengaging herself from Marie’s clutching hands as quickly as possible, Laura lurched into the bathroom, just managing to shut the door so that Marie wouldn’t follow her. As she heaved, she heard Callie through the door.

“I’m gonna go, but just call me if you need anything, okay? Oh, and also your landlord came by—did you know your rent is overdue? He said he’d be back again later to pick it up.”

Laura rested, dizzy, then vomited again. “I don’t have it,” she said, not sure if she was talking loudly enough for Callie to hear.

When she emerged, she was surprised to see that Callie was still there, and that her vintage pink plastic purse was open on the coffee table. “How much are you short?”

“A lot. You really don’t have to … I wasn’t asking.”

“Is two hundred fifty enough? That’s all the cash I have on me.”

“That’s amazing. I’ll get you back next week.” Laura smiled weakly, too sick to feel humiliated, just relieved. “You’re a lifesaver, Callie, seriously. Thank you so much for this.”

“You’re welcome, and next time, just ask me, okay? Do not hug me. I’ll check in with you guys later. Bye, little monster,” she said, giving Marie a parting nudge with her heel.

Laura sank back down to the floor. It wasn’t even three yet, but all she wanted was for the rest of the day to be canceled, stricken from the calendar. Her immediate problem was solved, but a new one had presented itself: How was she supposed to take care of Marie while the only activity that she could really see herself doing for the next twenty-four hours was lying in bed shivering, occasionally getting up to vomit?

She wanted someone to bring her saltines and ginger ale, change the sheets, press a cold washcloth to her forehead. There was no one in her life like that, though. She was the person who brought saltines.

She picked Marie up off the floor and went to change her diaper. The poop was slightly more solid than it had been the last time she’d done so, but it still wasn’t a great sign that it was happening so often. Marie was, mercifully, much less fazed by being sick than Laura was. She smiled up at her mother as she changed her diaper and laughed uproariously as Laura bent forward to blow kisses on her warm little belly. Marie was so beautiful, Laura thought helplessly. They happened, these perfect moments, glittering brilliantly between the horrors. The afternoon stretched ahead of them, and Laura had no idea how she’d fill the four hours before bedtime. She was too sick to leave the apartment, and just the thought of the maneuvers necessary to get Marie back into outdoor clothes and strapped into the carrier made Laura feel like sandbags were pressing down on all her limbs. She put Marie down in the kitchen while she washed her hands at the sink, and when she turned around Marie was holding a butter knife she’d found somewhere, thoughtfully sawing it back and forth between her toothless gums. She just needed to stay occupied long enough that Laura could do some dishes, so that she wouldn’t be completely ashamed for their landlord to see the state of the apartment.

She shoved a threadbare VHS tape into the combination TV/VCR she’d found on a nearby curb and set Marie, who was still clutching the butter knife, down in front of it. To Laura’s chagrin, Marie was still too young to really care about TV but would usually get sucked in after a few minutes of the Sesame Street compilation’s brightly colored singing and talking. Laura pulled out her wallet in order to add what was in it to the cash that Callie had given—lent? Ugh, let’s hope given—her, hoping that her mental math was off and that she’d be at or possibly even over $750, the magic number.

“BA!” Marie shouted at the TV, gesturing with the knife, then turned her back on it to crawl over to where Laura was sitting. She pulled herself up on the edge of the coffee table and grabbed for the stack of twenty- and ten-dollar bills.

“Baby, Mommy is counting. Can you just watch TV, please? Look, Grover!” Laura’s head was pounding.

Marie, undeterred, stayed at the table’s edge, bouncing her big diapered butt happily up and down.

“Okay, you can help me count. Twenty, forty, sixty, eighty, one hundred!” She put the bills into neat piles. Marie