Picture Perfect

Picture Perfect By Nickie Jamison The apartment over my parents’ detached garage wasn’t a bad place to live. As long as I went to school and kept my grades up it was a rent-free situation, but it put me at the beck and call of my parents—mowing the lawn, cleaning the pool, feeding and walking my mother’s Pomeranians; Cheshire and Tweedle. Last year, I’d been living with my aunt Mel and her partner, Betsy, but Betsy took a new job and they moved to some place near D.C. I could have moved to NoVa with them, but the only opportunity I had to spend time with my boyfriend, Corin, was when he was on a break from school. Moving would’ve made things way too long distance. Convincing my dad to let me move in over the garage wasn’t easy, but empty nest syndrome is a thing and oh my God, my mother so has it. Legally, I’m an adult, but arguing with that woman is like trying to take a raw steak from the mouth of a lion, so I gave in and let her do the mom thing—like blow my phone up if my car isn’t in the drive after eleven P.M. on a school night, give me chores, and run errands. Which was why I was unloading bridal shower and wedding gifts delivered to my parents’ address to my sister’s fiancé’s house the Wednesday before Thanksgiving. Jenny and Ryan’s destination wedding was planned for next summer and my sister invited about seven hundred people to attend a ceremony on the black sand beaches of Panaluu, Hawaii. Jen told me she didn’t really want that many people there—she only wanted the gifts. I stood at the back door balancing a box of Pyrex bake-wear on top of a brand new Dyson, wishing my extended family would’ve sent a damn check instead. It would’ve saved time; Jen was going to return most of this s**t anyways. “I know you’re home. You’re rich-b***h-mobile is in the driveway.” My sister’s black BMW, a birthday gift from her fiancé, was parked in front of the garage. I kicked at the bottom of the back door with the side of my foot. No answer. Ryan kept a spare house key in one of those Hide-A-Key fake rocks under the hedge by the kitchen window. I put the bake-wear down before I crawled into the space between the bush and the house and then used the spare to open the back door. Jen and Ryan’s open floor-plan house belonged on HGTV—too clean and decor à la Pier One—like Martha Stewart had had a wild ménage a trois with Anthropologie and Ikea. “More bridal shower s**t,” I yelled as I scooted the large vacuum box through the back door. The edge of the box bumped up against the recycle bin, tipping it over. Paper and cans scattered across the kitchen floor. I was leaning down to clean the mess when the Best Buy Black Friday ad caught my eye. It was flipped open to the page with the digital SLR cameras. There on the middle of the page was the camera that Corin had been talking about getting. The bundle set included a couple of lenses, memory card, camera bag, tripod, and some other accessories that I wasn’t familiar with. I glanced at the price. Holy f**k, that’s nice. “I’m taking your Best Buy ad,” I yelled. “You’re not Ryan.” I swiveled around at the voice. There was a strange man standing in the doorway, his jeans unbuttoned and only half-zipped, white T-shirt balled up in his hand, dad-bod, and the first indications of moobs. “Neither are you,” I said, setting the box of Pyrex on the counter. “Jen?” s**t. My sister appeared in the doorway, pink fluffy bathrobe and a case of ‘I just had s*x’ bed-head. “Alex, you little s**t, I thought you were Ryan.” “Goddamn, Jen.” I stared at her open mouthed. Words are things. “Bye, babe,” said the guy who was so obviously not my sister’s fiancé. He kissed Jen on the cheek, finished zipping his pants, pulled his shirt on, and raced out of the back door. I pointed at the closed door. “What the f**k? Are you cheating on Ryan?” Jen shook her head. “I’m polyamorous.” The guy came back through the door. “Forgot my shoes,” he said. Why does he look so familiar? I watched him move through the house. He walked back by me, wearing a pair of beat-up Sperry’s. If this had been an anime, my eyes would have popped out of my head, my mouth would have opened wide, and there would be a giant drop of sweat on the side of my face. What the actual f**k? “Who was that? Does Ryan know?” I spun on my sister. For once in my life I had damn good answer to the question my mom had been asking me my entire life—Why can’t you be more well-behaved like your sister? Because. This. “No,” Jen said. “Polyamory my left nut. Jen, what the f**k?” My brain couldn’t words. Cheating on her future husband wasn’t totally out of character for Jen, but I wasn’t expecting her to do it and with someone so…not hot. Jen shrugged and poured herself a cup of coffee. “Mike is nice.” “That’s not an explanation,” I said. “You didn’t think he was cute?” She winked at me. “Jen, I’m gay, not blind.” I took Jen’s spare house key out of my pocket and slapped it on the counter. “How long have you and dude been—you know?” Talking about anything remotely s****l with my older sister gave me the creeps. I shuddered. “Don’t you dare tell anyone.” Jen added milk to her coffee. “No. I’m going to tell Ryan. He deserves to know.” In the year that Jen and Ryan had been engaged, I’d gotten to know Ryan. He was on my X-Box Live friends list. Ryan, Corin, and I had a damn near perfect strategy for Trials of Osiris. We couldn’t play every weekend, though, because of Ryan’s work schedule. “If you tell Ryan, I’ll tell mom about your butt-buddy.” Jen narrowed her eyes. I wished I were four years old again, because that might make it socially acceptable for me to smack her across the face with one of my die-cast toy trains. Jen still had scar over her right ear where I’d done that when I was little. “Don’t,” I seethed. I’d come out to my family when I was in middle-school, but most of them, my parents included, chose to remain willfully ignorant. Any boy I brought over to meet them had always been ‘Alex’s little friend, so-and-so.’ My boyfriend, Corin, and I had been dating for almost a year, but he’d only told a few close friends—and me—that he was gay. Jen went into the living room and flipped the TV on. “See you at dinner Thursday. Bye, Alex.” Fuck. Thanksgiving. I hate my family.