October 19, 2015

Jerome:

"Hello, this is Tammy Bergeron and I'm trying to get in contact with Michelle Hughes. My number is 514-829-7010, again 514-829-7010. I need her to call me back as soon as possible. Thank you." I listen to the message a second and a third time and it's almost just as shocking. There're still people who call him Michelle? After all this time? Who the fuck is this lady and where the hell's she been for the last decade? Je-sus. Good thing Alex wasn't the one who found this. And what woulda happened if he'd answered the phone? How would we even try to explain that away? There's a big part of me that just wants to delete the voicemail and make it so he doesn't hafta deal with her shit, whoever she is, but that wouldn't be the right thing to do. I can't protect him from everything just like he can't always bail my ass outta everything. I pull out my phone and text him that some lady named Tammy called with the number, then my finger goes back to hovering over the delete button. I'm still debating when he comes tromping out of his office with a plate, a fork, and a couple cups with his glasses still on.

"Whatcha nerding it up for? You editing something?"

"No, I was trying to adult and pay the bills on time. No matter how big I make the Excel sheet, it still fucks with my eyes."

"You tell those numbers to stop dancin'. We're not in fuckin' kindergarten anymore." He looks intentionally at me and drains the last few pitiful drops out of the dark yellow cup and stacks the dishes on top of the pile already in the sink. Two of the bowls are mine. That's it. And Alex doesn't eat like a horse either. He puts his hand on my chest and playfully shoves me outta the way to go over to the phone to hear the message for himself. I walk around the end of the bar, waiting for the inevitable Bitchface. This's gonna be good.

"Hello, this is Tammy Bergeron and I'm trying to get in contact with Michelle," if looks could kill, she'd be dead from here, Canada or no Canada, "Hughes. My number is 514-829-7010, again 514-829-7010. I need her to call me back as soon as possible. Thank you." He hits the delete button with a little more force than necessary and trolls back to his office. I follow him to see what's up.

"So who's this lady again?" He grabs his phone off the desk and I see him scrolling through his contacts list before he turns around to look at me.

"She's one of my mom's sisters. My dad's side of the family is great, but most of Mom's family acts like we're all pieces of shit and stick their noses up in the air unless they need something from us." He looks back at his computer screen as he places the call and I grab a stack of styrofoam plates on the chair by the door before I leave. I take a second to appreciate the little dried glob of white yogurt still stuck to the floor by the desk. Good times.

The house seems too still and quiet with Mitch's muffled talking through the door down the hall and Alex chattering like a parrot to someone on his headset upstairs. Probably talkin' to Pressy, now that I look at the time. No one else'd be awake this early in the day. I smash the shrieking plates in the trash compactor and try to compact the trash again but it doesn't do a whole lotta good. But the light didn't come on. So it's not my job. It's like playing a two-week-long game of Jenga with that damn trash squisher – nobody wants to touch the nasty ass thing by the time it's full because it smells like death and pain and nightmares. So we keep squishing. And squishing. And squishing. Then the flies start coming out of it. And still we squish. Then the gum starts sticking to the top and I always get blamed even though I don't chew pink gum. And we squish some more. Until the light comes on. If you make the light come on, it's all ogre for you, buddy. You gotta rip that shit outta there and wipe up the trail it leaves behind on the floor. I'm not gonna help the Benj clean his office anymore if it means I'm drawing extra cards. I'm not gonna play tribute. Nope. Not today. Maybe he can have a heart-to-heart from one trash compactor to another about not leaking brown shit water everywhere. Funny how he never has to take it out. I've gotta see what his trick is, sneaky fucker.

I head to the official waiting room and plop down to check on Twitter while I wait for him to tell me what's going on. No one ever uses the TV in here except Dondo, and now he's trying to talk Mitch into getting a bigger one just for him and his Netflix and chill and spill-all-over-the-goddamn-rug. I better not ever hear him complaining about us not paying him enough. I make it all the way through my new tweets, so I go check out Mitch's and Lachlan's and Vik's and Rob's while I wait. I'm about to go over to Preston's never-ending spew of tweets when I realize it's been over half an hour and he's still in his office. What the fuck happened that's turning into a long-distance conference call? I make sure to lock my phone after the last time he snuck it outta my pocket and I creep my way back down the hall to his office. I don't hear anything. And I don't think that's a good thing.

"Yo, Mitch. What's up?" There's a pause for a second before I hear his chair roll across the floor and the door opens an inch. I go inside and shut the door, glad someone else's occupying Alex upstairs. He points behind him with his thumb to the magical broken guest chair and I pull it up to the desk next to him. He's scrawling something out on a sticky note: Don't say anything. He draws three lines under the 'anything' and I nod and he pulls the phone away from his ear to put it on speaker. What kinda fun is he having in here?

"-can't expect me and Barb to cover all of it by ourselves and Terri said they can't make up the rest of the difference right now." She's talking about his mom and dad? What's going on?

"So are you asking me for a loan? I don't understand what you expect me to do."

"Don't you think it's your duty to help your family out a little bit?" He does his 'I don't wanna fight about this anymore' smile that's more gritted teeth than smile and he crosses his arms and leans back in his chair.

"Yes, I agree that I have a duty to my family, but I think asking someone for ten thousand dollars out of the blue is expecting a bit much." Holy shit. So that's what this is about. What the fuck did she do that costs ten grand?

"Well, not everyone has ten thousand dollars that they can whip out on a whim."

"What makes you think I do?"

"Oh, so your mom brags about you walking into a car dealership to pay cash for a brand new BMW but you can't afford to help your family in their time of need. I see."

"We had two cars to trade in for it. I'm not the only person who owns the car." True, but that's not what she wants to hear. He might need new speakers on that phone soon.

"Well, the first car had to come from somewhere. And you just moved into that brand new house down in Florida – you're not exactly living out of your collective car."

"No, but I live here with two other people and we split the bills and repair costs. You seem to think that I hit the lottery and had this sudden windfall. I didn't get a small loan of a million dollars. I have to work over ninety hours per week to make a living like this. I don't have ten thousand dollars I can give you. I'm sorry." Take that back. He might need a new phone soon after he chucks it out the window like he did with Glitter Ass's.

"How could you do that to your own grandfather?"

"This isn't about me being stingy and hoarding the money for myself. I honestly don't have ten grand I can give you. I have bills to pay and a company to run, and in a couple of months I have taxes to pay on my income and the house. What happened to his life insurance and his will? Why didn't someone help him set up a funeral fund ten years ago so they could be paying on it?" She makes a choking noise like he just said the most offensive thing in the world. She thought she found an easy way out by guilt tripping him. Now she's gonna see his final form.

"So you're just going to put the burden on us. Lovely."

"I agreed I would help, but I can't cover the full cost of it by myself. I can't swing it. Maybe if we all-"

"I told Terri she needed to keep you in counselling for more than two years, and this is exactly what I was talking about. You're a greedy, selfish-"

"Yeah, because name-calling and being a bitch always gets you your way. I'm not going to-"

"-sociopath and I told her that from day one. I told her you needed help."

"-go into debt because you and Barb and Jerry weren't willing to take two hours out of your day to help them set up a savings account."

"Is that what your parents said when you needed them to pay for your boob job?"

"I don't have time for this."

"So you admit you're a hypocrite!"

"No, I just realized how much of an asshole you and your sister are. You two are children. I paid my way out of debt over three years like a responsible adult, and I'm sure you and Barb can do the same." She's screeching something else but he just hangs up and puts his phone on 'Do Not Disturb' and leans back in his chair. I give it five minutes and she's spammin' the house phone.

"You think they can do it?"

"Fuck no. I promised Gran I would help, and I'm going to help. I just can't afford to cough up ten grand, and even if I had it, I sure as hell wouldn't give it to Tammy. I trust her even less than I like her, and that really isn't much." I give him a minute and he just covers his eyes with his arm and sighs.

"So what happened?"

"My mom's dad had a silent heart attack and they didn't know what was wrong until the damage was already done. He died at the hospital early this morning."

"I'm sorry, Mitch."

"It's not like it's your fault." There's a pause and his jaw locks as it all comes back to the surface, now that she can't hear him rant. "How did she even get our phone number? Losing him was bad enough because he at least tried to stay in contact with us, but now with all of the drama about everyone passing around the bill... No matter what I do, it won't be good enough, just like on YouTube. I can upload three videos every day, I can give them the ten grand, I can start a second channel, I can pay for everyone's plane tickets... but they always want more. Why can't I give up what he left me in his will to someone he liked better? Why can't I upload five videos every day, or ten? Why can't I pay for Gran to move to a smaller house? Why can't I bring back ASF? I'm just so tired of this shit."

"I know it's not a whole lot and it's probably not what you wanna hear, but you know me and Alex and Nooch and Ryan and the other YouTube guys all appreciate you. We love you, Biggums." He just makes his little heart hand gesture with a faint smile and stares at the pad of sticky bright yellow sticky notes. I roll forward and put my head on his shoulder and he lays his head on top of mine. Once you get used to his silent, stoic brand of affection, it's kinda addictive. Now I don't wanna leave. And I don't want him to leave, either. I don't want him to hafta put up with their fuckery. "Your family's a buncha assholes, you know that?"

"I'm well aware, trust me. You should see when someone invites me to a wedding – one of them sent me a purple bridesmaid dress in 2012." A snort of laughter fights its way out while I picture Mitch in a too-tight, silky mini dress, trying to stagger his way down the aisle in high heels with a tub of make-up smeared on his face. Sounds like a fucking challenge video we'd do with Abby. But as funny as it is, the way they treat him pisses me off.

"You want me to fly up with you? I will."

"No. Not this time. I'm not ready for that level of fucked up yet. We'll see how things go at Christmas before we start asking for more bullshit." He puts his hand on my thigh and rubs his thumb across my knee while he thinks. "Honestly, I was probably lucky to get invited to his funeral at all. The ten grand was probably the price they set on my fold-up chair – now I'll have to stand in the back while everyone whispers about what a bad person I am and stares at my crotch."

"Sounds like a YouTube convention, Mitch. Just like in the fan fictions." He laughs and tries to hold it back but he still descends into giggles with the help of a top-tier Bacca smile. Gets him every time. Looks like we're gonna have another interstate selfie war on our hands soon. I'm gonna get me a new phone background and piss off a buncha people I've never met by makin' him laugh when they want him to mope around and feel like shit. Bring it, Miss Bitcheron.