Cleanup by J. Arthur Scott

Celeste and Rory were cleaning up. Rory collected cracker crumbs in the palm of his hand as he picked them out of the shag rug beneath their coffee table. He faced away from Celeste, even as she circled the room gathering up bottles and glassware. Celeste would have preferred to leave the cleanup for morning—in their first few years together, she might have even suggested retreating upstairs before they were too tired for sex—but at this point she knew there was no stopping him. 

The phone rang and Celeste picked up the handset. “Hello?”

“Hi. It’s Jeannie.”

“Hey. What’s up?”

“Is Gar still there?”

“No, he left with everyone else a half hour—well, no, maybe forty-five minutes ago now.”

“Oh. Ok.”

“I’m sure he’s fine.” Celeste watched Rory pick at the rug.

“Yeah, I’m sure.”

“We’ll let you know if we hear from him.”

“Thanks, Celeste.” Jeannie hung up.

“Gar isn’t home yet.”

Rory turned to her. “Huh.”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

Celeste knew what was coming but had to wait on Rory to have it out. 

“I just wish you had cut everyone off when I asked you,” he said. “You knew they had to drive, but you kept pouring.”

“That’s not true.” It was a little true.

Rory stood up with his crumbs cupped in front of him. “It’s not fair that I have to play schoolmarm at our get-togethers.” He walked to the trash, levered it open with his foot, and brushed the crumbs into the cylinder.

Celeste followed him across the room holding the phone at her side. She wanted to explain how she had switched to club soda and bitters for herself. How she had discovered a message board community online that provided helpful tips like that. But it all felt so exhausting. 

“Don’t call them get-togethers,” she said, finally. “It sounds gross.”

“Gar is probably with Pat,” Rory said.

“Pat who? Tabby Cat Pat?”

“He’s been seeing her.”

“What? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because it was never relevant.”

“Of course it’s relevant.”

Rory filled a glass of water at the sink. “It’s none of our business.”

“Then why did you bring it up? You get so evasive. It’s like, we’re walking along together, and you turn, so I follow.” Celeste walked around the living room, turning as she spoke. “Then suddenly, you wheel around again, bumping into me on the sidewalk of our conversation.” She fell over onto the couch.

Rory took a long drink of water. “When you get abstract like that, I lose track of the point you’re trying to make. Did you smoke tonight?”

Celeste resented that Rory had enough energy left to use his reasonable voice. “No,” she said.

“In any case,” Rory said, “I bet Gar just stopped to see Tabby. I mean Pat.”

Celeste wouldn’t have thought Gar had it in him. He carried a little shammy to clean his PDA and tucked in his t-shirts. She wondered what sex with Pat was like. Her backseat exploits had been infamous in school. Celeste had even considered asking her for advice one time before chickening out and consulting the magazines at the library instead. Was that why Gar had been so at ease lately? Charismatic even?

Celeste straightened up. “We need to tell Jeannie.”

“That’s not our place,” Rory said. He walked past Celeste and kneeled to comb through the rug again.

“Of course it is. She’s our friend.”

“He’s our friend too.”

“If it was me, I’d want to know.”

“Well that would never happen,” Rory said. Then, after a beat, “You know your mother would agree with me on this.”

“Leave her out of it.”

“It’s late. You’re probably not thinking clearly.”

“I’m not—”

Rory raised a hand and shook his head, recognizing his error.

“I’m not thinking clearly?” Celeste said. “About our friend getting cheated on while everyone talks behind her back?”

“Not everyone. Just us.”

“Just you. So, what, you’re covering for Gar while he fucks around?”

“There’s more to it than that.”

“You’re ok with that?”

“It’s not for me to be ok or not ok with.”

“Or—hold on—you’re enjoying this?” 

Rory sighed. “Enjoying what, Celeste?”

“Living through Gar.”

Rory didn’t respond immediately, and Celeste imagined Pat slowly untucking Gar’s t-shirt.

“Why don’t—” 

Celeste nearly dropped the phone as it rang again in her hand. “Hello?”

“Hi, it’s Jeannie. Gar made it back safe.”

“Oh, good. Hey—”

“Just had some car trouble.”

Celeste heard the tilt of Jeannie’s voice, and in it, her mother. Her mother telling Celeste her father was playing horseshoes with his union buddies at the park. That she couldn’t join because it was just for grown ups. Telling her to go ahead and brush her teeth. That her father would come tuck her in when he got home. Asking her father over his newspaper the next morning how he’d fared against the boys. Always in the same voice she used to tell bedtime stories.

“Thanks for letting us know,” Celeste said. “Goodnight, Jeannie.” 

She hung up and looked over to see Rory smiling to himself the way he did when he took a hand at cards. “For fuck’s sake,” she said.

Rory prodded at the rug but didn’t say anything.

Celeste got up and returned the phone to its dock. “Did you get them all?” 

Rory held up a final handful of crumbs.

“Can we go to bed then?”

He nodded benevolently and pushed himself up to walk to the trash. As he returned to the living room, he turned off the lights and said, “I saw you switch to club soda tonight.”

Celeste nodded in the darkened room.

“I appreciate it,” Rory said.

She turned and started climbing the staircase. “I did it for myself,” she said.

Rory followed, stopping at the foot of the stairs. “I can still appreciate it, can’t I?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “I’m probably not thinking clearly.”

J. Arthur Scott is a writer living in Brooklyn. His previous work has appeared in Shark Reef, The Last Magazine, and Pangyrus.

26 November 2021