Bloody Mary
To where the lonely ones roam
“You’re telling me that you never once thought about your family’s past?” My friend, Gary, asks me as we cook dinner for our weekly dinner and movie night.
“Gee, you’ve known me now for five years,” I sigh looking at my dark haired and light eyed friend, “in those five years, how much have I talked about my family?”
“None,” he sighs, “but why?”
“My parents died because of a double suicide 2 months after I was born,” I tell him, “after that I bounced from one dysfunctional home to another, each one getting worse. I was glad when I turned 18 and left home. I wanted nothing from that family. So why dig deeper into that dysfunction when I don’t have to? I know all I need to know of the Vaduva family.”
“What does your last name even mean?” Gary asks, “sounds like a disease or something.”
“It means “the widow” in Romanian.” I laugh, “I like it, gives me some mystery; which is one of the reasons why I haven’t changed it. Other than my last name, I don’t care much about my past or family.”
“So if you were given the chance to find out about your family, you wouldn’t take it?” Gary asks me, seriousness dripping from every word and it makes the expression on his face.
“Gary, if you lived the life I lived, would you care about finding out about a family that didn’t care much about you?” Before he could even open his mouth to reply, there is a loud knock on my front door. “When I get back, you’ll answer that question; got it?” He nods his head and takes over mixing the sausage and cream cheese mix for our jalapeno poppers. I wipe the excess cream cheese on my apron as I make my way to the door. Opening it to reveal someone I wouldn’t know from Adam,
“Hey Caity,” the man in the suit says, “I’m Malcolm Grey, I represent Adele Vaduva.”
“Ok so why is my grandmother’s lawyer making a late night call at my house?” I ask, sounding rude but I haven’t spoken to Adele in years; not after she leaves me on the doorsteps of my uncle’s house when I was 12. “I haven’t spoken to her in years.”
“I’m afraid to inform you that Ms. Vaduva has recently passed away,” he informs that, watching my expression to see if it changes; it doesn’t.
“And a letter couldn’t suffice?” I ask, “this didn’t need a late night visit.”
“She wanted me to personally hand you these,” he pulls out a DVD and a set of old skeleton keys from his briefcase. “Her funeral is in week, I really hope you make it Miss Vaduva.” With a smile, Mr. Grey walks away, disappearing at the end of the dark hallways of my New York City apartment building. Closing the door, I look at the DVD in my hands. In smudged lettering I make out the words watch at home. A sigh escapes my lips because I know exactly what she means by home. She means the old Victorian house I spent a solid twelve years in. The same house that felt more like a tomb than a home.
“Are you okay?” Gary’s voice brings me back into reality. I look up at him, forcing a smile onto my lips,
“Everything’s fine.” I assure him, “it was just my grandmother’s lawyer.”
“Is everything okay?” His words are careful as he watches my expression.
“She passed away,” I inform him, earning a gasp before he rushes over to me; pulling me into a flour covered hug. “Gary, I’m fine.” I push him away, “people die all the time.”
“Not people that raised you,” he counters.
“Adele left me on the footsteps of my uncle’s house in the middle of winter at 3 in the morning.” I remind him, “I almost died of hypothermia that night. She isn’t the reason I am the way I am now. She didn’t raise me at all.”
“She’s still your grandmother Caity!” He exclaims, before sighing. “Did the lawyer tell you when her funeral is?”
“Next week,” I reply shortly before going into the kitchen in attempts to run away from the topic. It’s a vain attempt, of course, because Gary follows me.
“Did he give a place?”
An annoyed sigh escapes my lips as I whip around to look at him, “where do you think Adele’s funeral is going to be?”
“Fallenvale.” He sighs.
“Home sweet home…”
“Gee, you’ve known me now for five years,” I sigh looking at my dark haired and light eyed friend, “in those five years, how much have I talked about my family?”
“None,” he sighs, “but why?”
“My parents died because of a double suicide 2 months after I was born,” I tell him, “after that I bounced from one dysfunctional home to another, each one getting worse. I was glad when I turned 18 and left home. I wanted nothing from that family. So why dig deeper into that dysfunction when I don’t have to? I know all I need to know of the Vaduva family.”
“What does your last name even mean?” Gary asks, “sounds like a disease or something.”
“It means “the widow” in Romanian.” I laugh, “I like it, gives me some mystery; which is one of the reasons why I haven’t changed it. Other than my last name, I don’t care much about my past or family.”
“So if you were given the chance to find out about your family, you wouldn’t take it?” Gary asks me, seriousness dripping from every word and it makes the expression on his face.
“Gary, if you lived the life I lived, would you care about finding out about a family that didn’t care much about you?” Before he could even open his mouth to reply, there is a loud knock on my front door. “When I get back, you’ll answer that question; got it?” He nods his head and takes over mixing the sausage and cream cheese mix for our jalapeno poppers. I wipe the excess cream cheese on my apron as I make my way to the door. Opening it to reveal someone I wouldn’t know from Adam,
“Hey Caity,” the man in the suit says, “I’m Malcolm Grey, I represent Adele Vaduva.”
“Ok so why is my grandmother’s lawyer making a late night call at my house?” I ask, sounding rude but I haven’t spoken to Adele in years; not after she leaves me on the doorsteps of my uncle’s house when I was 12. “I haven’t spoken to her in years.”
“I’m afraid to inform you that Ms. Vaduva has recently passed away,” he informs that, watching my expression to see if it changes; it doesn’t.
“And a letter couldn’t suffice?” I ask, “this didn’t need a late night visit.”
“She wanted me to personally hand you these,” he pulls out a DVD and a set of old skeleton keys from his briefcase. “Her funeral is in week, I really hope you make it Miss Vaduva.” With a smile, Mr. Grey walks away, disappearing at the end of the dark hallways of my New York City apartment building. Closing the door, I look at the DVD in my hands. In smudged lettering I make out the words watch at home. A sigh escapes my lips because I know exactly what she means by home. She means the old Victorian house I spent a solid twelve years in. The same house that felt more like a tomb than a home.
“Are you okay?” Gary’s voice brings me back into reality. I look up at him, forcing a smile onto my lips,
“Everything’s fine.” I assure him, “it was just my grandmother’s lawyer.”
“Is everything okay?” His words are careful as he watches my expression.
“She passed away,” I inform him, earning a gasp before he rushes over to me; pulling me into a flour covered hug. “Gary, I’m fine.” I push him away, “people die all the time.”
“Not people that raised you,” he counters.
“Adele left me on the footsteps of my uncle’s house in the middle of winter at 3 in the morning.” I remind him, “I almost died of hypothermia that night. She isn’t the reason I am the way I am now. She didn’t raise me at all.”
“She’s still your grandmother Caity!” He exclaims, before sighing. “Did the lawyer tell you when her funeral is?”
“Next week,” I reply shortly before going into the kitchen in attempts to run away from the topic. It’s a vain attempt, of course, because Gary follows me.
“Did he give a place?”
An annoyed sigh escapes my lips as I whip around to look at him, “where do you think Adele’s funeral is going to be?”
“Fallenvale.” He sighs.
“Home sweet home…”