The Last Rental

"Almost forty dollars for a fucking DVD?"

I breathe in deeply. Half-eaten chicken nuggets and spoiled milk. The car used to smell like pine before the kids turned it into their trash can. I could vomit, but I’m used to their stench. Years of spit-up and the worst diaper blowouts never broke my stomach.

My fingers search through the chaos of my purse. The shiny black pleather has worn away in places, revealing its gray fabric skeleton. I dig out a tiny cologne sample from between the receipts and tissues. The bottle is nearly empty, but I lift it to my nose anyway. A trace of cedarwood lingers. The scent of his clothes. If I think hard enough, I can feel the warmth of his rough hands on my face.

But the cologne isn’t enough to mask the stink of forgotten food under the car seats.

I glance up at the rearview mirror. God. My eyes are sunken, my lips cracked and peeling. Hanging from the mirror is his picture. Tyler is smiling. It’s the best photo of him, frozen in his prime while I wither away. Why couldn’t I have picked one where he’s being goofy? Laughing, throwing up a peace sign. Anything that didn’t make him look so goddamn perfect. Anything that didn’t mock how much I’ve aged.

I swallow hard, staring at his face. "Help me, Tyler." His smile feels like a betrayal. "Stop smiling. Please. Help me."

Of course, he doesn’t. He can’t.

I drop my forehead against the steering wheel. The horn blares, drowning out my yelling. "Sometimes, I just wanna drive away." Still no response.

"Never come back," I add quickly. "You hear me, Ty? I have dreams of leaving our-" The words get caught in my throat. I lift my head, meeting his gaze in the photo.

The passenger door creaks open. Caleb slides into his seat without a word. Ten years old and his father’s twin. He clutches the DVD against his chest like it’s something sacred. A forty-dollar treasure. They should just sell me the damn movie at this point. He buckles his seatbelt. The latch clicks, too loud in the silence.

"Almost forty dollars for a freaking DVD?" I say, glancing at him. He doesn’t answer. His face is tight, squinting like Tyler used to when I annoyed him. His lips are pressed together, eyes glued to the window. Won’t even look at me.

"You’d think I’d have this parenting thing down by now. But no, I can’t even return a movie."

Caleb shifts slightly, still holding the DVD like I’ll break it if I touch it. His body turns away from me completely. How am I always the one in the wrong? I turn the key. The engine sputters, reluctant. A few more tries before it roars to life.

I found the overdue notice under Eddie’s bed. Now Caleb is holding on to the movie like it’s a life vest. And somehow, I’m the one getting the silent treatment.

"Do you know how much that is? That’s groceries. That’s can-we-please-have-pizza-tonight money. Toys. That’s—"

"It’s red." His voice is small.

Oh, shit. I slam on the brakes just in time. My grip tightens on the wheel as I let out a slow breath. I hadn’t even considered the road we were on. Caleb looks out the window. Right at the diner.

My chest tightens. I hear our laughter and see us crammed into that booth by the gumball machines. The twins fight over the dessert menu, Eddie is blowing bubbles in his chocolate milk. Caleb is sitting in Tyler’s lap. I'm rushing off to change Pammy. And Tyler has a heart attack in the middle of eating his grilled cheese.

"I’m sorry," I whisper, reaching out to rub Caleb’s back like I used to when he had nightmares. He scratches his head just like his dad did when he was angry. Then pushes my hand away. I don’t say anything. The driver behind me lays into their horn the second the light goes green. Without thinking, I fling my hand out the window, flipping everyone off.

"Pretend you didn’t see that." I glance at Caleb, trying to regain control of the moment. "Can you at least tell me what movie it is?" He shakes his head.

I pinch the bridge of my nose. "Is it something embarrassing?" I lower my voice. "I know it was Eddie’s first. Is it… something he doesn’t want me to know he’s watching?" Caleb doesn’t answer. I sigh, pulling into the nearly abandoned parking lot. The GOING OUT OF BUSINESS sign swings in the wind. Most of the yellow neon letters are out, leaving just a few blinking weakly. BLOCKBUSTER. Loser. I let out a cold laugh.

"End of the road, kiddo." I unbuckle my seatbelt. "We could’ve just bought it for what? Five dollars?" Silence. My patience thins. Caleb tightens his grip on the case. I reach for the door handle.

"No." His voice is small but firm.

I blink. "No?"

He shakes his head. "I don’t wanna."

"Why? Just tell me why."

He stops answering. I’ve officially lost it. I lunge for the DVD. Caleb shrieks, thrashing so hard the car rocks back and forth. He fights like hell to keep it. I finally grab onto the case and his tiny hand slams across my face. I freeze. Slowly, I sit back in my seat. My cheek stings where my child just hit me. Something inside me cracks. A deep, ugly rage that’s been building for too long erupts.

I swore to myself. Swore to my parents that I’d never be like them. I'd never hit my kids. Tyler and I wore that like a badge of honor. Like we were the best parents in town.

But I never thought I’d have to try to be the best widow in town.

I smack him back. Not hard. But hard enough to break us. I collapse against the seat, hands shaking.

"I’m so sorry," I whisper, a painful sob exploding from my lips. "I don’t know what I’m doing, Caleb."

His breathing quickens. His little face scrunches up, fists clenched, snot running down his nose. He hurls the DVD at me. It bounces off my arm, landing in my lap. I glance down.

The Iron Giant.

My heart drops. I should have known. On the last trip, Tyler took the boys on, he rented this movie. The case is worn, and scratched. Caleb must have watched it over and over, clinging to it, to Tyler.

"I-"

"Eddie said we have to give it back and I don’t want to!" His voice breaks. "Because Dad rented it, and if we give it back, then-"

I grab him, pulling him into a hug. This time, he doesn’t fight me.

"We can keep it," I whisper. "I’ll pay the stupid fine. I’ll fight Blockbuster in court. I’ll fight them in the street." 

Caleb hiccups. "Y-You can’t fight Blockbuster, Ma." He sniffles, half-laughing through his tears.

I kiss the top of his head. "We’ll watch it tonight." He nods his head against my chest. I rub his back. I can’t make it right. I can’t take the pain away. But tonight, I can sit down with him.

I can press play.