Her boot thumped hard against something on the floorboard. “Oops,” she said apologetically. “I hope I didn’t break anything.” She bent down to look. “Wow, is this where you keep guns and ammo?”
I laughed. “That’s my dad’s trusty six-drawer toolbox. It’s older than I am.” He always liked to consider himself handy around the house, but Mom and I called him Mr. Fixer-Downer. “He refuses to hire plumbers or handymen. He’s a do-it-yourselfer, to save money. Watches YouTube videos and thinks he’s a pro.”
“Oh, that’s cool!” Kate sighed and glanced at the toolbox again. “My dad’s not handy at all. He outsources everything.”
I wished we outsourced more. “Well, I didn’t say my dad was good at it. He once spent three hours building a three-cube bookshelf.”
“In his defense, IKEA furniture is a pain in the ass to put together. Don’t let those cute cartoon drawing instructions fool you,” she teased.
“Yeah! How do they manage to have like forty types of different screws with all sorts of head shapes in an impossible-to-open plastic baggie for just one stool? I should be nicer to my dad.”
I drummed my fingers on the steering wheel at a stoplight and snuck a quick glance at her. “Too bad I don’t work tomorrow. Do you work any other days too?” Saturday nights were when I played State of Decay on Xbox Live with my buddies. There were three of us, and we’d all played together since middle school. I was z0mbie_killir_1. Spelling was never my forte.
Kate shook her head. “I’m only working Friday and Saturday nights. It’s okay, though. That works out with school and other stuff.”
“I usually work Monday-Wednesday-Friday.” It dawned on me that the next time I’d see her was the next Friday. “It’s cool we’ll be able to work together, at least for a few weeks.”
Kate shrugged. “I’m a temp zombie for now, but maybe if I do a good job, the guys in charge will keep me around for the whole year.”
“Yeah, think about all the holidays after Christmas! Valentine’s Day. Saint Patrick’s Day. Easter. And who doesn’t love an Easter zombie?” I waggled my eyebrows the best I could.
She smiled at me as she grabbed my phone from the center console and typed her address into the maps app. “I live twenty minutes away. Looks like there’s a little bit of traffic on the way there. Sorry. But we can do our Dick’s pit stop, and maybe the roads will clear up.” She leaned forward and peered at the radio. “Mind if I turn it on?”
Heat flushed to my cheeks, starkly contrasting with my rain-pelted, clammy skin. “This is my mom’s car. It’s super old, so there’s nothing automatic on it. You might even have to turn the knob.” My ears burned with embarrassment. “And her preset stations are NPR, easy listening, and classical crap, so no judging. But yeah, fiddle with it if you want.”
She punched one of my mom’s preset stations and “Jingle Bell Rock” came on. Already? It was only October! I thought there were rules against that shit.
“Yes! Holiday music!” she squealed. “Don’t you love Christmas music?”
Ugghhh, noooo. Kill me now. “Yeah. It’s great.”
Mickey’s Christmas Carol was the only Christmasy thing I liked. Scrooge McDuck was rich, focused, and no-nonsense. When asked the question “Who would I have dinner with, real or fictional?” I always answered Scrooge McDuck. I didn’t dare tell Kate all this, though, given her affinity for the shittiest yuletide song in history.
When exiting the freeway, she pointed ahead to the right. “Dick’s is up there. Let’s get milkshakes. Wanna split a burger and fries?”
“Sure,” I said cheerily, even though I was sort of lactose intolerant and didn’t like the mayo-goop they put on their “Special” hamburgers or their lactose-y shakes. I parked in a spot near the customer walk-up windows, and we both got out and ran up to one of the free attendants.
Please don’t order the Special burger. Please don’t order the Special burger.
Kate rattled off our dinner request. “We’d like two chocolate milkshakes, a large fry, and a Special burger, cut in half. To go, please.” The attendant repeated back the order and said she’d be back with our shakes. She didn’t seem fazed at all by Kate’s full-on zombie appearance.
I almost interrupted them to change the order at the last second, but I kept my true feelings in check because OMG, I had a girl here on a quasi date with me who, unfortunately, liked disgusting burgers. So instead I shut up and prayed the restaurant would somehow mess up our order and our beef would be free of specialness.
“I love the Special burger. It’s sooo good!”
I nodded. Dick’s fries were those fresh-cut ones. I kind of hated those too. Kate and I were proving to be polar opposites.
Panic hit me hard as I tried to figure out what the payment protocol was for this Dick’s Hamburger pit stop. She’d offered to pay, and I hadn’t budgeted for this, uh, burger-binging almost-date. Did she pay for everything because she was the one who wanted to stop here? Did we split payment? Did I pay because I was a dude? Dumb things like this always tripped me up. And it messed with my saving goals for the month. This baby needed a new pair of shoes…plus a newer car and college tuition. Oh, and more Xbox games.
We got our drinks, and as I fumbled with my wallet, Kate shoved a Dick’s burger gift card into my palm to hand to the attendant. “It’s on me. Thanks for the drive,” she said with an appreciative grin.
“Thanks!” I downed my shake in less than a minute, mostly out of relief that I didn’t have to pay for everything and she’d handled it so smoothly.
Our food came fast. “I’m pretty full already,” I said as we got back in the car.
Kate nibbled on a fry. “More for me, then!” She swallowed with a gulp. “I have a ton of money on that gift card if you want to order something else for later. It’s on me.”
Wow, she was nice and loaded with infinite Dick’s dollars. Things were looking up! The milkshake really did fill me up, though. “I actually already ate dinner and wolfed down a sleeve of Chips Ahoy on the way to work. Not a proud moment for me. I don’t even like them.”
Kate made a face. “Chips Ahoy? I agree, yuck.” She cocked her head. “Stress-eating?”
How’d she know? “Yeah, AP classes, college applications, all of that.” I ran my hand through my hair. Twice.
“Oooh, I like salty processed food for stress-eating. Anything with fake cheese.” Her eyes brightened as she laughed.
I grinned. “Yes! Anything that can turn my fingertips an abnormal neon-orange color, I’m in.”