That fucking fuck, I thought. I knew it, I fucking knew he would have a bottle stashed somewhere in here, that fucking asshole.
I took a deep swig and got into the car, turned on the radio, pulled out of the parking lot, and fiddled with the volume, started driving west. West seemed right.
* * *
—
I GOT TIRED OF DRIVING EVENTUALLY, pulled over about a mile from Eddie’s. I still had an hour to kill and I didn’t want to drink any more of Dad’s bottle.
The sidewalks were busy. Unlike me, people were dressed appropriately for summer in tank tops and shorts, their flip-flops smacked pleasantly against the pavement. I reached down and untied the laces on my sneakers, started pacing back and forth along the block.
I stared hard at every person I walked past. If they didn’t tell me my shoes were untied, I cursed them in my head—Fuck you, how dare you not warn a pregnant woman that she could fall—and if they did tell me my shoes were untied, I cursed them in my head—Fuck you, leave me alone, I can do whatever I want.
* * *
—
I SHOWED UP FOR MY SHIFT at Eddie’s soaked in sweat. My uniform polo was a dark green, and loose strands of my hair were plastered to my neck and forehead.
Darryl lowered his magazine and eyed me up and down. “You better clean up before Peter sees you. You know he’s been extra bitch-ass ever since we dropped to a ‘B’ rating.”
I shrugged. Darryl shrugged back. “Whatever,” he said.
He looked back down at his magazine and added, like he’d only just remembered, “Oh, by the way, someone called asking for you. Some woman.”
“A woman?” My head snapped up. “What woman?”
He raised his eyebrows, picked up a scrap of paper, and handed it to me.
I held the paper delicately in my hands, ran my fingers over the words, and repeated them softly under my breath. “Adam loved the pizza. You’re amazing. Come today at 4:30 p.m. Same order. Jenny Hauser.”
“So? What’s all that about?” Darryl asked. “Customers don’t like you, much less use any word close to ‘amazing’ to describe you.”
“I’m likable and amazing, thank you.” I flicked Darryl off as I stuffed the note into my jeans pocket, the same pocket as the ultrasound photo. “Excuse me, I have to pee.”
I went to the bathroom, didn’t pee. I squirted pink, watered-down soap into my hands and scrubbed my face, neck, arms, any sweaty exposed body parts. I combed my hair with my fingers and tucked in my polo, untucked it, tried to look presentable.
4
UNFORTUNATELY, it was a while before 4:30 p.m. and there were other people hungry for pizza.
A nursing home having a bingo birthday party. Two roommates, both accountants at the same firm, who were ditching work and playing Xbox in their underwear. A couple at a bar already drunk and arguing over a bag of Doritos. The lady so large that it was hard for her to get off her couch, who always hollered at me to come in—the door was unlocked, leave the pizza on the couch next to her, money was on top of the TV set. A dude who smiled and tipped well, but was certainly an asshole—no non-asshole has a lime-green Camaro. The guy who worked at the crematorium who once told me, “I like to get high and burn bodies”; he also liked pepperoni, sausage, and onions.
Fortunately, one of my favorite regulars also called in.
Rita Booker and her husband, Louie, gave me hope that it was possible to make it into your thirties with the same person and still be in love.
They’d always answer the door together, wrapped around each other, usually minimally clothed. They barely looked at me as they paid. Rita would ask me how I was doing, how was that man of mine, wasn’t life wonderful?—all while staring directly into Louie’s eyes. Sometimes she would stroke my face and smile at Louie. “Look at this caramel. I hope our future babies are as pretty as she is.”
When they answered the door that day, he was shirtless and in basketball shorts. She was naked underneath one of his button-downs and I could see her nipples through the soft pink material. I handed her their large Buff Bleu Chick and made sure to keep my eyes on hers.
“How’s it going, girl?” Rita smiled at me, was immediately distracted by Louie nibbling on her ear. He gave me a quick grin, a wink. I knew she didn’t need an answer, so I just smiled back. “That’ll be $19.99.”
Louie pulled a wad of bills out of his shorts and handed me a twenty plus a solid tip as Rita fixed her attention on his neck. They laughed and ran their hands over each other’s bodies, searching, mapping, squeezing spots that spoke to them. I normally didn’t break through their haze, just took the money and walked back to my car, but that day I had to know—“How do you guys stay so happy?”
They turned to me and their cheeks had a lovely rosy flush, and if I’d had a camera I would’ve snapped a picture of them right there. Once I got home, I would’ve stared at the photo and pulled out a set of paints, mixed until I got the exact color of their cheeks.
Louie shook the box in his one hand and played with the collar of Rita’s shirt with the other. “Pizza and sex seems to help.”
“Seriously, though,” I said.
“I mean, we’re being pretty serious.” Rita looked at Louie, a stone-melting look. “Like, yeah, pizza and sex is not all it is, but when you’re with someone that you love—like, really love—you work through whatever shit that’s managed to stick to you over the years, and when you want to punch walls, or rip out your hair, or if you feel like if you opened your mouth only screams would come out, you remember those pizza-and-sex days.”
They started kissing with tongue, so I thanked them and wished them all the best.
* * *
—
I CIRCLED AROUND THE BLOCK three times and still got to Jenny’s house early. It was 4:23 and I didn’t want to look overeager. I parked my car a few houses down and put the radio’s volume at 10, 11, 12, back to 11, stared at the clock.
4:24
The song that was on the radio said the word “release,” over and over. The drumbeat was too aggressive and I felt it weirdly in my elbows and knees. I changed the station and focused on making my thoughts unfocused.
4:25
A Christian Rock station. The song wasn’t annoying, wasn’t saying anything like “I love you, God. You are everything, God. God likes his steak rare.” The song was slow and soft, not many lyrics, just a few “Hallelujahs” exhaled here and there.
4:26