She turns and storms off, leaving me right where I belong. Alone, with my mouth open like the asshole that I am.
*
Thursdays are always busy at Magic Mark’s Pizza. Sometimes they’re even busier than the weekend, and no one knows why. It’s just a pizza phenomenon I suppose. I keep my truck running as I head inside and grab the next delivery order. Then I rush out to my truck and take it to its destination.
The night goes on, and all I do is focus on work. If I let my mind wander even a little, I feel my heart tear to shreds. I fucking hate myself.
I want to call TJ and ask him what the fuck is going on. Why I got busted, and why he supposedly has an alibi. But if I talk to him now, I’ll probably explode. So for now, I focus on the pizza.
I let my boss know I’m free every day now, not just Tuesdays and Thursdays. He seems happy with this and says I can come in tomorrow and help with deliveries.
Just twenty four hours ago, I’d thought my Friday would be spent on another romantic date with Clarissa.
How wrong I was.
Mom calls me around nine, and I answer the call between deliveries.
“Hi, son,” she says. Her voice sounds tired like it does in the mornings even though she only just now got to work. “I have a favor to ask of you.”
“What is it?”
“We don’t have enough money for the cable bill,” she says, following it with a sigh. “I keep saying we should just cancel the damn thing but your dad likes the sports channels.”
“How much do you need?” I ask.
“One sixty. I don’t know if you have any money but…”
“I’ve got it,” I say. I look over at my empty passenger seat, remembering when Clarissa sat there, making my whole world amazing. “I’ll leave the cash on the kitchen table for you when I get off work.”
“You’re a sweetheart,” Mom says. If only she knew the truth of what her son has become. A liar. A vandal. An asshole. “I’ll pay you back as soon as I can.”
“Don’t worry about it, Mom. I live there, too. I can help pay the bills.”
“You’re such a wonderful son,” Mom says. I can hear the smile in her voice and it feels me with shame. “If we could not tell your dad about this…I just don’t want him to know we were short on cash again this month. You know how he is.”
“I know,” I say softly. “I got your back, Mom.”
“Thanks, Gavin.”
When the call is over, I drop my forehead to my steering wheel. Maybe it’s a good thing I can’t play soccer right now. I need these extra shifts at work if I’m going to pay for a greenhouse and help my mom with the bills, on top of my own bills like gas, car insurance, and my cell phone.
But still, it’s hard to see the good in anything right now.
