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“Yeah. Didn’t try to stick you with the bill, peaches.”
I snatch the bill from his hand. “I didn’t see it. I’ll get you some change.”
“Forget it. Call it even for the food I ruined and stole.” He looks amused.
“Well, fine,” I snap and fold my arms across my chest. And he’s smirking at me.
I tuck the money into my bra. Wait. No bra. I take it out of the front of my sweatshirt and stuff it into the kangaroo pouch instead.
He’s smiling at me as I do this, eyes on my chest. I glare at him and stomp over to, then flop onto the sofa. He opens the fridge.
“Where’s that pizza, Curly Sue?”
“I took it to the girls. We ate it. All of it.”
He chuckles and scratches his temple. “Shit. I guess I deserved that.”
“You bet your fine ass you did!”
“My fine ass?”
“Fugoff,” I mutter and wave my hand at him and pull my feet up under me and scroll on my phone. Lots of Facebook notifications on my profile picture. Oh yeah, it’s only, like, nine o’clock back at home.
“Call me!” my sister.
“Miss you” Mom
“Jelly!” Sonia from my old work. Poor Sonia. Doesn’t know yet she’s getting canned. My heart sinks.
“Woot Woot” A friend from high school.
A couple “no way” type messages. A “What are you doin
g there?”
And a whole bunch of likes and loves.
An inbox message from Jon.
I open it.
“I need to talk to you. Please answer my calls or call me back. I’m sorry about what happened. I made a huge mistake. I love you, Carly. I screwed up.”
What? WHAT?
“Fuck you, you rat bastard,” I reply and then I throw my phone. It lands on the rug.
“We got anything to drink?” I ask.
He opens the fridge. “You’ve got a glass or so of wine in here still. If you wanna call it wine.” He makes a face.
“Bring it on over, Banana Thief.”
He reaches for the cupboard.
“Forget the glass.”
He snickers as he carries the bottle to me and twists the cap off.
