Page 113 of Cackle

I sit down to dinner. I put on some Icelandic folk music, then change my mind and play Fiona Apple.

I admire the salad for a moment before attacking it with my fork.

“It’s good!” I tell Ralph a few bites in.

He’s pleased to hear it.

He’s not eating with me. He’s saving his appetite for the crickets.

I’m enjoying my risotto when the malevolent voice returns.

I wonder what Sam and Shannon are up to right now, it wheezes.

Probably not listening to “Criminal” while grating an obscene amount of Parmesan cheese onto their food and contemplating the texture of mushrooms.

The thought of them together gets me. It renders my food tasteless. It zaps the color from the room, the world.

I carry my plate into the kitchen and scoop whatever’s left into Tupperware.

I stand over the kitchen sink, staring at the Everest of dirty dishes that awaits me, and begin to chant.

“You’re okay, you’re okay, you’re okay.

“You’re good, you’re good, you’re good.”

I refocus my energy on decorating the chocolate cake with raspberries and cream. When I’m done, I put it down on the coffee table. The whole cake. I don’t bother to slice it. I’m honest with myself about what’s about to go down. I get a glass of milk and a fork.

I get the remaining crickets for Ralph. They died overnight, but Ralph seems happy to munch on their corpses.

I settle in to watch the Boleyn documentary.

I’m about to take my first bite of cake when I hear my phone chime.

I look over at Ralph. He’s busy with the crickets. He doesn’t even notice as I hurry into the kitchen, where I left my phone charging on the counter.

I want so badly for it to be him.

I hate that I want it to be Sam. That I want him to rescue me from this sad Valentine’s Day. From myself.

It’s not him. It’s Nadia.

Hey, girl, happy V day!!! There’s an excess of heart emojis.

I resent them.

Same to you, I reply. She and I text every once in a while. Most of the time, I’m happy to hear from her. Not right now, though. Not today.

Whatcha up to?

I step out of the kitchen. I look over at the chocolate cake on the coffee table, then at Ralph sucking on a cricket. I sigh.

She’s texting me only because she knew I’d be around. I’m probably the only single person she knows.

Hanging at home, I type. You?

Same! she replies.

It’s a comfort to know I’m not the only one.