Page 22 of Liquids

With so many women waiting in the wings, is it likely he’ll take up with someone who’s been around the block and is a little too fond of her drink? No. No, it isn’t. No matter how nice he is with making me sandwiches and coffee. And curious though I am, I can’t ask more about this Sadie character or the hundreds of women. Because all he wants is a place to stay for a few days. Why has he chosen to shack up with me? I have no idea whether he even likes me or it’s just that the sex is good. Someday, I’d like to be stronger, something better than a pushover. But I know in my heart of hearts that that day is going to be a long time coming. I always end up getting too attached. Either way, I need to pull myself together and remember to treat this for what it is: an amazing time while I have it. He’s kind of stuck and I’m convenient. Convenient sex, too.

7

VISCOSITY

The rusty iron staircase at the back of the apartment creaks like it always does when I walk up it after my shift, and it occurs to me suddenly that Rig might not be here. He did disappear before, after all. But the smell that greets me when I open the door is definitely not the norm. I’ve walked into a bakery.

“Hey, babe.” Rig’s voice drifts through from the living room, and my heart does a strange little swoop.

The brown wooden cabinets and the battered faux-wood countertop look nothing like they did this morning. If I hadn’t been living here for so long, I would swear that the blue patterned linoleum floor was new. Where did all the ground-in dirt go? And where has all the food gone that was piled on all the surfaces because there was no space in the cabinets? The cabinet doors that were hanging askew on their hinges are no longer doing that. I walk over to the stove and bend down to see a big earthenware dish inside. The stovetop gleams. In fact, the whole place gleams. I blink around. The oven didn’t even look like that when I moved in. I open the cabinet on the right-hand wall above the counter. The door opens perfectly. It’s also half empty.

“Threw all the expired stuff out,” Rig rumbles from behind me, and I turn to find him standing in the doorway in jeans, bare feet, and a worn gray T-shirt. He looks amazing. “When I was cooking. I couldn’t work out what you did and didn’t have … spices, shit like that. So I ditched anything past its expiration date.”

“You cooked dinner?”

“Yeah. You hungry?”

Just the smell is making my mouth water. I nod because the words are stuck in my throat.

“It’s almost ready.”

“You cleaned.” It spills out kind of squeaky.

He sighs and nods. “Yeah, babe, like I said, I couldn’t find stuff. I’ve gotten used to being tidy because there’s no room on the rig or in the trailer, especially for a big guy like me. I’ve been holed up here all day lyin’ low; I had to do something. Also, I cook. Because I’m a big guy, I need to eat and not junk, either. Can’t keep in decent shape if I eat crap, so I made myself a pact a while ago that I’d cook. Large casserole. Lasts a few days. Nothing fancy.”

I glance around the kitchen. “How did you get the floor so clean?”

“Elbow grease, a bit of Clorox.”

“It looks amazing.”

“Easy enough to do.”

Maybe, but who would do it? And he’s covered in bruises, too. I take my coat off and walk back to the door to hang it up. Then I head over to him, his hazel eyes tracking my every move. Going up on my toes, I press a kiss to his lips, and he hooks me around the head and presses back, his tongue stealing out and into my mouth as I relax into him.

When he lets me go, he clears his throat and says, “Good day?”

“The usual.”

“What’s the usual?”

“Little old ladies in little old bodies who need a lot of help and some company.”

“Sounds sad.”

“It’s not a bad gig. They’re a giggle most of the time … except the ones who complain.”

“Sick?”

“I mean, they’re pumped full of meds, but none of them are sick at the moment. They’d be in the hospital if they were. Just old bodies and medication I have to keep an eye on.”

“You got mats and shit for your table?”

When did I last eat anywhere but in front of my TV? “Somewhere.”

I pull out the top drawer that holds the silverware, and it comes out easily. I don’t think it’s ever done that. “Did you fix the slides?”

I stopped asking my scummy landlord to repair things years ago because he said yes and never did anything.