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Keep Vegas

Page 80

by Kelly Kay

I explain, “With an emphasis on treating the whole person. Helping families find balance and to understand how the mental can affect the physical. I might double major in psychology. Ultimately, I’d like a wellness practice.”

He kisses me long and hard as if he can’t wait for us to get to the next part.

“You need to know, I have four more years of school and then six years of another thing and then I’ll go anywhere in the country that would take me on as an ancient resident. I have to accomplish something.”

He settles behind the cart and pushes slowly. “Can you do these things with me, or do I have to wait another decade for my happily ever after?”

“It’s a lot.” I don’t want to hide anything from him.

“What is?”

I grab him. “You. This. Us. Immediate and the longevity. I don’t know how I can do this and I sure as fuck don’t know how I don’t. I so love you.”

“Then we start there. Or can we start with one more thing? I need to know why.”

I cock my head, confused. “Why what?”

“Why you left me.”

And it’s time to face that reckoning as well. Ok. “Oh, that.”

“Yeah. Start talking, Doc.”

He winks at me and then takes off like a cat chasing a laser dot on the floor. I push the cart over to him and he’s putting on some sort of Las Vegas Raiders tie-dye Hawaiian shirt.

He turns around, puffing his chest out, and says, loud enough to scare the children near us and horrify their moms, “Would you still fuck me in this synthetic mess?”

I glance around and see some sort of macramé shirt that I’m not sure how it works, but I put it on as well as a big floppy hat that says, “Mermaid Hair Don’t Care,” on the brim.

“Will you still fuck me in this?” The families are scattering away from us like we took a shit in their pool.

He leans over and says, “Yes.” Then he kisses me deeply.

I moan into his ear, “Prove it.”

He says, “Oh, I will. And this doesn’t count towards my hundred-dollar cap.” We walk on with our outfits still on.

His voice shifts, “Tell me why. It’s time.”

I look up knowing it all has to be left here on the white-tiled floor of Target.

tony

She squares her shoulders, takes the cart from me, and pushes on. We round the snack chips and I grab a couple bottles of water. She clearly needs a minute. I guide her to the patio furniture area, and we sit down. With a smile, she sets her floppy hat on the ground. She takes the warm Smart water and expertly opens the top in like a fucking second. I struggle to open the top and she leans over and removes some hidden pieces of bullshit plastic tab.

“You do know this is an overly complicated system to open fucking water.” We lean back in our chaise lounges in the shade of a multi-stripe umbrella protecting us from fluorescent lights. I toast her with our water bottles and take a sip.

She doesn’t sip, but says, “You never introduced me.”

I’m confused. “To whom?”

“Anyone.”

What are we even talking about? People walk by and I wave. They ignore me and saunter towards gardening tools.

She begins again, “I was a poor girl from a dusty little town with two parents who only sat on a couch and waited for their next meal or game show to begin. I had no education, no prospects, and the only thing good in my life was you.”

We’re raw and real in the moment suddenly among the faux backyard setups and red bullseyes everywhere.