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I chuckle but she doesn’t notice.
“Do you want to work at New Seasons?”
“I don’t think I’m cut out for that much organsims… organicsms…” She frowns, trying to find the word.
“Are you searching for an orgasm?” Caro asks, leaning over the table, her caramel hair flipping over her shoulder.
She smiles with her whole body, her mouth wide open as she flits her eyes between the two of us. She looks like a deranged cartoon wolf.
“Is that what everyone gets at New Seasons?”
Caro loses it.
“They are big onorganicfood there honey.”
“Yeah. That’s it,” she says as she emphatically thrusts her finger at her friend. “I like Cheetos. They would see right through me.”
I open my mouth to reassure her that there’s probably no anti-GMO lifestyle addendum to whatever employment agreement New Seasons makes its cashiers sign.
“You don’t have to work somewhere that makes you question your Cheeto lifestyle.”
She pops her head up from the table. When she placed it there, I’m not certain. It’s like she’s moving through space under a strobe light.
“Am I gonna have to work at Taco Bell?”
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
“You can do anything you set your mind to.” I pinch the bridge of my nose. “I went to the Major League Dreidel championships last year, and believe me: if you can dream it, you can be it.”
“That’s really inspiring,” she says, her eyes tearing up.
I clear my throat and pass the tater tots in her direction as I re-fill her water glass.
“Where do you want to work?”
“Somewhere I can make many dollas.”
“Don’t saydollas,”Caro says. “It’s racist.”
“I don’t think it is,” I say.
“That’s your privilege talking.”
I don’t argue. I learned long ago that I’d have better luck winning an argument with an angry goat than I would two drunk girls.
“What makes you happy?”
“The world is so fucked, Zeke,” Faye says, her bottom lip warbling.
Shit. We jumped from uncoordinated dancing to existential depression. I signal Zach to bring coffee.
“But there’s some good stuff. Like…” I look around and pick up a tater tot. She loves tater tots. “Tater tots! Delicious, salty… delicious, tater tots.” I really need to work on my vocab. Maybe I should start reading that toilet paper Sarah got me for my birthday.
“Tater tots,” she says with a big smile. She takes it, pops it in her mouth, and chews once, twice. Her golden eyes meet mine, horror-struck at what she just did to her happy tater tot. I wave for Zach to hurry.
“And sunsets.”
