menus. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d eaten. Garrett and I had lunch together on Friday but I’d mostly just pushed my salad around in its bowl. I’d been too concerned with the rumors floating around to eat.
I ordered a steak, well done, and a baked potato with butter and sour cream, then convinced Uncle Jim that we should split an appetizer. A few minutes later our waiter delivered our nachos. The mouth-watering aroma of grilled chicken and melted cheese assaulted my nose and I was suddenly all too aware of the force of my hunger. My stomach ached, dull and low, and I shoveled food into my mouth to calm it.
“Slow down there, champ,” Uncle Jim chuckled. “You’re gonna make yourself sick.”
“Don’t pay him no mind,” Becca countered, splitting her auburn ponytail and pulling to tighten it. She smiled at me, her teeth a vibrant shade of white surrounded by pearly pink lips. “He just wants more for himself.”
I liked Becca, even though she reminded me of the girls from my high school that I hated. All pretty and sweet and perky. She also had this way of cussing that wasn’t really cussing. Exclamations like ‘fudge’ or ‘son of a biscuit’. Like a grown-up version of some PC character from a Nickelodeon show. It would’ve been annoying if she hadn’t also been one of the nicest and funniest people I’d ever met.
She’d worked at the bar and been my uncle’s girlfriend for as long as I could remember. When I was younger, she’d played Barbies with me in their one bedroom apartment above the bar. Then when I’d gotten my first period and Maggie had been too drunk to run to the store for tampons, I’d called Becca to bring me a box.
She smiled now and excused herself from the table to use the restroom while Uncle Jim and I fought over a particularly good-looking nacho. “You must be starving,” he remarked when I stuffed the chip he’d let me win into my mouth. “I’d thought with the way things went at the pool today…”
“You thought because I lost, I’d be too disgusted with myself to eat?” I bit into another chip then licked my greasy fingertips. “I’m sorry, have we met?” Uncle Jim should know me better than that. We’d been fighting over food since I’d started swimming and burning several hundred extra calories per day.
Uncle Jim chuckled again, his eyes crinkling at the edges. He rubbed his jaw line with one hand, moving from his ear to the prominent cleft in the center of his chin. He looked so much older than I remembered him being. I’d never noticed before that moment but the hair along his temples had faded from dark blonde to an almost white.
A moment later, the lightness in the air evaporated and Uncle Jim turned serious, folding and unfolding his hands on the table and looking at me like he was afraid I’d bolt for the door at any minute. “I know Tom’s death can’t be easy on you,” he finally managed to say to me. “You two were close, I know that. And Maggie, well, she’s no help, now is she?”
More than anything at that moment, I wanted to remember a time when Uncle Jim and my mother were happy together. When he spoke of her in a way that didn’t reek of exasperation. There was a picture behind the bar from when I was a toddler—one Becca had snapped and told me once was her favorite shot of my uncle. It was just Uncle Jim, Maggie, and me. There was a campfire in front of us and in the background a large khaki-colored tent set against a backdrop of a darkening and dusky sky. They were all smiles, me in a frilly pink dress not intended for the outdoors sitting on Uncle Jim’s lap, and Maggie behind him, her arms around his neck and her chin resting atop his head. I guess they were happy then.
“All I’m saying is,” Uncle Jim continued as if I had been paying attention. “If you need someone to talk to, I’m here. Becca’s here.”
“I’m fine,” I blurted out just to make him stop. I didn’t want to talk about Tom Ford
I ordered a steak, well done, and a baked potato with butter and sour cream, then convinced Uncle Jim that we should split an appetizer. A few minutes later our waiter delivered our nachos. The mouth-watering aroma of grilled chicken and melted cheese assaulted my nose and I was suddenly all too aware of the force of my hunger. My stomach ached, dull and low, and I shoveled food into my mouth to calm it.
“Slow down there, champ,” Uncle Jim chuckled. “You’re gonna make yourself sick.”
“Don’t pay him no mind,” Becca countered, splitting her auburn ponytail and pulling to tighten it. She smiled at me, her teeth a vibrant shade of white surrounded by pearly pink lips. “He just wants more for himself.”
I liked Becca, even though she reminded me of the girls from my high school that I hated. All pretty and sweet and perky. She also had this way of cussing that wasn’t really cussing. Exclamations like ‘fudge’ or ‘son of a biscuit’. Like a grown-up version of some PC character from a Nickelodeon show. It would’ve been annoying if she hadn’t also been one of the nicest and funniest people I’d ever met.
She’d worked at the bar and been my uncle’s girlfriend for as long as I could remember. When I was younger, she’d played Barbies with me in their one bedroom apartment above the bar. Then when I’d gotten my first period and Maggie had been too drunk to run to the store for tampons, I’d called Becca to bring me a box.
She smiled now and excused herself from the table to use the restroom while Uncle Jim and I fought over a particularly good-looking nacho. “You must be starving,” he remarked when I stuffed the chip he’d let me win into my mouth. “I’d thought with the way things went at the pool today…”
“You thought because I lost, I’d be too disgusted with myself to eat?” I bit into another chip then licked my greasy fingertips. “I’m sorry, have we met?” Uncle Jim should know me better than that. We’d been fighting over food since I’d started swimming and burning several hundred extra calories per day.
Uncle Jim chuckled again, his eyes crinkling at the edges. He rubbed his jaw line with one hand, moving from his ear to the prominent cleft in the center of his chin. He looked so much older than I remembered him being. I’d never noticed before that moment but the hair along his temples had faded from dark blonde to an almost white.
A moment later, the lightness in the air evaporated and Uncle Jim turned serious, folding and unfolding his hands on the table and looking at me like he was afraid I’d bolt for the door at any minute. “I know Tom’s death can’t be easy on you,” he finally managed to say to me. “You two were close, I know that. And Maggie, well, she’s no help, now is she?”
More than anything at that moment, I wanted to remember a time when Uncle Jim and my mother were happy together. When he spoke of her in a way that didn’t reek of exasperation. There was a picture behind the bar from when I was a toddler—one Becca had snapped and told me once was her favorite shot of my uncle. It was just Uncle Jim, Maggie, and me. There was a campfire in front of us and in the background a large khaki-colored tent set against a backdrop of a darkening and dusky sky. They were all smiles, me in a frilly pink dress not intended for the outdoors sitting on Uncle Jim’s lap, and Maggie behind him, her arms around his neck and her chin resting atop his head. I guess they were happy then.
“All I’m saying is,” Uncle Jim continued as if I had been paying attention. “If you need someone to talk to, I’m here. Becca’s here.”
“I’m fine,” I blurted out just to make him stop. I didn’t want to talk about Tom Ford
Similar Books
