“You’re welcome.”
The liquor store was more like five blocks, but I skipped along, eating my banana and fig cookies. I felt extremely pissed at the universe when I saw Stephen and some chick about half a block down, walking in my direction. Hoping they didn’t see me, I slipped quickly into an alley. As I waited for them to pass, I scanned my attire. I was wearing the oldest pair of gray sweats that exist on this planet, a yellow T-shirt with the sunshine Care Bear on it, and my powder blue skiing jacket, although that wasn’t the worst of it. I had on two different socks, one black and one light purple, and an old pair of black Chucks with black laces. I was the twenty-six-year-old Punky Brewster. I quickly felt the top of my head. Phew. No pigtails, but it was topped off with a messy bun. Please do not let them see me.
“Kate?”
Fuck!
I shoved the last cookie into my mouth and mumbled, “Hey, Stephen.”
“This is Monique. I work with her.”
“Hi, Monique.” He never hung out with female colleagues outside of work. She was a tall, blond beauty wearing an extremely narrow pencil skirt and stilettos. There was a brief moment where I thought how perfect she and Stephen looked together, the epitome of working professionals in Chicago. My disheveled ass had taken sulking and letting myself go to a new level, and I could tell that Stephen had picked up on it.
He squinted. “Are you okay, Kate?”
“Yeah, I’m fucking dandy, Stephen. You?”
“Fine. Where are you off to?” he asked. I glanced over at Monique, who was scanning my clothes. I saw sadness and pity wash over her face.
“I’m going to get a forty.”
He pinched his eyebrows together. “What’s a forty?”
“A forty of beer.” He still looked dumbfounded. “It’s forty ounces of beer in a bottle. Not everyone can afford to indulge in expensive spirits.”
“I’ve never seen you drink beer.”
“Well, I guess there’s a lot you don’t know about me. Why would you care anyway? You never loved me, remember?”
Monique’s eyes shot open. Stephen’s jaw twitched. “I said I wasn’t sure. Plus, we were fighting when I said that. This is not the time or place to pick at old wounds.”
“Old wounds? That was six fucking days ago.” He shook his head in a warning gesture. “Well, you two enjoy each other,” I said as I walked away.
Still within earshot, I heard Monique ask, “Who was that?”
“Nobody,” Stephen said. Ouch.
At the liquor store, I purchased a giant can of Budweiser, some tortilla chips, and a total of eighty lottery scratchers. My thought was that each scratcher would take me roughly thirty seconds to complete. That meant that it would occupy at least forty minutes of my time. Forty minutes I wouldn’t have to think about Jamie. It was two thousand four hundred heartbeats I wouldn’t be listening to.
I walked back to my apartment, sipping my can of Bud from the crumpled paper bag it was housed in. When I entered my apartment, I could hear my cell phone ringing incessantly from the bedroom, but I didn’t answer it. I finished my beer at 11:43 a.m. and then went back to sleep. The doorbell startled me awake. I glanced at the clock on my nightstand. It was six thirty p.m. As I slowly inched my way to the door, I breathed into my hand. My breath was horrid. Had I brushed my teeth in three days? Probably not. The doorbell rang again.
“Coming.” I opened it one inch and peeked through the sliver of space into Beth’s peering eyes.
“What up, sister? Are you gonna let me in?”
I slammed the door shut and removed the chain and then opened the door wide for Beth to enter.
“Christ, Kate, you look like death warmed over.”
“Thanks, Beth.”
“Dear god, what is that smell?”
I lifted my shoulders to my ears. “I don’t know.”
“It smells like burnt hair.”
Then it hit me. “Oh yeah, Dylan from 5B came over earlier and we smoked some pot. You know Dylan, that kid who plays the bucket on the corner? He lives in my building.”
“Isn’t he a teenager?”
“He’s twenty.”
“Since when do you smoke pot?”
“Since earlier, when Dylan from 5B came over.”
Beth shook her head in disapproval. “Did you do anything else with Dylan from 5B?”
“Jesus no, Beth—who do ya think I am? He just showed me some rare comic book he bought with the money he made on the corner, and then he pulled a tiny bong from his pocket. I said what the hell, why not, and took a hit, but I didn’t really know what I was doing with the lighter.” I pointed to the half of my eyebrow that was completely singed.
“Oh shit, girl, you need to pencil that in.”
“It could have been worse. He asked me if I wanted to do X and then go roller-skating.” I shrugged. “He’s a nice kid, though.”