The three courses Ronnie had promised turn out to be beer, lasagna garnished with baked asparagus, and key lime pie. All three are great, and I tell Veronica as much—practicing again for when Nikki comes back—to which Veronica replies, “Did you think my food would be bad?”
I know she means it as a joke, but Nikki would have used the question to prove just how witchy Veronica can be. I think about how if Nikki were here, after we went home, we’d stay up talking in bed like we used to when we were both a little drunk—and sitting now at Ronnie’s dinner table, the thought makes me feel sad and happy at the same time.
When we finish our pie, Tiffany stands and says, “I’m tired.”
“But we’ve hardly finished eating,” Veronica says, “and we have Trivial Pursuit to—”
“I said I’m tired.”
There is a silence.
“Well,” Tiffany finally says, “are you going to walk me home or what?”
It takes me a second to realize that Tiffany is talking to me, but I quickly say, “Sure.”
Since I am practicing being kind now, what else could I have said—right?
It is a warm night, but not too sticky. Tiffany and I walk a block before I ask where she lives.
“With my parents, okay?” she says without looking at me.
“Oh.” I realize we are only about four blocks from Mr. and Mrs. Webster’s house.
“You live with your parents too, right?”
“Yeah.”
“So no big whoop.”
It is dark, and I guess it’s about 9:30 p.m. With her arms crossing her chest, Tiffany walks pretty quickly in her clicky heels, and soon we are standing in front of her parents’ house.
When she turns to face me, I think she is simply going to say good night, but she says, “Look, I haven’t dated since college, so I don’t know how this works.”
“How what works?”
“I’ve seen the way you’ve been looking at me. Don’t bullshit me, Pat. I live in the addition around back, which is completely separate from the house, so there’s no chance of my parents walking in on us. I hate the fact that you wore a football jersey to dinner, but you can fuck me as long as we turn the lights out first. Okay?”
I’m too shocked to speak, and for a long time we just stand there.
“Or not,” Tiffany adds just before she starts crying.
I’m so confused that I’m speaking and thinking and worrying all at the same time, not really knowing what to do or say. “Look, I enjoyed spending time with you, and I think you’re really pretty, but I’m married,” I say, and lift up my wedding ring as proof.
“So am I,” she says, and holds up the diamond on her left hand.
I remember what Ronnie told me about her husband having passed away, which makes her a widow and not married, but I do not say anything about that, because I am practicing being kind instead of right, which I learned in therapy and Nikki will like.
It makes me really sad to see that Tiffany is still wearing her wedding ring.
And then suddenly Tiffany is hugging me so that her face is between my pecs, and she’s crying her makeup onto my new Hank Baskett jersey. I don’t like to be touched by anyone except Nikki, and I really do not want Tiffany to get makeup on the jersey my brother was nice enough to give me—a jersey with real stitchedon letters and numbers—but I surprise myself by hugging Tiffany back. I rest my chin on top of her shiny black hair, scent her perfume, and suddenly I am crying too, which scares me a lot. Our bodies shudder together, and we are all waterworks. We cry together for at least ten minutes, and then she lets go and runs around to the back of her parents’ house.
When I arrive home, my father is watching television. The Eagles are playing the Jets in a preseason game I did not know was on. He does not even look at me, probably because I am such a lousy Eagles fan now. My mother tells me that Ronnie called, saying it’s important and I should call him back immediately.
“What happened? What’s on your jersey? Is that makeup?” my mother asks, and when I do not answer, she says, “You better call Ronnie back.”
But I only lie down in my bed and stare at the ceiling of my bedroom until the sun comes up.
Filled with Molten Lava
The picture I have of Nikki is a head shot, and I wish I had told her how much I liked it.