4
firm until almost 8:30. He’d not completed everything, but refused to rush through the work and make mistakes. That would only give Kyle more fuel for tomorrow. But at least he’d gotten some alone time.
It wasn’t until he arrived at the grocery store that he realized it was Friday—he heard one of the cashiers telling a shopper to have a great weekend.
Pizza Friday.
With a growl of frustration, Dave returned the few items he’d picked up and headed back out into the wind and rain. The weather had only proceeded to get worse, and now in the dark, Dave was especially careful. There were not a plentiful amount of streetlights in Repo Ridge, especially in their neighborhood, where the houses were stretched out by some distance, spaced with long copses of trees or empty fields easily swallowed up by the gloomy night.
Dave opted to listen to some classical music on his ride home. He couldn’t help but feel his day had been, there was no other way to put it, bad. Like a slightly lingering cold, or seasonal allergies that persisted no matter what you did. A cough that just wouldn’t disappear. That was how his brain felt. No matter how hard he tried to think of the positive, something was keeping all his good emotions under lock and key. He just needed a decent night’s sleep and to stay the hell away from Desiree DeLongo. No doubt she was more trouble than he needed, both personally and professionally.
Dave shook the rain out of his hair and proceeded to remove his shoes as Georgette came bounding into the foyer in one of her many silk kimonos. She had a Pimm’s cocktail in one hand and a glorious smile on her face. She threw herself into his arms, kissing him soundly.
Dave tasted the alcohol on her tongue and was reminded that he had to forgo his one drink at The Devil’s Eye tonight because of his psychotic boss. Dave frowned again as Georgie pulled back and looked into his eyes. Her smile vanished to be replaced with concern as she reached up to stroke his cheek.
“What’s the matter, my love?”
“Oh just a long, miserable day.”
She immediately began fussing over him. “Nothing a stiff drink and some pizza won’t fix! Everyone is here and I put in the order already so that’s one less thing you have to worry about! Now come on, I’ll get you a drink.”
She kissed him again and then gently led him by the hand towards the kitchen where the rest of the family was congregating. They never ate dinner in the formal dining room on Fridays, but preferred to spread out around the massive kitchen with its long counter top and window booths.
“You never work so late! I was afraid you started having an affair,” she joked as Dave felt his heart skip another beat. When he didn’t laugh, she turned around to look at him.
“Darling, what is it?” His wife stopped and gave him her full attention.
Dave let out a great sigh. “This new paralegal, put me in a bad spot with my boss, that’s all. I don’t trust her.”
“You can’t trust any lawyers, dear.”
Dave smiled. “I’m sorry, I’ll cheer up.”
“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. You know that’s the house rule.”
“I love you, Georgie,” he sighed and relaxed a little into her arms.
“I know.”
The doorbell rang a half an hour later.
“I’ll get it!” June insisted, as she bustled out of the kitchen where Dave now sat with a Pimm’s cocktail in hand—apparently Georgie made an entire pitcher—though he had absolutely no interest in drinking it.
He wanted a beer.
Samantha was sipping on her own fruity delight; her face looked flushed. She was immersed in a large textbook that Dave could not see the cover of.
“Big test?” he asked casually as he watched his father flirt shamelessly with Georgie—as he always did the second June was out of earshot.
“The biggest,” Sam replied, not looking up.
“Here we are!” June trilled, much like a kindergarten teacher addressing her class. “What a nice delivery boy, I gave him $20, was that enough?” she asked, despite knowing it was more than enough. She set the personal pies down on the counter with a loud thwack.
“So sanctimonious,” Dave heard his sister mutter under her breath.
“Just ignore her,” he whispered back, startling Harmony, who looked as if she just noticed he were present.
“I try, but hell, living with them is a nightmare. At least you’ve got your own place.”
“So do you,” Dave insisted as everyone moved forward, crowding around the counter and grabbing each specific order. “The guesthouse is all yours.”
“It’s not like this,” he could hear the passive-aggressiveness creeping into her voice.
“Go eat, Harmony, and then we can talk about your living situation. I might have a few ideas.”
Her face brightened as she gave her brother a small smile. “What would I do without you?” she wondered as she wandered off towards the rest.
Dave honestly didn’t know. But he hoped she would never have to find out.
Once everyone was settled and eating, Dave got up and grabbed the last pizza box, marked with a D., as Robb made sure to do for their large and fussy family.
He opened it with relish, realizing he’d not eaten the entire day—his hunger suddenly rushing full force to the surface.
Dave stared down in disappointment.
Confusion.
Black Olives?
Dave never once ordered a pizza with black olives. He hated them. Couldn’t stand the taste, the texture, everything about them turned him off.
“Georg?” he asked after a moment, “Did you order me olive?”
She looked up from her own cauliflower crust that she was immensely enjoying.
“No darling, regular cheese as always. Did they mess it up?”
Dave confirmed with a nod. “Yeah, funny enough, it’s the only pizza topping I can’t stand.”
“Oh my God, just pick them off!” Sam complained.
“Don’t you use the Lord’s name in vain, young missy.” June’s eyes were flashing with fury. She kept silent about most of the things Samantha said and did—Dave assumed it was out of fear—but speaking God’s name was not one of them.
“Why do you think it is, June,” Samantha began, a light blush creeping up her face, which was a telling sign she was quickly becoming combative, “that God needs so much money? If he’s so all-powerful and all-knowing, then why the hell does he need so much cash?” Sam had been watching old George Carlin reruns for sure.
“Great question, honey.” Georgette interrupted.
“To do for others, you poor, ignorant girl,” June spoke with slow sympathy, as if instructing a small child.
Georgette fired up at this. “Sam is the farthest thing from ignorant, June. She’s highly educated, cultured, well-travelled.”
“Spoiled.” August added with a sharp nod of his head.
“Oh, very spoiled. Ungrateful some would even suggest,” June continued on in her sweetest, unctuous voice.
Sam yawned in their faces and returned to her textbook. She clearly decided the conversation was no longer worth her time.
“How was your day, Mom?” Dave asked, knowing this would center June back on herself, and away from antagonizing his wife and stepdaughter.
“Oh, it was just lovely, Davey. Thank you for asking. The church is currently trying to expand, so we’ve been tasked with recruiting at least 2 to 5 new members a week. I think I might have gotten three just today!”
“Isn’t it always trying to expand? I mean, hello? Colonialism, anyone?” Georgie commented, raising her eyebrows at Harmony who burst into giggles. It was becoming their routine.
Throughout the evening June and Georgette continued to have words. But Dave’s attention went back to his pizza as he drowned the voices out around him. He picked off each olive, careful not to miss even the smallest bit as he tossed them onto the top of the box. He felt consumed by the task. It seemed more arduous than all the extra work he had to complete today.
“You used to like black olives.”
Harmony had snuck up on him.
“What? No I didn’t.”
“Yes, you did. When we were kids. Remember, June would put them in meatloaf.”
“That’s precisely why I can’t stand them, Har.”
She smiled at that. “And that pie you used to sometimes get from the old pizza place the next town over, remember? That had olives on it.”
“Nope, that was Robb.”
“Oh.”
His pizza was once again plain cheese, but Dave could still see the little indents the olives had made. He took a bite.
Harmony looked at him hopefully. “How is it?”
Dave chewed, nodding his head, it was fine—he could eat it. He wasn’t picky and he wasn’t going to make a fuss. But he could still taste the metallic essence coating his tongue with each bite. He couldn’t get rid of it, and after only one slice he felt his stomach begin to roll in protest.
He was no longer hungry. The distaste of the olives soiled his palate, like pretty much everything else had today. He picked up the cocktail instead, pulled the stupid little umbrella out of it, and took a large gulp, as he attempted to wash away the flavor of something he could not, for the life of him, stomach.
Dinner came to a premature and abrupt end as tempers flew across the kitchen, escalating as June took underhanded shots at Georgie’s moral compass, insinuating the women she helped at the shelter were there because they’d ignored God. And when Samantha finally yelled FUCK GOD at the top of her lungs, Dave knew it was time to intervene. His parents walked backwards out the front door, crossing themselves while Samantha stood there, arms and legs spread wide, reciting Latin in her best demonic voice.
It would have all been so comical, if Dave could have watched them through a television screen and not in real time.
He fell into bed that night with the hope that tomorrow would be infinitely better. However, the rain continued to drive, the wind rattling the branches against the windows, and before Dave could do much to empty and calm his mind, he slipped into an uneasy and fitful sleep.