Peter
“What’d that dough ever do to you?”
I glance up from the dough to see Allen examining my fists. Shit, did I over work it? It’s very possible, I have a lot on my mind.
“Nothing. It’s done.” I form the dough into a ball, stick it into a greased bowl, and cover it with a damp cloth.
He laughs and pats my back. “Just seem a little preoccupied today, that’s all,” he says as he shuffles toward his office. I follow behind him.
“A wee bit, I suppose.” I lean on the door frame as he drops down into his desk chair. It creaks as he adjusts himself.
“What’s on your mind?”
“This girl I know—”
“Say no more!” he exclaims, lifting one feeble pointer finger into the air. He reaches into a small recipe box. Its colors have faded from years worth of use. He scans through the cards, and when he finally selects one, he holds it close to his eyes and squints. “Yes, this is the one. This will do the trick.” He holds the card out toward me. I step closer and take it from his hand.
“Cinnamon rolls?” I ask, trying to decipher the words on the card.
“Not just any cinnamon rolls! No, no, no! This is my favorite recipe! These can make anyone fall in love,” he says with a snap of his fingers.
“Oh, you have it very wrong,” I respond. “This girl—She’s just a friend.”
“Well, what’s on your mind then?”
“She’s moving in with me.”
“Shacking up before marriage?!”
Is that an expression? I’ve never heard it before. Maybe it’s best I just nod my head and smile. Is it bad to live in a shack? Maybe I should tell him we don’t live in a shack. “I mean, it’s an apartment, so a little better than a shack.” I sit on the small stool next to his desk and hand back the recipe card.
“There’s nothing between you two? You and this young lady?”
“No—erm—There was, once, but not anymore.”
Mr. Vorhees laughs at me and shakes his head. He places the card back in the box, and then reaches across his desk and puts his boney hand on my shoulder.
“Give it another try. You still like this girl, don’t you?”
“I don’t know,” I say. It’s the truth. I’m not sure how I feel about Kara. I never was sure how I felt about her in the first place, but I do appreciate her company.
“Let me give you some advice. Women love a man who can bake. Those cinnamon rolls?” he says, pointing to the box. “I used to make them for Diana each time we had a spat.”
“Why on God’s earth would they be your favorite then?”
“Because it was my way of telling her I loved her, even when we were both at our angriest with each other—And every time she ate one, she was back in my arms by the end of the night! Love is a funny thing Peter, and sometimes all you need to fix the biggest problems in your relationship, is an even bigger cinnamon roll!”
“Huh.” I lean back against the wall and look up at the ceiling. “I think she did like the cookies I made last night…I have a picture of her, wanna see?”
He leans over the desk and I pull my cell phone out of my pocket.
“I thought you’d be pulling the picture out of your wallet.”
“What? No! I don’t even keep Danny’s school pictures in my wallet. Do I look like a creep to you? I’m going on her Facebook,” I say, while scanning through her profile pictures. I find a good one.
He laughs. “It was a normal thing back in my day!”
I flash my phone screen at him. He takes the pair of glasses that hang from his shirt collar and places them on his face. He’s fixated on the picture of Kara. “What an absolute doll!” he shouts.
“Yes. She is very pretty, isn’t she?” I turn my phone back toward me and examine the picture myself. I can’t help but smile, even if she’s not Hayley…
“Anyone here?” A voice calls out from the front of the store. I stand.
“I got it. It’s just George picking up his bread order,” Allen says. He pushes himself up from his chair with a groan and grabs hold of his cane. “Coming! Coming!” Allen hobbles out of the office. I stare at the recipe box. Should I?
I rummage through it until I find the cinnamon roll recipe. I take a quick picture of it using my phone. Perhaps I’ll give it a try.
Hayley
“Your change,” I say to the customer as he collects his coffee and box of cigarettes. He waves his hand and presses his lips tightly together to form a straight line across his face. He quietly exits the store. I guess that means I can keep it? Great.
I reach under the countertop for the Lysol and spray it onto the countertop. I don’t think he put the lid on his coffee tight enough. Hopefully it doesn’t spill all over his car like it did the counter. It’s getting late. Surprised anyone would want to be drinking our coffee at this time. Not because it will keep him awake, but I honestly can’t remember the last time I brewed a fresh pot. It’s probably so nasty.
Headlights, more like brights, shine through the window. I shield my eyes. Luckily, the truck is turned off quickly. A man jumps out of the driver’s seat. Fear pulsates through my body, even though it shouldn’t. I drop the Lysol and walk to the door. I watch as he inserts his credit card into pump one. I sigh in relief when I realize he won’t be coming inside.
Of course, I’d wind up working at a gas station, right? It’s like Satan knows where I least want to be, and he’s prepared my special place in Hell. I mean, if it weren’t for a gas station, I’d never have been addicted to those fucking pills. And for what, really? I wonder…
I walk back to the register and open the drawer. There can’t be any more than five hundred dollars in here. I slam the register shut. Not even worth it, even if she did get away with it. I mean, that’s not even enough for one month’s rent. The more I think about it, the more I realize how stupid my mother was. I mean, who the hell gets run down by their own getaway car? You know what? I shouldn’t be blaming my addiction on a gas station. I should be blaming it on my mother. She never would have needed those pain pills should she have had a successful heist. Too bad she never got to meet Tristian, the two of them would have probably gotten along.
I laugh and grab a rag. I walk over to the coffee pot and wipe off all the spills of cream and sugar. I think more about my mom. I wonder if, or when she’s ever getting out of prison for drugging those men… I shudder when I remember that I basically did the same thing to Peter, with much worse intent. Money can make you do some scary things, truly… Money. I remember the change the man left behind. I head to the register again and collect the coins from the automatic dispenser. Wow, a whole quarter. Usually when people leave their change behind, it’s only pennies. Something is better than nothing, I suppose. Every bit counts toward saving up for an apartment. How much more do I need now? Just a couple of hundred. Look at me, saving up money and shit. Go me!
I jump when the man from pump one walks through the door. I grab my chest and turn to face the back wall. I let out a deep sigh.
“Uh. I just want some cigarettes,” he says.
“Right. Cool.” I turn back around. I’m still gripping my one quarter. I shove it down into my pocket, as if it’s a prized possession.
“Marlboro Light 100’s.” As he says it, he whips out a fat stack of cash. What is it with these dudes? They always have so much money on them! Now I’m embarrassed of my stupid fucking quarter. I look him up and down. What if I do what mom did, but backwards? I face the wall of cigarettes and laugh. Like, what if I work at the gas station, but I rob a customer? Wait, I don’t have a getaway car. I’ll just run to the bus stop… and wait for the bus to come? I laugh again. What cigarettes did this guy want? I turn back to face him, empty handed.
“Uh… What did you want again?”
“Are you high or something, lady? Marlboro. Light. 100’s.”
High? I haven’t been accused of being high since I got sober. I grab a box of crappy Marlboro Light 100’s and chuck it at him. He looks at me, but more concerned than angrily. It pisses me off. He pays for his cigarettes and walks out. This asshole takes his change with him! Like he even needs it!
I pull out my cellphone as if I’m going to vent to someone about what just happened, but then I remember I have no one to vent to. I don’t even have Facebook anymore.
I go to YouTube and play Who Knew by Pink. I sing along as I finish cleaning up the gas station. Three hours left of this shift. Hey, at least it’s another thirty-three dollars toward the deposit on our new home.
Peter
I watch from the sidewalk as the U-Haul pulls into the lot. I feel nervous. I’ve been throwing up ever since I left work. I don’t think I’m throwing up because I’m nervous though. But I am even more nervous now because I’m throwing up. Maybe I have a virus. I won’t breathe on Kara, but I’m nervous that I’ll throw up in front of her, and that won’t be a very warm welcome.
What the hell is she doing? It looks like a six—no, seven-point turn? I recognize the girl driving the U-Haul, it’s Kara’s friend from the bar… I don’t think she knows how to drive that thing at all. After a few unsuccessful attempts, she pulls the truck up against the sidewalk, taking up at least four parking spots. I’m not passing judgement, I definitely couldn’t have done any better.
The girl and Kara literally leap out of the U-Haul. “Hey, Peter,” The girl says as she heads toward the back of the truck. I can’t remember her name. If I think long enough, it will come to me... Or Kara will say it eventually.
“Hello.” I follow her and watch as she opens the rear door. I’m astonished when I see how completely packed it is. I close my eyes, hoping that when I open them a lot of this crap will disappear. To my disappointment, it doesn’t.
“So, I’m thinking that Jess and I can carry most of the boxes in, and then you can handle the heavier stuff,” Kara says as she climbs into the truck. Jess, got it. She starts handing Jess boxes labeled “FRAGILE” from the very front.
“Kara, you know the apartment won’t fit all of this! Is that a couch?!”
She shrugs. “My couch is nicer than yours, and you know it.”
I can’t deny that, especially since her couch has an electric recliner. Who the hell is going to carry the old couch out and the new couch in!? I feel like I might vomit again. I can’t lift this shit!
“Kara, I can’t lift this by myself.”
“Can your brother help?”
Jesus Christ, Mary and St Joseph, I really don’t think he wants to help. Even if he does help, do I really think we can do this? Danny is quite muscular… Maybe I can entice him with the recliner. It has cupholders too!
“Uh… One moment, I’ll ask him.”
As I walk up the stairs to our apartment, I plan out exactly what I’m going to say. Kara, couch, cupholders. Cupholders. That’s the selling point. I’ll tell him he can eat and drink on the couch. I’m not going to ask Kara’s permission, I don’t care if Kara hates that idea, it’s the only way.
“Danny!” I call out. His bedroom door is shut.
“What do you want?!” he answers.
“Kara’s here.”
“So what?”
“She has a couch.”
“Why?”
“Cupholders! It has cupholders!”
He opens his door and pulls his headphones from his ears. It’s only 4:00, but he’s already in his pajamas.
“And—?”
“Well, I thought maybe you’d help us out. You know, carry the stuff inside.”
“You want me to carry a couch into the apartment?”
“And carry the old one out, yes.”
“No freakin’ way.” He shuts his bedroom door in my face.
“I’m going to help you! You won’t be doing it alone.”
He opens the door and laughs. He just laughs and grips onto his chest, and then he closes it again. It didn’t even sound like a fake laugh. It sounded genuine. Damn, teenagers can be really mean. What’s that My Chemical Romance song called again?
“I can’t do it by myself you know!” I shout.
“I know you can’t. Tell her to fuck off. We don’t need her or her couch!”
“We need her rent money! Her rent money is going to be really nice!” I stop… Hm… “I’ll get you that new PlayStation! Only if you help me carry this shit!”
He opens the door slowly. He’s silent.
“You swear?”
“Swear to God,” I say.
“You said you don’t believe in God. Swear to someone else.”
“Swear on my mom’s life.”
“Your mom’s already dead.”
“Oh…Uh, yeah, right. Swear on… Her grave then.”
“Alright, I’ll do it… Are you sure you’re going to be able to help? Not gonna throw up all over the couch?”
“It’ll be fine,” I say. “Just get dressed and meet me outside.”
“Bet,” he says, closing his bedroom door once more.
So, I guess this first month’s rent isn’t going to help out too much, since I have to buy a PlayStation with it. Maybe it will lighten the tension of Kara moving in a wee bit, though. I think about how brilliantly this has all worked out as I walk down the stairs.
Kara
“So is he going to help?” I ask. By the smug look on Peter’s face, I’m guessing the answer is yes.
“Oh, yes. He’s going to help. He would do anything to help me.”
“Cool, because we got most of the boxes out of the truck, so I think access to the couch is going to be much easier now. Other than that, it’s just my bed and a dresser. I don’t think it should be too much of an issue.”
A loud crash comes from inside of the apartment and Peter’s smile immediately disappears. He runs toward the door. I stand back and watch.
“DANNY, WHAT THE FUCK?!” Peter yells as he opens the door.
I approach slowly and look past Peter. I see the old couch lying on its side. It’s at the bottom of the stairs. A boy sits on a step just about halfway down the staircase, I’m assuming he’s Danny.
“I’m sorry! I thought it would save us some time if I just slid it down the stairs!”
Peter looks up and down at the door of the apartment and at the walls. There’s some dents and scuff marks. His vision turns toward me, maybe for like an emotional response or something? I just look away.
“Do you know what they are going to charge me to fix this?!”
“Not that much! It’s not even hard to fix! Also, I was just trying to help you out! I didn’t want you throwing up all over the place trying to lift this shit!”
He kicks the arm of the couch and Peter’s face starts to turn red.
“Throw up?” I ask him. “You throw up when you lift heavy things?”
“No, I don’t. He’s over-exaggerating.”
“He’s been puking up his guts! I’ve been listening to him gag in the bathroom since I got home from school!”
Peter turns to me, “by the way, this is Danny. Pleasure, I’m sure.” He faces the couch again and grips it angrily. “Please, stand back,” he says to me, so I step to the side. I watch as he tugs at the thing, but it barely moves an inch.
“I was vomiting— because I have— a virus,” he says in between tugs.
“If you had a virus you’d be shitting too! That’s how it is when you have a virus!” Danny adds.
“Lord Jesus, Mary, and Saint Joseph,” Peter whispers to himself. “How would you know if I’m shitting or not?” Peter lets go of the couch and covers his mouth. “So sorry,” he says, now looking at me.
“I’m assuming I’ll have to get used to these conversations since I’m moving in here?” I ask.
“Oh, no. No, we don’t usually talk about this,” he says and then quickly faces the couch and Danny. “Enough of this. Please, just lift the other side of the couch and help me get it out of here.”
“Sure.” With that, Danny stands. He picks up the opposite end of the couch as if it’s nothing. He makes it look so easy, unlike Peter. The two of them carry the couch down the sidewalk and over to the dumpster. They’re far enough away that I can’t hear what Peter’s saying, but he does not look very happy with Danny, and his mouth is moving very fast.
“Who is that?” Jess asks from behind me.
“Danny,” I say.
“Wait… That’s the little brother?”
“Uh-huh.”
“I thought that was a full-grown man!”
“Yeah… I wasn’t expecting him to be that tall either.”
“Tall? The kid’s jacked!”
Danny and Peter approach us. Danny rolls his eyes. “Sorry I talked about puking in front of you,” he says, looking at me.
“AND—?” Peter asks with a stern look.
“And sorry I talked about shitting?” Danny asks, facing Peter once more.
“How about nice to meet you, Kara?” Peter’s arms are crossed and he taps his foot.
“Nice to meet you, Kara. Sorry I threw a couch down the stairs and talked about barf and shit.”
“Good enough. Let’s go get the new couch.” They walk together to the moving truck.
“That’s some real parenting right there,” Jess says with a laugh.
I chuckle as we pick up some boxes and carry them into the apartment together.