Filed to story: The One That Got Away
Louis gives me a look like I’m a dummy. “My mom owns the place, remember?”
“Well, duh. I’ve just never seen you here before,” I say. “Do you work here?”
“Nah, I had to drop something off for my mom. Now she’s saying I have to go pick up a set of chairs in Huntsburgh tomorrow,” Louis says in a grumbly voice. “It’s two hours there and back. Annoying.”
I nod companionably and lean away from the case. I pretend to look at a pink-and-black globe. Actually, Alice would like this. It could be a nice Christmas present for her. I give it a little spin. “How much is this globe?”
“Whatever it says on the sticker.” Louis rests his elbows on the case and leans forward. “You should come.”
I look up at him. “Come where?”
“To pick up the chairs with me.”
“You just complained about how annoying it’s going to be.”
“Yeah, alone. If you go, it might be slightly less annoying.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
I roll my eyes. Louis says “you’re welcome” to everything! It’s like, No, Louis, that was not a genuine thank you, so you do not need to say you’re welcome.
“So are you coming or what?”
“Or what.”
“Come on! I’m picking the chairs up from an estate sale. The owner was some kind of shut-in. Stuff has just been sitting there for, like, fifty years. I bet there’ll be stuff you can look at. You like old stuff, right?”
“Yes,” I say, surprised that he knows this about me. “Actually, I’ve kind of always wanted to go to an estate sale. How did the owner die? Like, how long was it before someone found him?”
“God, you’re morbid.” He shudders. “Didn’t know you had that side to you.”
“I have lots of sides to me,” I tell him. I lean forward. “So? How did he die?”
“He isn’t dead, you weirdo. He’s just old. His family’s sending him to a nursing home.” Louis raises an eyebrow at me. “So I’ll pick you up tomorrow at seven.”
“Seven? You never said anything about leaving at seven in the morning on a Saturday!”
“Sorry,” he says contritely. “We have to go early before all the good stuff gets snatched up.”
That night I pack lunches for Louis and me. I make roast beef sandwiches with cheese and tomato, mayonnaise for me, mustard for Louis. Louis doesn’t like mayonnaise. It’s funny the things you pick up in a fake relationship.
Kitty zooms into the kitchen and tries to grab a sandwich half. I smack her hand away. “That’s not for you.”
“Then who’s it for?”
“It’s for my lunch tomorrow. Mine and Louis’s.”
She climbs on to a stool and watches me wrap the sandwiches in wax paper. Sandwiches look so much prettier wrapped in wax paper than encased in ziplock. Any chance I get, I use wax paper. “I like Louis,” Kitty says. “He’s a lot different than Josh, but I like him.”
I look up. “What do you mean?”
“I don’t know. He’s really funny. He jokes around a lot. You must really be in love if you’re making sandwiches for him. When Alice and Josh first became a couple, she made three-cheese macaroni and cheese all the time because that’s his favourite. What’s Louis’s favourite?”
“I – I don’t know. I mean, he likes everything.”
Kitty gives me the side eye. “If you’re his girlfriend, you should know what his favourite food is.”
“I know he doesn’t like mayonnaise,” I offer.
“That’s because mayonnaise is gross. Josh hates mayonnaise too.”
I feel a pang. Josh does hate mayonnaise. “Kitty, do you miss Josh?”
She nods. “I wish he still came over.” A wistful look crosses over her face, and I’m about to give her a hug when she puts her hands on her hips. “Just don’t use all the roast beef, because I need it for my lunch next week.”
“If we run out, I’ll make tuna salad. Sheesh.”
“See that you do,” Kitty says, and zooms off again.
“See that you do”? Where does she get this stuff?
At seven thirty I’m sitting by the window, waiting for Louis to pull up. I’ve got a brown paper bag with our sandwiches and my camera, in case there’s anything spooky or cool I can take a picture of. I’m picturing a crumbling, grey old mansion like you see in horror movies, with a gate and a murky pond or a maze in the backyard.
Louis’s mom’s minivan pulls up at seven forty-five, which is annoying. I could’ve slept a whole hour longer. I run out to the car and hop inside, and before I can say a word, he says, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. But look what I brought you.” He passes me a doughnut in a napkin, still warm. “I stopped and got it special, right when they opened at seven thirty. It’s mocha sugar.”
I break off a piece and pop it into my mouth. “Yum!”
He gives me a sidelong glance as he pulls out of my driveway. “So I did the right thing being late, right?”
I nod, taking a big bite. “You did the exact right thing,” I say, my mouth full. “Hey, do you have any water?”