Sing

CHAPTER 10.

MONICA

It was night by the time the Bentley made its way slowly down my hill. I’d called Debbie from the back to let her know Jonathan was okay, and told her if any shifts opened up I’d fill in. Then left a message with Darren, who had offered me the moon and stars, the food in his kitchen, the gas in his car and the surface area of his shoulder, should I need it. But unless I asked for something specific, or called during an unpredictable sliver of time, he was unavailable. I had no idea what he was doing, but when I did catch him long enough to ask after him, his “fines” and “greats” seemed sincere. So I left him alone.

“What time you going in tomorrow, Miss?” asked Lil as she opened the back door for me.

“I’m hoping for an afternoon shift,” I said. “Can I call you?”

“I expect you to.” She stepped aside as I got out. “I mean it. I don’t mean to be disrespectful, but it’s my job to drive. I don’t want to hear about you taking the bus again.”

She slammed the door.

“I’m a poor girl. It’s not a big deal to take the bus.”

“To me it is. No more.” She wagged her finger once and walked around to her side. When she opened her door, she waved, dismissing me.

I fingered the extra bus token in my pocket and went through my gate and ascended my porch steps. There was no notice on the door this time, which reminded me that I hadn’t heard from Mom. I checked my phone. Nope. Nothing.

“Hey, Monica.” It was Dr. Thorensen calling over the fence.

“Hi.”

“You all right?” He blooped his car. The lights flashed.

“Sure.”

“Because you’re standing on your porch staring at your phone. Is your boyfriend all right? Did the surgery go okay?”

“Yeah.”

He didn’t move, just looked at me for a second under my shitty porch light, which would be auctioned off with the rest of my house. Except my stuff. The bank couldn’t auction what was mine. I’d take the light bulbs, the furniture, the fixtures and anything that could be unscrewed, unbolted or pulled off.

“Dad’s tangerine tree.” I said it out loud. I didn’t mean to do that.

“Excuse me?” Dr. Thorensen asked. He hadn’t gone away.

“Nothing. Just thinking out loud.” I snapped my keys out of their little pocket.

“Have you eaten?”

I didn’t expect an actual question, so I answered honestly. “No.”

“I have some pad thai from last night. It reheats like a solid brick and I don’t want to suffer alone.”

I wanted to slip in during the dead after hours and fall asleep next to Jonathan again, but if there was one night I should let him rest, that was probably it. A twisting disappointment pinched my chest when I realized I wouldn’t go see him, and I’d have to sleep alone in my stupid shit bed.

But though I could be lonely, and depressed and worried, and though I could be broke and uncharacteristically irresponsible, I didn’t have to be hungry.

“How are you reheating it?” I asked.

“I put the cardboard box in the microwave. It ain’t open heart surgery.”

“You have to heat it covered with a little water.” I put my keys back in my bag, glad to be of use to someone. “A glass container is best. Let me show you.”