e l e v e n
We have greasy chicken burgers with extra cheese and fries with tangy tomato sauce for lunch. The guy at the drive-thru stares down our shirts – not that there’s much to see down Mikaela’s t-shirt anyway. She ignores it, taking the bag from his hand and shoving a bill into his palm. Once we’re home we bump into Ruth and Emile in the corridor, both with sandy feet and wavy hair. They eye the takeout bag in my hand and Ruth tuts disapprovingly.
“Fast food for lunch,” she observes as she and Emile walk to their front door. They are also just coming home. Emile takes out a key from the pocket of his shorts. He’s shirtless.
“Yeah, yeah, my body is a temple,” Mikaela mutters, rolling her eyes as she too unlocks our front door. “Sometimes you gotta cave.”
Ruth gives us a serene smile. I look at the way her red hair is stuck to the base of her throat, her swollen lips. Emile opens their front door and then turns around, putting an arm around her shoulder. Mildly I wonder if having sex on the beach is the most advisable thing, hygiene wise.
“You should come over sometime, both of you,” he tell us. “I can make you a nice lunch, without any of this processed meat and –”
“Emile, it’s not easy for all of to embrace vegetarianism for heaven’s sake,” Mikaela says, cursing under her breath as she changes keys. She’s put the car keys in the door lock. For fuck’s sake.
“Pescetarianism,” Ruth corrects in a bewildered tone of voice, looking at Mikaela’s frizzy pink hair.
“She’s out of it today,” I inform the couple and they give me blank looks. “We’ll come over some other time.”
“Sure,” Ruth chirps, smiling in our direction one last time. “See you around then. Namaste.”
They put their palms together as they walk into their apartment. I put mine together.
“Namaste.”
Their door shuts just as ours opens. Mikaela puts the keys into the ugly Pottery Barn bowl and then shuts the door behind me.
“After we eat we need to get our shit sorted out, Eve,” she informs me, taking the bag from my hand and striding towards the kitchen. I lean against the counter and watch as she rips open the packet of fries and ketchup and stuffs them in her mouth without bothering about plates or anything. “You go call your aunt and I’ll unpack the fucking living room. We’re living in a goddamn pigsty.”
“I’m not calling Aunt Evelyn,” I tell her, taking a fry and squeezing it into my mouth. It tastes like oil.
“You have to,” she says. “It’ll do you good to stay in Parnem for a while.”
“And do what? Admire her fucking art collection?”
“Do whatever. Just get the hell out of Benna Lui. This place is ruining you.”
I stare at her. She has salt on her chin. I don’t feel like taking the opinion of someone with a salty chin.
“Wipe the salt off your chin.”
“What’s the salt on my chin got to do with anything?”
I pick up a napkin and do it myself. Once the grains have come off I can take her more seriously.
“You’re fucking psycho,” she mutters, grabbing our burgers and unwrapping them. She takes a bite into hers, a huge bite, a bite full of meat and bread and mayo and lettuce and cheese. “Psycho.”
I stare at my burger, feeling its oval warmth in my hands. A bit of mayo leaks onto my thumb, under my nail. I watch as it drips down to my wrist. I can see little droplets of oil on the chicken patty. The lettuce is thin, not crisp. The cheese droops down over the meat. I realize that I’m supposed to eat this.
