“Are you okay? You’re not eating.” He points at my plate. “Is everything okay? Do I need to grab Angelo?”
“No, no. Everything’s great. I, uh ... was letting it cool.”
“Well, don’t wait on my account. Dive in.”
It’s so hot in here. I want to blame the grill, but it’s Reid. I know it’s him and his megawatt smile and warm personality heating my belly.
And other parts.
Watching him with Gabby is like pulling apart a warm chocolate chip cookie, fresh from the oven, the chocolate soft and gooey. This is the second time I’ve equated Reid to chocolate goodness. I should eat a candy bar and get over him.
I take a bite of my veggie sub, dabbing at the corners of my mouth with a napkin. In the background, the old-fashioned jukebox switches tunes. “Dream Weaver,” a song from even before my time, radiates through the sandwich shop.
Reid turns to me. “Great song.”
He’s so close, I can see little flecks of gold surrounding his pupils. I’m in a hypnotic trance.
“Ick,” Gabby says, ruining the moment.
“Wow,” Reid says. “Oneyuckand now anick. I’m really striking out with you.”
She giggles. Gabby, Little Miss Obstinate, Little Miss Argue Over Everything, simply giggles.
“Here you go.” Angelo saves the day and slides a sandwich in front of Reid.
“Dig in.” Reid encourages me to eat again as he picks up his monstrosity and takes a bite as if nothing is happening between us.
I want to turn to Gabby and say, “This is why you don’t want a man. Don’t need a man. They make everything weird.”
But I don’t.
The kid is cute, and she’s the only female talking to me right now. The neighbor is wolfing down her food with a purpose, and Andi is mostly quiet. I wonder if it’s me or if Andi’s always this way—quiet, private, guarded—as I tuck into my sandwich.
Earlier, I found myself home alone and not wanting to hit the bars. I planned to shop over the weekend, so my fridge is pretty barren. Lucky for me (I think), I decided to hit up Angelo and his cheesesteak, and now I’m not eating alone.
My conversation with the UAB—Andrea—runs on a constant loop in my head. I like what I do. Love it. So, what the fuck is wrong with doing it?
I wonder what Andi would think of my blog, and before I can control my dumb fucking mouth, I blurt, “Do you read blogs?”
I expect Andi to look at me weird, to raise her eyebrows and shake her head. Instead, she chokes on her food.
At first, she’s coughing. Then there’s no sound.
After a sharp intake of breath from her, then a short rasp, I jump up. I stand behind Andi, hugging her from behind, jerking her up and down, my fist pressed into her diaphragm. I pull up in fast thrusts, trying to avoid eye contact with a wide-eyed Gabby, who’s snuggled into the neighbor’s bosom.
I think I hear, “Help Mommy.”
Then, pop! A piece of bread and a shred of broccoli come flying from Andi’s mouth. She closes her eyes, a tear forms in the corner of her left one, and she takes a long inhale.
“Mom!” Gabby circles her waist, squeezing her tight.
“Ouch.” Andi whimpers, loosening Gabby’s grip on her. Her voice is shaky, rattled. “Thank you,” she says as she rubs her side.
“You okay?” Angelo asks, intruding on our moment.
Andi nods, Gabby firmly planted by her side, as Leona cleans up our mess. “Went down the wrong pipe, but I’m okay.”
“Want some water?” More intrusion from Angelo. Doesn’t he see that I have it under control?
