I could have so much fun with her.
“So,” Max starts, trouble in her tone. “Are we going to address the fact her name is Tiny and she’s…not?”
“No,” I say flatly. “That would be fatphobic.”
She grins, undeterred. “Okay. Can we at least talk about the fact she only has one leg?”
“Nope. That would be ableist.”
She leans in, whispering like we’re conspiring. “Any chance you know how she lost her leg?”
“None of your business.”
“Fine. Tell me about Vanessa.”
“No.”
“She’s pretty. I bet you guys made a really cute couple–”
“Fine. I’ll tell you how Tiny lost her leg.”
“Yesss!” she hisses, bouncing a little in her seat.
I don’t bother correcting her about the couple thing. It would only invite more questions.
“It was a hunting accident.”
Her face falls into intrigued suspicion. “I’m gonna need more context.”
“Her and her husband were out hunting. She got ahead of him, wouldn’t respond when he called out. As he searched deeper into the woods, he spotted something in the distance. Tiny was kneeling, trying to get a good shot on a deer.”
I pause, already feeling the laugh bubbling up, even though I know I shouldn’t.
“Old Rufus thought…”
I have to stop and pinch the bridge of my nose, trying to keep it together.
I break off, trying—and failing—not to laugh.
Max narrows her eyes. “Are you about to laugh?”
“I’m not proud, but yes.”
“Why? What happened?”
“She was bent over, and her husband thought she was…a bear.”
Max hollers so loud the table shakes. “Iknowyou are lying to me!”
“I wish I could make this up.”
“Damn shame what they did to Tiny,” Max says, straight-faced, shaking her head.
And that’s it.
We both lose it—laughing so hard the table rattles again.
It hits me a second later, the reference sliding into place. Coming to America.
