"How are things?" she asks with saccharine sweetness.
"Good," I say honestly.
I think about telling her that I’m seeing someone, but it still feels too new, on top of the fact I’m not used to sharing my life with anyone. So, I ask her about her life.
Expectedly, she launches into a lot of chatter about her life.
I could always count on deflecting conversation to Dana, which usually puts me at ease. But it’s hard to relax when I know the big ask coming at the end of this road.
When our order comes to the table, I slide the eggs and toast over to Dana. "My treat."
Her loving smile breaks my heart. As she continues to talk, she picks at the food with her fork, only taking a couple small bites for my benefit. But she appreciates the gesture, and it makes me feel better to force a little food down her.
I heavily pour the syrup on my pancakes and dig in as she tells me all about her job at the dollar store and her roommate, Gayle.
"Well, my roommate isn’t too bad, really. Sometimes she forgets to pick up her clothes and leaves things a bit messy in the bathroom and kitchen. I end up tidying after her quite a bit." She hesitates, a shadow crossing her features. "Mark used to say I had an obsession with cleanliness. Maybe he was right. He said it ruins people’s ability to relax when someone is constantly scurrying around them, a sparrow always picking at things. So, I’m trying to resist my tendency to be a ‘neat freak,’" she says, quoting Mark again.
Even to this day, even after everything. Dana is still contorting herself like a pretzel to please whoever is around her. It’s always about what Mark says, though he left her years ago with all their money and a barfly who he claimed sucked dick better than Dana ever could.
"Any word from Mark?" I ask cautiously.
Dana pops the cigarette in her mouth yet again, avoiding eye contact with me. Just as quickly, she plucks it back out and fiddles with it as she drinks her coffee.
"Oh, you know." Her bony shoulder shrugs. "Here and there."
I can’t suppress the sigh this time. Not long after he left Dana high and dry, he ended up in trouble. He quickly spent all the money and ended up needing more. He regularly rings her up, sweet talks her and tells her all the things she’s desperate and starving to hear until she gives in and sends him money.
"Did he ask you for beer money again?" I ask, pushing away my half-eaten plate, wishing I had stopped sooner. My stomach distends under my sweater, overly full from the sweet breakfast.
Her head jerks in a small shake. "He needed bail money."
I swallow hard, trying to control my anger over how he treats her. "What for?"
Dana continues to fiddle with the cigarette between her fingers. It’s now wrinkled and somewhat mushed, and I wonder if it affects the quality of the smoke.
"He had a misunderstanding with his girlfriend that got heated."
My hand slides over my face. He beat another woman and got arrested. Then Dana bailed him out. The irony of the situation sickens me. He used to do the same to her on occasion, and whenever I went to call for help, she’d stop me. She’d plead with me saying she deserved it, that she didn’t listen. That she couldn’t get Mark in trouble like that, she loved him too much.
And now she was complicit in him doing it to others. I hated it. As much as Dana was one of the few people I had some feeling for, this sick, twisted part of her soul always makes me choke. There is nothing I can do to free her from Mark’s spell.
"He said he would come back once he was out of jail," she says before taking a long swallow of coffee to hide the tears welling in her tired, red-rimmed eyes.
And he didn’t. He never did.
"Rent was due a couple days ago…" she trails off, not meeting my eyes as she quickly swipes the moisture from her cheeks.
Dana is awash in so much shame and guilt, I can’t bring myself to pile on top.
Besides, I’ve tried before. Tried to make her see that dick knob isn’t worth a penny or a breath of her time. Dana always agreed, trying to save face with me, promising she would know better next time.
But I’ve stopped making her agree to it. I’ve stopped trying to make her see reason. The only thing left is to cut her off. If she’s without money, she can’t keep giving it to Mark.
She’d hit rock bottom and might start helping herself.
She won’t even explicitly ask, so I don’t have to say no. All I have to do is ignore the unspoken request. Pay for breakfast and walk out of here so I can head to the outlet store and buy myself a nice luxuriously warm knit sweater.
I know if I take care of the fabric, I can make it last for years before it starts to show its age. It’s a wise investment.
