The meal before me obviously isn’t from Darby’s, but it might as well be. Jovi got the order exactly right. And even the onion rings, which likely won’t have the spicey zing Darby’s was famous for, came with a side of mayo and barbeque sauce. The precise but disgusting combo I was addicted to for dipping.
I mix the two packets, drizzle the sauce over the onion rings, and take a bite.
“Never tell Jovi, but he totally nailed this,” I begrudgingly admit to Harriet. “I'd never hear the end of it.” She meows in response. Then, apparently tired of my bullshit, she leaps to the counter, climbs over the sink, and slinks out the window.
I gulp down the greasy, crunchy bite of illusionary comfort and pause for a moment. I’m alone again. Eating a traditional family meal without my family. Because they’re all dead. My onlycompanion has left me. And the only person still alive who knows about the Friday night meatball sub is a person I can’t look at for more than thirty seconds without wanting to roll my eyes.
Logically, I sense this stack of revelations should be distressing, but emotionally I’m too exhausted to rally enough to feel much of anything.
Temporarily numbed to current events, I slide my ass onto the kitchen counter and proceed to mindlessly stuff food in my mouth. Every bite makes me feel both nauseous and hollow and as my mind wanders, I catch myself having morbid fantasies of choking to death on an onion ring. It would be fitting to die with this meal. One I shared countless times with my father and sister. One Jovi ordered for me.
In a way, it would be like he killed me.
I don’t think anyone would be surprised.
JOVI
After breaking the news to my mother, I make the rounds visiting all of our local bars and setting up Zoom meetings with the others. I talk to everyone from the bar backs to management to inform them of the changes underway. Despite my mother's concerns, Mina is thrilled to step up and confident she can manage without my constant supervision. The only conversation I haven’t tackled yet is the one I need to have with Casey.
Tonight’s the night I’m ripping that bandage off. Right after dinner.
“Case?” I call out as soon as I’m stepping through the door. “I brought food.”
“You’re the best,” she squeals, bounding around the corner to greet me with an enthusiastic kiss. I used to love this about her. The genuine joy she feels in seeing me, how she never fails to let it show. In recent weeks it’s been harder to offer the same energy in response.
I’ve been telling myself it’s because of everything that’s happened. That nothing and no one conjures much enthusiasm in me these days. But as she’s crushing her lips to mine, wrapping both arms around my neck to pull me closer, all I can think is how I can’t breathe.
“I missed you,” she says, nudging her nose softly to mine.
“Come on,” I tease, gently untangling myself from her. “You spent all day surrounded by madness on legs. There's no way you had time to miss me.”
She makes a face and slaps my arm playfully. “I told you to stop calling my kids madness.”
“They’re third graders,” I muse. “How is a room full of them not total madness?”
She giggles, shaking her head at me. “You’re terrible.”
“What happened to ‘you’re the best’?” I hold the bag of food up to remind her.
“Oh, yes!” Her eyes light up and she claps her hands. “I’m starving.” She hooks a finger into the bag and peeks inside. “What did you get?”
“Meatball subs and onion rings.”
She makes a face. “Anything else?”
“Caesar salad,” I offer.
“Dressing on the side?”
Now I’m the one tempted to grimace. Caesar salad needs to be tossed, each piece of romaine richly coated in creamy dressing.But, I know Casey, so, “Yes, the dressing is on the side. And I had them hold the cheese on your sub.”
Casey goes to step aerobics and spin classes every morning; she could stand to eat a little fat. But it’s her body, her business.
“Thank goodness.” She scrunches up her nose. “Peeling off melted cheese is always such a mess.”
I swallow a sigh and start moving again. “Wanna eat outside on the patio? It’s nice out.”
“It’s kind of buggy.”
