“A dating website!”
“Hattie.” My voice reminds me of my dad’s when he would catch her coming home late during her freshman year. “You’re due in eight weeks.”
She balances herself on my bedside table as she stands. “Exactly. Which is why I’ve gotta get to steppin’.” She patsher belly. “Little baby ZoeRae is gonna need a man figure in her life.”
“ZoeRae?” I ask. Because there is so much she’s said that makes my brain hurt that I can only pick it apart one piece at a time.
“Yeah. You like it?”
I shake my head and laugh, because I have no other option. “No. Not even a little bit,” I tell her. “In fact, I don’t even think I can bring myself to call her that. It sounds like a country singer gone bad.”
She growls a little. “You know, I read online that parents oughta keep the baby name to themselves because friends and relatives have too many opinions and can be plain old hurtful.”
I inhale deeply through my nostrils. “Maybe we can talk about the name later, okay? I don’t mean to be rude, I swear. So what’s all this about a dating website?”
She perks up again. “Yes! I need you to take my picture. The member guide said selfies are discouraged and that you should ask a trusted friend for help with your profile picture.”
I look down at the little cheer shorts she’s squeezed herself into and the shiny red top that is a remnant from Hattie’s former party-girl life. “So do you want to finish getting dressed?” I ask.
She giggles. “I’m already dressed,” she explains. “The picture’s gotta be from boobs up. Remember, like how Auntie Luanne used to only take pictures? Boobs and up!It’s not like I’m going to be pregnant forever.”
“Yeah, but shouldn’t these guys at least know you’re pregnant right now?”
She puts the compact down. “I can see why you’d think that, but I feel like guys would make a bigger deal of it than it is.”
I nod despite myself. “All right. Okay. Let’s do this. It’s already dark, so we might have to take them inside.”
It takes a while and we have to fudge with the lighting some, but eventually we come up with one or two good pictures. I put a frozen pizza in the oven and we turn on a made-for-TV movie about a cheerleader with a crazy mom who decides she wants to kill the girl who is in direct competition with her daughter for captain of the cheer squad.
I help Hattie compose her profile for the dating website. I am fully aware of how foolish all of this is and know that I’m encouraging my sister’s behavior. Nothing good will come of this, I know.
But sometimes it’s easier to play along.
THIRTY-EIGHT
It’s not that Mardi Gras here is as crazy as it is in a place like New Orleans, but the town of Eulogy is definitively livelier than normal. The days leading up to Fat Tuesday are peppered with mini parades through downtown and raucous parties on the beach and at bars, and Boucher’s is no different.
In fact, last night, Freddie and Adam were in picking up some to-go. At first, I thought about hiding and getting Ruth to cover for me, but I knew I had to suck it up or things would never get back to normal.
“Hey,” I said to Freddie. “I saw your name come up in the order queue. Let me see if it’s ready.”
He nodded silently without ever making eye contact, which pretty much describes all of our interactions since breaking up.
When I returned from the kitchen with their bag, only Adam waited at the counter. “He, uh, went outside to get the car started.”
I took his cash and made change. “I get it.”
He stuffed the receipt and money into his pocket after dropping a few singles in my tip jar. “I miss seeing you around, by the way,” he whispered. “Am I allowed to say that? Or is that, like, crossing enemy lines?”
I tried to smile, but I couldn’t. “There are no lines, but it’s complicated.”
He shrugged. “Doesn’t have to be.”
I watched as the two of them pulled away in Agnes’s car and the din of the restaurant chased them down the street.
During this time every year, Eulogy turns into her summer self. It’s a quick and well-earned reprieve from winter, but it never seems to last long enough. Schools are always closed the Monday and Tuesday before Ash Wednesday. Even if they were open, I can’t imagine many people would go.
This Fat Tuesday is one of those rainy days where there’s no real downpour, but a constant drizzle. After school, Tommy has me downtown handing out flyers with drink specials during one of the big parades. The floats are amazing and ornate, but still nothing compared to what you’d see in NOLA.
