Page 223 of Call Me Baby 2: Side B

“Sonny?”

My head snaps to⁠—

Andrew standing in the doorway.

Bellhop vest’s in his fist

because it’s Monday night.

Shit. The bar’s closed on Monday nights.

He’s frozen, too, lips parted,

nose pink from the cold,

muscles straining from holding still.

He watches the scene play out⁠—

the ladle trembling in my hand,

the first tear scared stiff

in the well of my eye.

The slasher girl on screen

screams for the both of us.

I back up slow so the tear doesn’t accidentally fall, but it already feels like he dipped the tip of his knife into the pity that’s pooling in his eyes, then drove it inside me.

Somehow, the sympathy on his face

scrapes worse than the grief.

It makes me feel soft.

‘Cause he’s looking at me

like I’m something helpless.

Some sad story.

I drop the ladle into the sink

and walk off.

Through the penthouse.

Through my room.

Into my bathroom.

Into the toilet room.

I lock the door behind me and sit on the toilet lid, face hot, breath ragged, tears now falling hard.

He knocks. I don’t answer.