Page 93 of Keep Vegas

“That’s all I’m looking for anymore. Women who don’t lie,” I say.

“I’m not sure I even know where to begin.” Laura frets.

“Start with the first lie.”

mak

Igather all the mail and plunk it in the shallow, chipped porcelain bowl where my parents keep it. I place my keys on the command hooks I installed near the fridge. I look around our dusty little kitchen and smile. For the first time it feels like a home. We always had somewhere to live, and I remember the trailer being home, but it never felt like this. Placemats covered in hydrangeas are set around the oak table we picked up from Goodwill and my father refinished. And the room is neat and relatively uncluttered. He knows collections won’t complete him anymore, but he can’t help himself sometimes. I’ve worried about them for so long I missed out on the fact that they’re taking care of themselves.

The bell over the door dings and Mary Margaret appears with a giant smile.

“Well, Ms. Mak, how are we today?”

“I’m good. How goes it here?”

“All good. Where’s that man of yours? I need to thank him.”

I open my mailbox and grab a stack of letters and my heart pangs. “He’s in Boston working. What do you need to thank him for?”

She points to the corner and there’s an extremely expensive, complicated, and shiny espresso machine. “Holy shit.”

She grins. “I know, right? And there’s a service contract and coffee shows up once a week. And the doughnuts on bulk mailing Saturdays are a nice touch. You got yourself a sweetie. Can’t imagine what he buys you, girl.”

My mouth is wide open as if waiting for flies to land in there. What the hell?

“He’s a considerate one,” I manage to say.

She squeezes my arm. “Wanna latte? I’m getting the hang of foaming things.”

Sorter Fred yells from the back, “No you’re not.”

“Shut your hole.”

I laugh. “I’m good. I’ll stop by for some coffee another time.”

“Please do, we’re getting to be as good as Starbucks around here.”

Another yell from the back, “No, you’re not.”

“Hush up.”

I head to my car sorting the mail and there’s a card from the church in Reno. I panic a little that it’s a bill, but I’m pretty sure I’ve paid my debt to them. I should find time to go there, and if I pick UNR for med school, I’ll be able to help out a lot more.

Tears well up instantly when I see it’s a thank you note. I dig my phone out of my bag.

“Call me,” is all I say to the voicemail I’m getting too familiar with.

I head home and when I enter, I’m greeted by my dad mixing a Greek salad.

“Kabobs tonight, Leech.”

“Good on you, Slug.” My mom walks in and flips some chicken in a bag in the fridge. She’s whistling and my father is dancing to it.

“What’s all the happy about?”

My dad looks at me. “We’re not supposed to tell you, ever.”

“Is everything alright?”