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Ken would have let me go first.
I played one game, repeatedly dodging Bubby’s attempts to rub up against me with his seersucker-covered ass as he lined up his shots, and then made my exit. I was going to give some polite excuse about not feeling well, but Juliet took it upon herself to announce that I’d just started my period, and it was a “real gusher.”
I glared at her evil, laughing face but forgave her immediately when Bubby and Bubby Jr. both took a giant step backward and let me go without so much as a hug goodbye.
As I headed toward the door, I thought, Ken would have at least walked me to my car. It’s after eleven.
Once I was outside, I pulled my pack of cigarettes out of my purse and lit one, stalling while I tried to decide whether or not to say hi to a certain flirty bartender across the street. Exhaling slowly, I made up my mind.
Fuck it. Right? Why not? He’s cute. I’m single—
I’d just taken my first step off the curb when I heard my phone begin to ring. Jogging across the two-lane road, I stopped right outside the door of Fuzzy’s and pulled the damn thing out of my bag. I glanced at the phone, then the heavy wooden door, and then back at the phone.
Goddamn it.
With an audible sigh, I slumped against the weathered brick wall outside and answered. “Hi, Ken,” I deadpanned.
“Hey, Brooke.”
Silence.
“How was your day?” he asked. His voice soft and sincere.
“Fine. I guess.” My tone was clipped but a little less venomous than the night before. “How was yours?”
God, this is so stupid.
“Uh…I don’t know.”
“Let me guess…was it weird?”
“Yeah.” If I didn’t know better, I’d think he sounded sad. But I did know better. I knew firsthand that feelings like sadness, anger, happiness, and especially love were completely beyond Ken’s robotic parameters.
“Tell me, Ken”—I flicked my ash onto the sidewalk—“why was your day so weird?”
“Where are you? It sounds like you’re outside.”
Of course. Change the subject as soon as I ask about your feelings. Typical.
“In Athens.”
“Athens? Jesus. Why are you all the way out there?”
“I had a date.”
More silence.
“Ken?”
“Yeah.”
I could hear the sound of his garage door opening and closing in the background. Ken was at home.
And I wasn’t there, waiting for him.
“Who was your date with?”
His keys hit the kitchen counter with a metallic jingle. I pictured him walking around in his big, dark house all alone, and I smiled.
