Page 3
KAT: My house now. Chad sent a breakup text then ghosted.
GINNY: Shit. By text?
I shovel cake into my mouth and wipe my hand on a sweater from the floor of the backseat.
KAT: I have a shit ton of takeout from Stone House. Whoever shows up first with whiskey gets first pick of the entrees.
COURT: You know only Anna’s in the city, right? We all live up here.
ANNA: Actually I’m at my mom’s house watching her dog tonight.
KAT: I’m alone? On Staten Island? I’m broken, alone, despondent, and covered in chocolate crumbs.
GINNY: And that’s different from a regular Tuesday?
COURT: Aren’t Mom and Dad there before they head to Palm Springs?
GINNY: Because that’s who you want in this situation, Nan. Come to the pub, sleep at their house. I’ll have the new chef guy reheat your Staten Island food.
KAT: I AM ALONE. SO ALONE.
KAT: What new guy?
COURT: You don’t sound broken up about the breakup asking about new guy.
KAT: Can’t I take an interest in Ginny’s work?
ANNA: Headed to Little Bird. For the food, not the guy. Meet us there. Listen to a happy podcast. Like Amy Poehler.
I chomp on a sausage stuffed mushroom and try to talk to text. It takes six tries for it not to come out garbled mess. I wipe the grease on the bottom of my shirt. I hate this shirt. It’s my ‘I was broken up with by text-shirt, so never wearing this one again so why not become a napkin?’
KAT: I have yet to get to stage one.
COURT: Wallow, Proposition exes, Irrational Anger, Crafting, Showering, Absurd Life Altering Idea. And finally, a haircut.
GINNY: The six stages of a Kat breakup with a side of a bad haircut.
KAT: I’m not that bad. But I am the saddest story in the world right now
I’m outside my house looking in the picture window. His Japanese vintage Mario World poster is missing from the front room. I nibble a shiso pepper and jump out of the car. My couch is gone. We’ve been robbed. My TV’s gone but my extra laptop is on the side table. Why not steal that? I run to the front door and there’s a lockbox on the knob.
Wait. I peer through the front door little window. Why are there boxes? That fucker moved out. And took my motherfucking couch. The only things I have are his car, a laptop and ¾ of a chocolate cake. I’m sitting on our steps contemplating my next move when my phone pings a notification.
Money App: ChadmarioNightshade sent $237,235.19
I stare at it for a long time. He paid me back. For tacos, my couch, stolen televisions, four years of keeping the lights on while he perfected his speed run times. The man who was supposed to love me, worship me and be there sent me a MoneyApp notification with another fucking dog emoji and a taco.
I stare at Zelda on my finger. He’s either been hiding money for four years or he finally won a damn tournament. Either way I’ve been footing the bill for a liar.
It’s a shame I have to kill him.
Chapter 2
Family First
ZANE
Brookline
