Sweet Nothing Read Free Page A

once.”
    “I thought everyone your age married the first person they dated?”
    He made a face. “Nah. I would have, but she wouldn’t wait for me.” He pointed to his embroidered hat that read VETERAN . “Navy.”
    “Thank you for your service.”
    He nodded in acknowledgment. His yellowed nails were lined with grime, and he had at least a day’s worth of silver scruff on his weathered face. He’d served our country and, by the looks of his hands, had worked harder jobs than driving a cab, compelling me to give him an extra-nice tip. I had no purse or pockets, and definitely no money. I opened my hand, revealing a few wadded up dollar bills and my keys.
    “Let me just run up to get some more cash,” I said, my sore muscles complaining as I pushed open the door.
    He huffed. “The hospital fares never pay.”
    “No, I’ll pay you. Please wait here. I’ll be right back. Keep the meter running. I’ll pay you for your time, too.”
    His eyes softened and he smiled. “Pay me next time, kid. Most people don’t even offer.”
    For half a second, I’d forgotten there would be a next time. No telling what salvage yard my poor little sea-green Prius was in. It had crumpled around me as we cartwheeled together across the intersection into a patch of grass on the other side. I had somehow made it out in one piece, but there would be many more taxi rides in my future. That thought made my heart hurt. The Prius had protected me, and now it was spare parts.
    “Thanks,” I said, looking at his license on the dash. “Melvin.”
    “It’s just Mel.” He handed me a bent, smudged card. “Call me if you need another ride, but no more freebies.”
    “Of course. I will. Thank you.”
    He left me standing on the curb in front of the stoop of my building. I waved and then padded up the steps and pulled open the door, glad my apartment was only on the second floor. After just half a flight, my body slowed, barely able to put one foot in front of the other. I slid the key into the lock and turned it, shoving open the door and then leaning back against the wood until it closed.
    “TGIF,” I said with a sigh, sliding down to the floor.
    Almost two years in the same apartment, and it still looked like something a property manager would use to entice a potential renter. Nailing holes into walls that didn’t belong to me just didn’t feel right, but that didn’t explain why I hadn’t bought real plates, either.
    I looked over at the door-less kitchen cabinets, exposing my collection of paper plates and plastic cups to match the plastic cutlery in the drawers below. Just one glass casserole dish, a skillet, and one pot were sitting in the space beneath the countertop gathering dust. Eating out had been more of a pastime than a necessity until that moment.
    I pulled myself up and forced my feet across the room in order to rummage through the medicine cabinet for an old bottle of Lortab. I rolled the tiny robin’s-egg-colored pill in my palm before tossing it to the back of my throat, chasing it with a gulp of flat Mountain Dew.
    The Formica felt cold against my backside as I waited for my veins to carry the hydrocodone and sugar through my body.
    Once I began feeling human again, I showered, slipped an off-the-shoulder sweatshirt over my head, and stepped into my favorite royal-blue cuffed sweatpants. As I piled my still-damp hair on top of my head, it crossed my mind that I would probably meet who might be the love of my life while dressed like a colorblind cat lady. But I had to eat, and I would rather make the walk across the street without a bra than try to scrounge up something to cook—not that I had any groceries.
    I glanced in the mirror and paused. My face was not the frightening mess I’d imagined. Instead, I looked … normal. Tired, maybe, but otherwise fresh-faced and not at all like a mushy tomato.
    Keys in hand, and gripping the railing the whole way down, I headed back downstairs, pausing just long enough to