A hose dripped into the plastic pool in the backyard. Cigarette butts littered the overgrown lawn. A rocking horse lay sideways nearby, the springs rusted from being in the rain too long. Gnats swarmed around a half-eaten hostess cupcake. The blue sky and hot sun made it all right.
Inside, Steffie was watching T.V. with the sound off, while one of her favorite bands blasted from the Internet radio.
He met Steffie while online dating, because he was drunk and couldn't handle the fucking pain, the fucking pain we all feel but don't talk about, because if we did, we know it would become permanent.
She had a kid who was with dad for the weekend. Her place was the upstairs room of a house in Bee, Florida. She was allowed to use the backyard.
Max was relaxed and reading a paperback when Steffie came out looking bothered about something. He suddenly got hard, even though he only had 2 shots of vodka in orange juice. She was pleasantly plump and pale, and for once, she wasn't on her phone. Mine was on the nearby chair, but I frequently ignore it. It's just too much sometimes.
"I wanted to throw a party for Bobbie when he gets home," she said.
"Why?" I asked, because I was supposed to. I think I was supposed to.
She sighed that I didn't know. I know she was going to find something online about how I was behaving and how to fix it, but at least she was staying in the moment and not doing it right now.
"Maybe you could take a swim with me?" I asked lazily. Fuck, I knew it wasn't enough effort, something was about to go wrong.
"Why can't you ever tell me what you really feel?" she lamented.
