It only made sense that halfway between Café Yoko’s and home, my car got a flat tire. I mean, everything else had gone wrong that night; I was half-expecting to get home and find Dan camped-out in the living room. So naturally, when I went to get the spare out of the trunk, it wasn’t there. I stared at the empty spot where it should have been for a good minute before I remembered that we had put it on Brent’s car the last time he got a flat tire, and that I hadn’t gotten it back from him. And of course, I had let my cell phone run out of batteries.
I closed the trunk and sat back down in the driver’s seat.
Well, shit, I thought, banging my head on the steering wheel. My options were to either sit in the car and freeze overnight, which wasn’t a possibility, or walk the mile or so to the nearest store or restaurant and pray Brent would actually be home so I could call him to come pick me up. Finally, I buttoned up my coat, locked the door, and started walking. A few cars passed me on my way, but no one stopped to help and I could hardly blame them.
After about fifteen minutes, I reached the very Waffle House that Brent and I spent so much time avoiding. I looked around, but the only other close buildings were a gas station and a closed fast food restaurant. They weren’t really giving me much of a choice. Reluctantly, I went inside.
The cook who hated me wasn’t there, so that was something. But at a table by the counter was a girl who stood up when she saw me, eyes wide in surprise. I was surprised, too. It was Amy.
* * *
“So your tire went flat?” Amy asked, sitting across from me. I hadn’t really wanted to talk to her, let alone sit at the same table. But she, like so many other people these days, apparently took my acknowledgment of their existence as an invitation for conversation. So here I was, listening to my roommate’s ex-girlfriend attempt to sound sympathetic. “Can I give you a ride or something?”
I shrugged as a waitress dropped a mug and a pot in front of me. Amy had even bought me a coffee. How sweet. “I’m sure I’ll be fine. I can’t imagine Brent’s asleep by now. I’ll give him a call.”
“It’s on my way home, anyways,” she said. “There’s no reason to call him out here in the middle of the night.”
“It’s no big deal. It’s not like he has anything better to do.”
“I see…” Amy said. I could tell she was trying to think of something to say. “So what have you been up to lately?”
“Oh, the usual. Holding down a job, paying rent, talking Brent down from killing himself two or three times a week.”
She actually looked a little shocked. “You mean… Is he…” Her voice trailed off for an instant. “Is he okay?”
“I suppose,” I answered nastily. “I mean as all right as you can be when you’re willing to hold a gun to your own head.”
“He got a gun?” her voice shook.
“Yup. Tried to kill himself.” I grinned at her. “And he’s so thoughtful, he even wanted to take me with him once.”
She looked sickened. “That’s a horrible thing to say.”
I shrugged. I wasn’t about to feel guilty for not lying to her. “It’s all true. You didn’t actually expect to hear something else, did you? Like, ‘Oh no, Amy, Brent’s just fine and dandy. Wakes up singing every morning!’ Please!”
She looked down, staring at the table. “I’m sorry.”
“Right. Of course you are. So is Brent, if you’d ask him.”
She didn’t look up and we drifted back into uncomfortable silence. Or at least she did. I was kind of enjoying watching the bitch squirm. I took a few sips of my coffee, wondering whether or not it’d be okay to just get up and walk out. Then she spoke again. “It’s just… If there’s anything I can do to help…”
I laughed. “Hell, if you feel that bad about it, you could always drop by once a week to give him a pity screw.”
She didn’t say anything at first, then let out something that sounded like a choked sob and looked up at me. She was on the verge of tears.
“Shit,” I said before she opened her mouth. “Sorry. I guess I want too far with that one. But how do you think you’d help?”
She looked back down and grabbed a napkin to wipe her eyes.
The whole scene was getting embarrassing. Why the hell break up with a guy if you’re just going to sit in a shoddy restaurant and cry about it to his roommate? I stood up. “Anyway, I need to get going. Hey,” I asked one of the waiters, “can I use your phone?”
“No, it’s okay,” Amy said, standing up shakily. “I’ll take you home.”
After all that? I wondered. You liked me taking shots at you? “I told you, it’s fine.”
She shook her head. “No, I can drive you.” She looked at me, forcing a smile beneath her reddened eyes. “I’m going that way.
I shrugged. “If you really want to.” I couldn’t complain. I was in a bad mood, and the sooner I got home, the better. But I wasn’t going to let her come up so she could say ‘hi’ to Brent and try and convince herself he wasn’t as bad as I had made out. The idea of dealing with him going for a knife once she left wasn’t exactly what I had wanted after everything else tonight.
She paid for my coffee and whatever she’d had earlier and we stepped through the door and into the Waffle House parking lot. I followed her until we stopped in front of a beat up Ford Contour.
“Same dented car.” I commented.
“Yes,” she answered, happy to get at least one shot on me tonight. “But at least I have a spare in the back.”
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