It’s Sunday.
I’m jogging.
Let me repeat that one more time. I’m jogging.
It’s true that I almost have to trick myself into doing it. I have to imagine there’s a tyrannosaur a few paces behind me, screaming and waving his arms. No, scratch the waving. He’s carrying an oversize burrito from Filiberto’s, trying to stuff it into his massive jaws. His arms are too short, and the contents of the burrito spill down his leathery green body.
This is what drives me. The dinosaur can’t eat a burrito either.
No. Scratch that too.
What really drives me is the fact that Tommy probably spent last night making out with Kennes Butterfield, and that the Cookie Vonns of the world lurk in dark parking lots while the Kennes Butterfields are living through a nonstop game of Mystery Date.
My group from NutriNation meets in the Safeway parking lot at 4:30 a.m. It’s September in Arizona, so it’s relatively cool now. But in the summer, being outside after seven is borderline unbearable. We make a loop around the neighborhood and through the golf course. People go at their own pace.
Rickelle slows down to fall in step with me. I know she used to weigh three hundred pounds, but now she could be on the cover of Runner’s World. Her blond ponytail bobs up and down.
She checks her purple Garmin watch. “You’re doing it.”
“What?” I ask. This takes the last of my air and I’m relieved that my Corolla is not far off in the distance. We’re rounding the last part of the trip.
“You ran all the way from the golf course. At least a quarter of a mile.”
I’m doing it.
I just ran a quarter mile. Without stopping.
I make it back to the parking lot, sweaty and completely out of breath.
Dave and Kimberly are ahead of us, lingering near a black pickup. Dave is showing off his water bottle. As I come to a stop near him, Dave says, “The bottle mouth is really wide. I can get ice cubes in there. Easy. Cheesy.”
Kimberly reaches out to take the bottle from him.
I burst into tears.
“Okay. You don’t have to put ice in your water if you’d rather not,” Dave says. “I know they say room temperature is best—”
“Dave!” Kimberly interrupts. “Are you hurt, Cookie? Are you okay?”
A crowd gathers around me. Everyone is checking my feet and ankles. I feel like an idiot. I’ve always been a ‘go outside if you need to cry’ kind of girl. It takes a minute for me to be able to say anything, to say what I mean.
“I ran all the way from the golf course. I’m running. I’m running.”
Dave hits me on the back. “Hell, yeah, you are.”
Then we’re all laughing and exchanging sweaty hugs and I’m able to smile even though I’m still crying. The people in the parking lot understand this moment. The moment you set a goal and are able to accomplish it. To have some kind of control over your life.
“Good job, Cookie,” Rickelle says. “See you tomorrow, right?”
“Yes,” I say with a smile.
Back at home, I take a shower and then go back to sleep. Grandma must know I had a rough night, because she doesn’t roll me out of bed for church. I hear the door slam as she leaves to walk over to Christ the King. I shut my eyes.
I usually play Monopoly with Tommy after church on Sunday while Grandma stays to socialize with the Knights of Columbus. Today, I’m sure he’s not coming, and I tell myself this is okay. I can catch up on my homework before my shift at Donutville. Spending all afternoon writing an essay on The Once and Future King sounds, like, mega super fun, and I get dressed and pull out my books.
I hear rustling in the living room.
We live in one of the shittiest neighborhoods in Mesa. I figure either Grandma has come home early from church or the Pioneer Park Gangsters are paying us a visit. The thing is, Grandma never comes home early from church.
I go around the room, searching for options. Here’s the moment that I wished I played lacrosse or softball. But my room lacks anything that could be used as a weapon. A curling iron is the best I can do. I adjust my sweats and T-shirt, grab my phone and go to investigate.
It’s Tommy.
“I saw your grandma at church and she told me to come on in,” he says. He’s sitting at the kitchen table, setting up the Monopoly board as if nothing whatsoever has changed. He pops a Cheetos into his mouth and adds, “She hooked us up with snacks.”
My mouth falls open. There are so many things I want to say. Like Get the hell out. And Who do you think you are? I’m holding the curling iron so tight that I’m losing feeling in my fingertips.
“You wanna be the thimble, right?”
“The thimble? The thimble? Are you fucking serious?” I say.
He looks up and pauses, his mouth full and bulging with orange snacks. “Wuh?”
“What? What? How did I get home Friday night?”
There’s another pause as he swallows the Cheetos. I can almost hear the wheels of his mind turning slowly.
“I’ll meet you at the church in ten minutes, Cookie, I’ll drive you back to your car, Cookie. Any of that ring a bell?”
“Oh.”
Tommy is staring at the Monopoly board as if it’s a magic mirror and some kind of message or response will materialize there. “I...I was...I was...”
“I know what you were doing.”
“It’s not like that,” he says, kind of pleading with me to agree with him. “She...Kennes...is having such a hard time... We were talking... I lost track of time...and I feel so stupid because you’re right... I should have...”
I point at the door.
He stalls, nodding at the curling iron. “You getting ready to do your hair or something?”
“Get out.”
“Cookie. Come on. I have the game all set up.”
I drop the curling iron on the table, pick up the game board and carry it to the side door. Golden, fake one-hundred-dollar bills fly through the air as I walk. I open the door and throw the game hard into the carport. It lands on the windshield of the Corolla. Pieces scatter everywhere.
“Take it with you,” I say, holding the door open and motioning for him to walk through it.
He comes to stand next to me at the door. We both watch as orange Chance and yellow Community Chest cards blow around the carport, catching underneath the dirty wheels of my car.
“Cookie, come on. I’m sorry.”
I keep holding the door and don’t look at him.
“I screwed up.”
“You left me for dead in a deserted parking lot.”
He frowns. “How did you get home?”
“Father Tim.”
His soft, boyish expression returns. “So it worked out okay, then?”
“Yes. Because Father Tim treats me better than you, I didn’t have to wander home like a lost puppy.”
He frowns again and straightens his old T-shirt. “Father Tim does not treat you better than I do. I know I screwed up. But how many times have I come through?”
The truth is, if I counted all the times, I’d be standing by the door until sundown, still counting. Tommy has always been there every time my car broke down, every time I was short on money, every time Grandma and I needed something done around the house.
“That’s right,” he says, interpreting my silence as agreement. “If all those times don’t mean anything, then I guess we’re not good friends like I thought.”
I stare at him, not sure what to do next.
“I’m sorry, Cookie.”
“That was really lame, Tommy.”
“I know. It won’t happen again.”
I hope it won’t, but some part of me suspects that it will.
I close the door. “Okay. Well. What do you want to do? Monopoly is out.”
He laughs. “Ticket to Ride maybe?”
I nod and head to the closet to get it out.
We set up the game and succeed in deluding ourselves into thinking that things are back to normal.
I want things to go back to normal.