Page 112 of Worst in Show

Thank God for Micki. All it takes is one sputtered voice mail, and she shows up after work, loaded with fried rice, ice cream, and a six-pack of hefeweizen. I haven’t moved from my bed all afternoon where I’ve binged poorly aged sitcoms from the early 2000s on my laptop. All three dogs are at my side, sensing, like dogs do, that their comforting presence is needed. Cholula is tucked at my elbow, Cap at my feet, and Boris is on the floor next to us.

“Let the man bashing begin,” Micki says as she sets her offerings on the table. “I’m here for it. I’m prepared.” She holds up a box of Kleenex. “See—I’m like a freaking Girl Scout.”

In spite of myself, I smile. “I’ll have a beer first, thanks.”

“Good thinking. I’m going to have some food because some of us worked today and are starving.” She hands me a bottle and then pulls out two plates for us.

After a deep swig from the bottle, I push the blanket off my legs. Micki digs into her rice, and my stomach growls.

She peers at me between bites. “Are you going to keep sighing or do you actually want to tell me what happened?”

Careful not to step on Boris, I join Micki at the table and reach for the takeout box. “Fine. Men are stupid.”

My statement catches her in the middle of a swig and makes her sputter around the bottle neck. “Tell me something I don’t know.” She scrunches up her face. “Ow. It got in my nose.”

“Sorry.” I finish another bite, and then I relay in detail what happened earlier in the day. When I get to the part where Leo is throwing away the work he’s done for the show and going back on his promise to me, new tears well and spill down my face. “It’s like it’s meant nothing to him, you know? Like, what have we been doing all this time if all it takes for him to go back is his dad snapping his fingers?”

“Maybe it is just an interview, though—like he said.”

I shake my head. “He’ll be gone by Christmas if not sooner. His dad will see to it.” I scoff and wipe my cheeks. “It’s extortion. What kind of parent does that? And I can’t believe Leo’s letting him.” There’s a sharp twang in my chest at those words because my real fear here is that, deep within, Leo doesn’t mind.

Micki lowers her fork. “Why is your face melting?”

I rest my head in my hand and sniffle. “What if I was right and he misses his old life? Maybe this whole thing with his dad is a convenient excuse for him to go back.”

To my surprise, Micki doesn’t contradict me right away. She moves a piece of broccoli around on her plate, and the fact that she takes my concern seriously for once is more alarming than anything else. “Yeah, it’s a tough nut to crack,” she says eventually. “Because on the one hand, he’s put a lot of time and money in the store here, but on the other, I assume the same could be said for his condo in New York.”

My head jerks up. “His what?”

Micki digs her teeth into her bottom lip.

“Well, that’s fucking great,” I rant. My hands fly out in a wtf-universe move. “He made it sound like he’d made a clean break.”

“Not completely it seems.” Micki’s voice is full of sympathy.

“How do you know?”

She hedges but not for long. “We got on the topic of wealth when I was cutting his hair. I asked him if he’s rich basically.” At my visible disapproval, she tuts. “I was curious, okay? He said he wasn’t, and that his ‘assets’ were mostly tied up in the store and his place in New York. But you know, I hear real estate is a good investment. Maybe that’s why he hasn’t sold yet?”

“Don’t make excuses for him.”

She holds up her hands. “Not my intention. I’m on your side. Men are stupid.”

I take another sip of my beer. “So stupid,” I mutter. The bottle clangs loudly when I set it back on the table. Anger feels better than sadness. I cling to it with everything I have because, oh my God, he’s leaving. I let him in. I thought I mattered to him.

I should have known better.

I never matter enough for people I love to stay.

Leo calls and texts me several times that day and the next, but I don’t respond. Micki’s revelation about his condo and the ease with which his dad convinced him to go back have me questioning everything, and I’m not ready for more excuses yet. I do my best to focus on preparing for Harvey’s homecoming to avoid dwelling, but it’s not easy.

A couple of days after Mr. Salinger’s visit, I’m jolted awake early by a rhythmic thumping coming from outside. At first I pull the covers up over my head and squeeze my eyes shut, attempting to will sleep to return, but soon the sound of dog feet pattering about makes that an impossible pipe dream.

I pull the curtains aside, open the window to the street, and look down to identify the source of the ruckus, and there’s Leo, shovel in hand and his face turned skyward as if he’s catching his breath. We got dumped on again yesterday, so the street and sidewalks are an ocean of white. The snow is about half-a-foot deep on the sidewalk closest to the building, deeper near the plowed snowbank, and when the temperature drops suddenly overnight, a crust forms on top of it, making clearing it hard work. Leo has unzipped the top of his jacket, so he’s been at it for a while. From the look of things, he’s already shoveled up past the salon toward the park and back to my front door, and now he’s working his way in the other direction.

“What are you doing?” I call down.

“Thought I’d help.”

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