Page 12 of The Delivery

“Let’s go right after work. Today I feel like I need it,” I say, running my fingers through my hair.

“That-a-girl! Gunnar is done with evaluations, but I think he’s waiting around to run into you,” Janey says, whispering the last bit—which is a secret to no one. “I’m going to go freshen up in the ladies room.”

Gunnar Anderson is a Deputy Director of one of the many privately run California juvenile rehabilitation programs. He’s here all the time and has a pretty big crush on me. Everyone at Pathways pressures me to go out with him. He’s from Minnesota, so they all think we’re kindred mid-western spirits and are meant for each other. Both states start with M, you really should marry him. Gunnar is nice, and I admire his conviction when it comes to the kids, but I’m just not attracted to him. I could date him for the things we have in common and his interest alone, but Gunnar is too nice and I really don’t want to do that to him.

Just as I’m logging out of my email, he appears as if summoned with a big goofy grin and ruddy warm cheeks looking like a hot, young version of Santa Claus. He’s changed out of his uniform and is wearing all denim. I don’t have to take his pants off to know he’s packing; I can see the bulge through his jeans.

“Hey, Gunnar. Just logging out. You coming to Z’s?”

“I’m going wherever you’re going, beautiful. As long as they have beer!” Then he laughs heartily at his joke that isn’t really a joke, or even moderately funny. I pass him a forced smile like they pass the collection plate at church. I dropped something in there symbolically but my whole pocket is full of more money.

“I’m going wherever Janey wants to go. She’s my drinking partner. Amir and Pedro coming? Did you see Jennifer?” I tend to invite more people out when I know Gunnar will be there. I’ll distract him with numbers and shove Jennifer in front of him.

“Nice painting,” Gunnar says, gesturing to the wall behind my desk.

“New participant. Mozey Cruz. Really talented artist.” I say, stacking back up the files I didn’t get to this week. “That’s a prickly pear. I tried one for the first time today.”

“Yeah. No, I get it. How does he know you so well if he’s just a candidate?” Gunnar’s bright blue eyes are inquisitive.

“How come everyone gets it? Since when am I best described as a prickly pear?” I ask him, faking outrage. I can at least play innocent.

“I got us a table at Z’s reserved—oh, hi, Gunnar. I didn’t realize you were in here. Are you coming out with us? Half-priced wings and margaritas until ten,” Janey singsongs cheerfully.

How come I never thought of Janey and Gunnar before? I bet they’d be perfect. I think Minnesota would love her. Janey was created to be the first girl a guy takes home to his family on Thanksgiving. I can already picture them holding hands in Fair Isle sweaters, snowshoeing off into a J. Crew catalogue together. He’s a Thor to her princess Jasmine. The babies would be adorable. I’m really running with this idea.

“You two catch-up. I’ve got to run an errand,” I say, grabbing my coat and jetting past them. “Save me a seat! I’ll meet you there.”

I’m out of breath by the time I reach the bathroom. I dig in my purse for my pouch that holds my lipstick and mascara and the colorful dust of fifty crushed eye shadows and powders that never reached their full potential, never even touched my face. I think I’ve had this bag since I was sixteen. I’m not much of a girly-girl, but I do occasionally ring in the weekend with a tube of red lipstick.

I hear a girl’s laughter, and it’s coming from the creative space that belongs to Jennifer’s group. She comes out the door walking backward, her face in the throws of a full rosy flush. She’s laughing and batting her eyelashes, and I stop dead in my tracks, unable not to watch. She’s backing up from a decidedly delicious panther, who appears to be on the prowl all over my program. I’m surprised Jennifer wasn’t immune—she seems beautiful enough to have to deal with guys coming on to her at every waking second. I’m staying to witness, but I press my body into the door so they’re less likely to catch a glimpse of me.

“She’s not all bad, but I love it. A prickly pear! I’m surprised you tried to get her to take a bite. You’re brave! You know she could kick you out of the program if you take it too far.”

They’re talking about me! Me! I’m going to crush them both. Mash in their heads! I strain to hear Mozey’s voice, but he’s all stealth to her bubbalicious girl-over that I could probably mop up off the floor. She giggles again, and from what I can see, it looks like she reaches out to soft punch him. Oh, I’m gonna gag and then throw up.

“When she’s drunk she’s super sweet and a little crazy. We go to Z’s, that’s right over on ninth street. I’d invite you along but it’s twenty-one and over.”

If she giggled and squirmed anymore, she’d turn into a puppy dog. I promise myself to never act like that because of attraction to Mozey or any man as long as I live.

“No, she’s single. She supports her whole family. I’m not really sure. I think in Michigan.”

Thank you very fucking much, Jennifer! Just give out all of my person information to a delinquent so he can show up at my door with a knife. Wait a second. Is he digging for information? On me? Does that mean he likes me?

I quickly smear red lipstick on my mouth and then push open the bathroom door, praying it won’t squeak. Then I let it go so it slams as hard as possible, and I clack my heels on the tile to make my presence painfully obvious.

“Hello, Jennifer. Mozey.” I nod at them both and grasp my clutch like a life raft and force my face into a freakishly scary smile. I feel like I’m doing this a lot. Smiling should be a natural thing, not a defensive umbrella that I snap open in peoples’ faces and scare the bejeezus out of them. Me and my face have a few things to work on.

“Hey, Doc.” Jennifer smiles back, looking like a guilty Cocker Spaniel. “You should check out Mozey’s work today. He really blew this one out of the water.”

They both look scared. I probably have lipstick all over my teeth.

Jennifer smiles again and shifts because she feels guilty for talking about me behind my back—for reveling in the moment of getting to call me a mean bitch. But Mozey is unaffected or at least I can’t see his guilt. He just stares and stares, his eyes penetrating right through me, trying to reach oil or China. For how much he shakes me, it seems I can barely make him waver.

“I’ll look at it on Monday. I’ve got people waiting.” I stare back at Mozey, silently accepting his challenge. “Are you coming tonight?” I ask Jennifer, knowing she’ll back out of it.

“I was just locking up. My folks are in town, actually.”

“All right, well, have a good weekend everybody,” I say to them as if I were addressing a crowd. I wave a baby wave and angrily make my way toward the stairs.

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