Page 45 of Holding On

"How'd you meet her?"

"Seriously, dude. Enough with the questions. I gotta go."

"Have fun tonight." He laughs.

As I put my phone down, Becca returns with the pizzas and sets them on the counter. She opens one of the boxes. "No anchovies?" She frowns. "I told you I wanted anchovies."

Knowing she's kidding, I say, "Have you ever even had anchovies?"

"No." She makes a face. "Gross."

"I had them once. Never again."

"What else don't you like?"

I pause to think. "Sweet pickles. Even just the smell of them makes me gag."

"Me too!" She laughs. "They're so disgusting, but my dad used to love them so he'd add them to everything. Tuna salad. Egg salad. Chicken salad. Pretty much any kind of salad. Once he added sweet pickle relish to meatloaf without telling me and I almost threw up."

"At least he made dinner. My parents have never made me a meal."

"Never?"

"They'd heat stuff up, but I don't consider that cooking. They have a chef who comes to the house every Sunday and makes meals for the week that just have to be heated. But the food rarely gets eaten. Even when I was a kid, we usually ate out, or if my parents worked late, I'd just eat cereal for dinner."

"Did your parents work a lot?"

"All the time, including weekends. They're workaholics." I point to the pizza. "We should eat before the pizza gets cold."

She hands me a plate. "You want to eat outside?"

"We can, but it's kind of hot out." I point to my leg. "The cast gets really hot in the sun."

"Oh, sorry, I wasn't even thinking about that. We'll eat in here."

"So tell me," I say once we're seated at the table. "What's it like working at The Chicken Shack?"

She laughs. "Crazy. But I like working there. Our singing cook, along with some of the oddball customers that come in, keeps things interesting. I never get bored, that's for sure."

"Now that you mention it, I do remember the singing cook. Why exactly does he sing?"

"It's just what he likes to do. It makes him happy."

"Well, whatever works."

"What makes you happy?" she asks, before biting into her pizza.

I stare at her, surprised by the question and the way she asked it, as if it was just a typical question, like asking me to name my favorite movie. That would be easy. Friday Night Lights.

But this question? What makes me happy? It's a question I've never been asked. One I've never even asked myself.

"Ethan?"

I look up and see her smiling. God, she has a beautiful smile.

"Did you hear me?" she asks.

"Yeah." But I don't have an answer to give her. How messed up is that? I don't even know what the fuck makes me happy.

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