Page 22 of Missed Exit

“Knock, knock. I hope you’re not on some weird sugar detox.” I hold up the bag.

“You’re refilling my bowl?”

“Unless I got the wrong ones.”

“You got it right. Thanks.” She opens the chocolate and dumps it into the bowl. One gets stuck in the bag, and she tosses it to me after she shakes it out.

“I have to unwrap it myself?”

“You want me to feed it to you, too?”

“I mean, if you’re offering.”

“I’m not.” She takes a chocolate for herself. “I probably should be detoxing from these things, but they’re my gold stars.”

“You use them as a reward system?”

“Yeah. It’s motivating to know you get a reward when you complete a task.”

“If you’re in kindergarten.”

“There is no age limit for task completion rewards.” She sticks her tongue out at me, and then she pops the candy into her mouth. “I got you something, too.”

“You better have. If you didn’t get my chips, you’re going to have to finish paying me off with your own menial labor.”

“Like what, doing your laundry?”

“For starters.”

“I got your chips, but I am never doing your laundry.” She opens her fridge and pulls out a six-pack. “And I got you real beer. You’re welcome.”

“You got that beer because you like it better than the stuff you used to buy. Admit it.”

“I admit nothing.”

She unwraps another chocolate.

“What task are you rewarding yourself for now?”

“Remembering to buy the chips.”

“Do you get a reward for getting out of bed in the morning?”

“Some days I do.”

“Was today one of those days?”

“It started out a little rough. What did you break that made you yell like that so early in the morning?”

“I didn’t break anything. The area’s hottest up-and-coming country singer broke a glass, and the outburst that woke you up was his.”

“Ah, a singer. No wonder he has such strong lungs.”

“That’s about all he’s got going for him.”

“How old is he?”

“Twenty-one.”

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