Killing Kate(11)

“Does she still cook pounds of food all at once?” I ask him. Justin looks impressed.

“She does,” he told me. “You have a good memory.”

“You can’t forget your mom’s cooking,” Devin agrees. “I miss those huge meals where I felt like I had to roll home.”

“You two should come by for dinner sometime,” Justin tells us. “Mom would love to see you both. I’ve got to go after this and help her out with some things around the house but I’ll ask her about a date that would work. She can make her famous Bolognese sauce.”

“Okay,” I tell him. We get the bill and Justin doesn’t let us pay. I get the impression he is far more financially stable than we are, which is likely why Devin and I don’t do much protesting. When he leaves I tell Devin “I should probably get back too. I have to work.”

“That was nice to see Justin,” he says. I agree with him. “I know how much you hate to be reminded of the past, Jenna,” Devin begins to say. My heart thumps and I can feel it in my temples. “When I think about what I remember from that time I get freaked out. I was there, Jenna, same as you, and even though I didn’t go through what you did, I saw enough.”

“Devin, don’t,” I plead. I don’t want to cry. He stops me.

“No, hear me out, Jenna. I’ve never told you this but I still see a therapist, and it’s helped me with all of this shit. Maybe you could see her too?”

I’ve had enough. I feel the words brimming to the surface and I can no longer swallow them and sit quietly. “Fuck you Devin,” I say. “I can’t fucking believe you are comparing what you saw to what I went through. This isn’t just some shit in my head I can talk through and move on from. Dad fucked me up beyond repair. He let men fuck me, Devin, before I even knew what fucking meant. That isn’t just some shit I can talk through with a therapist, its part of me. You hate Kate? Guess what? She was there for me through all of it. She is the only one in the world who experienced what I experienced. You think that listening to your sister screaming through a paper thin wall is the same thing as getting fucked at eight years old? Do you think watching it happen is just like having it happen to you? Fuck you.” I stand up and snatch my purse off the back of my chair. I walk away, leaving Devin sitting alone at the table with the most hurt expression on his face.

I feel terrible about how I just bitched out Devin when he seemed already pretty upset and ultimately I just feel terrible about how fucked up my life is. I’m walking down 95th Street and fumbling in my purse for a cigarette and sobbing. It’s hot and awful outside, and I pass people on the street but I don’t really give a shit how I look. It feels like the worst day of my life but I know I’ve had it way worse than today actually is.

The train ride is blurry, but somehow I find myself back at my apartment and getting ready to go dance. I shower and dress and put on makeup like a robot in a trance. Work is the only thing I’ve looked forward to all day long and I end up showing up forty minutes early and sit at the bar and let Carlos pour me drinks and talk to Alicia for a bit.

“So there was a sexy mafia guy at your dad’s funeral?” she says. “What was that all about? How old was your dad?”

“Fifty two,” I tell her, “And as for the mafia dude, I have no idea,” I reply. I’m drinking straight vodka tonight. I decide after a day of being drunk on Jameson I should switch to clear. I can’t really put a finger on my logic, but it seems crisper and less dirty than the whiskey. “He was just there, he gave his condolences, and then he left.”

“What was his name?” she asks me. “What did he look like? Was he single?”

“Dirk?” I say. “Dave Carroll? Christ, Alicia, I don’t know.”

“Drake Carroll,” Carlos pipes in from behind the bar, refreshing my glass. “He’s involved in Chicago politics or something. His brother is running for something political down in Washington, I think. His father was a state senator back in the day.”

“How do you know all of this?” I ask him. “I barely know who the vice president is.”

Carlos smirks. “Well, I do more besides run this bar. Sometimes I read the newspaper. You should try it sometime.”

Alicia rolls her eyes. “I swear, Carlos hasn’t even heard of the Internet. Who reads a newspaper?”

Carlos ignores her and goes back to wiping down glasses. It’s that weird time before the club opens where it’s empty but DJ Long is spinning haphazardly so chunks of music flip around and we rotate between speaking normally and shouting. It looks dirty in the pre-evening light, but today is so marred that I can’t imagine anything looks particularly good right now from my perspective. At least I’m somewhere I feel safe.