14. Miles
CHAPTER 14
MILES
T he top rule of our job, even before never skip a step , is the harder you wish for a nice, quiet shift, the more chaotic your day will be.
Sophie sealed our fate Thursday by saying the Q-word. You say “quiet” on the job, or anywhere near it, it doesn’t matter if you’re superstitious or not. You might not believe in the dark power of “quiet,” but the second you say it, your shift is cursed. Every crazy bizarro call will come straight to you, every terrible pileup. Every out-of-town slog.
Sophie said the Q-word as we pulled out of the bay. “Quiet a sec while I check my voicemail.”
She never got to check her voicemail. Our radio went off at “quiet a sec,” and it didn’t stop for the rest of the day. We went out to four accidents one after another, three fender-benders and a great, fiery wreck. The wreck was a mess, made worse by the driver, a hulking drunk thrown clear on impact. He went for Sophie when she tried to help him, and it took both of us and two firemen to settle him down. She was still shaking when our next call came in, a slip-and-fall that was really a transfer, an elderly man needing help from his couch to his bed.
“My son said he’d come, but I think his phone died.”
Sophie glanced at the couch, with its dark urine stain. “How long has it been?”
“He said he’d be here last night. I’ve been texting, see? But there’s no checkmarks.”
We lifted the old man and got him cleaned up, and I checked through his phone for other contacts. I’d just reached his grandson when our next call came through, a dog bite that turned out to be human. Then a man scalded with hot-dog water. Then a suspected OD that turned out to be four aspirin. Sophie closed her eyes as I signed us off duty.
“Four aspirin,” she groaned. “Baby aspirin, even.” She yawned so wide her jaw cracked, and rubbed her eyes. “Man, I’m so tired, I could sleep on my feet.”
I bit back a surge of sharp disappointment. The right thing to do here would be to cancel our date. If I didn’t, she’d just have to back out herself, and then she’d feel bad, and this wasn’t her fault. Truth be told, I was exhausted myself. We’d try again Monday. I’d take her to brunch.
Sophie cracked one eye open. “So, where are we going?”
I grunted, surprised. “You still want to go out?”
“Well, yeah, I thought— Did you want to cancel?”
“No! I thought you would. You look so tired.”
“Yeah, because I’m starving .” She cradled her belly. “I brought protein bars, but they’re still in my bag.”
I’d wanted to take Sophie out somewhere fancy, but by the time we’d finished the day’s paperwork, it was too late to go home and change. She was in jeans and I was in sweats, and we both smelled of smoke and gasoline. Sophie sniffed her hair, grimaced, and tied it back up.
“I don’t think they’ll let us in anywhere nice.”
“How about somewhere tacky, and the service is crap, but they serve goulash in giant bread bowls?”
She moaned. “Giant bread bowls…”
“Is that a yes?”
“It’s a God yes. I love bread. And goulash. I was just thinking I need something hot.”
We piled in my car as she’d taken the bus, and ten minutes later, we were grabbing a table — the last table open at the Hungarian Spoon. It was crammed in a corner, and wobbly to boot, with a ragged fake plant leaning up on one side. The candle on our table was fake and dead, and the dim sconce above us kept blinking out. The next table over was packed in so close, when the man there leaned back, his chair bumped on Sophie’s.
“Sorry,” I said. “We can?—”
“This place smells amazing.” Sophie took a deep whiff, and her eyes fluttered shut. “How have I never been here before?”
“You don’t mind the ambience?”
Sophie glanced around like she hadn’t noticed. “I mean, it’s kind of cheesy, but we’re here for the food.” She reached for her menu, then pushed it away. “You know what? Screw that. I know what I want. The huge goulash bowl, then whatever’s good for dessert.”
Our waiter slouched over. “What do you want?”
“Two goulash bowls, then the apricot cake.”
He scowled and marched off like our order offended him, but I knew in five minutes, he’d be back with our food. The waiters were rude here, but they were fast, and the way Sophie was drooping, she’d appreciate that.
“You know how people say they could eat a horse?” She cast a longing look at the kitchen window. “I wouldn’t have to be that hungry to say yes to horse. I’m so hungry I’d eat, like… a grasshopper taco. What do you call those? Chapulines?”
I laughed. “I think it’s a horse because horses are big. Not because horse meat’s a weird thing to eat.”
“Fine. Then, a horse with a side of grasshoppers.”
My stomach growled loudly. I grabbed a bread roll. Sophie took one too, and smeared it with butter.
“It’s still warm,” she said. “The butter. It’s melting.” She took a big bite and nearly melted, herself.
“Good?
“Mm…” She covered her mouth, still full of bread. “So good I could live on this. Fluffy and crisp.”
Our food came out and we dove in like pigs, and we didn’t speak again till we’d inhaled half our meals. When I surfaced at last and looked up at Sophie, she was dipping a strip of bread in her goulash. Our eyes met, and she smiled like she’d just had great sex, slow, heavy-lidded, and rich as sweet cream.
“Yelp should have a sixth star just for this place.”
“That good?”
“So good I’m not even tired anymore.” She took a bite and sighed with delight. “It’s like a miracle in a bread bowl. We could give this to patients on their deathbeds, and they’d keep going another ten years.”
I laughed. “I’ll be self-conscious now, when I cook you dinner. I’m a pretty good cook, but not raise-the-dead good.”
“You cook, though, that’s good.” Sophie sipped her water. “I have to admit, I’m still learning there. I can do spaghetti, and a decent fried egg, but other than that, I’m lost in the kitchen.”
“I’ll teach you,” I said.
“Yeah? Who taught you?”
I leaned back. The fake plant caught on my sleeve. I pushed it away and sat straight again. “I taught myself after Nick passed away. Dad was never home much after that, and Mom didn’t cook. She’d order pizza, or she’d nuke something. If I wanted real food, I had to get it myself.”
Sophie’s smile faded. “My mom was the opposite. She couldn’t stop cooking. We got out of the shelters and she’d bake and bake, then she’d make these huge dinners, and pie for dessert. It was like she was making up for us going without.”
I reached over the table so our fingers brushed. “Does she still do that?”
“Not as much. But any excuse she can think of to feed you, a birthday, a new job, a day ending in ‘-day’…” Her smile was sad, distant. She shook her head. “It’s great, but at the same time, I can’t help but feel bad. Like, I’d still love her without all the food. I’m not sure she knows that. I tell her, but…”
“Yeah.”
Our desserts came out, delicious layered walnut cake, dripping with syrupy apricot filling. I couldn’t help thinking, if I brought some home, would Mom and Dad look at me as they once had? Could food buy love, if you piled on enough? I must’ve cooked Mom thousands of dinners, but she still couldn’t look at me without looking for Nick. She’d dart the quickest of glances over my shoulder, then her lips would twitch down, and she’d turn away. She blamed me. She always had.
“Miles? You okay?”
I realized I was glowering at my dessert. “Just thinking, you want to take a walk after?”
“Yeah, I’d love that.” She dug into her cake. I watched her eat, trying to stay in the moment. Tonight was a good night. A perfect first date. The past had no place in it, only what came next.
We finished dessert and got coffee to go. Outside, the night was dark, the winter air crisp. Christmas was gone, but the street was still festive, golden-white fairy lights strung between poles. They made the snow sparkle as it came swirling down. Sophie tilted her head back to catch a flake on her tongue.
“You’re going to trip, walking like that.”
She winked. “You’ll catch me.”
“Yeah, I will.” I slid my arm around her, just to make sure. She leaned up against me, her hair in my face. Her breath plumed out, frozen, and mingled with mine. I snugged her close. “Cold?”
“No, I’m okay.”
Up ahead, storefronts shone with the promise of warmth. I steered us in closer where the heat had seeped out. We peered in the windows at the displays, a pile of stuffed toys. An electric keyboard. A giant fake wedding cake with a price list on top: SINGLE TIER $150, 2-TIER $250. 4-TIER SUPER JUMBO $585.
Sophie pointed. “Look there.”
“What, at the cake?”
“No, the reflection.” She turned to look. I followed her gaze to a bright neon sign, flashing lights spelling out GAMES! ARCADE!
“What, you want to go play?”
“Bet it’s warmer in there.”
“Thought you weren’t cold.”
Sophie grabbed my hand. She dragged me across the street and I couldn’t help laughing. I felt like a kid again, off on some adventure. There’d been a time when I’d done things like this, set out not knowing where my day might lead. When I’d trusted surprises to be the fun kind, and sought them out eagerly wherever I could.
“Ooh, they have Dirt Bike Frenzy !” Sophie bounded ahead. She hopped on a dirt bike attached to a screen, and motioned for me to grab the one next to hers. “Put it on two-player and we can race.”
I plugged in a dollar and pressed for two-player. “How do we play it? Just pedal, or?—”
“Whoo!” Sophie hunched over, working her pedals. Up on the monitor, her bike shot ahead. I yelled out hey and raced to catch up, but a monster jumped out at me and sent my guy spinning.
“There’s bears on the track!” I swung round, indignant. Sophie’s little biker zoomed out of sight.
“They’re lions,” she called. “You have to shoot them!”
“Shoot them? How… Ugh! You know what? Screw this!” I stomped on my pedals and squirted ahead, dodging lions and eagles and loud fighter jets. When I rode uphill, it got harder to pedal. I yelled out again. “These are exercise bikes?”
“What, can’t keep up?”
“Oh, that’s it.” I leaned into the pedals. “I never skip leg day. You better watch out.”
“What was that? Can’t hear you way, way back there.”
I found the gun button and blasted a lion, and sped up a ramp that launched me into the air. I soared through the sky, over a jungle-choked canyon, ducking the fighter jets the entire way. Sophie was biking along the far side, and I landed in front of her and took off like a shot.
“ Hey! What the?—”
“Who’s way back there now?” I slammed into a lion, too busy gloating, and Sophie whizzed by me and shot my guy off his bike. By the time he got back up, she’d ditched me again, but I got the rules now. She was dead meat. On lap two, I caught her coasting down a steep slope, and cut out in front so she crashed her bike. She shot me again coming round the next curve, but I got back up and chased her into a lion. We launched into our third lap neck-and-neck, crashing up on each other to send our bikes skidding. Sophie went skidding, then she looped back. I shot her, she shot me, and we flew off our bikes.
“Last lap,” she gasped.
“You’re going down.”
We tore up the last stretch like bats out of hell, backs up, knees pumping, breath coming hard. Her little guy edged up, then mine took the lead. Then a lion jumped out and she surged forward again. I gritted my teeth and punished my pedals, slamming my weight down to pick up speed. Sophie yelled, pedaled harder, but it was too late. I squeaked out ahead of her and sped through the finish line. My screen lit up WINNER. Hers lit up YOU LOSE.
“ Damn it,” she groaned. “Ow, damn, my thighs.”
“You all right?”
“Yeah.” She stood up and stretched. “No one beats me at that.”
“I did. What’s my prize?”
“Your prize, huh?” She leaned on her bike. The light from her monitor lit her hair red. It had come loose as we raced and spilled over her shoulders, and it made her look fierce, like a warrior queen. Her lips quirked up. “How about a kiss?”
“One kiss?”
“Come get it.” She backed away. I followed her all the way back to the street, and we kissed in a swirl of fluffy snowflakes. The icy wind knifed through the sweat on my neck, but her lips were hot, and her hands in my hair. Someone woo-hoo’d . Sophie giggled into our kiss. I laughed along with her, and bunched my hand in her jacket. She made a sound like a moan, and heat chased down my spine. I wanted her, all of her. All I could get. Would it be too forward to say so right out? Surely she felt it, the same thing I felt?
She drew back, eyes half-shut, lips red from kissing. “Your place or mine?” she said.
Yes. “Let’s try yours.”
She took my hand again, racing back to my car, and all I could think was how great it felt. How great it all felt, this night with her. A good surprise, the best one. I couldn’t wait.