7. Fast Food
FAST FOOD
Would Anyone Care [Citizen Soldier]
Conner exhales deeply as he jumps into his car. He parked towards the back of the parking lot because it took him some time to find a spot after he dropped me off. On the way to the car, he told me he waited five minutes for a lady to pack her groceries; he was that desperate for a spot.
I smile, but a sickening feeling swirls inside my stomach at the idea that Conner is so persistent in talking to me, he waited around a car park for half an hour.
“Do you work that long all the time?” he asks.
“Yeah, I need the money.”
“For what?”
“To repair the air-con.”
“Shouldn’t your parents fix it?” he replies.
I pause as I buckle my seatbelt.
Idiot! Why did I say that so casually? I have always been careful when answering questions about why I work so long and frequently. Is it because we have spoken so much throughout the shift that I’ve become reckless with my thinking?
“Uh, yeah…I thought of pitching in because of financial reasons.”
“Oh, sorry,” Conner says, his voice sincere. “That’s very thoughtful of you.”
I smile. It hurts.
“Do you want to get something to eat before I take you home?”
I glance at the clock. It’s ten past nine.
“We can drive through, and I can take you home right after. It’s no big deal.”
“Um, no…It’s fine. I have time to spare.” Dad will get home at twelve. The bar closes at 11:30 on weekdays, except on Fridays. So, I should be fine as long as I’m home before then.
We agree on McDonald’s because it’s the closest and most affordable for me. But when I see the drive-through line, I rub my palms on my legs.
Conner grunts as he swerves into the car park, parking out the front of the fast-food place. I reach for the seatbelt when Conner raises his hand and steps out of the car. “I’ll go in. What do you want?”
“Uh…”—I reach into my bag and scramble for my wallet—“a six-pack nugget meal, small, please.”
Conner shuts the door and walks off while I straighten up with the seven dollars clutched in my hand. I lower the money into my lap and follow him with my line of sight. He walks into the fast-food place like he owns it.
He has a lot of confidence.
While I wait, I notice his playlist is still on. “Would Anyone Care” by Citizen Soldier plays. Shakily, as if I’m afraid of breaking anything in the car, I tap the arrow until the volume rises, loud enough for me to hear.
After the chorus plays, I add it to my playlist.
This song hits me emotionally. My lip quivers, but after a few hard blinks, I push the tears back and bite down on my lip to prevent any more emotion from leaking out.
The door opens when the song ends.
“Hey, sorry that it took a little longer than usual. You didn’t tell me what flavour drink you wanted, so…” He looks away when he hands me a tray filled with six cups. “There’s cola, orange, lemonade, lemon, orange juice, and a bottle of water. Pick which one you want, and I will take the rest.”
“Conner, I can’t…” I choke on my words.
He shuffles into the driver’s seat with a bag of food in his lap. He closes the door while saying, “Relax. My little brother and sister will take the rest off your hands. It’s not a big deal.”
I reluctantly take the orange soda. Conner then grabs the tray, reaches behind him, and settles it into the back seat. Afterwards, he digs into the bag and hands me a ten-pack of nuggets and a large bag of chips.
“Um…” I reach into my wallet and pick out the silver coins, counting to ensure I give him the right amount.
“Noya, it’s fine.”
“No. It’s not.” I fist the money in the palm of my hand and extend my arm out to him. “Take it.”
Conner ignores the money and eats the chips. “No.”
“Why not?”
“Because I said so.”
“Conner,” I snap.
He looks at me, and there’s a softness in his eyes from the lightning of the McDonald’s sign. It must be the desperate, pathetic, likely pleading look I’m giving him.
“Please.” Conner sighs and opens his hand. I place the note and coins in the palm of his hand while murmuring, “Thank you.”
He places the coins in the compartment holder and then digs into the bag once more. “I also didn’t know what sauce you wanted for your nuggets, so I got them all.”
I smile and say, “Sweet and sour sauce.”
We eat in silence while listening to music. It’s calm. Not an awkward, weird silence. And when there’s a hint of noise, it is Conner singing with his mouth full of food.
He’s a messy eater, which eases my nerves about eating in his car.
By the time we finish, it’s 10:01 p.m. Before we leave, Conner grabs the rubbish and puts it in the bin by the car. When he returns, I ask, “Wouldn’t your parents wonder why you aren’t home yet?”
“I sent my dad a message earlier and told him I was with a friend and won’t be home until late.”
“And he didn’t care?”
Conner reaches for his phone on the dashboard. The light illuminates his face, and there’s a shimmer in his hazel eyes. He holds up his phone and reveals his text messages to his dad.
“Here, look.”
Me: I’m with a friend. I won’t be home till late. Keep the front light on for me.
Dad: Enjoy your night. There’s leftover meatloaf in the fridge if you get hungry.
My throat tightens, and a sickening pit of sadness swirls inside my stomach, forming cramps of desire.
I imagine being Conner for a day, with caring parents, and being able to go home without someone yelling at him. Or maybe not have a mum cowering in the corner, another bruise swelling on her body.
There would be food in the fridge made by caring hands, and I would get messages like this and not the ones demanding me to get another six-pack of beer after—
Shit!
I jolt out of my daydream and straighten up in my seat. “Can we stop at the service station before you take me home?”
“Sure.”
We pull out of the parking lot and turn right after the lights, then turn left into the service station. Conner parks in the same spot where I saw his car last night.
I unbuckle my seatbelt, and he does the same when I suddenly say, “Can you stay here, please? I won’t be long.”
“I was going to the toilet,” he answers, smirking.
“Oh…” Heat flushes my cheeks. “Sorry.”
The toilets are outside the service station. I wait until Conner is out of view before I grab the pack of beer and head to the register. James tightens his smile as he scans the alcohol. I find it difficult to look him in the eye as I tap my card against the EFTPOS to approve my purchase.
After he bags it, I leave the service station.
As I leave the store, Conner exits the toilet. His brimming smile falters the closer he gets to me. And I’m not an idiot. I notice it pretty quickly as he realises what I have in my hands.
I don’t know why, but this gnawing guilt stirs in me.
I stuff the pack into my bag when I enter the car. Conner doesn’t say a word. He’s silent as he pulls out of the car park and heads towards my street.
Now, this silence isn’t comforting. I’m on edge, and it’s because Conner is leaning away from me as if there isn’t enough distance in this car.