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Can I pick you up or is that to forward, or should we meet somewhere instead? Maybe that’s better, as in is that more appropriate?’ ‘Yeah either way is cool Dave. Oh wow, this is so cool. I have thought about going to dinner with you. No kidding I really have and asking me out, well that’s so neat. What time and where?’ Jessica and I decided she would meet me at a small diner in a suburb that cooked the best seafood around. We met about 6:45 that night and both of us dressed casually and conservatively. This way no false impressions other then a friendly dinner were emitted. Each of us had a couple of beers while we laughed about office conversations and soon enough we talked about her life and its tragedies. She had problems too. Her twin brother who developed a fatal disease, Jessica never brought it to work with her. She hung out with Connie and Lori frequently but never at the same time. She went clubbing but Connie was too loose and Jessica didn’t like that about Connie. Shaquan was growing weary of 3 a.m. risings and lackluster blowjobs from his wife. Soon, he began giving Wanda grief because he was losing ‘needful sleep’ by painting the nursery. Before the pink semigloss paint could dry on the walls, the long-awaited baby daughter they had prematurely named, emerged silent from Wanda’s womb. In the months that followed the funeral, Shaquan grew quieter at home but was making the buxom receptionist from L.B. Schatz Construction shriek his name. Now, several years after exchanging vows for better or for worse, Wanda stood frozen in the kitchen where chef-quality dinners had grown cold on too many nights. There she remained as stiff as a cadaver, heavy with burden, a half-hour after learning the news that he and she were expecting an unplanned baby. Wanda snatched the flimsy curtains from the tension rod and sank down to the linoleum floor until she was in the fetal position, the lace panels covering her like a disheveled wedding dress. Clutching her.
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