Page 57 of Easy Out

“Hello,” I say meekly. I even wave like an idiot. This whole situation brings me back to when I was a little girl, standing outside a closed door, praying that whoever was on the other side would like me. I struggle to catch my breath.

“Sweet Lauren. Hello. I’m so happy to meet you.” Sylvie pulls me into her arms and gives me a hard squeeze. She cups my face in her hands. “She’s beautiful, mijo. Tan pequeña. Quiero ponerla en mi bolsillo y llevarla a casa.” Hart chuckles. I look at him curiously.

“She said she wants to put you in her pocket and take you home.” Oh. I don’t know what to say to that. I smile at her.

“I brought food for your dinner. Do you want me to bring it in here?” I nod. Sylvie pulls me back to her side. “Mijo, go to the car and bring everything inside, please.”

Hart checks with me to make sure I’ll be okay before walking outside. “Can I help with whatever you are making in here?” Sylvie asks, walking to the kitchen. Shit. I scramble back to the kitchen. Hopefully, my pasta isn’t overcooked.

“If you want, that would be nice. I think most of it is ready. I just need to pull it all together.” I’m making a few different pasta salads. They aren’t expensive to make and are good leftovers for everyone to take home.

“Hart said you do this every weekend.” Sylvie has made herself at home in my kitchen, draining the pasta and rinsing it off with cool water. I go back to chopping the green peppers and cucumbers I was working on before Carter started ruffling my feathers.

“Yeah. When I was little, my mom and I were on the receiving end of our neighbors’ casseroles and kindness. She worked two jobs and didn’t always have the time.”

My mom worked so hard to provide for us. It was always just enough. I never felt like I was living without. I didn’t realize how poor I was until middle school, and my low income became glaringly obvious in my torn jeans and threadbare shirts.

“When I moved here, I wanted to do the same. Everyone brings what they have. Even if it’s just their appetite.” I joke.

“You are beautiful inside and out, mija.“ Sylvie squeezes my arm. Then reaches over me to add the vegetables I cut into the pasta.

Hart enters the kitchen carrying two big trays of food. He places them on my small dining room table.

“Did she behave?” He whispers over my shoulder.

“She did. I like her. She’s very nice.”

“My mom is nice. Sometimes too nice.”

“Is that a thing? Being too nice?” Hart leans against the counter casually, watching me cut up blocks of cheese. He takes a small cube and pops it in his mouth. Only Hart could make eating cheese look hot.

“No, it is not a thing, mija. Don’t listen to him.“ Hart’s eyes go wide for a second when Sylvie calls me mija.

“What does that word mean?” I ask. Hart looks at me with so much sincerity my heart pinches.

“Nothing that isn’t true, cariño.“ Hart claps his hands. “Tell me how this works. Do you set up the food here or somewhere else?”

“It’s kind of like an open house. People come and go between my place and Carter’s next door.” Hart scowls at the mention of his name. “Don’t think we aren’t going to talk about that, by the way.”

“We will. Later tonight.” The promise of spending time with me after we eat makes my skin overheat.

“Fine.” I sigh. Or maybe I swooned. “There is a fold-up table in the first room on the left.” I point toward the hall. “Can you please bring it to the living room for me and throw the tablecloth on it? People will be here soon with more food.”

Hart steals one more cube of cheese before he heads down the hallway. I force myself not to think about Hart being in my personal space. I don’t have anything for him to snoop through. I’ve been groomed to pack light. I worry my lack of possessions will raise more questions than give him answers.

Sylvie and I work together to finish up the three different pasta salads. She asks me about school and shares a few stories about Hart growing up. Hart interrupts occasionally, giving his version of the story. Their relationship makes me miss my mom. I wonder what stories she would tell Hart about me.

We get everything set up in time for my neighbors to start walking through the door. Manny is the first one to come running inside. He is always the first one here. It’s not his hunger that leads him to my place. His home is not a happy one. Any chance he gets to escape his parents, he takes it.

Manny greets me with a hug. I squeeze him hard enough to see if he jerks in pain. I realize it’s mean, but it’s the only way to know if his dad is using him as a punching bag.

At the moment, their parents are just lousy drunks who say a lot of mean things. Not that those wounds hurt any less than the physical ones.

“Manny, go get some food. I have someone I want you to meet. Is your brother coming soon?”

“He’s with Carter. He’ll be here.”

“What is he doing over there?”

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