Page 24 of Coast

So I rushed into the Chinese food place first, since it was done earlier, grabbed those three bags of food, then went to the taco place for another couple of bags, before making my way to the Italian place.

“Someone is having a biiiiig party,” I told Lainey as I carried her toward the pretty, upscale-looking brick building. “Casa Nostra,” I read off to my baby. “Fancy.”

I made my way to the bar where to-go orders were supposed to get picked up and watched in a little bit of horror as two cardboard boxes full of dinner containers andsixpizzas were placed on the bar for me.

“The fuck you doing?” a booming male voice called, making me, the bartender, and the two nearby busboys jump.

Turning, I saw—well—a fictional mafia boss from some cheesy TV show walking up toward me.

He was average height with a round belly and black hair. Hisloudbowling shirt was unbuttoned enough to show off a gold Saint Michael necklace. There was more gold around his wrists—a watch and chains.

“Mr. Barelli?” the bartender asked, looking worried.

“What? You don’t got fucking eyes?” Mr. Barelli asked, gesturing over toward me. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to take a step back or just… run screaming.

“I don’t—” the bartender started.

“No shit you don’t. You can’t see she’s got a baby? How the fuck she’s supposed to bring all that out to her car? Did you even offer to help? No, no, you didn’t. Fucking men these days,” Mr. Barelli said, looking at me and giving me a sad head shake. “Got no fucking manners. ‘Scuse my French,” he said, looking down at Lainey. “Good thing she ain’t in the parroting stage yet, right, sweetheart?” he said to Lainey.

Lainey, my little man-lover—apparently—let out a darling little hoot at him.

“Been telling my boys—fifty fucking times at least—I want me some of these. How hard is it to find a woman, lock her down, and get some babies going? Had three of my own at their ages. Listen,” he said as the busboys and bartender started to gathermy food. “Take this,” he said, handing me a business card that said simplyTony Barellion it along with the restaurant’s name.

“Oh, uh, thanks,” I said, giving him a smile because he genuinely was being sweet.

“Anytime you wanna come in here and let me listen to some baby belly laughs, you come in. Food on me. Anytime, you hear me?” he asked, reaching down to tickle one of Lainey’s feet, getting a gurgling giggle out of her. “Fucking best sound in the world.” Turning, he snapped at the men holding my delivery food. “Fucking move it. She’s got places to be. You, what’s your name?” he asked me.

“Zoe. And this is Lainey.”

“Zoe and Lainey, I want to see your faces. Got the best fucking food around. Come in and try it out. I mean it.”

With that and nothing more, he was off, walking over to a table and clapping someone so hard on the shoulder that he nearly face-planted into his linguine.

“Well, that was interesting,” I told Lainey as I hustled toward my car so the men could load the food inside. “We gotta put a stick in it,” I told her, checking the time as I climbed into my seat. “You liked that big, loud man, huh? He sure liked you too.”

I wasn’t sure I could ever accept a free meal just so some big Italian dad could coo at my baby. But maybe if I took an extra job or two and saved up money to visit and pay for myself, it would be nice.

Was I likely just looking for some kind of connection with, well, anyone? Yeah.

But who could blame me?

It was even harder than I thought it would be to do this all alone. Breadwinning, balancing bills, being a mom, trying to plan a better future.

It would just be nice, for one meal, to sit with someone and be a human being, to share conversation, to eat some good food.

“Maybe someday,” I said as I drove down a long street that seemed to be leading kind of nowhere.

But then, finally, my GPS told me my destination was coming up on the left.

And, sure enough, there was a house. Surrounded by a large fence, the gate to the driveway open because, as expected, there was a party raging on.

Even as I pulled in—windows up, air blowing through the vents—I could hear the thump of the music coming from the backyard.

“Look at all the motorcycles,” I said to Lainey in a singsong voice I wasn’t feeling.

Because bikes typically meant riders. Most likely, male ones. And large groups of men could be a scary time for a single woman alone at night.

But if this was a party, surely there were women around.

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