The asshole in the blue Subaru is taking up two parking spaces. Two! For a Subaru! And not accidentally either. What a prick! People who park like this deserve a throat punch and their tires slashed. Amiright?
I sat behind the wheel and stared at his bumper as my POS coughed warm air.
“Moooooove your car!”
The Subaru did not.
I laid on my horn.
Nothing.
“Okay.” I circled the gas station again.
Parking shouldn’t be difficult. There are lines. You put the car between them. Even toddlers understand this concept, although in my experience toddlers are assholes, too.
I finally decided to park beside the dumpster and pulled in too fast. The front tire clipped the concrete block.
“Fuck.”
For a second, I stayed there with both hands on the steering wheel. My nails were pink. Something between rose and bubblegum with tiny white flowers. Whatever, I liked them.
I checked the rearview mirror then reached across the passenger seat to grab my purse. Pink leather, of course. Gold zipper. Big enough for a wallet, three lipsticks, two burner phones, a knife, and a tampon. Don’t judge me.
Before I opened the door, I could see the heat burp off the pavement in greasy waves of ick. Perfect.
The gas station sat 30 miles west of Chicago. I locked the car. What? I lock the doors all the time.
Then unlocked it but my hand stayed on the door handle. I looked toward the trunk. I locked it again.
My strawberry dress had been a mistake. It was short and for me, short is useful. I know what you’re thinking. Stop it.
The problem was the fabric. White cotton. Tiny red strawberries. Little green leaves. Very wholesome. Very summer. Very she probably owns a picnic basket and has never done anything that wasn’t pre-approved.
I bought it three days ago because it made my tits look fantastic. Sometimes the universe gives you a reason.
The bell above the gas station door made a little digital ding when I stepped in.
Cold air hit my skin. I nearly moaned. Not really but the goosebumps were real.
The cashier looked up. Maybe nineteen with a thin mustache, gray polo. One earbud tucked into his left ear.
His eyes went to my chest.
See?
Fantastic.
“Bathroom?” I asked.
He pointed toward the back.
“Customers only.”
I looked behind me at the parking lot, then back at him.
“I have a car.”
“You gotta buy something.”
I said nothing
He shrugged.
I picked a pack of gum from the display at the register and dropped it on the counter.
The cashier looked at the gum.
Then at my dress.
“That’s cute.”
I stared at him.
He swallowed.
“The—uh… Strawberries.”
“Thank you. I’ll pay when I’m done. Fair enough?”
He nodded and handed me a key attached to a wooden block roughly the size of Indiana.
“Second door.”
I took the key.
“Has anyone tried stealing this?”
He looked at the block.
“Nope.”
“Huh.”
The bathroom was at the end of a narrow hallway next to a door marked EMPLOYEES ONLY.
I unlocked it and took slow step in.
Fluorescent lights are cruel to women, am I right? Geesh. Men too, probably, but I don’t spend much time worrying about them.
The mirror showed me in 4k high-def. Every pore, the smudge of mascara, and the faint marks on my throat.
I touched it. My fingers stayed there for a beat. Then I smiled at myself. “Still pretty, Tenni.”
Call that vanity if you want. I don’t care because it’s true.
I set my purse on the counter. My plan was simple. Pee. Wash my hands. Fix my lipstick. Get back on the road. Maybe buy a Diet Coke.
I leaned toward the mirror. That’s when I saw it. Blood on one of the straps. A smudgy thumbprint-ish spot.
Dark at the center. Brown at the edges.
“Oh.”
I wet some paper towel and pressed it against the stain.
The blood spread immediately.
White cotton turned pink. One strawberry blurred into something that looked vaguely vaginal.
“Shit.”
The toilet flushed behind me.
I froze.
A stall door opened.
“How many fucking keys do they have?” I thought.
An older woman stepped out wearing orthopedic sandals and the expression of someone who’d been disappointed by every restaurant she’d visited since 1987.
She washed her hands beside me. I kept dabbing at the strap.
She looked at the blood. Then at me.
Then at the pink mark on my throat.
I smiled through the mirror.
“Boyfriend.”
The woman nodded. Just nodded. Hello, I could be in danger, lady.
As if that explained the blood. Maybe it did. I dropped the paper towel into the trash.
The woman left without drying her hands.
I waited until the door shut.
Then I reached into my purse and pulled out my lipstick.
I fixed my lips, fluffed my hair, and walked out to my car without buying the gum or returning that damn key. Clearly they had plenty.
The blue Subaru was gone. Of course it was.
I stood in the parking lot staring at the two empty spaces.
“Coward.”
I walked back to my car. I unlocked the driver’s door but didn’t get in. There are moments when you know you’re procrastinating.
This was one of them.
I checked my lipstick in the side mirror.
Adjusted the strawberry strap so the wet pink stain sat closer to my hair.
Then I walked around to the back of the car. I stood at the trunk for a second.
“You couldn’t just leave.”
I popped the trunk.
Brent stared up at me.
Well, not at me. Dead people are terrible with eye contact.