Page 31 of Hold the Pickle
“The way you fought for that first apartment? You were fierce! You accused me of wearing fake scrubs.”
Her cheeks go pink. “I’m sorry about that. I was feeling desperate.”
“So was I. But look at how this is working out.”
She nods, petting the cat’s head. “It is, isn’t it?”
And the contentment in that moment, a roof over my head, warm dumplings filling the space with savory smells, and thiswoman with her cat, makes me realize I missed out on a lot growing up half-homeless.
And I like it. Here. With her.
A lot.
11
NADIA
Ican’t believe how well things are working out with Dalton.
With the curtain creating a bedroom, we manage more privacy. We get a blow-up mattress for the nights we’re both there. He happily takes it when there’s a conflict, even though every time, I try to convince him to alternate.
Catzilla won’t approach him, even as time stretches to a month together, but she will be in the same room with him without bolting.
It’s progress.
We don’t have any other repeats of his naked apartment walk, and while there is an undercurrent between us since then, it doesn’t seem to affect anything.
He might be the perfect roommate.
On a Friday in early August, Max and Camryn invite me to a gathering at a dive bar in East LA near the gym where Max works out. They think I’m not meeting people, always either working at the deli or holed up in my apartment alone.
They still don’t know about Dalton.
Camryn warns me to dress down for Aces, which has a rough crowd, but their friends like it.
It’s the first time I’ve been out on a weekend night in LA. Max and Cam’s friends are all mixed martial arts fighters, trainers, and promoters. She used to do professional tans for their competitions until she got pregnant and wanted to limit the chemicals.
I wear an artfully ripped pair of jeans that shows my knees, and a white tank top beneath a thin red cardigan that falls off one shoulder. It’s cute, but not fancy or attention-grabbing, especially paired with red Converse.
I lowball the jewelry, just a stack of red bracelets and a gold chain. I leave my hair straight and long, like I didn’t bother with it even though I painstakingly roller brushed it smooth with the hair dryer.
Dalton isn’t around when I leave. His shift will end between ten and midnight. I let him know I won’t be home until late, off with my cousins.
Since we’ll both be home tonight, the air mattress is already set out, although not blown up yet, as we never know if Catzilla might dig her claws into it while we’re gone.
I don’t take my car. Max suggested I grab a ride to the bar, since parking is terrible, and it’s not exactly the safest place, anyway. He’s not risking his.
Is it that bad? I peer out the window of the Uber at the blocks of small businesses lined up in long, low buildings. Laundromats. Vape shops. Coffee. Tiny restaurants with the windows covered.
It’s definitely not Rodeo Drive.
But the people look the same as anywhere, sitting at bus stops, talking in groups on corners. Cyclists zoom by, ignoring the red light.
“You sure you want to go to a bar down here alone?” The woman behind the wheel taps her phone while we’re stopped.
“I’m meeting four MMA fighters, a bodybuilder, and their friends. I’ll be all right.”
“Oh yeah, MMA is a big scene down here.” She turns to peer at me. “You happen to know Colt McClure? He’s my favorite.”
