Parker Allen

Wishful Thinking Parker Allen • Fiction

“Whatis takingthefoodso long?” Laura said. “I ordered a salad.”

The waiter came by to bring a bottle of cabernet to Laura and Chris’ table. Laura poured a glass and took a hefty swig.

“I don’t mind,” Chris said. “All the more time to stare at that beautiful face.”

Laura hissed, pinching her face and looking at her glass. She wore a nice blouse with a high neckline (so as not to give Chris the wrong idea), her jeans were slightly distressed, and her slip-on Vans were clean and white as a doctor’s office. Each aspect of the outfit was working to convey a casual tolerance for her monthly lunches with Chris.

“Don’t stare,” Laura said. “It’s creepy.” “I don’t care when people look at me,” he said. “I know you don’t,” she said.

“Well, I’d expect so,” he said. “After all, we were married for eight months.”

“That’s not how I know,” she said. “Do tell,” he said, waving his fork.

“If you didn’t want people staring at you,” she said, “you wouldn’t have worn a velvet tracksuit.”

These Fish Bite • 5

“Hey!” he said. “This is a nice tracksuit. My mom got me this tracksuit.”

“Is she with the Mafia?” she asked.

Chris finally looked away from Laura. He scrunched his eyebrows as he stared at his empty plate. He reached for the bottle of wine. Laura swatted at his hand.

“What the hell are you doing?” she said. “I want a drink,” he said.

“Chris,” she said, “you’ve made a lot of progress; don’t throw it away. I’m sorry I was mean. I took it to heart when the counselor said you use alcohol to escape from me. I’ll try and do better, I’m sorry. That tracksuit looks comfortable.”

“Thanks,” he said. “It is.” “How’s the job hunt coming?”

“Well, I got those lobster traps I mentioned last time we had lunch,” he said. “Dave helped me out—you remember Dave? He was at the wedding. Anyways, he gave me a good price.”

“Right, I do remember some talk of Dave’s lobster traps,” she said. “I thought you didn’t have a boat, though?”

“Still working the kinks out,” he said, “but once I get that boat—oh baby, no more taking you out to the Olive Garden—it’ll be lobster dinners out on the water.”

“Isn’t there someone else you’d like to eat lobster with?” she said. “Like, maybe a nice girl from your AA classes?”

“You don’t like lobster?” “No. For one thing, I’m vegetarian—” “Oh, are you worried about the little lobsters’ families?” he said. “Yes—it’s not about the lobster. I think you need to move on.” “What do you mean?” he said. “I mean this is over.” “This lunch?” he said. “I still haven’t gotten my food yet.” “This relationship.” “Okay,” he said, grinning, “if you say so.”

“Chris,” Laura said, resting her forehead on her palm, “I just don’t—”

• 6 Parker Allen

“No, I get it,” he said. “I messed up. I had a problem and I did some things that were regrettable, to say the least. I’m trying to get better, though. For us.”

“Don’t get better for us,” she said. “Get better for you. Get better for our child.”

“Don’t you want Annie to live with us once this is all sorted out?” he said.

“Sorted out?” she said. “Hell—fucking—no. There’s nothing to sort out. We don’t work together. I’m too mean and you get too drunk.”

“Yeah,” he said, “but I’ve never been too too drunk.” “What about the time you slept with my sister?”

“That was an honest mistake,” he said. “I was pretty drunk that time. You two look alike.”

“You didn’t notice your sister-in-law’s wheelchair, Chris?” she said, pouring another glass of wine to the brim. “You didn’t notice the wheelchair when you were taking her upstairs?”

“She has very nice legs for a paraplegic,” he said. Laura rolled her eyes and downed a third of her glass. “Where is this fucking food?” she said.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I know I messed up. I just hope we can move forward with this eventually.”

“I feel like you’re not hearing me. We are one hundred percent over.”

“Why are you so eager to get together for lunch every month, then?” he said, with the air of a hard-fought checkmate.

“To make sure you’re continuing with the twelve-step program so that you can eventually apply for joint custody.”

“Oh,” he said. Laura sipped her drink in silence.

“Okay,” said a waiter holding two plates of food, “I’ve got the Bloomin’ Blue salad for the lady, and for the gentleman, we have the chicken fingers. Is there anything else I can do for y’all?”

“Honey mustard,” Chris said quietly.

These Fish Bite • 7