After everything’s put away for my very temporary stay, I wander out and try to talk to Maddie but she’s on the phone so I motion to the kitchen as if to get permission to eat something. She nods absently as she giggles coyly into the phone. It must be a guy on the other end. Women only giggle like that when they’re talking to someone they’re having sex with. Or trying to have sex with.
Her little dog, Princess, follows me wherever I go. I don’t know what breed she is, but if you blink you’ll miss her she’s so tiny. She’s friendly and I like her, but I have to keep reminding myself to watch where I walk so I don’t misstep and crush her like an ant.
I trudge into the kitchen, my feet sliding across the tile at this point because lifting them is just too much damn work. I open Maddie’s pantry and scavenge a box of mac and cheese, which is accompanied only by a can of vegetable beef soup and a protein bar that feels so hard I’m certain it expired before the turn of the last century.
I find a pot and start some water boiling to cook the mac and cheese, trying to drown out Maddie’s conversation in the adjoining room. I hum to myself, wishing I had my iPod, but it’s in the bedroom, which is like twenty steps away and I’m afraid if I commit to that kind of effort the sight of that splendid, beckoning bed will lure me in. And I really do need to eat. The last time I ate was several states ago, Nebraska I think.
Maddie’s off the phone just as I stir in the noodles and tear open the cheese packet. She wanders into the kitchen. “You hungry, Maddie?” I ask.
She shrugs. “I guess.”
We eat in silence except for her complaining about the amount of fat that’s in the mac and cheese, and how awful it tastes. Though I notice she polishes off her half of the box and practically licks the plate clean. I thought it was pretty amazing, myself; you can’t go wrong with mac and cheese.
I’ve waited until the end of the meal for her to do the hostess-y thing and engage in some real conversation, or even small talk, so when she doesn’t I take that as my cue. “So Maddie, have you lived here long? It’s a great apartment.”
“I’ve been here for a little over a year now. It’s all right.” She sounds bored, like talking is just too much work.
“All right? Christ, it’s great. High-rise on the outskirts of the city. The neighborhood looked pretty hip driving in, lots of restaurants and shops. Your building’s got underground parking and security and a gym and a pool. You’ve got it made, Maddie.”
She shrugs. “It’ll do for now. I’m looking at another place. Nicer neighborhood. More amenities. More square footage. But I just signed a six month lease that I don’t think I can get out of.” She’s pouting.
I nod. This will do for now? Jesus, I’m trying to reserve judgment here, but the longer I’m around her the more something feels off. I mean, it’s human nature to fill voids, and the list of filler is long, some good, some bad. I get the feeling that Maddie medicates herself with stuff, money, material things. She’s to the point where she’s always looking for more and missing the part where you’re just grateful for what you have. It’s sad. Greed’s like that children’s story about the spider and the fly. Greed, money, excess, that’s the spider. And Maddie seems to be one helluva fly. I try to steer her away from the negative. “So, how’s work? Lawyer, right?” It’s been so long since the one visit I had two years ago with her that I’m digging through my exhausted mind trying to turn up any memories.
“Yeah. Rosenstein & Barclay. Downtown Minneapolis.”
“Nice.” I guess it’s on me to carry this. “So, you must be really busy with work, but any hobbies? What do you like to do in your spare time?”
At this she brightens up like I’ve finally touched upon something that interests her. “I like to shop, get my nails done, hair done, I tan a few times a week.” She eyes me up and down as she rattles off her list. Clearly she’s figured out we have nothing in common as she takes in my hair arranged in a messy knot on top of head, nails bitten down to the quick, and my sweat pants and Manchester Orchestra T-shirt that’s worn thin from frequent wear and washings. I am tan, but that’s not from a tanning booth, it’s just from being outside and I’m sure she knows it. “Oh and I have to work out every morning.” The emphasis she puts on have to is a little disturbing.
“So, do you work out in the gym downstairs off the lobby? I peeked in on my way up. It looks nice. I might go for a run myself on one of the treadmills tomorrow.”
She gasps as if I’ve just asked her to take a bite of a shit sandwich. “Oh, God no. That place is vile. I work out at a private gym near the office: The Minneapolis Club.”
Of course you do, I want to say, but I nod until the urge passes. “Well, that sounds awesome, Maddie.” I push back my chair and grab my dishes. “I guess that’s me off to bed then. Thanks for the mac and cheese. I’ll buy some groceries tomorrow; I’m just beat right now.”
“Can you pick me up some nonfat blueberry yogurt?” she asks as I put my dishes and the pot in the dishwasher. A real live dishwasher.
I’m so enamored by the machine that I almost don’t hear her. I fight the urge to kneel down and kiss it, worship it. “Sure thing. Hey, do you have a coffee pot? Mine didn’t survive the move and I’m kind of addicted.”
I can hear the “Humph!” from the other room and I get the distinct impression that I’ve somehow insulted her. As I pass her on my way to the bedroom, where I plan to get comatose for a good 17-18 hours, she’s shaking her head and looking at me like I have a third eye. “Why would I have a coffee pot? There’s a Starbucks right next door.”