Tentatively, I tried a fry with the glistening vinegar melting the visible granules of salt. It tasted hot and salty, like a good fry, but also sweet and sour.
“Do you like it?” he asked.
“I don't know.” I stuffed a few more in my mouth. “I may need to eat all of them to decide.”
He grinned, then leaned back and rubbed his right bicep, where the tentacles of his octopus tattoo wrapped around.
“Why an octopus? Is there some meaning or significance?”
“Show me a person whose tattoo doesn't have meaning to them and I'll show you a person with a temporary peel-and-stick tattoo.”
“So you're not going to tell me?”
“The octopus is a mystery. It can shift its colors and markings to blend in with any background. The octopus can disappear, right before your eyes.”
“And is that you? You're a master of disguise?”
“If something grabs onto the octopus, it can let go of a limb.” He snapped his fingers. “Just like that. But the limb grows back. Regeneration.”
I opened my hamburger bun and pulled out the pickles to eat them separately, like I always do. “So, to you, the octopus is like your tough-ass totem creature?”
“Don't make fun.” He scowled at his own burger, which was already half-eaten thanks to his big bites.
“I wasn't making fun. I'm being an active listener. Don't they do that here in Canada?”
He quirked one eyebrow up. “You're kind of a smartass when you're drunk.”
“I'm not drunk. Maybe there's something weird about my voice, because my uncle always thinks I'm being sarcastic when I'm not.”
“Do you ever get so drunk you can't feel your face?”
“I don't think so.”
“You have mustard all over your chin. You're so drunk you didn't feel it dribbling out of your mouth.”
Mortified, I grabbed a napkin from the chrome dispenser and wiped the yellow off my chin.
Sawyer chuckled and took another huge bite of his burger. He chewed for a minute, then said, “How old is your kid?”
“Who told you I have a kid?”
“Those lollipops and granola bars in your giant mom purse told me you have a kid.”
“Her name's Annabell. We call her Bell. She's in school now, so I mostly work during the day when she's at school. Her grandmother helps out a lot, which is just… too good to be true.”
“Her grandmother?”
“Bruce's mother.”
His bright green eyes darted back and forth, like he was working out a math problem in his head.
“You mean her great-grandmother. Mrs. Braun is your grandmother.”
I grabbed my Diet Coke and swirled the ice, sending up fizz. “Yeah. That's what I meant. It's just kind of long and awkward to say great-grandmother all the time. I slipped up.”
He nodded and stared down at the octopus. The master of disguise and escape. “Yeah, you slipped up,” he said.
Adrenaline flooded my system. He's onto you, my brain yelled. Run. My heart raced as I nudged the straw back down into my Diet Coke and took a sip, slowly so I didn't choke.
He was going to press me for her age, and my age, and he was going to call me on my lies.
I wanted to run, just like I had earlier in the day, from the grocery store. I wanted to hear my shoes slapping against the concrete, feel the wind in my hair and my old life at my back.
“Thirsty,” he said.
I sat back and wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. He gave me an odd look, so I grabbed another napkin and dabbed my mouth with that. “Sorry, no manners,” I said. “I was basically raised by wolves.”
He watched me warily for the rest of the meal, and I tried to remember my manners. I really hadn't been brought up with much awareness about table manners and the basic hygiene stuff other people took for granted. My mother never once had us wash our hands before eating a meal or after using the washroom. In junior high, when the girls started using the washroom at school in packs, that was when my friends chided me for not washing up. To fit in, I started copying what they did, soaping my hands with the thin drizzly stuff that came from the dispenser, and using my elbows to push open the door so my fingers didn't touch the handle.
After Sawyer and I finished eating, he led me next door to the pool hall. Everyone in the place turned to stare. The place had nine pool tables, and though it wasn't full to capacity, nearly everyone in there was male. Their combined stares unsettled me.
“Don't worry,” Sawyer murmured, as though he could read my discomfort. “They're just curious because they don't see a lot of girls in here.”
I followed him to the counter, where he paid up front for an hour and was given the pool balls by a man who either know no English or chose not to speak.
As he racked up the balls for our first game, I could feel the eyes of the men on me. I zipped up my hoodie even though the pool hall was warm enough I could have taken it off. My skin got that itchy feeling I get when I've been away from home too long—like my own skin was exhausted from keeping up the cover of hiding me. Thinking about the dirty dishes in the sink and the laundry that needed folding didn't make my skin feel any less tense.
Someone touched me on the small of my back, and I jerked upright, clutching my arms to my chest.
“Sorry,” Sawyer murmured, coming to stand right in front of me. “What's wrong? I can take you home if you want. We don't have to play a game if you're not in the mood.”
“Of course we'll play.” I gazed up into his eyes, though seeing his worry was almost unbearable. Why did he care so much? He was far too good to be true, and way too good for a girl like me.
“You have to drop your shoulders away from your ears. You're too tense. Here, watch me.” He rolled his big shoulders back, elongating his neck and stretching his head from side to side, an expression of peace on his face.
I rolled my shoulders once, twice, three times.
Around us, the other men lost interest in the newcomers and returned to their games. They were lit by their individual hanging lamps, wrapped up in their own competition. Maybe they'd never been interested in me. Maybe it was just my constant companion: my paranoia.
My first break was easy. Already I'd made progress as a pool player, and Sawyer's face beamed with pride, which made my heart squeeze inside my chest. I wanted him to be proud of me.
He showed me a few more tips, and soon he was nodding with approval at how I was doing.
An hour went by like the blink of an eye, and I said I'd buy the next hour.
“Sure, I'll let you pay with this,” Sawyer said, handing me some bills from his pocket.