Problems by Jade Sharma Page A

for everything without that pained look on his face. I found salt and pepper shakers that looked like cheeseburgers and a small blue suitcase with white stitching. Sue and Jake bought a similar suitcase that was more expensive, in better condition. We joked about how we should go on a trip together with our matching suitcases.Grace tried on jackets, but she obviously did not get the whole thrift store thing. How you were supposed to find things that were either practical or totally silly, not “nice” things for a job interview. She tried on a worn green blazer from the Gap. Her fat strained the buttons as she stared into the mirror, and my heart broke for her. I guessed food was the only thing left once you took all the sinful stuff that made people feel good off the list. It hurt to see a hopeful look in her face, like, “Well, this isn’t bad at all, hmm.” But she looked terrible. Her greasy ponytail, the hair frizzing out by her ears, her bad skin. I wondered if she had ever seen a penis. If she ever touched herself. She must have had urges. Maybe she did and then felt really bad or cut herself. Maybe she was in love with Jesus. Or she was in love with her father. It was weird how she always deferred to him. In some families, the daughter and the father are the couple in a nonsexual but still creepy way.
    â€œThat looks nice,” I said.
    â€œYeah, it’s only four dollars,” she said, still looking in the mirror. Her smile brightened.
    After the thrift store, we went bowling.
    â€œDid you see the Dunkin’ Donuts when we drove in?” Sue said, as we waited for our shoes.
    â€œDo you want donuts? I’ll go get them,” I said. It was my ticket out of this group. My chance to stop smiling for a second.
    I went outside and lit a cigarette. It was me and the gray sky. The nicotine hit me in a rush, a strange mixture of sadness and exhilaration. I steadied myself. I took out my phone and saw Amy had called. I called her back.
    â€œHey,” I said.
    â€œThey’re so weird,” she whispered.
    â€œWhy are you whispering?”
    â€œI’m hiding in the bathroom.”
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œI’m never going to get rid of him.” Her voice quivered.
    â€œAre you crying?”
    â€œHow am I ever going to break up with him? He would end up here if I threw him out. I’ve only been here for, like, two days or whatever, and I want to kill myself. His mother will not leave me alone. I went to the office to go on the internet, and she came with me and worked out on the bike, and then I went downstairs, and she came with me. I don’t think she works. And his brother and his wife live with her, but they only have one car. How did I end up with this life that doesn’t look like anything I wanted?”
    â€œJust leave him already. It isn’t your problem what happens to him. You didn’t give birth to him, you know,” I said, frustrated. How many times had I said those words to her?
    â€œSometimes I just think, you know, I’m thirty-one, and if I want to have a kid, I’ve got to get going. Did you know that after thirty-five the rate of Down syndrome goes up?”
    â€œYeah, I’ve heard that.” This was actually the third time I’d heard that statistic in the past month. There was always this ticking clock, ruining everything, little by little, the longer you lived.
    The Dunkin’ Donuts was packed. There was nowhere else to go in town. Two old men came in behind me. The line wasn’t moving. There was an image of an egg croissant with bacon. My mouth watered. They had hash browns now? I wanted it all. I wondered if there was a way to buy an egg sandwich, hash browns, and three Boston creams and scarf them all down without being suspiciously absent for too long. Then I could go puke it up. I was doing this more and more, sneaking food and then puking it up. I wasn’t good at it yet, but it was awesome