Free Pretty Ugly: A Novel by Kirker Butler

inevitable. They were young, good-looking, and single. In Phil, Miranda saw a dreamy self-starting artist and entrepreneur. In Miranda, Phil saw a hot twenty-one-year-old with a great ass. Their eventual hookup was so unsurprising that when she blew him after her fourth night at work, it was as passionless as the birthday obligation of an old married couple. After he came, Phil dropped a set of keys on the table and grabbed his coat.
    “All right, I’m outta here. Marry the ketchups before you lock up. And don’t touch the register. I know exactly how much is in there.” He pointed at her, “This is a test,” then winked.
    Joan did not approve. Phil was a full six years older than Miranda, and she thought the whole relationship was obscene.
    “He’s a full-grown man and you’re still a baby,” Joan said.
    “I am not a baby, Mom. I’m a woman! And this is none of your business! I have a college degree and I am perfectly capable of making my own decisions.”
    “I know, dear, but he just seems so … worldly.”
    “Are you saying I’m not worldly? I’ve been to Canc ú n! Twice! I am totally worldly!”
    Five weeks on, Miranda wished she’d listened to her mother. Working with her boyfriend was not the lighthearted Meg Ryan rom-com she had envisioned. It was closer to a Tori Spelling Lifetime movie. When anything went wrong at the restaurant, Phil blamed Miranda. If the silverware was dirty, she should have “fucking seen it and replaced it.” If the food was undercooked, she “should have stayed out of the goddamn kitchen and left Mom alone.” If Phil’s guitar was out of tune, she “should have been more fucking careful when you put the goddamn thing away!” Phil’s abuse, while always verbal, had been escalating. The curt, private reprimands had started to become public admonishments, and Miranda was getting the feeling that he got a perverse thrill out of embarrassing her in front of people.
    “Miranda!” he called from across the room. “Could you come here for a minute?”
    Her chest tightened as she walked across the creaky wooden floor. “What seems to be the prob—?”
    “Taste this.” He shoved a drink at her.
    “What is it?”
    “Well, it’s supposed to be a Diet Coke, but this customer says it’s regular. Taste it.”
    “Phil, you don’t have to—”
    “Taste it!” he snarled, thrusting the glass at Miranda and splashing soda across her shirt.
    The customer interjected, “It’s no big deal. I can drink regular Coke—”
    “Sir, please.” Phil turned back to Miranda and said calmly, “now.”
    Trembling from embarrassment, Miranda sipped from the glass. “It is regular Coke. That’s my fault,” she said, turning to the customer, who was now equally embarrassed. “I am so sorry, sir. I’ll bring you another one right away.”
    “Yes. You will!” Phil said, then shook his head in disgust and mumbled, “stupid twat.”
    From a table across the room, Ray sat with Christie and watched in stunned silence as the scene played out. Miranda first met Christie in their Global History of 20th-Century Clothing class at OCC. Christie’s dislike of Phil was no secret, and she’d set up this dinner so her nursing school friend, Ray, would see how awesome Miranda was and save her from Phil, the unworthy prick.
    Ray was not a confronter. Never had been. If, at a grocery store, he was charged the full price instead of the sale price, he didn’t bring it up. If someone cut in front of him in line, he might mumble a passive-aggressive insult under his breath, but he never told the person to get back. It just wasn’t worth it. If Ray called everyone an asshole whom he felt truly deserved it, he wouldn’t have time for anything else. But this was different. He’d been invited there specifically to meet Miranda, and because of that tenuous connection he felt vaguely responsible for her well-being. It was something akin to a date, albeit with a woman he had never met at a