Free Death in a Funhouse Mirror by Kate Flora Page B

minutes." No reasonable person ever lets a waitress go in Monty's. We ordered now, or we risked dying of starvation.
    I flipped open the menu and scanned it quickly. "The fried clam platter. Extra tartar sauce please."
    "The regular platter, or the jumbo," she asked, not meeting my eyes.
    "The jumbo." The jumbo platter would feed half a football team, but it was just fine the next day, reheated.
    "I'll have the regular," Suzanne added.
    "Fine." She snapped her pad shut. "You want another round of beer when I bring the clams?"
    "Please," I said. She hurried away.
    Suzanne sipped her beer, staring out the window. "I don't know if I feel better or not," she said. "If it's going to ruin my nice, comfortable life, why do I want to do this?"
    "I didn't say it was going to ruin your life, just change it. It will also change all those lonely Saturday nights when you went to the mall or Frugal Fannie's because you couldn't stand being home alone. No more awful blind dates, first dates, disappointing dates. No more late night wrestling to get the reluctant date out the door. You’ll have someone to bring you aspirin when you wake up with a headache. Or soup when you're sick. Someone to share jokes with. Bike with. Maybe to carry in the groceries. Or even buy them. Someone to take showers with who can wash your back. Someone who can put sunscreen on the parts you always miss. And think how warm the bed will be at night." She was smiling now.
    "But remember how angry you used to get when I didn't want to stay late at the office and work, because I wanted to go home to David?" I said. She nodded. "That's going to happen to you. Suddenly you will find that work is only a part of your life, and the other things will tug at you and make you feel conflicted and guilty, as well as happy."
    "I remember," she said. "Boy did I resent him, at first. But he was so direct about it. About competing with me for your time. There was nothing subtle about David. He was like you. Strong willed. Direct. Honest. Dependable. Do you still mind talking about him?"
    "Sometimes it's okay. But in the context of a wedding, it's kind of a bummer. That's why it was so important that Andre come. And now I don't know if he will."
    "He'd better," she said. "I don't want a depressed matron of honor."
    "I can still be happy for you, even if he doesn't show up."
    "That's the spirit," she said. Our waitress delivered enough clams to feed the extras in Ben Hur. I looked around at table after table groaning under the weight of clams. It was a wonder there were any left in the sea. It looked like some of the people here ate Monty's clams every night. It wasn't just the tables that were groaning. There were plenty of bulging guts, sagging over belts, slipping out from underneath shirts, pressing dangerously on buttons, and a wealth of ponderous thighs, spreading like unbaked dough over chair seats. But everyone looked happy. The din was incredible, and as it grew dark, the recessed lights shone down through air that was thick with smoke and grease. I loved places like this, dark enough for privacy, and so alive with the interactions of happy people. How could I feel sorry for myself? It was a wonderful place to be on a warm May night, with a good friend and grand, greasy food.

 
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    Chapter 6

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    The fog was so thick I couldn't see two feet beyond my deck, but I knew it was raining, because the water had finished pouring through my coffee pot and I could still hear the sound of dripping. It's not such a bad thing to have it rain on Monday, it makes everyone feel a lot less sorry for themselves about having to go back to work. I was eager to go to work. What I'd said to Suzanne last night, about an advantage of marriage being that you didn't have to sit home feeling lonely, was true for me, too. If I'd stayed home, I would have probably embarked on a cleaning frenzy accompanied by a long, self-pitying brood about whether Andre was going to show up for the