Also, Omaha was one of those small-town-in-a-city places where everyone knew everyone else’s cousin, so there was no way I’d be able to write that column without someone latching on to the fact that a single, childless mess of a human was covering parenting.
No, it wouldn’t take long at all for the truth to get back to Glenda.
I shoved the meatballs into the oven while I worked on the sauce, forcing myself to focus on food instead of negativity. I opened the cans and started pouring everything into the shiny silver pot that had clearly cost a fortune; I mean, it had a French name I couldn’t pronounce, so it had to be top dollar, right?
I used a whisk to cut through the tomato paste before turning the gourmet burner （thank God it was electric because I’d recently come to fear the open flame） up to high and looking through the cupboards for a colander. There was one in a deep drawer, a perfectly spotless silver colander that either had never been used or had been cleaned by a robot. I held it up and I could literally see my reflection in it.
I could also see the sauce behind me bubbling over in the reflection.
Shit.
It took a quick run-slide combo to get the pot off the burner as red sauce bubbled out and all over the stovetop. I fumbled through the drawers and found a big metal spoon and started stirring, which made the colander slip out from where I’d tucked it under my arm and fall onto the floor.
And of course it was dented on one side. I rolled my eyes and moved it with my foot. That was why I’d always used a cheap plastic colander; you couldn’t hurt those. But one tiny bounce for the shiny strainer left it looking like it’d been tossed from a moving car.
I ran into the bedroom while the meatballs finished baking, and changed into the black jeggings I’d worn almost every day my senior year and a Pink hooded T-shirt. I hadn’t remembered visiting Victoria’s Secret very often in my youth, but I also seemed to have shirts from the lingerie store in every color.
I slid my feet into my old gray Chucks and ran back into the kitchen. I stirred the sauce and took out the meatballs, which smelled so wonderful, before dumping them into the pot. The sauce was good to bubble all day, so I just needed to run to the store and be back in time to clean everything up before the boys got home.
Of course, in light of my recent history, I double-checked five times that the stove was entirely clear of flammable items before I grabbed my purse and keys. It wasn’t even one yet, and they didn’t get home until after five o’clock.
I had plenty of time.
* * *
? ? ?
“OHMIGOD—LIVVIE?”
I turned around in the checkout line and there was Sara Mills, one of my friends from high school. She was still just as pretty, but now she had an Afro that elevated her to runway model gorgeous. “Ohmigod, Sara? How are you?”
Sara was one of those three-people-removed-from-the-best-friend kind of friends, where you hung out a lot in high school but always within the confines of the group. We’d shared a lot of good times but completely lost touch after graduation.
She smiled. “I’m good. Living out in West Omaha. I married Trae Billings and we’ve got a baby—she’s six months old.”
“No way!” I reached over to hug her and knocked over a box of end-cap cookies with my purse. “Congratulations!”
She laughed and hugged me back. “Same old Liv.”
I nodded and picked up the box from the floor. “Unfortunately.”
She bit down on her bottom lip and said, “Yeah, I heard about the fire.”
“You did?” I adjusted my purse strap and said, “For the love of God, it was only a few days ago. That was fast.”
She made a face. “Well, you kind of went viral.”
“That senior superlative actually came true, didn’t it?”
Yes, I was voted Most Likely to End Up in a Viral Video.
She laughed and I realized that I really missed having friends. In Chicago I had Eli and I had coworkers, but I hadn’t had any true “girlfriends” since college. Which was probably why I squealed when she said, “Do you have time to grab a coffee next door? I’d love to catch up.”
“Totally.”
We chatted while the clerk rang up her groceries—responsible adult things like milk, bread, and vegetables—and then he rang up mine: a case of Top Ramen, a bag of Gardetto’s, off-brand tampons, spaghetti, and a twelve-pack of Diet Coke.
My phone buzzed, and I was disappointed to see it was my mom and not my anonymous pal. Your dad needs help with some yard work if you want to make some extra money.