Paloma, my brother’s wife, stomps her way down the aisles of the ShopTime Grocery, smoking a cigarette.
“Your brother is an ugly man, Tanya,” she says. “Even his cock. It is very ugly. A short, fleshy, bald thing.” She is Walter Cronkite reporting the short, fleshy, bald news. But if she’s telling me, she’s already told Eddie. I like Paloma. You know where you stand with her.
I hurry after her and almost crash the cart into Mrs. Bradley. Her cart is full of squirming blond children and frozen pizzas. She looks like an older version of me. All the women around here look like versions of each other. We are blond. Dimpled. Warm cheeks like baby dolls. We are short and plump and soft to the touch. But Paloma is making them harden. When she’s near, they flare their nostrils. Some of them ball up their fists like they might hit her. Sometimes I think about that. What if they jumped on Paloma, all pink faced and mean?
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“Tanya, you know you can always come over to my house. Whenever you want. I always need a babysitter, maybe I could pay you a little bit.” She speaks in a low voice, like we’re hatching a plan.
“Tan-YAH! You like the uh, mac-doo-dles?” calls Paloma. She’s two rows over. “Eddie likes the mac-doodles, yes? We buy them for Eddie!” she sings.
Mrs. Bradley offers to pray for me as I wheel around the corner.
