Fallout (Crank 3)

Nikki sees my double-fisted

whiskey and Cokes. She jumps

to her feet, extracts the drinks

gently from my hands, sets them

on the table. I’m starving. Let’s get

some food. It is not a request.

Anger starts to build, like wasps

daubing mud. But then when

I glance at Montana, her eyes

harbor anxiousness. She wants

the evening to go well. So all

I do for the moment is say,

“Hey, Montana. You look great

tonight.” I know I should say

something to Brendan, but all

I can manage is a small wave.

Then I let Nikki steer me

toward the seafood-heavy buffet.

When Montana asked if they

could join us, I didn’t know how

to say no, apologizes Nikki.

“Not your fault.” I concentrate

on loading my plate. Shrimp. Crab

legs. Oriental chicken salad.

Nikki’s plate makes mine look

greedy. “Aren’t you hungry?

I thought you were starving.”

I only said that because

I figured you should eat

before drinking all that booze.