Not Perfect(46)

Levi scowled at her, but he took some and ate. She could hear the crackers being chewed. She took one cracker so she could look busy but waited until they seemed to have their fill before eating the last two crackers and the tiny bit of lima beans that was left. That was it, there was nothing left in the freezer.

After dinner she cleaned up, then saw that the kids were watching TV together, which was unusual.

“I’m running out for about twenty minutes,” she said.

“Where are you going?” Levi asked, sounding alarmed.

“Just up the street, I have to drop something off,” she said. “I’ll be right back.”

She grabbed the backpack she packed earlier and headed out, past the night doorman and into the cool city air. She turned right up Eighteenth Street, hoping he would be there. As she crossed Chestnut she saw that he was, sitting with his sign that said IN NEED OF A LITTLE KINDNESS. She might not have peanut butter or supplies for her boxed lunches anymore, but she had kindness.

“Hi,” she said as she approached him. He looked up, and it seemed like he was out of it, like he was just going to look through her, but then his eyes adjusted and he looked at her. “I don’t have food or money to offer you, but I have two blankets, a warm bathrobe, slippers, a pair of shoes, and some clothes. In here.” She handed him the backpack. He hesitated, then he took it from her.

“And these,” she said, reaching into her pocket for a handful of Stuart’s gold cufflinks. She handed them out to him like she was offering change. He put his hand out and accepted them. At first he looked annoyed.

“They are all real gold,” Tabitha said quickly, suddenly aware that people were looking at her. “They’re worth something. I’m not sure what, but something. It’s worth a try.”

He nodded and pushed them into a tattered box that sat next to him.

“Thank you,” he said, sounding so normal. Totally normal. She would have thought that he would sound croaky, or not be able to speak at all. But no, he sounded just like anyone else. That bothered her more than anything.

“You’re welcome,” she said, and then headed home.



On what Tabitha now thought of as the terrible night—though again, she still wasn’t sure if it was the most terrible night, and she still couldn’t bring herself to put it on the new list—the call had come around eight forty-five. She had finished early, since she’d had so many orders and had run out of some of the ingredients. She had sold her last meal at around eight to those people who called late, the ones with the birthday, who she’d almost said no to. They had come to pick it up at the front desk. They lived nearby, they said—it would be easier that way and the food would be hotter. It was the customers’ picking up and her accepting the payment while standing there in the lobby that always felt especially questionable to her, and that night it had more than ever for some reason. She told herself again and again that she wasn’t alone, she was jumping on the bandwagon of a whole new era of food takeout. One of her friends from cooking school had started turning his home into a pop-up restaurant a few times a week. He lived in the Italian Market and made some of the best Italian food she had ever had. There was a waiting list to eat there! People called weeks ahead, and paid a fair amount of money, to have a chance to come to his home to eat his home-cooked offerings. And there were other takeout apps out there. There was Shepherd’s Pie, of course, another called Dinner Is Ready, and one called The Kitchen Sink, not to mention the ever-popular Food Truck. Tabitha’s was growing, she could feel it. It was much talked about on Facebook and Twitter. She had seen some amazing pictures of her food on Instagram—it looked even better in the pictures than she remembered it looking when she packaged it up. She was starting to worry she wouldn’t be able to keep up with the demand.

When the phone rang she almost didn’t answer it. Stuart was there with her, he had come home early, at least early for him, and they were talking about Fern’s teacher who, Fern had told them, had been falling asleep in class on occasion. They both found it odd and were just deciding if they should go to the head of school to voice their concerns when she heard the ring. She didn’t recognize the number, but something made her reach for her phone and take the call. That was one of the moments that distinguished before and after—before the call things weren’t great, they were . . . something else. But after the call they were—what? Always up in the air with the possibility of something truly awful constantly looming out there? That about summed it up.

“Hello?” Tabitha had said.

She heard shuffling, some breathing, she was about to hang up, thinking it was a wrong number or a butt dial.

“Were there any peanuts in that food?” a woman’s voice said, clear panic in her voice.

“Who is this?” Tabitha asked, getting a terrible feeling in her chest.

“We read the menu, it didn’t say anything about peanuts. Were there any? Any at all?”

Tabitha could hear the unmistakable sounds of a hospital through the phone.

“No,” Tabitha said quickly, running through the ingredients in her mind. “None at all.”

“Ethan can’t breathe,” the woman said. “It happened right after we ate. About three minutes after. I had to call an ambulance. I don’t know what else it could be. But no peanuts? Are you sure?”