I Was Worth a Fruit Platter

I got pregnant the year we could barely afford to eat.

My boyfriend, Mason Caldwell, took out an online loan to pay for the abortion. At least, that was what he told me.

While I was recovering, the best thing I ate was a $2 chicken leg from the discount grocery store.

It broke my heart to watch him work construction all day and deliver food all night. So after three days in bed, I took a serving shift at the private club where my friend worked.

“People fight over these shifts,” she told me. “Good money, big tips. I only squeezed you in because I know things are rough.”

Then she added, “You just serve drinks. Nobody gets to ask you for anything else.”

That night, I found Mason in a VIP room, seated in the middle of a crowd that hung on his every word.

He ordered seven or eight bottles of red wine at $25,000 apiece. Someone said the watch he gave a bottle-service waitress was worth $220,000.

After midnight, he wiped the lipstick off his cheek and reached for the bike helmet beside him.

“Mason, you're still playing house with that woman? Still playing the delivery guy and the factory worker?”

“Your dad's on your ass about getting married. End it already. If she finds out who you are, you'll never get rid of her.”

Mason laughed. “She's not smart enough to figure it out.”

I stood in the dark beside the door, holding my empty tray, my head down.

The clinic had charged $600. The food he'd bought me over those three days came to $30.

$630.

Exactly the price of the fruit platter on their table.

That was all I had cost him.

——————

Mason got home before I did.

His first call came while I was changing out of my uniform and collecting my pay. Including my share of the tips, I'd made $400.

A full month at the factory left me with barely $2,000 after deductions.

“If we're short again, can I call you?” my friend asked.

I considered it. Then I shook my head.

Grandma had raised me to do steady, honest work. Carrying drinks wasn't dishonest, but all that money changing hands so easily made me uneasy. So did the thought of walking into that room again.

“Okay.” She shrugged. “Get home safe. Text me when you're there.”

I promised I would and went outside.

The night bus ran so infrequently that the stop was empty by the time I reached it. After a whole evening on my feet, I had a headache. The cold made the cramping worse.

Mason had called eight times.

I answered the ninth.

“Where are you? Why aren't you picking up?” His words came fast. “You just went out without telling me? Do you know how worried I've been?”

I held the phone to my ear and said nothing.

He took a breath, then another. When he spoke again, his voice was gentle.

“Tell me where you are. I'll come get you, okay?”

The bus pulled up. I climbed aboard and tapped my transit card.

“You don't have to. I'm almost home.”

I ended the call before he could answer.

There was little traffic. When I stepped off at our stop, Mason was waiting under the streetlight in his dirty delivery jacket.

He'd never really looked like a man who spent his evenings delivering other people's dinner. Even in that jacket, he looked as if someone had dressed him for an ad.

I'd always put that down to being in love. He looked good in an old T-shirt and flip-flops. He looked good with his hair flattened by his helmet. He even looked good with the buzz cut he'd regretted for weeks.

I had loved every version of him.

He took my canvas bag without a word, touched my cheek, and closed both hands around mine.

“You must be hungry. I got you a burger. With an extra patty.”

When money was especially tight, an extra patty had felt like something we shouldn't buy. But he always ordered one for me and asked the restaurant to make it just the way I liked it. He never took a bite of it.

I had held on to those small kindnesses through every long shift and every month when the numbers didn't add up. I'd given him everything I had. Tired and broke didn't matter, I thought, as long as we were in it together.

Now I could still feel his warm hands around mine.

And I could still see that fruit platter.

Me, my love, the baby we'd lost. All of it had cost him no more than that.

At home, Mason set the food in front of me and handed me a fork.

I ate because it was there. One mouthful, then another. I couldn't taste any of it.

“Lena, I know you've been having a hard time. But we couldn't have a baby. Not with things the way they are.”

He sat close enough for his knee to touch mine.

“I can handle being broke. How could I ask you and a baby to live like this? We'll have another one. I promise.”

My fork stopped halfway to my mouth.

“Once I get somewhere, I'll give you both everything. You won't have to worry about a thing.”

I started crying before I could put the fork down.

Mason reached for a napkin, wiped my face, then pulled me against him. He kept saying my name, his hand moving over my back.

“Don't cry, Lena. I'm sorry. I should be doing better. I'm so sorry.”

His voice caught. He sounded like it hurt him, too.

But all I could see was him flirting with the bottle-service waitresses, pulling one close, his hand resting on another woman's leg. The same mouth against my hair had laughed at the idea that I could ever discover his secret.

“Mason…”

I caught a fistful of his shirt.

I wanted to ask what he was hiding. Why he'd let me believe we were poor. Had any of this been real to him, or was I something he did for fun?

For a moment, I even wondered if he'd been afraid I would want him for his money. But what kind of test required this? Why had I been sitting in a clinic if he could afford to buy a stranger that watch?

I couldn't get the questions out.

We had three years of mornings and nights behind us. Three years of believing no one knew us the way we knew each other. I couldn't tear that apart while he was holding me.

When I was too tired to cry anymore, I rested against his chest.

“Do you love me?”

“Of course I do. How could you even ask?”

I'd asked him before, dozens of times. I'd never needed convincing. I had simply liked hearing him say it.

This time, I couldn't look up at him.

No, I thought. You don't.

You never did.