Lynn was a cashier at the grocery store where I shoplifted sometimes.

She asked if I was hungry and I lied and said yes. She told me to wait twenty minutes she’d be done her shift and I could go back to hers and have a hot meal, so I waited, worried that she’d otherwise turn me in. When the boss asked who I was she said her nephew. When the next cashier got on shift Lynn disappeared a couple minutes and came back  with her hair down and a big leather purse tucked under her arm. We went through the checkout together and she bought a can of Campbell’s mushroom soup and a six pack of Busch Light. Alright, have a good night all! See you tomorrow! she said, walking out of the store. She zipped up her coat once we were outside, looked at me, and said This way. We started walking. How old are you, anyway? she asked. Sixteen, I said, what about you? She laughed. Didn’t your mom ever teach you not to ask a lady her age? But go on, how old do you think I am? She was blonde, or at least she used to be. Her skin was dry and her lips were dry too, under the waxy layer of orangey pink. There was a thin beige line on the inside where her spit dried. I knew she was a smoker cause I’d noticed her on break outside before. She didn’t seem like a mom. She was really thin and kept her hair long, wore tall boots and had press on nails with little swirly designs. I thought she was probably around fifty. Thirty-nine, I said. She smiled. She asked me about school and my family and I lied some more. She tsk’d my mother for things she hadn’t done wrong, she was sure I was some at-risk youth. The main thing you need to know is I’m a liar. I was seventeen, not sixteen, and I’d already dropped out of school. My mom was as close to an angel you could find. I was lying to her, too. She knew I wasn’t in school anymore but she thought I had a job at the car wash. Really I only worked there once a week, as a front, just on Saturdays, when mom would pull through and I’d wash her car for free and she’d drive off so happy and tell all her friends her son washes her car. But the rest of the time I just sold weed. When we got to her place the whole building smelled like sour old cigarette butts and the air was stale and heavy. An old elevator coughed us up three floors and when we got to her door she turned and said Mi casa e su casa very coyly, over her shoulder, like a girl my own age. There was a set of old gray leather couches and a little glass coffee table. Framed black and white photos on the wall. A framed poster of Marilyn Monroe holding her dress down. One of those old cuckoo clocks she said was passed down (on the hour she’d show me the bird coming out). The carpets were all long and shaggy and the kitchen was a tiny linoleum square tucked to the side with one folding door leading to the front and the other leading to a miniature dining room table with an arrangement of silk flowers in the center. Geisha placemats. I could sense her bedroom down the hall and saw the gold rope trimmings of a floral duvet. If you need the bathroom it’s just down that way. Want a beer? I walked around with my drink and looked at all the photos. She was cooking and turned on the radio. Suddenly I felt something on my foot. I sure hope you have a cat, I called out. She came out with a wooden spoon still in her hand and reached under the side table draped in a long crochet doily. She pulled out an old fat black and white cat. This is Daisy, she said, and kissed it. It hissed with disgust. Don’t worry, she’s declawed. She went back to the kitchen and the thing retreated back to its hiding place. I took another beer without asking and looked in her room and bathroom. It was like she was from another century just flowers and gold everywhere and all of it stunk of smoke. An old princess from a fallen kingdom. Her room had a big vanity table with lights around the mirror and what looked like a hundred perfume bottles. Dinner! she called. I went to the table. The cat was under there now, pawing at my sock. I hope you like chicken, she said. Chicken’s fine, anything’s great, thank you, I said. She bowed her head and said grace while I examined the scribbly line of cleavage peaking out the top of her shirt. Then she crossed herself and served me two chicken breasts cooked in the can of mushroom soup over some white rice, gray sludge spreading slowly across my plate. There was a little salad of just lettuce cut up with a bottle of Catalina dressing beside it but I don’t eat vegetables. She got me another beer, and a big glass of white wine for herself. So do you have a sweetheart? she asked, crossing her leg under the table. I saw her bare feet and they looked younger than the rest of her. No, not really, I said. Why, don’t you like girls? I told her girls didn’t like me and she said she didn’t think that was true. I was a good-looking boy and they were just shy. She asked if I knew how to dance. I said no. She told me she’d show me and pulled me into the middle of the living room. She pushed away the glass coffee table and then the clock struck and the cuckoo came out. Look! she said. A little wooden bird came out of a doorway at the top of the clock and three little lambs on a landing below churned slowly in a circle on a platform. There was an old craft feather stuck to the head of the bird and one eye missing. Cuc-koo! Cuc-koo! went the little tin whistle. I asked her as many questions I could think of about the clock to avoid dancing but she turned up the radio in the kitchen, came back and took my hand and placed it on the top of her butt. That tender slope. She held her body close to mine and I was surprised to feel how small she was. Like dancing with a piece of paper, a little wrinkled bookmark. We swayed and she rested the side of her face to my chest. Isn’t there anything you want to know about me? Feel free to ask, she said. I thought for a minute. Are you going to tell the owner of the store what I did? She made a face and stepped away to pick up her glass from the television stand. No, I won’t tell, but you’d better cut that shit out. I asked if I could use the bathroom before heading home and she gestured toward it. There were a lot of wrapped soaps shaped like flowers. The kind you get for Christmas if someone doesn’t know you. A lit candle shaped like a lily pad was floating in a dish of water. I wondered when she’d slipped away and done that. When I came back out she was smoking at the table, picking at the salad with her fork. Sorry I couldn’t finish that second chicken, I’m pretty full. I didn’t touch it though, hope it won’t go to waste, I said, pulling my boots on. She picked up my plate and scraped it into the trash. I got on my coat and told her thanks for everything and she came to the door looking like an arrow but softened and put her arms around my neck for a hug and I just went ahead and held her because I was there already anyway. She was drunk and swaying like a pendulum even though the music was off now. I could feel myself growing hard and it repulsed me so I pushed her off, said goodbye. She blackened around the eyes and gave me a terrible smile before she closed the door. I took the stairs down instead of the elevator, ran like a maniac, and when I got outside I sucked in so much cold air my lungs seized. I rubbed my hands together and stuck them in my pockets and ambled back toward the grocery store. From there I’d be able to find my way home. Passing the store the lights were still on and the cashier who replaced her was mopping the floors. She saw me and waved. I waved back. When I got home my mom had dinner out on the table for me. Chicken. Hi honey, I’m in here, she called from behind the sound of the TV. I took off my things and went in and she was folding laundry watching a game show. You’re late, she said. I told her I’d been asked to work an extra shift, someone called in sick. She could be in a really chatty mood sometimes. She told me about a phone call she had with her friend who was in hospital who’d be getting out soon and a talk show she watched where boys were sent to boot camp when their parents couldn’t handle them. I’m lucky with you, she said. She looked a thousand years younger than Lynn and in that moment I loved her more than anything in the entire world, cross-legged in an old sweatsuit on the couch. There’s cookies on top of the fridge, she wanted me to know, but first I had to eat my dinner. Okay, mom. I’m starving, I said, and went and sat down in the dark.