Double cheese pizza was all he needed now, and while he was eating it, things didn’t seem so bad. Rory could understand, to some degree, how Andrew had gotten to be the way he was. Food was one of the few things in life that always lived up to expectations. You couldn’t rely on your mother to remain sober, but you could always rely on pizza to taste good.

“Pepperoni’s my favorite,” said Andrew, eyeing Rory who was choosing his second slice. “Nothing really compares to pepperoni. I always leave it for last.”

“I won’t take it, don’t worry.”

“It’s not that you can’t. You can if you want. It’s just that if it’s all the same to you…”

“I’ll take the pineapple.”

“Good choice.” Andrew pushed the packets with the spices towards him. “Be my guest.”

Sitting on the king-sized bed that occupied most of the trailer, Andrew looked like a bunch of balloons stuffed into a T-shirt the size of a blanket. The outfit barely covered his puffy legs, leaving the gray, irritated skin exposed. He probably had no underwear on, but it didn’t really matter, since his huge belly spilled over his thighs, covering them down to his knees, like an apron of flesh.

When they’d first met, Andrew had still been able to waddle to the door to meet the delivery guy. He hadn’t been able to make it through the door, though, and had effectively been trapped in his own home for years. His eating habits hadn’t improved since then, and, as his weight grew, the size of his trap had shrunk to his bed.

The only people Andrew maintained contact with nowadays were Rory and the quiet, sturdy lady who came each morning to wash him and put ointments on his skin infections. He had his online pals, too, with whom he played computer games, but Rory doubted any of them knew what a state Andrew was in, and the conditions in which he lived.

“What would I do without you, man,” said Andrew, pulling the pepperoni box closer. “Who else would have come at this hour?”

“No problem,” Rory said, looking around for something to wipe his hands with. “Maybe you should tell them to bring the delivery inside next time.”

“They usually do, man, but this was some new guy. He just dropped it on the porch and ran. Just ran, I swear! I could see it from the window, man. Do you know what it’s like, seeing food from the window and not being able to reach it?”

“Did you try to get up?”

“Nah, my feet won’t hold me no more. They’ll snap like dry sticks, I can tell.”

Andrew wiped his mouth with his ragged T-shirt and reached for the next slice. Rory watched him, the brief sense of calm brought about by eating greasy junk food beginning to dissipate. Andrew was like Rory’s mother in a way. She was addicted to booze, he to food, but both were basically killing themselves in front of Rory’s eyes.

“Want another slice?” Andrew offered, not too convincingly.

“No, thanks,” Rory said, and added after a pause, “and you shouldn’t, either.”

“Don’t start again.” Andrew sunk his teeth into his pepperoni-covered bliss. “I’m a lost case, buddy,” he said, chewing. “Let me just enjoy what’s left of my life.”

“You’re what—twenty-three? There’s quite a lot of life left.”

“Twenty-three? No. Twenty-two. Although… what date is it? Ah, never mind.” Andrew wiped his mouth. “Enough about me. What did your father want?”

Rory frowned. “My father?”

“He came knocking on your door at about five.” Andrew pointed two fingers at his own eyes, then at Rory’s. “I keep an eye on your mom in your absence, right? So don’t you say that I’m useless.”

“I never said that,” Rory said distractedly, his mind already occupied by the news. His father having visited could explain why his mom was in such a state. She hadn’t seen him since he’d left. Whenever he had showed up, he’d made sure to meet Rory when she hadn’t been around.

“She let him in,” said Andrew. “Then he left, like, five minutes later.”

Five minutes. It had taken the man five minutes to derail the best shot in ages that Mom had taken at sobriety. The saddest part was, he likely hadn’t even meant any harm. He’d probably just wanted to check on her.

“Are you cool with him?” Andrew said, eyeing him. “Does he pay child support?”

“I’m twenty, so no, he doesn’t. The support kinda works the other way with us.”

“Like, you’re paying him? You shouldn’t, dude.”

“He’s my father. It’s complicated.”

“He’s using you, and you’re letting him. He’s a big boy, and you’ve got no money to spare.”

That unexpectedly brought back the memory of the spiky-haired guy in the diner today—Em, short for Emerson. He’d paid for all his friends in the end, and left a good tip, too. Rory had seen them get into the sports car parked by the diner—with Emerson in the driver’s seat, of course.

Rory hated the ease with which the guy had treated his money. His friends could have paid for themselves. A simpler car would have done an equally good job of taking them from A to B. He couldn’t even imagine what it was like to live like that. He only knew the life at the other end of the wealth spectrum, and it sucked.

The guy hadn’t even said goodbye. Despite his insisting on exchanging names and shaking hands, in the end, he’d just left. That bothered him, too. If you say hello, you have to say goodbye, as his mom used to say when she’d still been able to string coherent sentences together.

Rory glanced at his watch. This was too late for conversation. He had work tomorrow, and he had to clean the mess at home before he could call it a day.

“Got to go,” he said, and Andrew nodded, his many chins shimmering with grease.

“Could you just help me clean myself?” he said, smiling pitifully, spreading his hands. “The wipes are in the bathroom. And bring some talc too, will you?”