“I guess you weren’t lying in calling her a witch,” he murmured, to which I responded with a purse of my lips and a curt nod, crossing my arms and burning my hands into my cardigan.

Seeming to finally remember why he was here in the first place, Jack stepped away from the photo after sparing it a final glance and came to the table, where he ripped open the paper bag, revealing the white-and-red boxes of takeout like a crude autopsy. The quiet was awkward as we shifted from discussing the past, but I was grateful for it. I didn’t like discussing Mom or my history when I had Jack with me, I didn’t want to tarnish what I saw as a beacon of happiness and toying mischief.

“So, I didn’t want to get anything too spicy - how is your spice tolerance?” he asked as he set stuff across the table, and I went to retrieve some silverware and plates, and also two beers from the fridge (Do I get glasses? No, he doesn’t seem like the kind of guy to drink beer from a glass.). Behind me, there was the resounding snap of Jack breaking chopsticks apart.

“Not well. I try not to eat it. It burns my lips and throat like hell whenever I do.”

His brows arched as he sat. “Good thing I didn’t get any! I typically like the hot stuff, the kind of stuff that packs a punch, but you never know what others like, and I was stupid and forgot to ask you earlier. Wasn’t thinking properly, as per usual,” he then smirked, “Like, hold on,” he lost his words to a chuckle as the look of remembrance crossed his face. “I met this guy in Kenosha back in ‘79, right? Was dared to eat a jalapeno from his father-in-law’s garden, and, holy shit, I thought the poor bastard was going to croak right then and there! Looked like he was drowning and choking on his own breath, turned red as a cherry! Could’ve sworn his eyes were bugging out of his skull.”

Despite his laughter I watched him with a pinched look. How could anyone find humor in someone almost dying from something like that? I could practically feel that burn in the back of my throat, so to suffocate on that very burn? I’d rather not. I then flushed. This was a funny story, and I felt embarrassed for not laughing and finding the joke.

Jack seemed to notice this, and his laughter awkwardly closed, coughing it away as he rubbed at his neck. “Erhm, sorry… Probably not that funny of a story to tell over dinner, eh?”

“No, no, it’s okay! Humor isn’t a forte for me, I’m afraid… Poor guy, though, I hope he’s all right.”

“Oh, yeah, he lived. Developed a pepper-phobia, I think.”

And he went quiet, cleared his throat, and began to dish out the food. Then, we ate in silence. I would’ve spoken but what does one say on a first date that we hadn’t already said? It felt too rude to speak while eating, to talk with your mouth full, right? I stewed in these questions, overthinking the quiet and growing terrified of it.

While he ate, he winced with what felt like every other bite until a hand gingerly touched his left cheek. It isn’t long until he was done, probably giving up with his meal, and he sat back in his chair, arms crossed as he offered his meal a disheartened scowl.

“Something wrong?” I asked after swallowing some fried rice.

“Nah, I’m fine. Just a toothache.”

I set my fork down and begin wiping my mouth with a napkin, moving to stand. “Let  me get you some ibuprofen-”

“No, no, Temp, I’m ok! Just an ache, I’ll be fine. I don’t want to trouble you. I can tough it out, I’m a big boy!”

And so, I sat, and didn’t think much else of it. I had been cautious but not yet afraid.

Then, after cleaning dinner (Jack was kind enough to offer to help, and was too nervous to tell him no, to sit down and relax in the living room, especially when he was insistent that he at least help with the few dishes we used), we went into the living room and turned on the T.V.

“What do you like watching, Temp?” He asked as I knelt before the shelf holding a small hoard of board games, skimming my hands over the shelves at random, then finally selecting Trivial Pursuit. “We got until ten before stuff goes dark, so better pick quickly!”

“I’m not much of a T.V. watcher, admittedly. Mom typically watches stuff. I think I will be fine with anything as long as it isn’t too loud. You know, explosions and gore type stuff.”

He nodded. “Ah, gotcha! Yeah, I feel you, movies tend to be a bit much with the gore. I’m here for a fun time, not a long time, y’know!”

The sofa sighed beneath him as the sound of Johnny Carson rambling from the T.V., and he breathed a small breath of relaxation that my burnt-out, too-weary mind initially thought to be forced.

I only nodded in response, still hovering by the game shelf. “Speaking of having a fun time, uhm… any game you’d prefer?” I still held onto Trivial Pursuit, but didn’t want to be rude by not asking for his opinion.

“You have Euchre?”

I winced. “I’m…not good at that one.” I had memories of my Uncle Al trying to teach me the game as a kid up at his cabin but I never came to grasp the rules or how it was played well enough, so I just never played it again.

He lifted his shoulders in that easy shrug of his. “Then your pick!”

Eagerly, I presented him with Trivial Pursuit, suddenly embarrassed looking over the shelf. None of the games were very… adult. They were simple ones, the kind meant for kids and parents too exhausted to bother learning the rules of another silly board game: Sorry!, Life, Trouble, Candyland, Guess Who?.. I think Mom interpreted me struggling to learn card games like Euchre as a little girl or my poor grades in school for being dull so she made sure that we had ‘easy’ games around the house. I never had the courage to ask her if we could’ve gotten something like Monopoly or Clue - or to stop having to remind me of every step of chess when I was taking a moment too long to figure out my next move. I was aware that I was not a smart woman, but I was smart enough to know that I wasn’t stupid, regardless of what others insisted on.

With a held breath I put Trivial Pursuit on the coffee table, sitting on the floor opposite to Jack. This game I knew I was smart enough for, especially when it came to science and nature or entertainment trivia cards. And it was a favorite because of that: it made me feel smart. When all you do is sit in a convenience store and spend all your time reading (in recent years, especially following high school, I’d come to discover a love for learning about animals, regardless of Mom’s disapproval against pets) and listening to the radio, hear what your Mom and Grandma were watching on TV upstairs, or just take a moment to truly listen to the world around you, you learn a thing or two.

Jack had been rubbing his left cheek again, wearing a wince on his face, when he asked, “You gonna be comfortable down there?” 

“Oh, I’ll be fine, you are my guest after all,” I said and began to set up the game. “Have you played before?”

Jack scoffed. “Of course! You, Temp, are looking at a trivia king.” he gestured to himself while puffing out his chest, and the scene made me giggle, and I kept my gaze low as I continued to put things together as to hide the heat rising in my cheeks.

“Probably not as good as you, I’m sure,” he said quickly.

I felt my lips smirk as I allowed myself a moment to brag, “I happen to know a thing or two about animals, and music.”

“That so?”

I nodded. “In high school, I thought I wanted to be a zoologist. I remember being a girl and hearing about Jane Goodall and what she all did for chimpanzees in Africa and thinking I could do something like that. But with Dad gone and me being the only child, I knew Mom couldn’t run things on her own - and I doubt she’d approve of career choices like that.”

His brow furrowed as he took the game piece I offered him. “Awe man, Temp, that ain’t fair to you.”

It was unfair, but that bitterness I’d long-since buried and refused to let it bother me. It still stung, but that pain was old and worn. “I still like reading about animals. Reptiles are some of my favorites to read about - they’re misunderstood, I think.”

He visibly cringed. “They’re all slimy and shit. Farmers up north would use them all the time in their fields or you’d find nests of them everywhere in the woods,” the wince melted into something more mischievous, “I liked to gather them to scare my sisters, and would sneak one or a dozen into their beds if I felt bold.”

“Not slime,” I swiftly corrected. “Reptiles produce no slime. People only think they are because they lump them together with amphibians, whether it be because of their damp environment or glands. Reptiles like snakes may only seem slimy because they’re scales are smoother, glossy, iridescent. So they shine as though they’re covered with shine. The fact people mix the two up - amphibians and reptiles - is so frustrating! They’re both separate groups that can be appreciated and hated in their own unique ways. It’d be like lumping humans together with a lemur just because we’re covered in hair and have opposable thumbs, honestly.”

Without really much of an effort to play, Jack was slapping a trivia card against his knee when he said, exasperated, “See, it’s when you say stuff like that that make me confused as to why you’re stuck here working a cash register and stacking shelves. Don’t take this the wrong way but you seem to be more like the… librarian type, y’know? Or like a teacher. Like, you’re quiet and you actually read and you know shit… you just don’t strike me as a lady who would work in a place like a convenience store.”

I flinched a bit, then looked down at the board, all set but none of the pieces moved aside from the card Jack held. I tried to work up an answer. He was right. Why did I need to stay at the store with Mom? Nothing physical had been binding me. It would be easy to just walk out the door, walk away, and never return. Except it wasn’t so easy; the thought was terrifying. If I severed the connection from Mom, the store, the only way of life I’d ever known, I may have as well signed my own death certificate.

“I blame my dad dying,” I said, and upon realizing that must’ve made me seem cruel, I quickly followed up with, “All my Mom ever knew was this store, but him dying and, I guess, obligation is what keeps me here.  He died on that couch, you know,” I gestured to the couch he sat on, to which Jack reacted with a blanched expression and a wary look at the seat beneath him. I then tried to smile. “I’m kidding,” and glanced at the closed door of Mom’s room. “He died in there two weeks after his diagnosis. Ever since then I feel like I can’t leave Mom alone. She needs me, I think.” But do I need her?

When I looked up at Jack, I instantly looked away. The intensity of his gaze, where he saw nothing but me, only me, startled me. “Well, you’re a trooper, then, Temp. That kinda shit is never easy.”

My eyes suddenly burned. “I was only a kid.”

“Exactly. You were only a kid.” Jack said, to which I furrowed my brow at him.

We stared at one another, his eyes intense, and it felt as though the red spot in his left eye began to flood and spread, turning the whole eyeball an unsettling crimson shade that made the ice-blue of his iris a gunmetal grey. 

Me. He saw me, and it grew from intimidating to offensive. I thought he was growing to criticize me, that he pitied me being caged while he lived as free as a bird. But before I could stew in that burgeoning envy, anger, loathing, he cleared his throat and something about him softened.

“So, why don’t we start this game, eh? And, oh, hey! It’s your turn!” Alright, we’re gonna start with a nature one, m’kay? What is the English name of the animals in the order Anura? The animal is deemed a "groda" in Swedish, "rana" in Italian, and "grenouille" in French.”

I only knew this answer because of how often I’d sit on the floor of the living room, reading the cards over and over again - and also nature magazines. I didn’t answer right away. I merely observed Jack for a moment, watching him, staring for half a heartbeat. How did he do it? How did he manage to flay me like that? How did he pick at and reopen scabs I didn’t realize I had? And why did I let myself bleed before him?

At last, I gave him my answer: “Easy. Frog.”