Outside the bar, the night air hit my face like cold water.
That was when I realized my whole body was shaking.
My hand found the thin card in my pocket and squeezed. The paper edge bit into my palm, and I sucked in a sharp breath.
It was the invitation Moira had made by hand.
Three stick figures drawn in crayon, holding hands in a row. Like a real family.
But the one labeled with Reginald's name was smeared now, blurred beyond recognition by the blood seeping from my palm.
For a moment I just stood there, numb, before the tears caught up to me.
The wind dried them on my cheeks. My skin pulled tight, stinging.
I'd met Reginald at the lowest point of my life.
I was fighting Alvin in a brutal divorce, left the marriage with nothing, scrambling to keep my head above water. At the same time, I'd dusted off my parents' old trade and started selling breakfast burritos from a street cart—anything to cover Moira's tuition and keep food on the table.
The very first morning I set out, the cart's tire blew on the way there.
I crouched on the curb for what felt like forever, hands black with grease, and the tire stayed flat.
But if I didn't set up that day, Moira and I wouldn't eat.