Turn 86 of 228

Text Diane about Tuesday's Henderson visit while she's sitting right next to you

The kitchen is on fire. On the screen, not in the apartment — though the apartment isn't far off. Overcooked's four-way split shows four chefs scrambling through a pirate ship galley and Marcus is screaming about the tomatoes again and Carl is throwing plates into the ocean and Diane is laughing so hard the controller shakes in her hands and the beard is open and the belly is bouncing. Lena's chef runs into a wall. The score drops. Nobody cares. The afternoon light is gold and the food is mostly gone — pizza crusts and empty cartons and grease stains on the carpet that were already there and are now worse — and the four of them are deep in the couch and the floor and the game.

Lena picks up her phone. Diane is right there — right there, shoulder to shoulder, the belly warm against Lena's belly, the smell of warm beer and unwashed skin and old soy sauce. Lena opens the text thread. She types.

"Are you ready for Tuesday?"

Diane's phone buzzes on her thigh. The sound is close — a small vibration against skin — and Diane picks it up and reads it and the corner of her mouth moves under the beard. She types back without looking at Lena.

"You're literally next to me."

"I know," Lena types. "But this way it's documented."

Diane snorts. The belly shakes. Carl glances up from the floor — his chef is drowning in a cutscene — and then looks back at the screen. Marcus doesn't notice. Marcus is trying to chop tomatoes and the tomatoes keep rolling off the counter and he's cursing at the controller.

Diane types. "Henderson is coming at 10 AM. Two people from corporate. I've prepared a packet. The packet is the numbers. The numbers are insane. If they want a tour, they get the office. If they want the office, they get you."

Lena reads it. The screen is warm and the belly is warm and the phone rests on it. She types back.

"Good. Let them see everything."

"Everything?"

"Everything. The carpet. The wrappers. The stains. Me. Naked. Barefoot. The nails. All of it. And then the numbers. Because the numbers are why they're here and the numbers are why we're here and the numbers are the point."

Diane reads it. The typing indicator appears. Disappears. Appears again. The game is still going — Marcus has rescued the tomatoes, Carl has stopped drowning — and the score is climbing and the afternoon is gold and the apartment smells like four bodies and old food. Diane's reply arrives.

"I'll make sure Henderson sees the numbers first. Then the office. Then you. In that order. If he has a problem with what he sees, the numbers answer. If the numbers don't answer, I answer. And I don't lose.""

Lena reads it twice. The phone is warm on her belly. Diane is warm beside her. The game is on and the tomatoes are chopped and the plates are served and the score is climbing and the afternoon is long and Tuesday is two days away and the wish hums under everything — quiet, steady, patient — and the body is 411 pounds and growing and the apartment holds them all.