“I have a Bud and talk to you on the phone.”

“All right, then. Let’s have a Bud. And we can talk. Not on the phone—but in person. Where’s the kitchen?”

Dave started toward the door to the rest of Rhonda’s house—where he presumed the kitchen was—when he suddenly found his path blocked by Rhonda. “No!”

“No what?” asked Dave, confused, because it seemed like Rhonda was preventing him from going inside her house.

“I’m outta Bud,” said Rhonda, looking at the floor and trying to make it seem like it wasn’t weird that she wasn’t letting Dave inside her house. “I only got Natty Light.”

“All right,” said Dave. “Then, let’s get us a coupla Natty Lights,” and he started inside again.

“I’ll get ’em,” said Rhonda quickly, heading Dave off again.

And before he knew it, Rhonda had opened the door and closed it behind her and was inside her house getting her and Dave their beers.

And Dave was by himself on the porch.

And he wondered why Rhonda didn’t seem to want to let him go inside her house.

Maybe she was a hoarder, he thought, and she lived in cramped, crowded squalor or something, like people he had seen on TV.

But then he decided that Rhonda wasn’t a hoarder.

Because she didn’t seem like she was a hoarder.

But neither did the people on TV who were hoarders.

And then he stopped wondering if Rhonda was a hoarder, because the porch was cluttered, but it didn’t look like a hoarder’s porch.

And he sat down in the plastic chair at the wicker table and was about to flip through one of the SnowGoer magazines that was on it when Rhonda emerged from inside with two cans of Natty Light.

She tossed one of them to Dave.

And Dave said, “Thanks.”

And Rhonda said, “Sure.”

And Dave cracked open his beer and took a sip.

And Rhonda sat back down in the plastic chair that she had been sitting in earlier and cracked open her beer and took a sip.

And they didn’t talk.

And Dave wondered again why Rhonda didn’t seem to want to let him go inside her house.

And Rhonda hoped that Dave wasn’t wondering why she wasn’t letting him go inside her house.

And then asked, “So … now what?” to distract him just in case he was wondering why she wasn’t letting him inside.

“Huh?” asked Dave. “Oh—”

“You told me to do what I usually do around the house on Friday nights after we hang out, and I’m doin’ what I usually do around the house on Friday nights after we hang out. Kinda. I mean, I’m outta Bud. So I’m havin’ Natty Light. So that’s not usual. And I’m talkin’ to you in person, instead of on the phone, ’cause you’re here. So that’s not usual either, so … I’m not doin’ what I usually do, you know.”

“Well, I just mean—do normal things, like drink your beer and hang out with me, like you’re doin’, and just don’t focus on tryin’ to see the thing I painted for you.”