I was also hoping, since Joker and I exchanged numbers, that right then I’d find out what was next because I wanted whatever was next with Joker really badly.

As I extricated my purse, I bit my lip, wanting there to be a text or a voice message from him, even if it was just to say hey, which would tell me he was thinking of me. After what he said the night before about treating me like the girl he saw me to be, I didn’t want him to be one of those guys who played games in order to play it cool.

I got hold of my phone and hit the button at the bottom to illuminate the display.

There was a text that said, Get a break, call me. And on the top it decreed it was from Joker.

My heart got light and my thumb flew over the screen. In no time I’d dialed Joker’s number.

It rang three times before, “Yo, Butterfly.”

My heart got lighter.

“Hi, Joker.”

“You’re up for it, I could hit your house tonight with Chinese takeaway.”

It was not an exaggeration to say that after the bills were paid, my budget for laundry, food, gas, and limited sundries was reached (as it always was), that at the end of the month I had six dollars and fifty-five cents to carry over to the next month. And if anything came up, which it did frequently, I had to use my credit card. As I could only pay the minimum monthly payment, the balance never went down and, alarmingly, nearly every month went up.

This hadn’t always been the case. In the beginning, when I had child support, I had some room to breathe. When I lost that, Dad had helped, but I’d stopped taking his money because it made me feel guilty. He was still working. When he had to go and help Gramma, he’d lucked out when his company transferred him. But he was paying a lady to watch Gram during the day; he didn’t need the added burden of me.

So things had grown tight to the point where I’d scaled back on absolutely everything that wasn’t Travis related.

There were no lunches at the mall. There was no Las Delicias. There was no Chinese takeaway. Not for me. Not for so long I didn’t remember the last time I had Chinese.

In other words, Chinese takeaway sounded great.

Joker bringing it to my house and eating it with me sounded better.

“That sounds perfect.”

“Six, your place?” he asked.

“Yes,” I answered.

“Text me what you like. I’m hittin’ Twin Dragon.”

“You got it.”

“Your day good?” he asked.

It wasn’t. It was just a day.

Now it was a good day.

I didn’t know if I should tell him that.

Then I decided I should tell him that.