Chapters (46)
- Cover
- Other Titles
- Title Page
- Copyright
- Dedication
- Friday
- ONE
- TWO
- THREE
- FOUR
- Saturday
- FIVE
- SIX
- SEVEN
- EIGHT
- NINE
- TEN
- Sunday
- ELEVEN
- TWELVE
- THIRTEEN
- FOURTEEN
- FIFTEEN
- SIXTEEN
- SEVENTEEN
- EIGHTEEN
- NINETEEN
- TWENTY
- TWENTY-ONE
- TWENTY-TWO
- TWENTY-THREE
- TWENTY-FOUR
- TWENTY-FIVE
- Monday
- TWENTY-SIX
- TWENTY-SEVEN
- TWENTY-EIGHT
- TWENTY-NINE
- THIRTY
- THIRTY-ONE
- THIRTY-TWO
- THIRTY-THREE
- THIRTY-FOUR
- THIRTY-FIVE
- EPILOGUE
- ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Just as Alyssa makes a run for Tanya, the bathroom door opens and Marv comes out, wiping his hands on his jacket. “Hey, hold up, little lady,” he says to Alyssa, grabbing her by the arms and pulling her into him. Eric lets out a roar, cracking the broom handle across Marv’s back. Marv howls and lets Alyssa go, stumbling forward. Eric hits him again with half of the broom handle, and Marv whips around and swings blindly, hitting Eric in the leg. Alyssa kicks Marv in the shin and then loses her balance, falling onto her butt on the disgusting Barkley’s floor.
Finn sees Tanya drop her jacket and make her way towards Alyssa, so she kicks over a barstool right into her path and watches her trip and fall, skidding head-first past Alyssa and knocking into Eric, who falls on top of Marv. Then everyone is in a loud pile on the floor and Finn doesn’t know what to do. She throws a twenty down on the bar and grabs her keys, but just as she’s about to leave she spots him standing there in the doorway to the pool room. Dallas.
He doesn’t look any older, which is infuriating. She wants him to be pudgy, or gaunt, or bald; she wants him to be lacking something. But there he is, hustling pool at the bar after work as though he’s still twenty-five and his main goal in life is to save up enough money to spend the summer following Phish on tour in a beat-up camper van.
Their eyes meet for a moment, but instead of thinking what an absolute dick he is and how he’s just standing there passively watching this fight happen, all she can think is how much she misses him. Then it occurs to her that she is just standing there and watching, too.
Maybe we did deserve each other.
Dallas turns around and goes back into the pool room, and she feels some kind of spell being broken. “I should go home,” she says to no one in particular. What she means is her real home, her front stoop, her living room with the soft white lighting, her bed with the Egyptian cotton sheets, Max, quiet, space, familiar night skies. But she knows that, at least for tonight, she will have to settle for Victor Street.
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