The Vow by Jessica Martinez

to stop seeing the shrink if they didn’t let me work here. “I just thought it’d be a fun place to work.” It’s about the stupidest thing in the world to say, but she doesn’t call me on it.
    Her face softens. “Your sister was a good kid, sweetie.”
    I nod. Pity always comes after the shock. People swell up with it like bloated, belly-up frogs in rain gutters. They don’t know what else to do. Still, it never gets any less uncomfortable.
    She takes another phlegm-filled breath, then blinks and blinks and blinks until the misty eyes are nearly gone. Good. If she cries for Lena today, I’ll start crying for Mo and I might not be able to stop.
    I want her to tell me what she remembers, but today isn’t the right day for either of us. I won’t even try until she’s used to me. I mean used to me as who I really am.
    At the door, Reed finally wrestles the old man’s umbrella into submission and opens the door for him. When he starts making his way toward us, his pants are half-soaked from rain, and he’s drying his glasses on his T-shirt. This conversation needs to be over.
    “You miss her?” Flora asks.
    That question is so insulting and stupid, I don’t usually answer it at all, but it’s Flora. I give her a polite “Yes.”
    She puts the envelope down on the counter, clearly having forgotten about my name on the front, then gives my arm a squeeze. “I need a cigarette break,” she calls over her shoulder to Reed.
    “Sure,” he says. He waits for the door to slam shut before asking, “Didn’t she just take one?”
    “Yeah.” I point to the envelope, grateful for the distraction. “Do you know what that is?”
    Reed walks over to me and looks at the envelope. He smells like orange peels from prepping the fruit for smoothies. “Yeah, a baby shower invitation for next Sunday.”
    He must see confusion on my face, because he adds, “For Vicky.”
    “Oh.” Soup’s wife. Did I know she’s pregnant? I don’t think so, but everything’s murky today. I don’t think I slept at all last night. “I’m invited? But I haven’t even met her. What’s she like?”
    He leans his hip into counter, and I stay facing him, doing the same. This is new for us. Head-on conversation. “Um . . .” He pushes his glasses up the slope of his nose. “She’s sort of intense.”
    “As in crazy or high-maintenance?”
    Reed takes a few seconds to consider. He does that a lot, and it makes me nervous. I’m used to Mo firing off the first thing that comes to his mind. “Maybe both,” he says finally. “She’s sort of critical.”
    “But Soup’s so nice.”
    He shrugs. “It always happens to the nice guys.”
    “Does it?”
    “You’ve never made some poor guy’s life hell?”
    “I don’t know. I don’t think so.”
    “I find that hard to believe.”
    I’d be insulted if he weren’t grinning ever so slightly. It’s distracting. “Soup is so chill, though.”
    “Yeah, but he’s sloppy and kind of loud and smokes weed from time to time.”
    “Still. The thought of a guy like him being henpecked for a lifetime is depressing. Maybe she’s just pregnant-mean,” I suggest. “My aunt Shayna was psycho when she was pregnant but totally sane before and after.”
    “No,” he says. “Vicky was born crazy. Pregnancy has only enhanced it.”
    “Ouch. You’re not a fan, I take it.”
    “I’m allowed to say that about my own sister.”
    “ What? Soup’s your brother-in-law? Why didn’t anyone tell me that?”
    Reed shrugged. “I thought you knew.”
    “What next—is Flora your mother or something?”
    “Ha. That woman grabs my butt at least once a day. Definitely not my mom.”
    I smile. “Yeah, that would be weirder than it already is.”
    He narrows his eyes, and I feel him staring through all my layers. “That’s the first time you’ve smiled today.”
    And like that, the distraction is over. I remember. Mo is leaving me. “I’m just tired,” I say.
    Reed doesn’t look away, so I