Chapter 5: A Happy Meal?

[Author’s Note: An early version of Chapter 5: A Happy Meal? was posted on this site in error, as Chapter 4. That happened early morning Sat. Dec. 13th. It was MY error, and below is the CORRECT Chapter 5: A Happy Meal? version 5.1. I apologize for the confusion.]

We sat for a while so Paul’s advice could sink in. “You know, thinking about those things makes me hungry. Do you and Em want to go to McDonald’s with me and Dora?”

“You have a car?”

“It’s more like a four-wheeled boat, you’ll see. Go ask Emma, would you?”

I found Emma in the kitchen, considering her options.

“Hey, Paul is volunteering to drive us to McDonald’s. Are you in?”

“Sure, but I need to put better clothes on.”

While I waited, I was thinking about Emma and Paul, and what might start to happen between the two of them. With me, Emma was very open—sometimes blunt—about personal things, even extending to talking about sex.

Outside the family, though, she avoided intimate subjects entirely. When her chest developed and she began attracting unwanted attention, she closed herself off. She and I had both become very private, and easily ashamed. Sure, she had boyfriends, but I was certain she only let down her guard once they proved themselves trustworthy.

I also didn’t know then what Em kept secret from me. In the two weeks between our first visit with Dora and Paul and our move back to Ash Street, Em and Paul had been texting a lot. Even with nothing more than quiet, simple messages, they were growing closer. When I learned about those two weeks much later, what happened at McDonald’s made a lot more sense.

When Emma returned to me, ready to go for lunch, I had to smile.

“You’re looking great, Em. Paul might say something about these clothes. Can I tell you a secret?”

“OK.”

“Paul said he wants to take you to the next dance, which I guess would be homecoming after the summer break. I bet you’ll attract a lot of attention when you’re all dressed up.”

“Probably because I’ll have toilet paper stuck to my shoe or something; that will get me attention.”

“Oh, come on. Paul agrees with me; you’re very pretty.”

“Well, thanks. But I’m also very hungry! Can we share the french fries so I don’t eat too many?”

“Sure. Let’s go next door; Paul says he actually has a car.”

When we arrived next door to go to lunch, Paul was standing next to a huge four-door sedan. So large, I started laughing.

“You could fit two Corollas nose to tail next to this thing. What is it?”

“It’s a 1990 Chevrolet Caprice. It used to be my great uncle’s car; he was my grandmother’s brother.”

Dora came out of her house looking incredible, wearing a clinging top and a short skirt.

“You’ve seen my brother’s giant auto ... I call it the car with its own Zip Code. Em, come sit in the back with me so we can gossip about the guys.”

Slightly irritated by Dora’s claims, Paul instructed us to get into his lumbering beast, so large that I noticed six seat belt sets on the front and back bench seats.

Impatiently, Paul insisted, “Let’s go! I’m hungry.”

I was hungry too. We took a tray piled high to a table and, instead of talking like normal people, shoveled food into our mouths. Paul’s eyes, I noticed, were on my sister—attention she returned. I was just as guilty: Dora and I were swimming in each other’s eyes as well.

I did share my fries with Em, and I think she ate only six or eight of them.

In response to my raised eyebrow, she simply explained, “Three fries turn into one pound of fat on my already large ass.”

Dora contradicted her. “Em, your ass is perfect and totally cute. My brother can’t help himself.”