Her Paper Marriage

I slip out the back door of the diner, blinking at the glare of the streetlight. It's past midnight and cold as hell, but the chill isn't bothering me as much as the ache in my bones. From behind me, I can hear the clink of coffee cups and a manager's last half-hearted "Good job tonight, Ava." I force a smile but it tastes like chalk in my throat. Another long night, another dollar that disappears as fast as the diner's leftover fries in my stomach.

I carry a coffee in one hand, my purse and a grocery bag stuffed with leftover toast and fruit loops in the other. No gourmet meal for us tonight, but Lily will eat. That's all that matters. By the time I climb into the cab that will take me home, I'll be counting every cent again. Bus fare, Lily's meds, rent, it's a brutal math I have memorized: no wiggle room, no safety net.

My phone vibrates in my pocket. When I pull it out, I see Lily's name, the call already half-over. Her weak voice is just like I left it this morning: patient, a little teasing. "Hey, superstar. Rubbing it in, leaving me alone to start all the morning chores?" I grin, even though it hurts to smile. "Sorry, kid. You know I love you. Just finishing up. How are you feeling?"

She mumbles something about a headache and white walls, and I worry all over again. I hate the damn hospital; hate that we can't afford a private room; hate that this disease turned my sister, my best friend, into a scared child every night. "Everything's gonna be okay," I lie, smoothing imaginary wobbles out of her voice. "I'm on my way. Try to sleep."

I hang up and set the cheap Styrofoam cup down on the curb. The heat faded hours ago, but it'll do for one more minute, just to pretend there's something warm in me.

In the gutter at my feet, I notice something shiny. Busted dreams, maybe. But it's just a rusty old parking token someone dropped. My eyes sting, shouldn't cry here, shouldn't let the tears mix with the street grime. I blink it away and pick up the token, even though it feels wrong, like stealing from a stranger.

The bus stop is lit by a flickering bulb and smells like someone took a shortcut from the dumpster to the restroom. I stand under the sign, shifting from foot to foot, trying to stay awake. Every shadow feels like it's creeping closer, waiting to snatch me down an alley. People pass by in pairs or groups, warm and laughing, looking like they belong somewhere. None of them glance at me, a walking ghost with hollow eyes.

Somebody coughs behind me. I whirl around, thinking maybe a mugger, but it's just Gary from the laundromat. He's been working nights like I have, just me and him and a thousand folding machines. Gary's got red stains on his shirt from the bleach and a tired smile. "Rough night?" he asks me quietly.

I shrug. "Same grind, different day." The lie feels like gravel in my mouth. I want to tell him about Lily's latest blood work, and how my last paycheck didn't even cover two days of food this week. But I clamp my jaw shut. We both know it's survival mode: fake it, keep going.

Gary steps onto the bus just as the engine growls awake. I force myself to smile a thank-you at the driver, holding the token out. "No, Ava. It's okay," he says, interrupting my half-sentence. "You earned it."