Chapter Fifty – Potluck!

Chapter Fifty – Potluck!

“Today’s senate Budget Bill is brought to you by our kind sponsors!

We’re pleased to announce the start of the hearing, now ad-free!”

–Opening to the 2036 Congressional Hearing for the yearly US budget.

***

I was worried that Shy would continue to be… well, herself, but Tankette turned out to be an expert at teasing some conversation out of the girl. “Ah, yes, this is… well, it’s a little embarrassing,” Tankette said.

She set down a plate in the middle of the table in the living room. It was one of those self-assembled tables that came in a box, and it wasn’t all that well assembled. Still, I couldn’t be angry about that, not when she’d just set down a platter of cheeses and crackers.

Not the super-expensive sort either. They were like… normal ass crackers and little blocks of cheddar. I scooted to the end of the couch and… look, I wasn’t racist, but my white ass and cheese went together like taxes and fraud.

“It’s very nice,” Shy said. She set down the thing they’d been talking about for the last couple of minutes. One of Tankette’s little models.

It was a teeny tiny scale model of Tankette’s own tank, the one with the extendable kitchen thing in the back that she’d used around New Montreal. “Cute,” I said past a mouthful of… oh shit, was that havarti? Damn, most of the cheese I’d had was that super processed shit. But Lucy and I had once shoplifted a whole brick of the stuff out of a grocery once because there was a way to slip it past the self-checkout.

“My husband and I actually met over models, if you’d believe it,” Tankette said. She smiled, wiping her hands on her apron. “It’s not the cutest story.”

“Oh, um, I wouldn’t mind hearing it,” Shy replied. She reached out and gingerly took a cracker to nibble on, one hand under her mouth to keep crumbs from falling onto the floor. That had me slow down my own eating a little. The front of my shirt had a smattering of crackers on it.

Tankette shook her head, but she launched into the story anyway. “It was… I think twenty-two years ago? Which really ages me, doesn’t it? Anyway, I picked up the hobby from my father, and it was a relatively cheap way to unwind. There was a sale at a local shop that was closing its doors. I went, and found a model on a shelf. I grabbed one end, and John grabbed the other at the same time. We argued, but it quickly turned into flirting.”

“Over plastic models?” I asked.

Shy and Tankette both gave me looks, as if I was clearly outside of the loop, which I supposed I was.

Fortunately, I was saved when the man in question walked into the living room. He was… boring to look at. Half a head taller than Tankette, with the wiry build of someone who doesn’t exercise much but who walked a lot for work, though Tankette’s cooking had left a mark around his gut.

“Ah, honey, these are the guests you mentioned?” he asked as he came over. “Pleasure to meet you!”

“Hey,” I said.

“Hello,” Shy muttered.

Weird to think that Tankette was all married up and whatever. A glance at that full-wall bookshelf and the picture in frames on it showed that the wedding had been a while ago. A younger Tankette, in a nice dress, next to her husband back before he had a dad bod going on.

And it was a dad bod. They had kids. Three of them, from the looks of it. There were pictures of them young, then not so young, then a more recent image that couldn’t be more than a year or so old, of Tankette, her husband, and two of her kids. Even a baby.

I really wanted to ask how old she was, but even I knew better than to be that indelicate.

“So, how long have you two been together?” I asked. It was Small Talk 101.

“Eighteen years,” he said.

“Nineteen,” Tankette corrected. “And if you forget our twentieth anniversary, it might all end there.” There was no sting in her words, and it was delivered with a cheeky smile.

“Ah, you forget once, and then she never forgets,” he said with a shake of his head.

This narrative has been purloined without the author’s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

“You’d think he’d be good with numbers,” she replied.

Her husband laughed. “You’d think! Ah, I’m an accountant at the New Montreal branch of HelixCo. Have you heard of us?”