- Joined
- Jul 5, 2017
- Messages
- 218
- Reaction score
- 73
- Location
- Pennsylvania
- Website
- www.katherinetweedle.com
Coffee: Black 
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“You wanna make the call?” Garry asked, offering Cara the menu.
“You can,” she said, not glancing from her magazine. Garry pulled his arm back.
“You wanted the pizza,” He tried again.
“I’m in the middle of an article,” Cara said, her eyes fixed resolutely on the page.
“Right,” Garry said, blinking. The phone number on the cover of the menu was large and red. He opened the menu again. An appetizer might be nice. He stared at the list of garlic breads and salads. Minutes passed.
“I’m getting hungry,” Cara said, switching her gaze from the magazine to a brown spot on her arm.
“Right,” said Garry, “Need some quiet.” He slunk away to the kitchen. He opened the freezer and cool air washed over him. They might have a frozen pizza he could put in the oven. But Cara had wanted take-out.
Garry produced the cell phone from his pocket. As the heat crept up his face, he unlocked his phone. He was half a second away from opening the keypad when his eye flicked to his weather app, now sporting a blue notification icon.
He opened the app.
Severe thunderstorm warning until 8 p.m.
Momentarily, he pondered the logistics of passing through two doors while balancing both a pizza and an umbrella and then minimized the app and reopened the menu. One large New York Style pizza with sausage, he rehearsed. New York Style. Sausage.
He slowly dialed the number on the cover. It rang for an eternity. The phone was hot against his ear, and his hearth thumped loudly.
“Toni’s Pizza,” a voice finally answered. Garry paused, thrown by the brevity of the greeting. “Hello?”
“Hi,” Garry answered in a puff.
“Can I help you?”
“I’d like to place an order for pick-up,” Garry said, taking pains to keep his voice clear.
“What will you have?”
Thank goodness for easy questions. “One large New York Style pizza with . . .” Garry flipped the page specifically to stare at the word, “Sausage.”
“Large New York pizza with sausage,” the voice repeated. “That all?”
“No – sorry – yes. Yes, that’s it.” Garry’s neck prickled. Stupid, stupid.
“Thirty minutes,” the voice said, and the line went dead.
Garry stretched his arms in a wide arc over his head. He folded the menu and flicked it onto the kitchen table. Marching back into the living room, he announced with a smile, “One large New York Style pizza with sausage, T-minus 30 minutes.”
Cara looked up.
“I thought we agreed on bacon?”
----------------------------------------------------
“You wanna make the call?” Garry asked, offering Cara the menu.
“You can,” she said, not glancing from her magazine. Garry pulled his arm back.
“You wanted the pizza,” He tried again.
“I’m in the middle of an article,” Cara said, her eyes fixed resolutely on the page.
“Right,” Garry said, blinking. The phone number on the cover of the menu was large and red. He opened the menu again. An appetizer might be nice. He stared at the list of garlic breads and salads. Minutes passed.
“I’m getting hungry,” Cara said, switching her gaze from the magazine to a brown spot on her arm.
“Right,” said Garry, “Need some quiet.” He slunk away to the kitchen. He opened the freezer and cool air washed over him. They might have a frozen pizza he could put in the oven. But Cara had wanted take-out.
Garry produced the cell phone from his pocket. As the heat crept up his face, he unlocked his phone. He was half a second away from opening the keypad when his eye flicked to his weather app, now sporting a blue notification icon.
He opened the app.
Severe thunderstorm warning until 8 p.m.
Momentarily, he pondered the logistics of passing through two doors while balancing both a pizza and an umbrella and then minimized the app and reopened the menu. One large New York Style pizza with sausage, he rehearsed. New York Style. Sausage.
He slowly dialed the number on the cover. It rang for an eternity. The phone was hot against his ear, and his hearth thumped loudly.
“Toni’s Pizza,” a voice finally answered. Garry paused, thrown by the brevity of the greeting. “Hello?”
“Hi,” Garry answered in a puff.
“Can I help you?”
“I’d like to place an order for pick-up,” Garry said, taking pains to keep his voice clear.
“What will you have?”
Thank goodness for easy questions. “One large New York Style pizza with . . .” Garry flipped the page specifically to stare at the word, “Sausage.”
“Large New York pizza with sausage,” the voice repeated. “That all?”
“No – sorry – yes. Yes, that’s it.” Garry’s neck prickled. Stupid, stupid.
“Thirty minutes,” the voice said, and the line went dead.
Garry stretched his arms in a wide arc over his head. He folded the menu and flicked it onto the kitchen table. Marching back into the living room, he announced with a smile, “One large New York Style pizza with sausage, T-minus 30 minutes.”
Cara looked up.
“I thought we agreed on bacon?”
