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off in the direction of his parents’ house and didn’t look back. She turned around and saw Franky retreat into the Leaf. She smoked the cigarette Franky gave her alone, outside the bar, rubbing her arms to keep them warm. When it started to rain, she went back inside the Leaf.
    Five months later, Bobby was dead.
    She thought about that night often in the years after Bobby was killed. After the kids were in bed, she’d smoke half a pack a night in the kitchen alone, cursing him.
    I’m a bitch, Bobby? Cigarettes are bad for you? Fuck you, Bobby. I’m still here. I’m still here and you’re fucking dead, Bobby. Running into burning buildings is bad for you, Bobby. Cigarettes are fucking dandy.
    She’d wake in the middle of the night, lungs raw, and beg his forgiveness. Smoke a cigarette in bed and ask him to forgive her for that too. Every night for almost two years. The cigarettes in the kitchen, the curses in her head. Tougher to quit the second go-round. Tougher because she needed to quit this time, needed to quit for the kids. It took a few tries. She used the gum.
    * * *
    Someone knocks on the bathroom door. Tina sneaks a last drag and then stubs her cigarette out in the sink. She turns the faucet on and splashes some water on the smeared ash. Stephanie stands and lifts the toilet cover; Tina drops the butt into the commode. Stephanie lowers the lid, sits back down on top of it.
    “Who is it?”
    “Alyssa.”
    “One second, sweetie,” says Stephanie.
    Stephanie wipes her face one more time, stands up. Tina takes a swig of Scope and spits into the sink. A languid haze of blue nicotine smoke lingers, despite the vent. Tina opens the door. Alyssa stands on the other side, a sour look on her face. She looks at Stephanie, whose eyes are still swollen from crying.
    “Jesus, everyone is crying today.”
    “Alyssa, enough. What do you want?”
    “Were you guys smoking in here?”
    Stephanie raises her hand.
    “Guilty as charged.”
    Alyssa eyes her mother.
    “I let Aunt Stephanie smoke one cigarette, Alyssa. She won’t smoke any more tonight. Right, Steph?”
    “Right. My bad. Won’t do it again.”
    Alyssa rolls her eyes, a practiced gesture of exaggeration.
    “We’re hungry. Can you order the pizza?”
    “Sure. What do you want, Steph?”
    “Whatever is fine with me.”
    Tina reaches for her wallet, takes out some money, and hands it to Alyssa. “There you go.”
    Alyssa hesitates. “Aren’t you going to order it?”
    “Alyssa, the number for Vertuccio’s is on the fridge downstairs. Dial it. Tell them what you and Bobby want. Give them our address. When they come, pay and give the delivery guy a tip. This is not rocket science.”
    “Okay, okay, don’t have a shit fit.”
    “How many times do I have to tell you about the language?”
    Alyssa shuffles away, saying something under her breath. Tina shouts after her.
    “Were you eavesdropping?”
    She hears Alyssa lumbering down the stairs. Stephanie walks out of the bathroom.
    “Sorry.”
    “Not your fault. Thanks for taking the bullet on the cigarette.”
    “Do you think she heard?”
    “Maybe a little, but not the whole thing. She stomps around like an elephant. We would have heard her.”
    “How’s she taking this whole Wade thing?”
    “Menzamenz.”
    “She get her period yet?”
    After thirty years of friendship, Tina no longer bothered trying to discern a logical pattern to Stephanie’s questions.
    “No.”
    Stephanie shrugs.
    “God got my kids mixed up. She’s built like her father, she’s already taller than me. Meanwhile, little Bobby got my genes. He’s a sprite.”
    “Any boys?”
    “No, not yet. I keep praying she’ll wake up one day with some shape, a set of tits, something.”
    “Life isn’t fair.” Tina chokes back a dirty look. Stephanie wouldn’t know the first fucking thing about being the ugly duckling, wouldn’t know about being tall and lumbering or short and flat-chested. Since the sixth grade, she’s