Bathroom time is no longer sacred. I realize this as, having just closed the stall door and unbuckled my belt, Ernie suddenly and unexpectedly downloads into the stall with me, his bulk knocking me aside.
“Hey, slut, what are you…?” he trails off, noticing his surroundings. “Are you taking a shit?”
I twist around, fumble my pants back into position. “Dude! A little privacy, please?”
“Where are we?” Ernie Play-Dohs past me and peers curiously through the crack in the stall door.
“I’m at the Saffron Truffle with my parents.”
“Wow, so this is what rich people restaurant bathrooms look like—oh, my fuck, are those mints over by the towels?”
“We’re not—this isn’t—it’s for Mother’s Day, Stay Puft.”
“Don’t act like you’re not here every night. Is that hand lotion free, or do they put it on your bill?”
I can hear someone else entering the restroom. I lower my voice to an insistent whisper: “Shouldn’t you be doing something for Mother’s Day? Away from here?” I try reach for my phone, but it’s stuck in my pocket, what with Ernie pressed against me like so much sweaty ham.
“Off the hook,” he whispers back. “Parents died in a Wal-Mart stampede.”
“What about your grams?”
“She doesn’t count.”
“Of course she does. Grandmothers are still mothers.”
Ernie looks thoughtful. “Huh. I guess I could have her laminated.”
I glare at him.
“Hey, my grandmother’s a cardboard cutout. My options are limited.”
Shaking my head, I try to work my hand between my thigh and Ernie’s, my fingers searching desperately for the opening to my pocket—
—and now Jan’s suddenly downloaded unannounced, displacing me further into Ernie’s soft mass.
“Hey, Theo, can I borrow some rubber gloves—” He cuts himself off. “What’s everyone doing in here?”
Ernie wriggles his arm free, points at the top of my head. “Little China here’s taking a shit.”
I push back against him. It’s like pressing into warm dough—half my face is tucked between his tits. “Doesn’t everyone have better things to do than watch me use the toilet?”
“What’re you doing for Mother’s Day, Janny Boy?”
“The dishes,” Jan replies with a shrug.
“That’s it?” I ask, my voice muffled. “Doing the dishes is your Mother’s Day present?”
“You’ve never seen our dirty dishes.”
Eva’s voice emanates from my pocket: “Theo, do you have a second to—”
“Don’t download—don’t download!” I yell.
(“Excuse me?” comes a surprised voice from the next stall over.)
“Why not?” Eva asks.
“There’s not enough room in the toilet stall,” Jan offers.
“Wait, what now?”
“I’ll explain later,” I sigh.
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