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complaint.
    â€œWhat is this place!”
    â€œI want McDonald’s. I want a Happy Meal!”
    â€œChange of plans, guys.” As long as this place didn’t serve rat-poop tacos, they were getting lunch here.
    â€œDo they have Happy Meals?” Adam was whining, worried.
    â€œI don’t know. Maybe. We’ll find out.”
    Penny’s wailing changed pitch, picking up on the tension. Isaac crossed his arms. “You promised us Happy Meals. This place doesn’t have Happy Meals.”
    Fuck fucking Happy Meals! thought Rose. With their cheap pieces of landfill fodder and pink slime burgers. I wish I’d never taken you to McDonald’s, so I wouldn’t have to hear about it all the time. So I wouldn’t give in to your whining. So I wouldn’t use it to give me five minutes of peace once a week.
    But aloud she said, “Maybe they have something like a Happy Meal.”
    Isaac dug in. “They don’t. Only McDonald’s has Happy Meals.”
    â€œI want french fries. Do they have french fries?”
    â€œYou promised, Mom! You promised!”
    Penny’s wails were high-pitched, piercing, cutting around the interior.
    And then suddenly Rose was screaming.
    â€œQuiet! Please! Just shut the hell up!”
    Instant silence. The children stared at her. Stunned.
    Rose rubbed her forehead.
    â€œAre you okay?” crackled a deep voice.
    No, thought Rose. I am not okay. Nothing about me is okay.
    â€œMa’am?”
    Rose looked around for the source of the deep voice. Outside her window sat a fiberglass version of the winking Orange, its grinning teeth replaced with the battered grille of a speaker.
    Rose looked at it for a moment. Trying to find her voice. Trying to find her sanity.
    â€œUh … Kid’s meals?”
    â€œWe got ’em.”
    Rose took a breath. In the back, the kids were still silent. Frightened of their mother.
    She managed, “Three, please.”
    Rose pulled forward. Clutching the wheel. Knuckles white.
    You do not cry in front of the kids. You do not cry in front of the kids.
    But she was crying. She wiped at the hot welling in the corners of her eyes. Fighting it. Trying to calm the stress.
    â€œNine fifty, please.”
    Rose looked over. At the pickup window a pair of hands held out three small bags.
    Rose riffled through her purse, finding calm in this simple interaction. She could regain her hold of the situation. Reassure the kids. Maybe they were all just hungry. Some food would fix it. Some food would make it all go away. She handed over a twenty and took the bags, distributing them back.
    â€œMake sure Penny only eats one fry at a time, okay, Isaac?”
    Zackie nodded, stuffing fries into his mouth. Rose took a breath. It would get better.
    â€œYour change.”
    â€œThanks.” Rose reached out to the pile of bills from the hands, looking up at the cashier holding them—
    It was Hugo.

 
    six
    Of course it couldn’t be Hugo.
    Rose stared up at the cashier, mouth open. It couldn’t be.
    But it was.
    There above her, in the window of this crappy fast-food restaurant, was the face of the man she had been dreaming about since she was six years old. It was a face she had seen grin down at her as they flew upward into the clouds. A face she had known as a boy and watched grow into a man.
    It was him.
    Older. Heavier. With glasses. But definitely him .
    He turned back to the register, never really looking at her. Even from behind, the angle of his neck, the way his earlobe met his jaw …
    Hugo.
    Rose’s heart slammed against the walls of her chest. She wasn’t breathing.
    Honk! A car was waiting behind them. Impatient for its turn.
    Rose pulled forward, a small sip of oxygen finally making its way into her lungs. She paused in the parking lot, her foot on the brake.
    Hugo.
    That was Hugo.
    It couldn’t be, but it was.
    Hugo in the building behind me. Hugo in a paper cap.