I let myself believe that, and I started looking forward to six o’clock more than anything else in the week.
The delivery guy, Ryan, was part of the ritual. He was young, always cheerful, with an easy smile that didn’t seem forced.
He had a habit of tossing out a quick joke or a silly comment before handing me the box. For a few minutes each Saturday, I didn’t feel invisible.
I wasn’t the lonely woman with a cat that hated her. I was just a customer, someone he saw, someone worth a smile.
That Saturday, I was already waiting by the door at 5:59 p.m. The rain outside was heavy, pounding against the roof, but right at six the bell rang.
I opened the door and there he was, grinning despite being soaked. He held out the box and said it was a new flavor the restaurant was testing.
“Well, at least something new will happen in my life,” I joked.
“Don’t say that. There’s always something new waiting to surprise you.”
“Not at my age.”
Ryan handed me the box and said, “You’re my favorite customer. Prettiest too.”
“That’s kind, but I can’t even leave you a tip. Money’s tight.”
“I wasn’t fishing for a tip. Just giving a compliment.”
“Then thank you. But maybe you could finally tell me who’s been buying me these pizzas all this time?”
Ryan shook his head. “The person wants to stay anonymous.”
He turned as if to go, but something in me resisted the end of the exchange. I hurried inside, rummaged in the closet, and came back with an old raincoat.
“Take this,” I said, holding it out. “You’ll catch your death out there in this storm.”
Ryan blinked, surprised, then accepted it with a shy smile.
“You must be such a caring mom or grandma.”
The words hit me like a slap. “I don’t have children.”
Ryan’s smile faltered. He mumbled a quiet ‘thank you’ and hurried back into the rain. I closed the door slowly, holding the warm pizza box in my hands, but feeling suddenly colder than before.
As I sat down at the table, I couldn’t help but think. Maybe if I hadn’t made one terrible mistake all those years ago, my life would not be so empty at that moment.
***
The next Saturday, I stood by the door at 5:59 p.m., just like always.
Six o’clock came, but no one rang the bell. I frowned, glanced at the clock, and told myself Ryan was probably running late.
Five minutes passed, then ten. I paced the hallway, checking the window every few seconds.
Outside, the storm was raging, lightning slicing across the sky, but Ryan had delivered in worse weather before. By the time forty minutes had crawled by, worry gnawed at me.
I went into the kitchen and pulled an old pizza box from the recycling bin. On the side was a phone number for the pizzeria. My fingers trembled as I dialed.
A young woman answered with the cheerful, rehearsed tone of customer service.
“This is Maya. How can I help you?”
“Hi, I’m… I usually get deliveries from one of your drivers, Ryan. I just wanted to ask if he’s okay.”
There was a pause on the other end.
SEE NEXT PAGE
ADVERTISEMENT
