by Ava Hayden
Milo blushed. Busted. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to eavesdrop.”
Connor shrugged, his gaze on the floor. “Did Missy… what you were saying earlier about doing something else. Did she tell you to say that?”
“No. No way. I said it because I think it’s true. You seemed really happy when you were working for the city.”
“I was, but… even if I get an MSW and find a decent job, it’s not going to pay all that much. I mean, I wouldn’t care about the money if it was just me.”
“You think Missy cares about the money?”
“She says she doesn’t, but her dad… he already thinks I’m a loser.”
“Why do you care what he thinks? It’s Missy you’re married to.”
“I don’t care what he thinks. It’s just—if Missy ever started looking at me the way he does….”
“Connor David Atcheson.” Missy stood behind them, fists on hips. “I am so mad at you right now. How could you ever, ever believe I could think you were a loser?” Tears shimmered. “And if you think I’m capable of that, what does that mean you really think about me?”
“Missy….” Connor swallowed.
“Okay, guys, take this to the back.” Milo squeezed Connor’s shoulder and then gave him a gentle push. “We’ve got the front covered. Go on.”
They walked away, Connor’s arm draped over Missy’s shoulders as he pulled her close and spoke into her ear. Milo went to the front cash register to check in with Becca, who was in the process of ringing up five Pulp ’N Gulps.
“Milo,” she said when the customer left. “Vinh wondered if you could bring out some more Pulp ’N Gulps.”
Milo headed for the back. He loaded a trolley with cases of Pulp ’N Gulps and wheeled it out. Before he reached the display, a man grabbed a case off the stack. Ahead, a group had formed around Vinh.
A woman stood to one side, her phone pressed to one ear and her free hand over the other, blocking out noise. “I’m at Eden Consumer Electronics. … Yeah, they’ve got lots of them. And they’re on special. … Yeah, probably. I am. Do you? … Here? Or I can. … No, you. … Well… but….”
What was with the sudden Pulp ’N Gulp popularity?
Lance, what have you done?
As soon as Milo reached Vinh, he opened a case of Pulp ’N Gulps, but he didn’t have time to put any of them on the display. Shoppers yanked them from his hands. Vinh began opening cases beside him, and people pushed in to snatch the Pulp ’N Gulps as fast as they could unpack them.
The jostling customers had formed a rough line, but it began to fall apart when a man said, “Hey, why are some of these people getting three and four of these? I thought this was a door-crasher.”
Vinh looked scared as the waiting crowd pushed even closer.
“There’s nothing about limits in the flyer,” a woman said, waving her phone in the air. “I looked it up.”
“I don’t care what the flyer says,” the man replied. “It’s not fair for some people to take more than one when there’s people who don’t have one.”
Bing. Bing. Bing-bing-bing-bing. Bingbingbingbingbing. The front doors signaled customer arrivals nonstop now. The mob of people around Milo grew larger by the minute.
“Milo.” He looked up when Becca called his name and saw a line of people waiting to pay that stretched halfway across the store. He waved in acknowledgment.
Milo pushed the empty trolley through the throng around the Pulp ’N Gulp display and ran it to the stockroom. “Hey, we need some help.”
“On it.” Connor pushed past him with a trolley stacked high with Pulp ’N Gulp cases. Missy went straight to the rear register and beckoned waiting customers. A chunk of Becca’s line detached and ambulated to the back, maintaining perfect order, like a mammalian millipede. Milo threw the remaining Pulp ’N Gulp cases onto the trolley as fast as he could, stacking them high. He powered back through the stockroom door toward the display. Ahead, customers milled around Connor and Vinh.
“Could everyone please step back?” Connor said. “I don’t want to hurt anyone. These boxcutters are pretty sharp.”
The crowd barely budged. Two tennis shoes landed on the top of the long shelf nearest Milo, and he looked up to see a teenager recording the crowd. He was too distracted to tell her to climb down.
“Wait your turn.”
“Stop pushing, asshole.”
“Hey, those are mine.”
“Don’t see your name on ’em, lady.”
“What the hell, man?” Crash.
WTF? Does our sign say Walmart now?
Connor spun and waved at Missy, who nodded as she spoke into the phone. She gave Connor a thumbs-up. Milo knew what that meant. She’d pushed the panic button for mall security and was on the phone with mall staff.
Crash. Thud. Thud. Milo heard the unmistakable sounds of fists on flesh. Someone screamed.
What the hell is going on? As a rule, Canadians didn’t riot, unless maybe the Stanley Cup was involved. Why are people fighting over Pulp ’N Gulps?
The crowd flowed around Milo’s trolley, engulfing it like the Blob. Borne along by the mob, the trolley shoved Milo inexorably backward. He tripped and almost couldn’t pull himself to his feet against the press of the bodies around him. An elbow rammed into his face as he stood up. Son of a bitch! That hurt.
“Sorry,” said a voice, but the owner was swallowed up in the pushing, shouting shoppers fighting for access to the remaining cases of Pulp ’N Gulps, the cardboard disintegrating into fragments that flew into the air as people fought over the contents. Crash. Shouts and curses sounded all around him. Milo couldn’t see any of his coworkers for the milling throng of bodies.
Fweeeeeeeeh. Fweeeeeeeeh. Security must have arrived. Milo could see red and blue lights flashing in the store windows above bobbing customer heads. Not just mall security, then. Actual cops. Uniformed police pushed into the store and began separating customers.
Missy and Becca had retreated into the rear cash staff space and barricaded themselves behind the access gate, usually wide open and unlocked. Milo was amazed to see they were still accepting payments for Pulp ’N Gulps. Customers—a few clearly shaken—clutched their blenders and exited, waving receipts to the security guards posted at the doors.
Milo pushed away the trolley that had pinned him against a shelf and headed to Connor. Only then did he notice the television camera crew filming the crowd, the police, and the destruction.
“And then what happened?” asked the female interviewer dressed in red, her expression appropriately serious.
“A friend of mine posted on Facebook that one of the Pulp ’N Gulps at the mall had Stanley Cup finals tickets inside. But I couldn’t find any place that had any left for sale, and then my sister texted me that this store had lots.”
What? How could anyone be irresponsible enough to spread a rumor—no, a lie—like that? Someone could have been seriously hurt.
Oh shit. Milo’s stomach roiled. Did you do this, Lance?
“That’s not what was on the Dealboard.” A man pushed up beside the woman being interviewed. “It just said some lucky purchaser of Pulp ’N Gulp would win tickets to the Stanley Cup finals.”
The woman being interviewed flushed. “Well, wouldn’t you take that to mean the tickets were in the box?”
The man rolled his eyes. “Uh, no, duh.”
When they started shouting at each other, the interviewer threw up her hands and led the camera crew away to interview other shoppers.
Milo turned his attention back to Connor, who surveyed the area that had suffered the worst damage. Empty cardboard cartons lay everywhere like discarded shells. Broken electronics littered the floor.
Without a word, Milo went to the stockroom for trash bags and cleaning supplies. On the way, he turned off his phone. If Lance calls, I might say something I regret.
LANCE GLANCED at his phone and picked up. “Yes, William.” His heart sped up as he listened.
“I’m afr
aid I may have inadvertently created a bit of a problem.”
LANCE TRIED to push into Eden Consumer Electronics, but two mall security guards barred his way.
“I’m sorry, sir, but we’re not allowing shoppers in at the moment,” said the guard whose name badge said Stokes.
“My boyfriend works here. I need to know he’s all right.”
The two security guards exchanged a look. “Hold on, sir,” Stokes said. He returned a couple of minutes later, accompanied by Milo.
“It’s okay,” Milo said. “He can come in.”
Lance pushed through and wrapped his arms around Milo. It was like hugging a statue. He stepped back and ran his hands down Milo’s arms. “Are you all right? You weren’t answering your phone.” He couldn’t remember ever seeing the look on Milo’s face now. He rubbed a thumb along Milo’s cheekbone. “Is that a bruise?”
Milo caught his wrist with one hand. “It’s fine.”
Lance froze. Milo’s hold on his wrist wasn’t a furious, bone-cracking grip. Maybe he’d feel less guilty if it had been. I never meant to start a riot. Milo’s face gave nothing away. He lowered Lance’s arm and relaxed his hand. Then he took a half step back that felt like a million lightyears.
“Milo.” Connor waved a hand. “We need you over here.”
“I’ve got to go,” Milo said.
Lance’s mouth had gone dry. “Are you still coming over?”
Milo hesitated. He glanced over his shoulder and then turned back. Lance felt as if the store’s ceiling were caving in on him, but he couldn’t draw a breath to speak or take a step to save himself—like one of those dreams where he could see the monster approaching but his feet were immobile blocks of concrete.
“I’ll let you know,” Milo said.
Lance kept his voice as steady as he could. “You’ll call?”
“If I can.”
This is it. He’s going to leave me.
Milo leaned in and ran a knuckle along the back of Lance’s hand. “We’ll talk later,” Milo said. Then he was gone.
Lance held on to those three words like a lifeline.
POLICE HAD booked people caught in the act of doing damage to their fellow shoppers or to the store. Three customers had been carried away by ambulance to the hospital emergency room. Connor declined to pursue other guilty parties, even those who had been recorded running out with stolen Pulp ’N Gulps.
“They can’t register for the drawing without a receipt, so it didn’t do them much good.”
Milo tied off the top of the large trash bag he’d just filled. So much for the spirit of Christmas. Not even a twenty-four-hour shelf life.
Connor, Missy, two police officers, the head of mall security, a mall management representative, and William stood in a circle nearby.
One officer was recording while the other took notes.
“I brought an offer for a Boxing Day giveaway to Mr. Clayton.” William gestured at the mall management rep. “An anonymous benefactor donated two sets of Stanley Cup finals tickets, one for a Pulp ’N Gulp giveaway and the other to benefit a charitable cause of Mr. Clayton’s choosing on behalf of the mall. The Pulp ’N Gulp giveaway was supposed to be awarded after a prize drawing.”
The officer glanced at Mr. Clayton, who continued where William left off.
“I took down the details and put the tickets in our office safe, and then I asked one of our team to post the offer on the Dealboard. Through a misunderstanding, she left off the part about registering at the info kiosk.” Mr. Clayton grimaced. “Believe me, we try not to create problems for ourselves. During big sales, shoppers post about the deals they’re finding, so you can have what amounts to flash mobs at some of these stores. Unfortunately, customers don’t always get their facts straight.”
“Right,” said one officer. “Which is apparently what happened based on what some of the customers said. The word spread on social media that there were tickets hidden in a box.” The officer tucked his notes under one arm and glanced around the group. “I don’t have any more questions. Anybody have anything to add? Comments?”
Everyone shook their heads no.
“Then you’re free to go. Reports will be filed by tomorrow for insurance purposes.”
The circle dissolved. Connor and Missy discussed clean-up and repairs with Mr. Clayton. When they finished their conversation, Milo could run the noisy supervac.
“Mr. Souza.”
Milo turned to find William standing at his elbow.
“I’m so sorry this happened. I hope you won’t hold it against Mr. Smith.”
William was pale, with shadows under his eyes. He was as well-groomed as ever, dressed in a suit (Milo had never seen him any other way). But he looked exhausted. He’s old and he just got back from Singapore.
“Come to the back with me,” Milo said. He led the way to the staff break area, and they sat in the hard plastic chairs. The Sukey’s Donuts box from that morning remained on the table. Milo peeked inside. Thank you, God. “Want a donut?”
William smiled. “Why not?” He selected a pisco sour donut, and Milo took a chocolate Guinness.
Milo devoured half of it before he spoke. “You were behind the donation for the televisions too. Weren’t you?”
William swallowed and dabbed at his lips with a paper napkin. “I was.”
“Don’t you think buying seven hundred thirty televisions just so you can see your boyfriend is over the top?” Actually, it was kind of sweet. Like something in a movie. But that doesn’t excuse what he did. “Normal people don’t get to have their way all the time.”
William projected calm. “If it helps, I believe Mr. Smith’s primary motivation was his desire to see you as quickly as possible, not getting his way for the sake of having his way. And to be honest, setting up a single donation for the remaining televisions was self-serving. I am taking off the rest of the week to work on a project with Oilton Housing Initiatives. We volunteers will be helping refurbish old hotel rooms into low-income apartments.” He smiled. “They were delighted with the televisions.”
Milo shifted in his chair, feeling awkward, like he was being put on the defensive. “I’m glad they went to a place that can really use them, but Lance shouldn’t have been butting in.” Milo was tired and stressed and couldn’t think straight. Am I mad because I’m really mad? Or am I mad because I want to be mad? Does that even make sense?
William wiped his fingers with the napkin. “Choices certainly can blow up in our faces, no matter our intentions.” He stood and brushed off crumbs. “Many years ago, I made a choice. The kind of choice you think you’ll have a chance to make again—perhaps more than one chance.”
William turned the napkin into a crumpled ball in one convulsive squeeze. With a visible effort, he opened his hand and let it drop into a nearby trash can. “As it happened, I was wrong. I never had that chance again.” For a single second, William’s usual professional exterior cracked, giving Milo a glimpse of shadows underneath. “And that’s why I’m always available to work holidays.” William lifted his gaze to Milo’s. “Have a happy New Year, Mr. Souza.” He nodded and turned to leave. Moments later the front doors swished.
Milo stared after William. Behind him, footsteps slap-slapped.
Missy reached over Milo and pulled a Nutella donut from the pink box. She eased into the empty chair.
“Missy, I’m—”
She held up a hand like a policeman directing traffic. “If you’re about to apologize because your boyfriend paid for Oilton Housing Initiatives to buy all our televisions, don’t. And we even got rid of those pain-in-my-ass Pulp ’N Gulps.” She winked. “William is a really cool guy. So is Lance.”
She wasn’t mad? “But half the store is a disaster zone.”
Missy shook her head and licked a finger. “See, that’s actually great. I hate the way we’ve got this store set up. Connor and I had zero input. Now we can do it how we want.” She gave him a sparkling smile. “In a way, you gave me the best Christ
mas present I got this year.”
This is the Missy I remember from before.
“You mean, Lance did.”
Missy shrugged. “He did it for you.” She pinked. “I also wanted to say thanks for what you said to Connor. He’s going to start his program in the fall. Actually, I guess that’s really the best present I got.” Her eyes glistened. “Sometimes the best gift you can give someone is to just take what they want to give you. You know?”
Milo nodded, not sure he did know, not 100 percent anyway. He mulled over William and Missy’s words until Connor found him where he was running the supervac and told him they were closing up shop and going home.
“You can go see your guy. By the way, tell him he gets a lifetime 20 percent off anything in the store.” He chuckled. “Twenty-five if it’s a smart shower system.”
“Do people think I’m a kept man?” Milo asked as Connor walked him out.
Connor burst into laughter.
“No, seriously. Do they?”
“Seriously? You’ve been working here. You just got a new marketing job. I think the definition of ‘kept’ is you don’t have a job. Just because Lance spent big bucks to have more time with you doesn’t make you a kept man. Hell, Missy thinks it’s so romantic, it’s gonna raise the bar for me.” Connor elbowed him. “Thanks for that, dude. You and your boyfriend are going to have to help me up my anniversary game.” Connor gave him a sharp look. “Anyway, why do you care what other people think?”
I don’t. I care what Lance thinks.
IS THAT a cricket ball in your pocket?
Lance lay on his bed, arms and legs splayed, staring at the ceiling high above him as he listened to a broken hearts playlist. When his phone rang, he clicked off the music. “Milo?”
“Hey. I’m outside your door.”
“What?” Lance shot upright. He was dressed in old track pants that dated back to his university days and a worn T-shirt. His hair looked like he’d been in a wind tunnel. He knew without checking that his eyes were bleary and red. “Okay, I—just a minute, okay?”
“Take your time.”
