The grapefruit spritzed tart and fragrant droplets right into the paper cut on Jason’s index finger.
“Ee-ouch!” he screamed and slapped his other hand on the counter top. Martha’s popcorn jumped out of the bag like confetti and landed in the jalapeno cheddar sauce. “Sorry, didn’t expect that one.”
Martha scowled, her mouth turning into an upside-down trapezoid. “Why don’t you put a band-aid on that cut? Wouldn’t have happened.”
“Oh, all right,” Jason said, making a fist and hiding his index finger in the womb of his palm. Martha turned away from him and put her hand in the cheese sauce and grabbed a handful of popcorn.
“Hey, these are great,” she said, chomping the popcorn, “yum, two flavors that were meant together. Like a Reese’s.”
Jason looked up. “We’re rich! We got something here.”
“Ah, Jason, no,” Martha said, hands on hips. “Not another one of your get-rich-quick schemes. Last time it was Jasonwater, when all it was came from the hose out back. Then there were those bacon-lettuce-potato sandwiches no one bought. And now this. Just popcorn and cheese.”
“Ah, come on, honey,” Jason said, scratching his shoulder. Mortie at the pawn shop had told him, don’t scratch the wound until it heals, ‘cause removing tattoos can get infected. “I do it all for you, baby. Get us out to Los Angeles so you can be a model.”
“Don’t think I’ll ever be a model, hon. Just a waitress at the Waffle House.”
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