Confronted with the dim lighting, dark wood, and the tangy, sweet scents of barbequed meat, Kaylee stomped her right foot twice, then, lips pursed, exhaled. Better Ribs BBQ had no signage directing DoorDash drivers where to pick up orders and she dreaded asking.

“Can I help you?” said the young woman at the hostess station.

“I’m…here…for…Door…Dash.”

The hostess tilted her head. “You drive a car?”

If Kaylee could speak normally, she would––every day, every time, every word—but she couldn’t. Kaylee swallowed. “Yes…I’m…a…Door…Dash…driver.”

Two other orders sat in the car with her husband, David, waiting to be delivered. Saturday evenings they made good money, got plenty of work in a concentrated area, picked up several purchases in a row, and then dropped them off one, two, three at addresses near each other. To make that money Kaylee needed to grab this rib order before they got behind, the food turned cold, and they missed out on good tips and positive ratings.

A man wearing a suit stepped in front of Kaylee. He spoke to the hostess, who searched the computer and smiled at him. “Yes. We have your table ready,” she said, leading the patron into the dining room.

Kaylee stomped her right foot again and stepped nearer the hostess station so no one else could cut her off. Then she practiced what to say: I need the order. How do I get the order?

When the hostess returned Kaylee heard her sigh.

“May…I…have…the…order?”

The hostess scanned the computer screen. “Name?”

Kaylee twisted her hair with her right hand. If David had not broken his leg, he’d be there to pronounce the name correctly. Kaylee lifted her phone so the hostess could see the screen, inhaled, and exhaled as if trying to blow out a flame. “Braum…be-beck.”

Kaylee felt the hostess’s judging eyes on her face, her gray hair, T-shirt, jeans, and worn running shoes.

The hostess said, “I’ll look,” and walked away.

She was fifty and people were still mean.

Her phone buzzed. “We’re going to be late,” David said. “Is the food ready?”

“I…think…so.”

“We need to go.”

“I…I know. Hang…up. I…need…to…focus.”

The hostess returned with the bagged food; Kaylee swallowed, relieved.

Swiping the DoorDash card just like David instructed her, she said, “Thank…you.” But as Kaylee reached, the hostess released the bag. It plummeted toward the floor.

Kaylee swung her arm down with athletic speed and caught the order before it crashed onto the hardwood. The hostess recoiled.

“Don’t…” Kaylee said, grimacing at the hostess, “don’t do that.”

“Finally,” David said when Kaylee returned to their car. “You got it. We need to keep our 4.8 rating.”

Kaylee met David, her third and best husband, at the Special Olympics. He competed in bowling, and she swam and ran track. He watched her compete, gave her compliments, and asked her out. At first she considered him too short for her. However, by the time he cheered her on to win a silver medal, she thought his upturned nose, bright eyes, and big smile cute and agreed to their first date—and, two years later, marriage.

“Was the food ready when you got there?” David used to work as a busboy and considered himself a restaurant expert. Dave scratched his leg at the top of the cast.

“I…don’t…know. Does…your…leg…hurt?”

“A little.”

They’d always made good partners. He spoke and read better than she did and liked talking with people. She surpassed him in math and directions. Usually she drove and he did the pickups and drop-offs, but Kaylee had to do everything after his injury. She wasn’t confident with this role change, but like all things she felt unsure or awkward or out of place about, she stuck with it. When she was younger and teachers and friends’ parents complained about Kaylee being willful, her mom said, Stubborn works.

She started the car and David mounted his phone on the holder, opening the DoorDash app to navigate to their first delivery.

When Kaylee pulled into the driveway of the single-family house, David said, “Directions say leave it on the front porch.” He opened the passenger door, sighed, and threw back his head. “I forgot. Sorry, I can’t help.”

Kaylee grabbed her phone and placed the Happy Dumplings order on the porch. She took a photo.

“Done!” she said, sliding into the driver’s seat. “First…order.”

“Good job.” David placed his hand on her thigh.

She smiled.

They traveled less than a mile to drop the McDonald’s order at a well-lit home.

“They gave us an extra dollar tip,” David said.

Three miles later Kaylee pulled into the guest parking of a sprawling apartment complex with two separate entry gates, one on the far left and an entrance to their immediate right.

A car drove up to the right-hand gate, and when it opened Kaylee followed behind and entered the complex. David laughed and lifted his palm to Kaylee. “High-five!”

Kaylee slapped the flat of his palm.

They found themselves surrounded by gray, four-story buildings. The structures in front of them were labeled with letters, but they started in the middle of the alphabet, buildings M, N, and O.

David shook his head. “Not this,” David said. “Apartment buildings are the worst.” He read from the DoorDash app. “It says, Apartment D-four-zero-five. Hand the food to them.”

Kaylee and David had delivered to apartment buildings before, and they always made David nervous.

“The numbers are all mixed up,” David said.

“I…can…help.”

After passing by six more buildings, Kaylee realized the enormity of the complex and that the letters were not sequential. Most importantly, none of the apartments they passed included building D.

“I…can…walk…around…and…search.”

“We have to call the customer,” David said.

“You…talk.”

David used the app to contact the customer.

“Hello,” a male voice said over David’s phone speaker.

David cleared his throat. “This is your DoorDash driver.”

Kaylee smiled with pride.

“We have your order but need help finding your apartment.”

“Are you here?”

“Yes. We’re by building V.”

“I’m by the pool.”

“The pool?”

“Yes, the pool.” The customer raised his voice. “Keep driving. There’s a sign. I’m by the pool.”

People needed to write better directions. Although writing was hard for Kaylee, if she lived by a pool, she’d include that in the description.

“He’s annoyed. No five stars from him.”

Kaylee shrugged. “He…is…not…good…at directions.”

She found the sign for the pool, including an arrow to buildings A, B, C, and D.

David said, “Call me if you need help.”

Not sure how he could help, she said, “O…K.”

She walked down a well-lit pathway with the bag from Better Ribs. A family sat on the lounge chairs by the pool. Three children floated on pastel pool noodles, chatting and laughing.

Kaylee grinned, recalling the freedom of floating in cool water and the balance of movement she achieved with the butterfly stroke. She would love it if she could afford to live here and order DoorDash.

She crossed the manicured lawn to building D. She didn’t like meeting people in elevators and ran up the stairs to the fourth floor. She enjoyed the power and strength of her muscles, the way she climbed two steps at a time. She found 405 and placed the bag on the floor outside the door. She took a photo, clicked complete delivery, and noted that at 18 percent, her phone battery needed charging.

But then the door opened, and a tall, bearded man wearing a white shirt and blue tie glanced down at the bag and then at her. “What took you so long? You’re supposed to hand this to me.”

Taken aback, and because he asked, she said, “You…need…to…write…the pool…in…the…directions.”

“What’s wrong with you?”

“I—”

He picked up the take-out bag. “Just get. Go. Get out of here.”

Kaylee stood in the hallway, emotions racing through her body and mind.

Her phone rang and she was startled.

“What’s taking so long? Are you okay?”

“Yes.”

“Did you deliver the order?”

“Yes. This…guy…is mean.”

“Come back.”

Why did David have to break his leg? She did not want to pick up and deliver the food. She stomped on the lawn and then on the path as she passed the pool.

Hearing a child say, “Mom, what’s wrong with that lady?” Kaylee broke into a run.

Inside their car Kaylee shouted, “I’m pissed off!”

David reached over and rubbed her shoulder. “People are assholes,” he said.

Taking deep breaths and exhaling slowly, Kaylee calmed herself. Still, she never got this upset driving David, paying their bills, bowling with friends, or playing at home with their Chihuahuas, Honey and Nugget, but they needed to earn three hundred more dollars that month, and with only one week left, she couldn’t quit.

David palmed his phone. “I can help you on Messenger. We can chat together.”

“What?”

“We can video chat. Show me what you see, and I can read to you.”

Relief expanded like a tiny bellows in her chest. With each breath she could feel her heart beat again. She wiped her eyes with her palms, then pulled the Bluetooth earbud from her pocket and slid it into her ear. “O…K…I’ll…try.”

They rested then, their heads touching as they leaned across the console. Feeling David’s warmth against her skin, Kaylee closed her eyes.

When the next order appeared, David said, “Louie’s Pizza!”

“Good,” Kaylee said. Pizza would be easy. Louie’s had a pickup counter, and she knew exactly where to find it.

Before going into Louie’s Pizza, David called Kaylee on Messenger. He grinned and waved at her on camera. “Test run,” he said.

“Silly,” she said and waved back. She didn’t need David’s help at Louie’s. The staff knew them.

The aroma of baking dough, red sauce, and melted cheese reminded her they had not eaten dinner. “I’m…hungry.”

“Me too.”

A man in a red Louie’s Pizza shirt at the pickup counter asked, “How can I help you?”

“Yes. Door…Dash…pick…up.”

She brought up the app and showed him the order, noticing again that the battery was low.

“No problem,” he said.

“Can…I…order too?”

“What can I get you?”

In her earbuds David interrupted. “Double Dash.”

“What?”

“No time to order food. We have a Double Dash. Get the pizza. We have to go.”

“Where?”

“7-Eleven for ice cream and Coke Zero.”

“Okay.”

That was the first time she handled a customer adding to an order. Coke and ice cream—no problem. Besides, the 7-Eleven clerk would have it waiting for her.

Kaylee handed David the extra-large pizza and started the car.

“Let’s go,” he said. “We don’t have much time. Do or Dash!”

She rolled her eyes: Do or Dash.

The 7-Eleven parking lot was full. Kaylee put on her blinker and waited for someone to pull out. Times like that she wished David could drive so he could stay in the car and she’d be able to run inside, but instead, there she sat.

David shifted in his chair. “Time is money.”

“Sshhh.” She tapped her foot repetitively on the floorboard of the car.

Finally a space opened and Kaylee maneuvered in before another driver beat her to it.

After she exited her car, David called her on Messenger.

High-school kids, in groups of three or four, flooded every aisle. One employee stood behind the counter taking orders for pizza, hot dogs, nachos, and wings while another tended the register. Four stood in line in front of her.

Kaylee felt the urge to stomp her feet. Instead, she exhaled. She’d be out of there soon.

Once she reached the register, Kaylee showed the young man the DoorDash order and said, “Here…for….pick…up.”

He shook his head. “It’s a home game tonight. I haven’t had time to bag it. Can you grab it?”

She stomped her foot once. Through the earbud David said, “I’ll help you.”

Kaylee located the Coke Zero without calling on David’s help; however, the customer wanted an ice cream flavor she had never seen before.

“What…is…the…name of…the ice…cream?” she asked David.

“Crème Brûlée. Show me the ice cream.”

She found the ice cream freezer in the store’s back corner and scanned the rows of ice cream with the phone’s camera. She’d keep going no matter what—Stubborn works.

“Too fast,” he told her. “Go slow.”

She panned the camera across the first and second row when someone reached around her shoulder from behind. “Lady, can you let me in here?”

Startled, she stepped back and cried out.

The young man frowned. “Calm down.” He snatched a pint of ice cream off the shelf, but it slipped from his hand onto the floor, where the container broke open.

“MOVE!” The young man reached over Kaylee, took a second container, and sprinted away.

“What’s happening?” David said.

Still stunned, she didn’t respond. She was unsure if she could find Crème Brûlée. In fact, she knew she couldn’t. “Can…we…say…it…sold…out?”

“Try one more time?”

“I want…to…give up.” She stomped her foot.

“Try,” David said. “Do or Dash!”

Kaylee raised her phone to the ice cream containers but nothing happened.

“David?” Her battery died. She glanced through the store window for David but could see only the hood of their car, not the front windshield or her husband.

The woman serving hot dogs and nachos approached with a broom and mop. “What are you doing?”

“I…I’m…DoorDash. They…ordered…cream…brulay.”

“Did you smash this ice cream? And what are you doing kicking your foot like that?”

“I…am…I am…tense.”

The clerk focused on Kaylee, narrowing her eyes. “What’s wrong with you?”

Cornered, on display, she swallowed. “I…can’t…read…very…good.”

“What? Do you have some kind of special needs or are you stupid?”

“No!” Kaylee said. Her mind was crowded with memories of people, even her family, saying similar things. She held the clerk in her gaze and yelled, “I am fifty. And people…‌people…like you—”

“You need to go,” the clerk said.

Behind the clerk Kaylee saw David—a small man with elfin features, leaning on his crutches—telling the high-school students to move aside.

David stepped up. “I’m here to help.”

The clerk stared down at him. “You want to help? Then get her out of here.”

“Why?” he said.

Kaylee twisted her hair with her fingers. Holding back tears burned her eyes.

“She…called…me stupid.” Her mouth trembled.

David addressed the clerk. “Kaylee is not stupid. You should apologize to her. We’re good customers.”

The clerk stood motionless.

David stepped forward and grabbed a container of Crème Brûlée. “Come on, Kaylee, ” he said.

Kaylee picked up the Coke Zero and followed David to the cashier. David handed Kaylee the ice cream, positioned both his crutches under his left arm, and placed his right hand on Kaylee’s shoulder. His touch felt warm and comforting.

Once they reached the register, she swiped the DoorDash card and placed the ice cream into the red tote.

Kaylee climbed into the car, tears rolling off her chin.

“I love you,” David said.

“I…cannot…do this.”

“From now on, I’ll go with you.”

Without responding, she followed the app’s directions on David’s phone and parked in front of a large two-story home—the kind seen on television shows filled with a happy family and surrounded by a canopy of trees.

“I…need your…phone. Mine…died.”

Kaylee carried the pizza, Coke, ice cream, and David’s phone down the walkway lined with blooming flowers and pathway lighting. She placed the food in front of the door, where she took a photo and confirmed complete delivery, experiencing more a feeling of escape than relief.

As she walked toward their car, the phone sounded with a new DoorDash order. Kaylee looked past the yard and across the street, where David sat waiting for her. Imagining sitting together on their couch, Nugget and Honey on their laps, she declined the order. Then she turned off the app.

– Patricia Ljutic