it’s—. (Pause) You still go there?
MAX: Oh no, not for years. (Pause) Well, listen, I’m gonna finish up in / the—
EDDIE: We could go there together sometime, maybe.
(Pause.)
MAX: What do you mean?
EDDIE: I mean just—hang out, take some food. It’s really nice, it’s—. We could do it this weekend.
(Pause.)
MAX: Yeah maybe.
(Uncomfortable silence. Max looks away.)
EDDIE: Look, I’m not trying to—. I just thought we could hang out, have dinner or something. No big deal. (Pause) I’m making you uncomfortable.
MAX: No, you’re not it’s—
(Isabelle enters from out of the kitchen, looking disheveled.)
ISABELLE: Hey.
MAX: Hey, um. Thought you said you were going to leave through the back?
ISABELLE: It was locked, I waited forever.
(Another uncomfortable silence.)
MAX: Isabelle was just helping me clean it up, we closed together.
EDDIE: Oh.
(Pause.)
ISABELLE: Look Eddie we’re sorry, but he lives in that group home thingy and my roommate is all judgy.
MAX: Oh my God.
ISABELLE: We’re all adults! We can talk about this like adults! (To Eddie) We’ve only done it three times, and we won’t do it again. And we’ve never contaminated anything or whatever. We just do it on the floor, missionary, with most of our clothes on. And I never do any of his meth, I swear.
MAX: Why are you still talking?!
EDDIE (To Max): Wait—you’re on meth? Right now?
(Pause.)
MAX: I’m not like on it, I just—. I only do a little bit.
EDDIE: A “little bit”?
MAX: It’s not like before, I just do a tiny bit before we— . . . It’s just recreational, I’m not using like I did before. Having sex on a little bit is amazing, and I’m not like addicted anymore—
EDDIE: Are you hearing yourself? What the hell is wrong with you?
(Uncomfortable silence.)
ISABELLE: Um, okay. I’m gonna—go. (Exiting, to Eddie) Sorry? We won’t do it again?
(Isabelle exits.)
MAX: I’m gonna go, let’s—forget about all of this, okay?
EDDIE: You know, I gave you this job because you told me you were getting clean.
MAX: Jesus, were you listening to me?! I just did a little bit, it’s fucking recreational! I’m not like doing it every day! Do I look like a meth head to you?
EDDIE: Max it doesn’t matter how much you’re doing, what matters is you shouldn’t / be—
MAX: JUST BECAUSE I DON’T WANT YOU TO BLOW ME AT YOUR FUCKING GREAT-GRANDPA’S HOUSE DOESN’T MEAN YOU—
(Max catches himself. Eddie looks away, sitting back down at the table.)
Sorry. Fuck. (Pause) Look, I—. I won’t do it here anymore, okay? And Isabelle and I won’t—. We’ll just forget about this.
EDDIE (Still not looking at him): Okay.
(Pause.)
MAX: Sorry, okay? I’ll—I’ll see you tomorrow.
(Max exits. Eddie sits alone.)
Scene Six
Afternoon, between lunch and dinner.
Tammy stands near one of the empty tables. The other table is covered in dirty dishes. Troy stands, keeping his distance. Country music plays lightly in the background.
A tense silence.
TROY: We shouldn’t be doing this here.
TAMMY: So tell me what hotel you’re staying at. (No response) We can talk in the parking lot if / you’d rather—
TROY: Tammy, I’m working, so I / can’t—
TAMMY: Is Becky okay?
(Pause.)
TROY: She’s fine.
TAMMY: Did you get a decent—? You aren’t at the motor lodge, are you?
TROY: We’re fine.
(Pause.)
TAMMY (Simple, exasperated): Come back home, Troy.
(Pause.)
TROY: I told you that if you started drinking / again—
TAMMY: And you only said that so you could—win or whatever, be on higher moral ground—
TROY: Tammy I’m in the middle of my shift right now, I’ll give you a call later maybe / we can—
TAMMY: No, I can’t do this anymore, I can’t— . . .
(Tammy stops herself, looking at the floor.)
TROY: What?
TAMMY: I can’t do this anymore.
TROY: You can’t do / what?
TAMMY: This. This thing, this same argument, you threatening to run off with Becky, this whole—. How many times have we been here? If we go through this again, I don’t know what I’m going to do, I feel like I— . . .
(Eddie enters, unseen by Troy and Tammy.)
We can’t do this anymore, we—
(Tammy notices Eddie. Troy turns to him. An uncomfortable silence. Eddie exits.)
TROY: Okay, let’s—. Let’s please not do this here. And let’s both just take this down a notch. Couples go through this kind of / stuff all the—
TAMMY: No, they don’t, this isn’t— . . . (Short pause, losing herself a little) I see myself, I think about who I’ve turned into, and it’s like—I don’t even know who I am anymore, I’ve turned into this strange person, this person I don’t even like, and I—
TROY: Tammy, have you had anything to drink today?
TAMMY: No, Troy, have you?! This has nothing to do with me drinking. I realize it would be easier for you if it was about me drinking, that would be a lot simpler, but it’s not about that, it’s—.
(Pause.)
I keep telling myself that eventually I’m going to feel normal, but I never feel normal, because none of this is normal, our jobs, this town, this isn’t—
(Becky enters, they both stop talking suddenly. Becky looks at them for a second, then heads to the table covered in dishes. She starts clearing them off.)
Hi, honey.
BECKY: Hi.
(Pause.)
TAMMY: You doing / okay?
BECKY: You know if you guys are going to fight maybe you could do it in the parking lot or something.
TROY: We’re not fighting.
BECKY: You guys don’t even know how to not fight anymore.