I loved being able to finish out the year at Jackson. For once, I was really part of a class, able to partake in rituals like senior skip day and yearbook distribution, my time at a school ending when everyone else’s did. I studied for finals with Dave on his living room couch, him reading up on advanced physics, while I struggled with trigonometry. Then, while he worked, I pulled cram sessions at FrayBake with Heather, Riley, and Ellis, powered all around by Procrastinator’s Specials he made personally. Dropping my napkin on the floor one day, I bent down to get it, only to catch a glimpse of Riley’s foot, idly wound around Ellis’s. They were keeping it quiet, but it seemed maybe she was changing her dirtbag ways, as well.
Come fall, when I started at the U, I’d move out of Opal’s and into a dorm, taking my simple living skills with me. In the end, I’d gotten into Defriese, too, but there was never any question that I’d continue to follow that third option, and stay. As for Dave, he’d gotten in everywhere he applied, naturally, but had decided on MIT. I was trying not to think about the distance too much, but it was my hope that no matter what happened, at least we’d always be able to find each other. I had a feeling I’d continue to put my packing skills to good use after all.
“How’s that salad coming?” Jason called out as I sprinkled a handful of carrots.
“Ready,” I replied, turning back and putting it in the window.
“Great. Get the bun and sauce ready for this sandwich and we’ll be golden.”
As I pulled out a bun, tossing it on the grill to brown, I glanced through the window, just in time to see Deb bustling past, tying an apron around her waist. “I thought you weren’t working today,” I called out to her.
“I just stopped by to pick up my tips from last night,” she said, grabbing two water glasses and filling them with ice. “But Opal was melting down, so I’m on now.”
I smiled. With the model done, Deb had found herself with entirely too much time on her hands. As it turned out, though, the same skills that made her such a good organizer also made her a great waitress. She’d only just started, but already she’d improved Opal’s working system by leaps and bounds. And acronyms.
“Where’s that sandwich?” Tracey said, poking her head in the window. “Anyone?”
“It’s coming,” Jason told her. “Keep your pants on.”
She made a face, then grabbed the salad, adding a ramekin of dressing and sliding it onto a tray. Behind her, Deb pulled off another ticket, stabbing it on the spindle.
“Order,” I said.
“Call it.”
I looked down. “Margherita pizza, extra sauce, add garlic.”
“Good. Plate this and I’ll get started.”
He slid the sandwich down with a spatula, and I picked it up, placing it in the basket I’d prepared. Behind me, the radio was playing, and I could hear the customers just beyond the wait station, and Opal chattering. I thought of my dad, somewhere in Hawaii, maybe doing this same thing, and missed him, the way I always did. But then, I did what I knew he’d want me to, and got back to work.
It was a busy rush, keeping up for about an hour and a half. Even though I botched a quesadilla, letting it k too long, and forgot to call a burger that we then had to comp, it all went reasonably well. Finally, around one thirty, Jason told me to take a break. I picked up my phone, grabbed a water, and headed outside to the back steps.
It was sunny and hot, another summer scorcher, as I started scrolling through my messages. I had a voice mail from my mom, checking in about going to Colby that weekend. An e-mail from the U about orientation. And one text message, from Dave.
There were no words, just a picture. I clicked it, watching as it filled up the screen. The shot was four hands, two with circle tattoos, all wearing Gerts. Behind them, blue sky and a sign: WELCOME TO TEXAS.
“Hey, Mclean,” Jason called out. “Order up.”
I slid my phone back into my pocket, then drained my drink. As I came back into the kitchen, stepping past him, I crumpled the cup in my hand, then turned to take aim at the garbage can behind me. I shot, sending it arcing toward perfect center. So pretty. Nothing but net.
Acknowledgments
Many thanks are due, again, to my agent, Leigh Feldman, and editor, Regina Hayes, for their
support, wisdom, and willingness to be aboard the crazy train that is my writing process. I’m also indebted to my readers, whose encouragement makes me want to keep writing, even on the hard days, and my babysitters—Krysta Lindley, Erika Alvarado, and Amanda Weatherly—who give me the time I need to do just that.
Lastly, forever and always, I am grateful beyond words for Jay and Sasha. You are my world, filling this life with joy, chaos, humor, and endless material. Thank you.