See Me, See Me Not

by Elodie Nowodazkij

  The busier I am, the less time I have to think…and regret.

  I’m not quite sure where to go. The back entrance is the staff entrance and leads to a hallway decorated with pictures of the staff smiling. On the left side, there’s a counter with coffee machines. On the right, Latin music blasts through speakers but Tessa’s laugh is still louder. I enter the kitchen. It’s bigger than I imagined. Pots line the back of the room and large containers of salsa and guacamole stand on a table on the left. Clean dishes and silverware are on my right.

  The three guys in the kitchen turn to me and two of them don’t have welcoming smiles on their faces. Diego, on the other hand, gives me a friendly wave.

  Tessa’s still cracking up. The last time I heard her laugh like that, we were ten and playing Marco Polo in the lake. She’s leaning against the wall, a plate in her hand, scarfing down eggs and what looks like a breakfast burrito. She’s less on her guard than she is at school.

  “The new guy is staring at you, Tessita,” one of the guys says with a singing accent contrasting with the threatening way he crosses his bulgy arms on his chest. And Tessa turns to me. Her blue-gray eyes collide with mine and if I believed in moments, I’d say we’re having one right here, right now in this kitchen.

  But that one moment cuts short when she coughs loudly as if she’s choking. Her plate splashes to the floor. I’m about to rush to her when a piece of her burrito flies off, landing right at my feet. Her eyes widen but instead of muttering an apology like I almost expect her to, she cracks up again. “It’s the first flying burrito in The Flying Pig restaurant,” she manages to say through hiccups, holding her stomach. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to attack you.”

  I raise an eyebrow, my lips tugging into a smile. My first real one in months. She’s even more adorable with the dimples in her cheek deepening. I’m supposed to be a smooth talker, or at least that’s what I’ve heard, but I have to clear my throat before saying anything.

  “I’m all good.” That’s all I come up with.

  “We did bet on when you’d drop the burrito,” the guy with the bulgy arms jokes.

  “I won. I had less than two minutes,” Diego teases her and I feel out of the loop. I feel like they know her better than I do even though she was my first kiss, even though I wrote letters to her when things became shitty and I needed someone to talk to. I never sent them. I couldn’t have sent them. The FBI has the originals. I kept copies but I haven’t read them in forever.

  “Ha-ha. You guys are so funny.”

  They smile her way and help her clean the floor before handing her another small plate. They’re taking care of her. Diego whispers something to them I don’t grasp, but it doesn’t stop the two other guys from shooting daggers at me with their eyes. I’m pretty sure I’m not passing whatever test they have.

  She takes a small bite, carefully. And then points her fork at me. “Today, you have to shadow me.” Her voice has an edge to it. “And you’re late.”

  “And you tried to kill me with a flying burrito. Clearly, we have to be even.” I step forward, until she has to slightly look up at me. She’s not short, but I have a few inches on her.

  She licks the corner of her lips, even though I don’t notice any crumbs there. I’m tempted to run my thumb over the spot. I’m tempted to slide closer until our bodies touch. I’m tempted to kiss her dimple.

  If I admitted the truth instead of running from it, I’d admit I’ve been tempted since the first day at school. She waved my way and smiled and I never thought a smile could be warm and sexy before, but hers stopped me in my tracks. She walked up to me and told me to avoid the chili at the cafeteria. She didn’t seem scared of me like the others. She didn’t seem to want anything from me. She only seemed happy to see me. I thanked her and instead of asking her to meet me after class to catch up, I flirted with Taylor.

  Our routine of studying together, of chatting at our lockers, of eating lunch together from time to time doesn’t seem like enough anymore.

  I cross my arms over my chest as if putting more distance between us will help me keep that invisible barrier up.

  She raises an eyebrow as if she’s wondering where my mind’s been for the past seconds. And I realize I’ve been staring at her this entire time. Not awkward at all.

  The guys are putting sauces out and the one with the big arms is cutting onions. Diego is setting up the dishwasher area. Tessa strides past me and her arm brushes mine. And her skin is soft and I clearly need to get a grip. “The kitchen is king. Without them and how fast they are and how amazing the food is, our tips would pretty much suck. This is Jordan.” She points to the tall lanky black guy. “He’s here only on weekends. He studies during the week and is going to become the next Mark Zuckerberg.”

  Jordan gives me a half nod.

  “And you know Diego.” Diego gives me an encouraging smile.

  “And this is Pablo.” She gestures to the guy with the big arms. “He’s the chef in this kitchen and is amazing.” Her tone is warm but the way he looks my way is ice cold.

  Tessa raises an eyebrow—in a way that must mean something to him, because his shoulders relax and he stops scowling. “Do you want something to eat?” His voice is still gruff but no longer threatening. It seems even though the kitchen’s king, Tessa’s the one with all the power.

  The food smells delicious. Uncle John is not big on cooking. On gardening? Yes. He can spend hours with his roses and whatever herbs he planted. He’s never happier than with his hands in the dirt. He disappears for half a day sometimes to take care of flowers he planted by one of his cabins. “Yes, please.”

  The cook smiles as if this time I aced the test he’s giving me. “I’ll make you today’s special so you can tell them how good it is.”

  Tessa nudges me, her hand lands on my forearm for only a split second but it’s enough for a surge of electricity to rush through me. I’m not sure if her shorts are still having an effect on me or if the past year has been building up to this moment.

  “Let me show you the rest while he cooks. We open in forty-five minutes and we still have a lot of things to do.” She gestures to the left. “That’s the dishwasher area. The busboy will bring the dishes back here, but if you see they’re swamped, you can also help out by bringing back your own tables’ dishes. If you close, or if we’re running low on silverware, one of the guys will bring some to us and we’ll have to roll them into napkins.”

  She pauses, and when I don’t say anything, she leads me outside of the kitchen, back into the small hallway with coffeepots and rolled-up silverware. On that side, there’s also a big blackboard with a schedule, and more pictures of the staff. I step closer, point to one where Tessa’s wearing a chicken costume. I tilt my head to the side and raise an eyebrow. “A chicken?”

  Her face flushes, but her voice is full of laughter when she answers. “We did a fundraiser for the children’s hospital. We were all wearing animal costume and…I got the chicken.” She pokes my chest with her index finger. “And I was a pretty amazing chicken.”

  “I’m sure.” My mouth tilts back up. “When was that? And please tell me there’s another fundraiser soon.”

  “It’s every year.”

  “You’re cute in that chicken costume…especially since it doesn’t hide your legs.” My eyes trail down again before settling back on her face. “Don’t get me wrong, I like those shorts better.”

  She exhales loudly. “You were just making out with Cora outside and you’re hitting on me now? Bad timing.”

  “I wasn’t hitting on you. I was stating a fact. You’d know if I was hitting on you.” The space between us seems to get smaller and smaller until she takes a step back.

  She raises an eyebrow in a you-can't-bullshit-me way. “Whatever. If there’s a new fundraiser, you’ll get a costume too.”

  “Sounds good. I’d love to help.” And I mean that. “You don’t look surprised,” I add. “Many would think I don’t give a fuck about anyone but myself.
” I remember the look on Madison’s face last night when I was being decent, doing something I hope everyone would do.

  She lifts a shoulder. “And a lot of people think I’m a freak because of my mother. Reputations are not reliable.”

  Her eyes are still on me, and even though her voice is steady, there’s almost a hint of fear in the way she looks at me. Like she’s afraid I’m judging her or afraid that I believe the rumors about her, the whispers. I’ve noticed that fear in her before. I think that’s why we never really talk about our issues. We both fear so much. We both bullshit our way through that fear. Most of the time.

  But then she glances down at her shoes. “Plus, I know you,” she adds so low I almost don’t hear her. “I stopped Googling Lacey after you left the library yesterday. If you wanted to tell me…you would.”

  I cross my arms, needing to put some distance between us. Because this girl with her soft voice and probing gaze and laughter that doesn’t completely hide her sadness is getting way too close for comfort. “You used to know me. For a few weeks. One summer. We talk and we hang out but you don’t know me anymore. Not the same way.” My hand massages the back of my neck. “You said you stopped searching but you don’t know where she is. You’re not asking me right now to tell you where she is. Because you know I wouldn’t tell you.” I wish I could.

  She flinches and opens her mouth but I cut her off. “Sometimes, reputations are reliable.” My tone turns way too serious for a Saturday morning at The Flying Pig, but I feel like she should know I really do have issues. “I fucked up. Big time. Many times. And I’m pretty sure I’m not done.”

  Instead of turning away, she narrows her eyes at me and steps back closer to me. “Why did you fuck up?”

  “Maybe there’s no reason.”

  “Maybe there is,” she whispers. And for a second we simply look at one another. The air is full of unsaid words and of understanding. Like we know things about the other without having to say them out loud. “If we do that fundraiser again, you’d make an awesome baby goat,” she continues and then turns around before her scent and her proximity give me the courage to slightly bend down and ask her if kissing is forbidden at work.

  Chapter Ten- Tessa

  I need to keep myself in check. Luke shouldn’t get me all flustered like that. I’m used to spending time with him and usually don’t need to fawn. He and I used to look for worms and frogs. We used to plan the best way to annoy our sisters. I didn’t ask him about Lacey because the times I said her name, he looked like he was in pain. I didn’t want to add to that pain. I heard the rumors: from him killing his sister (which I don’t believe) to his mom leaving him behind because he was too much of a handful (which I also don’t believe). Whatever Kenneth meant, I’ve never heard before.

  If he wants to talk about it, I’ll be there, but I won’t force him to explain what happened.

  He may have perfected his shit-eating grin over the years, but it still doesn’t hide the sadness and anger in his eyes. They draw me in like a magnet and I see my own pain reflected in them. I realign a tray of ketchup that doesn’t need any realignment and I count the minutes until opening time. Once the crowd settles in, I’ll be too busy to overanalyze.

  The rest of the crew has arrived in the kitchen and Luke’s talking to Diego. Diego and Luke have an easy friendship: they don’t talk much either but they have each other’s backs, like yesterday at school.

  Diego’s laughter booms and Luke joins in. Luke’s making himself at home in The Flying Pig, in the only home I really have. And he fits. Of course he does.

  I wipe down some of the coffee Bailey must have spilled last night with vigor. She usually leaves a much bigger mess than that. The last time I asked her about it, she sighed loudly, reminding me that some people have lives. I bit my tongue extra hard to not snap back at her. Bailey was my friend in elementary school.

  She’s part of the group that decided Mom was too “much” for them. And when I stopped participating in clubs and in all after-school activities, Baily didn’t seem to miss me. She found other friends. Another life.

  I empty the coffeepots, rinse them out and prepare one pot of regular and one pot of decaf. I still need to make sure the tables are ready for the rush that’s bound to happen.

  “How can I help you?” Luke asks. The zings of electricity shooting down my spine aren’t because he surprised me.

  He’s not super close to me but his frame fills the doorway. And I probably should not stare at his mouth. Maybe it’s because he came last night to check on me. Or maybe because my stupid heart imagines I was the one he was kissing when I saw him and Cora this morning.

  “We need to make sure we put the condiments on the table and that the ketchup bottles are all filled up. Last night’s shift didn’t seem to look at the closing tasks too closely.”

  Luke watches me carefully. “You always make sure everything is done.” It’s a statement, not a question.

  I shrug because what else am I supposed to do?

  He grabs the condiment basket. The dark blue employee shirt is tight around his shoulders. His tattoo is right on his bicep and I have to refrain from tracing its contour. Instead, I follow him with a clean rag. Knowing Bailey, she might have forgotten to wipe down some tables too. Luke carefully checks the condiments.

  Luke’s doing everything I ask of him without complaining.

  “I’m getting the hang of it,” he says with his lips turning up into one of his smiles that gets my heart racing. My eyes drop to his lips. My first kiss. A small peck on the lips before a giggling fit. I wonder how we would kiss now, how it would feel to be in his strong arms, how his lips would taste.

  His gaze meets mine and his shit-eating grin lets me know he caught me checking him out, and if the warmth rushing to my face is any indication, I’m probably beet red. The fun of being a redhead.

  I busy my hands with the condiments at the table in front of us.

  He nudges me. “I was thinking about that junior scholarship. It sucks but you don’t need it. I’m sure if any university heard you sing, they’d fight to give you a scholarship. I remember that day you sang the anthem—you were amazing.”

  I smile at him, even though he’s way too optimistic. “I have hours of training behind me.”

  “Have you thought about sending them recordings?”

  “I have…but what is it going to change? There are thousands like me, as talented as me.” I wish I didn’t sound so defeatist, but it’s the truth.

  He opens his mouth but doesn’t say anything. He shakes his head slowly as if he’s thinking about his next words.

  The distinctive jingle of the door opening—a pig oinking—distracts him. We both turn around, but I already know who it is. Her perfume is a synonym to happy memories and happy times. Diane, owner of The Flying Pig. She used to be Mom’s best friend…she tried to get her out of her self-destructive path and even though Mom told her off more than once, she’s still there, ready to pick up the pieces. Her dark hair waves right below her ear and her almost-black eyes zero in on Luke before smiling at me. She strides our way and pulls me into a hug. “How are you doing, honey?” The subtext is always, How is your mom doing?

  “I’m good. Mom’s at work.”

  “I saw her. She picked up a muffin at The Flying Cupcake.”

  The Flying Cupcake is the small bakery Diane opened last year right next door. She checks the restaurant and smiles her approving-you-did-good smile. The smile that makes me feel good, makes me feel seen and appreciated.

  The smile I wish Mom had for me when I make her dinner and take care of the laundry while she’s on the computer chatting on online forums with other moms around the world whose daughters disappeared.

  “Are you guys ready? We’re opening in five minutes. I saw some people in the parking lot already.” During the week, The Flying Pig opens at six a.m. But on weekends, we open at eight. The Flying Pig is famous in this county and the surrounding ones. We get the before-chur
ch and the after-church crowd. We get the workers who work any day of the week and we get the family events. I know all the regulars. All the regulars know me. At The Flying Pig, I’m not Tessa whose mom went on national TV a few months ago…

  “We’re ready. Thanks to Luke, really,” I say because it’s true.

  Diane frowns. “Did Bailey not do her closing duties last night?” Diana tilts her head like she already knows the answer. “I’ll talk to her. Again. She doesn’t get a free pass because she’s my niece.” She gives me another look full of smile before turning to Luke. “I’m glad Tessa is showing you the ropes. You guys will be a great team.”

  The way she says it reminds me of the way she talks about her horses, when she’s trying to get them to mate. The warmth in my face turns into a furnace.

  She chuckles and winks at me not so discreetly before heading back to the entrance, to switch the light on that will tell the regulars they can stroll inside.

  I turn to Luke, who has a half smile on his face. Like he knows exactly what Diane was trying to do and he doesn’t mind.

  My hands clam up and my heart accelerates. I’d give anything to have one evening like the other girls. I hear them talk about their dates, talk about the dances and the movies, and the bonfire.

  My last “real” date was with Connor—my then-boyfriend. He came over and Mom invited him to a séance. That was a year and a half ago. He’s moved to California since and I haven’t heard from him. Back then, I thought he was the one.

  Since then, I went to the bonfire three times and every single time, it ended up being a disaster.

  The first time: I kissed Kenneth—king asshole in training.

  He made me believe we were on a date, but it was a make-believe date, not a real one. He had pulled all the stops: a romantic dinner at a fancier restaurant a few towns away, a few hours at the fair playing games and laughing before going to the lake. He was being so sweet, telling me how he’s always thought I was beautiful and amazing. He told me his older brother missed Mellie and we talked about her. I never talk about her. It felt good. It almost felt right. We kissed and we fooled around and then the next day he ignored me after telling me he had a bet going with his buddies he’d hit a home run with me. He didn’t. We made it to second base. I threw up when I came home, wishing I could turn back time.