by Kate Stewart
“Ouch, sorry.”
“It’s just one day,” I said, taking a long tug of beer. “There are more. And I’ll bus tables if I must. Nothing wrong with that, right?”
“Wrong. You want to work your way up from the bottom, but you don’t want to dig to get there. I think we know you’re capable of doing more.”
“But indulgent and unimportant. You might want to find better company, fair warning,” I said as I drained my beer and lifted my finger for another.
“I’m good here. And I think you know what I meant.”
I looked around the dark bar. There were exactly five people in it including Nate, the bartender, and me. “This doesn’t strike me as your type of place.”
“It’s close, quiet, convenient.”
“Deserted.”
He redirected, “What are you doing here?”
It was a loaded question. “Waiting.”
“On?”
“My sister. She’s working a few blocks away at The Plate Bar.” I chuckled to myself as he furrowed his brows at me. The question on my tongue, I took a sip of my fresh beer and asked what was on the forefront of my mind the second I entered his office.
“How did you get there? You can’t be more than twenty-four?”
“Twenty-six, and it’s my paper. You obviously didn’t do much homework.”
“It was a last-minute decision to come see you.”
He glanced at my soaked shirt. “I can see that.”
“Still would have worn this shirt,” I retorted.
“Now I’m even more convinced I did right by not hiring you.”
We clinked bottles and shared a smile. “You’re an ass. Why start your own paper?”
“For the same reason you got hit hard with the door today. I wanted it bad enough and I was tired of walking in circles. I’m doing it my way. This month will only be the ninth circulation.”
“Oh, wow. That new?”
He nodded.
“That’s kind of inspiring.”
“It won’t be if I have to close up shop, but worth the risk if it starts to take off.”
“Well,” I said before chugging my beer like I was at a frat party, “I wish you luck, though your talent is about to walk out the door.”
“I’ll make you a deal,” he said as he gripped my wrist and pulled it so I was forced to sit again.
“What’s that?”
“Keep writing like I did hire you, and in six months, if I read your stuff and I like it, I’ll buy a set of columns for a test run. But you’ll need to start covering locally and get familiar with the clubs.”
“You’re serious?”
“Yeah, I like your style. I read two more of your articles when you left.”
It was my first real smile of the day. “Which ones?”
“‘Beastie Theory’ and ‘Jane’s Abduction.’ I was going to call you tomorrow and make the same offer.”
“Glad you made it in person.” I couldn’t hold my smile.
“Yeah, me, too.” Nate watched me carefully before he spoke next.
“Do you have someone?”
His question caught me off guard. “Someone?”
He hesitated. “Do you need a ride?”
I gave him a sideways glance. “Sure, I mean, if you’re leaving.” He put a few twenties on the bar top before he re-wrapped his gorgeous frame in his jacket. “I’m leaving.”
Inside his Tahoe, I shivered in the AC, my hair still damp and matted to my face.
Nate drove with his fist on top of the wheel and his elbow on the console rest between us. I tried and succeeded to keep my eyes on the road, though he was tempting.
“So, two years left at school. Where will you go?”
“Everywhere,” I grinned. “But I have a few places in mind.”
“You’ll change that mind a hundred times before you graduate.”
I looked out the window to the gradually crowding streets. “I’m sure.”
The ride lasted all of four minutes, and I hesitated as I gripped the handle before turning to thank him. Before I could get the words out, he spoke up.
“I want to take you out. Back at the bar I was going to ask but, one, you’re too fucking young for me, and, two, I didn’t want you to think I was making that deal to get in your pants.”
I gawked at him openly. “That was four minutes ago. What’s changed?”
“Nothing.”
“I’m only four minutes older.”
“Noted.”
“I just broke up with my boyfriend.”
His eyes dropped to my lips. “So that’s a no?”
“No. I don’t care that we broke up.”
He dropped his head with a laugh. “Wow.”
“I really don’t know how to explain it. He was a lead singer in a band and had the attention span of a gnat.”
“I think that sums it up well.” He leaned over, so our eyes locked. “Just to let you know, I fucking love that T-shirt.”
“I knew you did.”
We shared some heavy static and a smile as Paige and Reid walked out of the restaurant, heads turned and eyes trained on us.
“So, I’ll call you tomorrow?”
“Sorry, I’m not dating. But I’ll see you in six months. Thanks for the ride, Nate.”
I jumped out of the car as Paige glared into it. Nate was already making a right turn by the time I looked back at two expectant faces. “Hey, don’t look at me like that. I told you I had condoms.”
Chapter Six
Given to Fly: Pearl Jam
I ran with the bulls in Mexico when I was five years old. It was my first real memory. My mother had taken us to Panotla to visit her family, and it was only miles outside of Tlaxcala where they held the annual bull run after The Feast of Assumption, a colorful, flower-filled parade put on by the Catholic church, dedicated to the Virgin Mary.
Somehow in the excitement and the chaos of the crowd, my mother let go of my hand. It was a split-second decision on my part. A decision I recall making. I had similar clothes on to the ones who were running, and I wanted to be a part of it. I didn’t want to miss anything. So, instead of reaching for her hand, I ran. It might have been seconds or minutes, but I remember the exhilaration of seeing one of the large animals running through the mob in the distance. I could never forget the shrieks and terror-filled screams of those around me, but I wasn’t afraid. I was whisked away from the mob and held by a large woman with a death grip. She had a set of domino teeth and was adamant about scolding me until my parents finally reached us.
I wasn’t spanked for my participation in the bull run, though I was told by my cruel Aunt Yamara that El Cucuy—the Hispanic version of the boogeyman–was coming for me. But my reception was quite the opposite. For a solid week, the story was told between my mother and her twelve sisters and trickled down through the grapevine. Before we left Panotla, I hit a piñata in the shape of a bull. That was all I remembered. But my mother later told me it was a party in my honor. They all thought I would grow up to be something special. My mother asked for a blessing that day from my great-grandmother for help with raising such a niña rebelde—wild child. Her family was superstitious to the point of being ridiculous at times, but I stuck to all those superstitions because it was as much of a part of me as it was her. It honored my mother and her family. I embraced my Latina side, while my sister did a decent job playing indifferent. Paige only indulged our mother when she had to. My father was a poster boy for the red, white, and blue conservative, while my mother showed her colors proudly, all of them.
So, while I recalled the nightmare I had the previous night to my sister, in fear it would come true—a superstition I took seriously—I made sure not to leave out the details. We were at HEB shopping for necessities, so while I waged war on my dream, she raced down the aisles in an attempt to avoid what she considered nonsense. And she’d brought her best friend along so he could get some groceries of his own. As it turned out, Reid too was car-less, a
n accident the reason for his broken arm and his constant presence.
“So, then I had a fight with a hanger—a wire hanger.” Reid chuckled as he plucked a family pack of Ramen Noodles from the bottom shelf. I was close to feeling sorry for him. He was pulling nothing but cheap crap to take home. Paige seemed to notice and immediately offered him an invitation to dinner. And that part of her was my mother speaking. Food is how we showed our affection.
“I’m good.”
She scorned him the way she did me. “You aren’t good, and I won’t take a no. You look like crap.”
“Thanks,” he said thoughtfully as he threw the noodles in our cart and wedged his finger between his cast and arm to get at the itch.
“The hanger morphed,” I went on, demanding my sister’s audience, “into the blob from the Terminator movies.”
“And the plot thickens,” Reid said with an amused sigh. Paige pressed her lips together to control her laugh as my eyes lit with fire. She was on thin ice when it came to Reid, and Reid was about to be trapped under that ice if I had any say. I resented his presence and his place in my sister’s life. I had looked forward to days alone where it would just be the two of us catching up, but it seemed Reid was always there, and it was obvious he didn’t like my new position as houseguest. It was petty and we both knew it, but it didn’t change the fact that neither of us liked it. And with the two of them, I always felt on the defensive. I almost wished Neil were around. Even if he was mostly mute, I could prop him up like a Mr. Potato Head and stick him on my side.
“Stella, you don’t really believe if you don’t confess your nightmares to someone they will come true?”
Reid looked between us, amused. “That’s why she’s doing it?”
“I’m standing right here, and I can speak for myself,” I said with zero patience.
Hazel eyes seared into mine. “You need to grow up a little, you know that?”
“Says the guy who just threw Trix in the cart like they were a Christmas gift.” I rolled my eyes as I followed Paige while she pushed the cart. “And it was a big friggin’ blob. The rest of the dream went Terminator!”
Paige scurried down the produce aisle and grabbed some cilantro from the shelf for Caldo de Res—my favorite soup—before she gave me a knowing glance. It was hotter than hell outside, but never too hot for that soup.
“I love you, sister,” I said with a smile. “All is forgiven.”
“Te amo también, dulce amor.” I love you, dear.
“Whoa, that’s new,” Reid commented. “I almost didn’t believe you were half-Mexican when you told me. You speak English to the cooks and the tables.”
“It’s Latina,” I corrected. “Mexicans live in Mexico. We’re Spanish speaking American women, which makes us Latina. There’s your lesson for the day. And she doesn’t speak Spanish because she thinks she sounds stupid. She hasn’t used the tongue enough, and she doesn’t like being half a beaner.”
Paige wrinkled her nose. “That’s so wrong, not to mention politically incorrect.”
“Only if you aren’t half beaner.” I smiled. “But I am, so I can make all the jokes I want.” I looked pointedly at Paige, dismissing Reid. “At the end of the dream, I get robbed.”
“Really?” Paige mused, rummaging through the spices in the international aisle as I pulled some dried peppers from the rack. “By a tarantula with a hot dog.”
“What?” Paige stood in front of me. “You were eating a hot dog?”
I kept my voice monotone to show my irritation. The cleansing of the dream only worked if the one you recalled it to was paying attention. “No, that was the spider’s weapon of choice, a hot dog.”
“This is just getting weird,” Reid said as he gestured over his shoulder. “I’ll be anywhere but hearing the rest of this dream.”
Realization struck as she looked at me with wide eyes. “There better not be any raw eggs under my couch!” Paige shrieked.
“Tonight, there will be. I can’t handle spiders.”
“No,” Paige said adamantly. “Seriously, no. Neil won’t know what to think. Putting a raw egg under the couch to ward off evil spirits? Really, Stella? That’s where I put my foot down.”
“And what Neil doesn’t know won’t hurt him. And are you sure you’re with Neil?” I glanced in the direction Reid went. “Because you two seem pretty cozy.”
“Don’t even entertain it,” she said with a hard look. “Reid is so far removed from that line of thinking, it’s not even funny. I’m telling you he’s just a good guy, and I happen to love his girlfriend. His ex—whatever she is this side of the half hour.”
“Sounds like a great guy,” I muttered.
“What’s with you two? You avoid each other like the plague.”
It was true. I never struck up conversation with him, and he never went out of his way to talk to me, either. It was like we were repulsed by the other.
“I don’t know. I don’t like him. He’s rude and presumptuous.”
“He could say the same about you,” Reid said as he placed a six-pack of beer into the cart. I no longer felt sorry for Mr. Ramen Noodles. He could find another sister to make him Caldo.
I snorted. “And what exactly do I presume to know about you?”
Without looking at me, he addressed Paige. “I’ll meet you at the check-out.” Reid walked off again without so much as a look back.
“Wow.” Paige chuckled. “I think it’s safe to say the feeling is mutual.”
“Whatever,” I said as I plucked the hundred dollar bill my parents sent me for my birthday and handed it to her.
She eyed the money I knew she needed and shook her head. “No way, that’s yours. Have fun this weekend.”
“Take a little, okay? I don’t want to be a mooch.”
“You’re looking for a job every day. I see it. You’ve been walking the streets for weeks looking.”
“I’m taking one. I got a call today. El Plato Cantina.” I shrugged. “I filled out an application last time I waited for you. It’s okay, right? I asked for your shifts.”
Paige hesitated, but only briefly. “Yeah, it’s fine. And please try to be nice to Reid. He’s going through a lot right now.”
“I will,” I said absently. “Okay, so the tarantula spoke . . . ”
Riding shotgun on the way home, I played DJ and cranked up “Helena (So Long & Goodnight)” by My Chemical Romance without any objection. When we dropped Reid off, Paige helped him up the stairs of his apartment with his groceries while I sat idle in the car with the AC on full blast to babysit our wilting purchases. Texas was a hot bastard to live in. I was sure our cheese slices would become a block by the time we reached our own apartment. Even with the cool air blowing, I was sweating from the sun streaming through the windshield and damn near blinded by the midday beam by the time Paige opened the door.
“Poor guy.” She sighed as she eyed Reid’s open door.
“How does he wait tables?”
“Our manager, your new manager, Leslie, gives him three tables. He’s right-handed so he can pull it off, but barely. He wouldn’t even let me carry the bags inside. I think this time she left him high and dry.”
I looked up to see Reid pick up the remaining bags from the porch where Paige had dropped them then walk inside.
Chapter Seven
I want You: Kings of Leon
Later that night, I was guilted into bringing Reid a plate from dinner, since he was a no-show. Paige had done everything to insinuate his absence had everything to do with me. Even at nine at night, the heat had a way of making the short walk to his place unbearable. By the time I reached his door, I was foaming at the mouth and desperately needed some water. I was on my fourth knock when Reid answered the door with a towel wrapped around him and one of the plastic shopping bags from the store fastened around his cast. Steaming food in hand, I ignored the shock of the sight of him close to naked and pushed past to set the hot bowl on his counter.
More shock f
iltered through me as I took in the scarce furnishings: a worn mattress in the living room where a couch should be, an old box TV that had to be around ten years old, and a single chair on his open porch on the small balcony.
“I didn’t say you could come in.” Anger laced his voice as he moved to stand in front of me to obstruct my view. His chest was etched deep with muscle and covered in tattoos. I swallowed hard as I met his stare.
“Well, it was either you drop that towel and take this plate, and I see you naked or . . .”
He dropped the towel instantly, and my eyes followed its direction. He was wearing boxer briefs. I turned my back and started rummaging through his cabinet for a glass. They were empty, and I knew that a majority of his dishes were in the sink. To his credit, they were soaking in lukewarm and partially soapy water. “I just need something to drink, and I’ll leave.”
“Suit yourself.” He moved toward the hallway, and seconds later, I heard his shower start. On instinct, I began to wash his dishes as I glanced around his kitchen. It was completely void of life and color. It reminded me of a cheap motel room—just the bare necessities—and that was a generous assessment. The trash was loosely gathered on the side of the small faux granite island across from the sink, but I could see a large part of it was scattered, if not purposefully, across the floor. He’d obviously had a hard time getting it together and had some sort of fit when it hadn’t gone his way. I suppressed a grin as I pulled a dustpan and brush from his empty pantry, other than the box of Trix and Ramen noodles that sat on the otherwise bare plastic shelf.
I glanced at the counter next to a cheap coffee maker and saw a final notice for Reid Crowne. He had a seventy-five-dollar late fee attached to his rent. And they were threatening to evict him over it. Seventy-five dollars? Assholes.
I grabbed a roll of Clorox wipes from underneath his sink and scrubbed down the counters before I pulled the trash out to his porch so I could take it as I left. I was walking around his kitchen with wipes on my Converse, due to the fact he had no mop, when he emerged freshly showered, his face stone as he watched me.