by Claire Kann
“No, let’s go back inside. I want to be one with my inner penguin.”
“It’s not far.”
I gasped. “Are you taking me to your cottage in the woods?”
“Maybe.”
Said cottage was at the end of a stone path lined with flowers. Inside, someone, probably his mom, had filled it with soft blues and soothing yellows. Couches surrounded a TV, and behind them was a nearly full bookcase built into the wall. I ran my hand along the spines. “No dust. Hmm.”
“Bathroom”—he pointed to the left—“bedrooms”—he pointed to the right—“kitchen”—straight ahead.
“Still hate you.” I read the book titles one by one. “Aha!” I held up the sequel to the book he had loaned me. “Can I?”
“Sure.”
I did a little happy dance. “Iorek is officially my favorite talking bear. I love him more than Bear and Winnie the Pooh. He defeated my own alter ego, which is saying something. You have no idea how hard it was to stop myself from buying the box set I found online.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“Because I wanted to borrow your copy. I loved reading all your little notes. Did you mark this one up, too?” I flipped through the first few pages.
He leaned against the back of the couch. “I just sort of fell in love with books this year and didn’t question it.”
“Nice.” I left the bookshelf and leaned next to him.
“I tried to change my major to English and publishing, but my parents flipped out. ‘How are you going to support yourself!?’” He laughed.
“Wild guess here, but you have an athletic scholarship, right? Basketball? Football?”
“Yeah. It ended up being basketball. But I can choose any major I want to study. My knees won’t last forever. It would be supremely stupid to bet my entire future on them.”
“Are you undeclared then?”
He shook his head. “Pharmacology and drug development. Minoring in English literature.”
“Wow! Holy—are you for real?”
“Don’t sound so shocked. You might wound my indestructible pride.”
“Sorry.” I tried to laugh off my embarrassment. “I just never thought of you as that kind of smart. I mean, I’m not saying I thought you were stupid or anything. That just sounds really intense.”
“I’m sure it will be.” He shrugged.
We stood there for a while, together and not speaking. Looking through the book was a cheat. I wanted to say more, but the nervous twitchy feeling in my chest wouldn’t let me. Almost like someone had flipped a switch, the tension in the room began to press down on me. Gravity had it out for us. Each minute that passed, we leaned closer together. His arm touched mine. My head tilted toward his. Our hands inevitably found each other.
Mint lip balm. A couple of false starts. Melting into softness. A rapid beating heart. That’s what first kisses were made of.
“I like you, Dallas.”
“I like you, too.”
“I like you,” I insisted. “And I don’t know how far that goes because it hasn’t stopped yet.”
He stood up straight, that perfect crooked smile out in full force, and held out his hand.
I took it. “And thank you for giving Kara a chance.”
“Technically, I’m giving you a chance. I’m willing to try this because I like you. If being with you means accepting her, too, then that’s what I’ll do.” The intensity burning in his eyes made my breath hitch. Sometimes, when Dallas looked at me, I’d swear he could see the entire history of my soul if he wanted to. “I don’t know if this will work. I don’t trust her and I don’t know if I’ll ever truly like her. But I like you and I know exactly how far that goes. I can’t give you up.” He shook his head. “That’s why I volunteered. I had to know. Because I tried, and I couldn’t. I can’t.”
“Good.” I laughed, unable to control my smile. It felt too big and too gummy, because I was so damn happy. “Because I don’t want you to.”
SA(RU)M(ON)
Sam: You can come back!
Sam: I don’t think it’s a trick either!
Sam: But you’re gonna need to be on your best behavior!
Sam: Are you picking Winston up from the airport this week?
Sam: Winnie?
Sam: Helloooooo?
Winnie: Goddess <3333
Sam: <3333333
Thirty-Four
“Behold!” Kara shouted from the front. “I have retrieved and safely delivered the crowned Prince of Zamunda!”
Gripping a bucket full of water in my hands, I shouted, “Great! Perfect! Come help!” through the kitchen window. Moving as fast as I could to avoid unwanted slippage, I hurried to the sink and dumped the water out.
“What’s going on?” Winston asked. He appeared in the doorway just as I positioned myself in front of one of the more furious leaks, catching the water with a bucket.
“Holy shit!” Kara’s jaw couldn’t drop any further if she were a starving anaconda.
The dishwasher decided to make a deal with a demon and was currently in the throes of possession. Water sprayed around the sides of the door, bubbles seeped out and onto the floor. Layla tried to keep it from spreading deeper into the kitchen with towels, sponges, and a mop. Meanwhile, Aaron struggled to find the right valve to shut it off.
If it wasn’t fire, it was water. Next a sinkhole would swallow the kitchen whole and the air conditioner would give up the ghost. Where was the Avatar when you needed him?
Winston gave himself a running start before sliding clean through a patch of bubbles with amazing balance to help Aaron.
Hand clutching the edge of the metal rim, he bent his knees, ducked his head, and crawled/slingshotted himself under the sink. In a crab position, he kicked a blue lever once, twice, again—and the water shut off, dishwasher groaning to a halt.
“Praise Jesus.” Layla let the mop fall to the floor. She wasn’t quite soaked from head to toe. More like from the waist down, like she’d been wading through a river.
I asked, “Where did you learn to slide like that? I would’ve busted my head wide open.”
Winston stood up, giving Aaron a smug look. I couldn’t help it—I all but ran and gave him the tightest hug my arms had ever given.
Aaron crossed his arms over his chest. “I’m a chef, not a plumber.”
“But it’s your kitchen.” Winston rested his chin on top of my head. “Is the sink not a part of it?”
“JR handles it.”
“Speaking of,” Layla said, “I’ll call and see if he can come in early.” Her shoes squished as she walked. “Welcome back, sweetie.”
“I’ll call Frank.” I reluctantly let go. Ovens, dishwashers—basically the same thing. Right? No? “And then I’ll get this cleaned up.”
“We’ll help,” Kara said. “Right, Winston?”
He had the nerve to give her a shifty-eyed no.
“Boy, if you don’t grab a mop.” I threw a towel at him.
“Fine, okay, I’ll help. Jeez.” He pouted and spoke with a mocking voice, “Everyone loves scrubbing day.”
“Ooh! I know that one!” Kara exclaimed.
Silent and crabby, Aaron began picking up the soaked towels and took them upstairs to be washed. I headed to the office alone to get the cordless phone.
We weren’t able to get all of the water up until JR arrived with a special vacuum to finish the job. Somehow, Goldeen’s only had to stay closed for two hours. Granny was away negotiating contracts—I hadn’t seen her since I’d gotten back. I had the feeling she didn’t exactly want to see me.
Kara and Winston had ditched me to go shopping, which if I’m being honest, felt weird as hell. But the contest was coming, I had a shift, and they needed to prepare. It made sense for them to go together.
“Winnie.” Layla came into the kitchen as I was supervising Frank fixing the leak. “The party at table four would like to speak to the manager.”
I sucked in a breath, lips pulle
d back over my teeth. “What’s up?”
“They are unhappy with the quality of their meal.”
“They can send it back.”
“Now, if only there were anything left to send back.” Layla presented the check with a flourish. “That woman could make a saint hesitate. Good luck, darling.”
I sighed, taking the ticket and marching out to the table. A woman with freckles sat with someone equally as freckled with the same coloring and hair. Mother and son, most likely, but Thing One and Thing Two made me happier. Both of their plates looked as if they’d been scraped, sopped, and licked clean. “Can I help you with anything?”
“We’re waiting for the manager.”
I plastered on my best customer-service smile. The one that said friendly and approachable but also terribly shy. “Hi, I’m Winnie. I’m the co-assistant manager here at Goldeen’s. How can I help you?”
“Aren’t you a little young to be a manager?”
That “young” had a tone. Almost as if that wasn’t the word Thing One had wanted to use.
“My name tag says otherwise.”
“Well. I’m sorry to have to say this, but this food just was not good. The lettuce in my salad was wilted, the eggs tasted like they’d been frozen, the dressing was too tangy, and my son’s omelet was dry and his potatoes were burnt.”
Dear God, I hoped Aaron wasn’t listening. If he walked out here, his very presence would give Thing One a heart attack. Or she’d try to give him her number, and I would be forced to suffer through secondhand embarrassment.
“The only reason why we came here was because it is so highly rated on Yelp,” Thing One continued.
Ah, Yelp. People seemed to think service staff lived in fear of one-star ratings on review sites, considering how often ornery customers mentioned it during complaints. What they didn’t know? Kara used to regularly monitor Goldeen’s online reputation and refuted all one-star claims.
“And the only reason we ate it was because after driving all night, we were both starving.”
“I see. That’s unfortunate that your meal was less than satisfactory. What can I do to make this right for you?” One … two … three …
“I don’t think we should have to pay for this. It’s the least you could do.”
“I see.” Oh, she was a bold one. Usually, when I danced with scammers, they pussyfooted around, asking for a free meal by implying I should be the one to offer it. “I’m afraid I can’t do that.” Four … five … six …
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me.”
Thing Two laughed.
“We have a policy for these types of—situations. Our waitstaff is trained to check in on customers twice during a meal to ensure our guests have a pleasant dining experience. Shortly after the food has been delivered and again when the food is nearly gone. At either of those times, did you tell her the lettuce was limp, the eggs were frozen, the dressing was tangy, the omelet was dry, or the potatoes were burnt?”
Thing One’s gaze skidded sideways around the half-full diner. I had seen that look enough to know exactly what Thing One wanted to happen. “No,” she said, raising her voice. “I told you we were hungry. We didn’t want to wait for another order.”
A few heads turned.
“Okay.” Damage control: acknowledge and compensate; keep my voice quiet and confidential, using the same tone I would if a customer’s card had been declined. “That’s fair. I can understand that.”
Thing One found some chill and sunk back in her seat, a half-smile creeping out. “Thank you—”
“I can offer you a twenty-percent discount on your bill.”
“I want to speak to your supervisor.” Thing One had reached shouty levels, as expected.
“I don’t have one.”
“Fine,” she ground out. “I want to speak to the owner.”
I intertwined my fingers, holding my hands in front of me. Seven … eight … nine … “Hi, my name is Winnie. I’m the owner’s granddaughter here at Goldeen’s, and she left me in charge. How can I assist you?”
“That is not funny.”
“No one is laughing. Except your son.” I shrugged. “This is my family’s diner. And I’m going to ask that you lower your voice. Other customers are trying to enjoy their meals.”
“This is ridiculous.” She began to gather her things. “I refuse to discuss this with a child, and I’m not paying for a shitty meal. Let’s go.”
“Oh, I think you will.” Ten. “Because that’s how business works. You entered my establishment, received wonderful service from my staff, ate my cook’s food that I can personally guarantee was perfect in every way, and are now attempting to leave without paying. That is considered theft. I am well within my rights to call the sheriff to have both you and your son arrested.”
Thing One’s mouth hung open like a Venus flytrap. “You would call the police over twenty dollars?”
“You’re the one causing a fuss over twenty dollars, so yeah, sure.” I would never. All I needed was for this woman to think that I would. “Aaron! Call Sheriff Mills, please?”
“You can’t treat customers like this!”
“Says who? The customer is always right is not a law; it’s a courtesy that people like you have abused.” I placed the ticket down on the table. “Now will that be cash, debit, or credit? We don’t accept checks.”
Thing Two sighed, loud and pained as if his soul were suffering a thousand emotional deaths and he needed to journal out some bad poetry. “Jesus, Mom. Just fucking pay. It’s not even that serious.”
He—he cussed at his mom!? And she didn’t reach across the table and smack him into the next time zone? These people were something else.
“Language, Philip,” Thing One snapped. Huffy and frowning, she retrieved her wallet and threw a card onto the table.
I didn’t touch it. “I need to see your ID.”
Thing One flipped open her wallet.
“Sorry, but I can’t see the state hologram. I’m going to need you to take it out and place it on top of the card you threw.”
“No.”
“Then I can’t accept this as payment.”
Aaron, right on time, appeared behind me. I didn’t have to turn around—I felt him there, having my back. “Sheriff says he’s five minutes out.”
“Finally, an adult!” Thing One said, dismissing me with a wave of her hand. Again, that “adult” had the same tone as before. “I don’t know what your hiring process is, but you might want to consider changing it. This girl is so disrespectful and out of line—”
“Why are you complaining to me?” Aaron nodded to me. “She’s the boss. If you’ll excuse me, I have more dry omelets to make.”
Thing One screamed inside of her mouth and threw down twenty-one dollars. A whole nine cents left for Layla’s tip. With Philip in tow, she left the diner, complaining loudly at no one in particular, probably just wanting to be heard.
At the register, I cashed out the ticket. “I really was going to give her twenty percent off. The change must be your tip.”
“Oh, sweetie, you don’t have to do that!” Layla said.
“I didn’t. She did.” I rubbed my eyes. “Granny is going to be so mad at me when she finds out.”
Resigned to my fate, I walked back over to the main floor. “Excuse me, everyone. I apologize for that scene with that customer, but it’s the principle of the matter, and that lady was just wrong. To make up for it, free coffee, pastries, and donuts on the house for everyone. As many as you can eat or want to take with you. And if you can’t have those, come see me and we’ll work something else out. Thank you, please enjoy your meals.”
It started slow, like in the movies. One person began to clap before the entire diner joined in cheering for me in support.
SA(RU)M(ON)
Sam: WHAT PART OF BEST BEHAVIOR DID YOU NOT UNDERSTAND
Thirty-Five
Sometimes, a girl’s gotta vary it up. Instead of fleeing to Kar
a’s house, I sent her an Update: I’m dead. Again. message, and crashed at cottage.
Dallas set down the sodas and snacks his mom had sent over with impressive timing. I had showed up not even ten minutes ago. “Being a hostess is kind of her thing. She stays ready.”
We settled onto the couch. I checked my phone one last time. Radio silence from Sam made me paranoid. It was the definition of Not Good™. After putting my phone back in my purse, I tucked into a corner of the couch.
“How are you feeling?”
“Crappy.” I rubbed my eyes, pushing down until bright lights appeared.
“But this is what happens with you two, right? You fight, she gets mad, you apologize or don’t, and then it gets glossed over. It’ll be fine.”
It felt good to drag my hands down my face, pulling on my skin. “It’s not just that.” The other reason I hadn’t gone to Kara? As much as she tried, as much as I loved her, I don’t think she’d be able to relate to how I was feeling. “Do you ever think that it doesn’t matter what you do; people are always only going to see you one way?”
“Yeah. Every day of my life.”
“Don’t be dramatic. That’s my job.”
“I’m not. I know exactly what you mean.” He looked at me, straight-faced. “One of the things I like most about you is that you’re always the same Winnie no matter who you talk to. You don’t care about other people’s opinions.”
“Who told you that lie?” I laughed. “I can admit I’m slightly ahead on the self-worth curve, but I still care. To the point of panic sometimes.”
“But you don’t hide yourself. There isn’t a separate Winnie in there caught between two worlds. You’re always you. For better or for worse.” Dallas shook his head.
“I don’t hide. But.” The words were there. All I had to do was say them.
My rage and sorrow and happiness had digestible requirements placed on them. Stay calm. Don’t get angry. Never let them see you cry. I hated that so, so much.
Only two people tried to understand, my mom and Kara, but they ended up on different ends of the same messed-up spectrum. My mom wanted to find the cause and destroy the root, to talk through my feelings calmly and with purpose. Kara would let me burn everything to the ground so we could dance together in front of the flames, screw the consequences.