“Oh… yeah.” She throws the car in reverse. “Would you believe me if I said that came with the car?”
“Sure, if you borrowed this car from a fourteen-year-old girl.”
She rolls her eyes. “You’re just jealous you’re not on my dashboard.”
“Ha!” Probably.
And one thousand hours later, because Sunny drives like a senior citizen, we park under a giant neon sign of a guy wearing roller skates and carrying a hamburger. There’s a huge plastic letter board menu in front of the car listing enigmatic food items like “heeburgr” and “rench frie” and “oon ring,” since half the letters are missing. There’s a faded sign underneath the menu that reads “Honk for service.”
While Sunny decodes the menu I reach past her and honk the horn. She jumps like she’s been tasered and smacks my arm away.
“Why did you do that?!” she hollers.
I gesture to the sign. “Honk for service?”
“Yeah, but no one actually does it. They saw us pull in.” She’s shaking her head and muttering at me when a blonde on roller skates glides up to her window. She cranks it down with a huff. “Hey, Goldie. Sorry about that.”
Ah. The sister.
“‘S’okay.” The blonde pulls a tiny notepad out of her black apron. “Geez, three times in one week? Are you officially off the health nut wagon, Sis?”
“It’s been an off week, okay?” Her gaze darts my way.
“I’ll say. You’ve been hanging out with Sir Sexy Dimple Sparkle Pants all week. Hubba hubba!” she sexy-growls. At least, I think it was supposed to be sexy. I can’t see her face from my position in the passenger seat, but based on what her hands are doing there are also some suggestive gestures happening.
Sir Sexy Dimple Sparkle Pants? I’ve been called worse. I’ll take it.
Sunny laughs uncomfortably, “Goldie!” Her eyes snap my direction.
“What?” I can’t see her face from this angle, but she flips a page in her notepad and positions her pen to take our order.
A wicked little grin forms on Sunny’s pink lips. “Nothing. I’ll have my usual,” she says too innocently.
“Bo-ring!” Her sister sing-songs while scribbling on her notepad. “Is that it?”
Sunny turns to me, then Imogen. “What do you guys want?” she asks loudly with a devious smile.
“Oh,” Goldie says, finally leaning down to glance at the passenger seat.
Her notebook and pen drop to the concrete. She bends over to pick them up and her hands shoot to the car door, latching on like her skates must’ve gotten away from her. Her head drops below the window and all we see are two hands, clinging for dear life, and the sound of clunky roller skates banging against the concrete and the side of the car as she fights to regain her footing.
“You okay down there, Sis?” Sunny asks, her tone equal parts honey and evil.
Goldie rights herself and flips open her notepad like it’s just another day on the job. “What will you have, Sir Sparkle Pants? Or can I call you Sexy Dimple?”
“Sir Sparkle Pants is my dad. Call me Sexy Dimple.” I flick a little wave and a huge smile in her direction, to emphasize said dimple. I can tell I’m going to like this sister. She looks like what I imagine Immy will look like in twelve or thirteen years. Something inside me wants to make sure she has lunch money and that the boys at school are being nice.
“Just so you know, my dad’s name is Anders Abrahamson,” Imogen says from the back seat. “And my grandpa’s name is Johan.”
“Oh hey, Immy! I didn’t see you back there!” Goldie smiles, “The usual?”
“My daughter has a usual?” I tease Sunny.
“Nuggets. Duh, Dad.” Immy reminds me.
“Duh, Dad,” Goldie parrots, writing Immy’s choice on her notepad. “So, a chicken nugget meal for Immy. Protein burger and diet Coke for Sunny. And what would you like, Sexy Dimple?”
I end up copying Sunny’s order and when our food arrives I find out that her usual is basically a paper wrapper full of disappointment: A bun-less, cheese-less hamburger patty wrapped in lettuce. She ups the wow-factor by adding a mystery condiment called Fry Sauce.
