While the boys went up to order for us all, Ali and I stayed behind at our booth. I also chose this moment to tell her about the aquarium break-in, because that evening has played on a continuous loop in my brain since it happened almost a month ago.
“He didn’t strike me as a rule breaker either,” I agree. “But people change a lot.”
“Well…” Ali trails off, and my alarms go off.
“Ali Rose,” I warn. “What are you—”
“Oh, nothing,” she sings. It’s definitely something if she’s singing like that. “Just that there’s a possibility that Crew likes you. Notjustas a friend.” She emphasizes that last statement.
I shake my head. That’s not possible. I’ve only known him for a few months, and it takes a little longer for a guy to feel that way about me. It’s nature. Like walking, or the hairs on the back of my neck standing up like Spiderman whenever I get the sense that I’m being watched. Kind of like right now.
“Crew never acted like that until he met you,” she continues. “Honestly, it’s much needed for that guy. He seemed too stiff when I first met him.”
“I wouldn’t say that it’s a bad thing,” I tell her.
“What’s a bad thing?” Vinny pipes in as he and Crew slide back into the booth, each with drinks. “We got your orders, but they were out of grenadine for your Shirley Temple, Ali, so I grabbed you a soda.”
Ali shrugs. “It’s okay. Thanks, babe.”
I sip on my mango iced tea as Vinny tells the story of how the cashier thought the place was out of buns—spoiler alert: they weren’t—and how he almost ordered a different plate before the dude behind him discouraged him from doing so.
“I’ve never seen two people argue so aggressively over a salad,” Vinny laughs.
I lean over to Crew. “Hey, I’m going to be right back.”
He takes the sign and stands up, allowing me space to squeeze out of the booth, and I try not to look distracted by his scent—like sandalwood or something, since he met us at this diner from the aquarium—before heading towards the ladies' room to wash my hands.
As my hands make contact with the hot water, the stall door behind me opens, revealing a tall woman with glossy black hair.I get chills down my spine just by looking at her sunglasses and hat. The hairs on the back of my neck? Yeah, they’re still standing at attention.
Another thing: who the fuck wears a sunhat indoors? At night, no less?
“Better a big hat than a personality.” She turns on the faucet and removes her glasses, and that’s when I know I’ve fucked up. Badly.
My eyes bulge out of my socket at the realization, and I’m frozen in my spot. Forget the hot water practically burning my hands—I just insulted a celebrity out loud! Not just any celebrity…
Teresa fucking Shentu.
Well, at least I’m not showing blatant disrespect to restaurant owners by wearing a stupid hat indoors. I’m aware of my big personality. That’s a descriptor I’ve come across many times, especially growing up. My aspirations, my excitement, my mouth, sometimes my height—all of them have been described as big. At first, it never hurt me coming from the kids my age.
Hearing it leave an adult’s mouth? That’s a different feeling, especially from Crew’s mother, of all people.
15
Facing the Past
Crew
Carly returns from the restrooms and sits down on the empty seat from me without a word. That’s odd. She doesn’t ask me to move over or switch seats, but I pass her shrimp dish over to her, and she starts eating. Silence.
Is it me, or does she look shaken up? Like she just had an interaction with a dictator or something. Her leg is bouncing so high that I can hear the quiet thud it makes every time she hits the underside of the table.
Vinny, Ali, and I exchange a quick glance at each other because all three of us can sense something’s off. Just like it was that time she returned from her cousin’s brunch, and her mood was a little…dampened, to say the least.
“Enjoying the food?” I ask Carly before closing my eyes at how awkward that sounded.
At least she doesn’t say anything. Instead, she keeps eating her food and staring off in the direction she came from.
I follow her gaze to the restrooms, where a woman in a cream-colored coat and sunglasses heads out from, and my blood boils. That’s not possible, is it?
