We’ve all convened to build my pitch for the Borough Council meeting.
Mr. Goldstein informed me that during the public forum part of their next meeting, I should be prepared to make an impassioned plea for the future of our sacred spot. He told me to rally the troops and prepare to get loud, so that’s just what I’m doing.
Earl rubs his mustache, deep in thought, as his eyes scan lines of newspaper text, a yellow highlighter at the ready.
Claire is our organizer, Avery is our writer, Alice is our harsh critic, and Earl is our wealth of firsthand knowledge. Mom and Stacia are using their artistic skills to sketch a visually pleasing timeline of the drive-in’s history. This will give the council members a succinct, eye-catching graphic that lays out the community aspect of this long-running business. Brandon agreed to gather a street team. They’ll spread the word to the summer-study students still on the Rosevale campus, urging them to join the cause.
We need as wide a reach as we can manage.
Since Alice’s eyes aren’t good enough to read through most of the small-printed materials, I read aloud to her, which is an act I’m coming to enjoy. If she nods, I put that source in our “need it” pile, and if she scowls, I bring it over to Dad so he can sort, alphabetize, and keep track of what we’ve deemed unusable. What isn’t relevant now might be pertinent later.
At the end of all of this, I’m the one kicking off the open forum. It’s as if I’m some underdog defense lawyer preparing closing remarks on a high-profile case. A regular Erin Brockovich. I need to prove my worth.
Even in this circle of special people, Derick’s absence is palpable. If he were here, I know he’d force me to go on a run to knock out my stricken panic. He’d hold my hand and help my fear fly away. My lonely, achy heart yearns for what I felt before he imploded everything. Those fleeting weeks were wonderful. It’s sad and stupid but true. He’s part of the reason we’re in this mess, scouring for a lifeline. I can’t square how seen and wanted he made me feel all summer with how invisible I felt when he wouldn’t even look at me in the Review Board meeting.
I scroll back through his latest text:
Derick
Two truths and a lie, round 3:
1. I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you sooner, but I had a good reason. I promise.
2. I’m proud of you for standing up for what you believe in.
3. You can’t ice me out forever.
When I got this, I started to type back:They’re all lies!But I decided those kinds of dramatics would only detract from the issue at hand. I need to wrap my focus up in saving Wiley’s. I lived without Derick before; I can do without him now too.
If only my heart could start believing that.
Attempting to shake off the feelings, I take a break and walk over to the drink table Mom set out on the deck. Even an impromptu meeting of the troops called for a full spread. Mateo is pouring himself some of her famous sweet tea. Mom’s a tristate-area girl who went to college in Georgia. She knows her way around a southern comfort drink. The secret is a pinch of baking soda and simple syrup, which kills the bitter tang of long-steeping tea bags. Mateo can’t get enough of it.
Approaching with caution and cultivating empathy, I say quickly to his back, “Before you run away, I want to say I’m sorry. Really, truly sorry.”
Mateo turns slowly, charting the distance from here back to his seat, but I’ve cornered him and he knows it. The silent treatment is his way of inflicting punishment on me. But, honestly, I need my best friend back.
“I treated you terribly the night I fired you. When I found out about the demolition plans and Derick’s double-agent status, I don’t know, I just snapped. I know it was an accident. I know you didn’t mean for it to happen. I know I’m an ogre.”
Mateo takes a long sip, clearly enjoying making me sweat. After a commercial-ready, refreshingahh, he says, “You’re not an ogre. If anything, you’re more like a grouchy bridge troll.”
I laugh. “Ouch. At least ogres have layers.”
“Shrekreferences will only get you so far,” Mateo says. I pick a wedge of watermelon off a stacked tray, realizing I’ve forgotten to eat all afternoon. “At least you’re a troll. I’m a donkey.”
“A sassy and lovable sidekick?”
“An ass.”
I laugh so hard I almost spew out watermelon seeds. “Why do you say that?”
“It pains me to my core—my very worked-out from Pilates and dance classes core—but I was in the wrong, babe.”
“Remember when you said you weren’t a narcissist?” I tease.
“Shut up, I’m trying to be serious.” He does a very dramatic exhale. “I shouldn’t have been on my phone. Brandon helped me see that. You were right. I’ve been in this funk since I got passed over for the part of Bobby, and I felt like I was above the job and above the work, and that was selfish of me.” He bats his eyelashes. “Can you ever forgive me?”
“Of course. Our friendship comes with an accident-forgiveness policy. Didn’t you read the fine print when you signed up?”
