“I thought we might have to call a priest for an exorcism the way you just jumped down the bleachers,” Asher adds.
Annica laughs. “Tomorrow there will be a rumor that you did a line of coke before the game.”
“Wow,” I breathe, still reeling from the excitement, “let’s go celebrate.”
We trade the crowd and stadium lights for an intimate table with a single lit candle in the middle.
“Oh, you were right: This is fancy,” Annica says with a content grin.
“Did you guys hear that?” I say. “Oh, never mind, it’s just my wallet crying.” I regret to say I did not look at the menu prices before coming here, but can you really put a price on your own sanity? I just need to lay eyes on Marco and I’ll feel better.
The waiter approaches our table and I realize it’s a guy I went to high school with. “Oh, Dalton, hey!” I say, standing up to hug him.
“Wow, hi, I haven’t seen you in so long,” he says. “How have you been?”
“Oh, you haven’t heard?” Annica says. “She’s been the worst.”
“Don’t listen to her.” I laugh. “I’m jealous you work here. You must make great tips.” I can’t imagine how much money I’d make in a night if Cantine’s prices were this high.
“Honestly, yeah, we’ve only been open for two weeks and my rent is already covered for this month,” Dalton says. “Did you move home? I can put in a good word for you with the boss—he’s super chill.”
“Is he hot too?” Annica asks.
We ignore her.
“I didn’t move home, no, but is he here by chance? The owner?” My heart thunders in my chest and I start to look around Dalton to see if I can spot him.
“Yeah, he is. He usually comes by each table after the meal to see how it went, so you can give your compliments then... and see what he looks like,” he pointedly says to Annica. “Anyway, what can I get you guys to drink?”
Three seventeen-dollar cocktails later, I thought seeing Marco in person would bring me some relief, but as Dalton leads him to our table I feel my palms start to sweat and my leg begins to bounce nervously. Marco has that same golden-hued skin tone Adrienne has, no matter the season. His wavy dark hair is slicked back, and with the scruff on his face he looks like a man in a cologne ad. Annica’s mouth drops open slightly at the sight of him and I resist the urge to kick her under the table.
“How was everything this evening?” he asks. Marco looks us over, one at a time, as he says it. When his eyes land on me, there’s not even a flicker of recognition in them. He either really doesn’t remember me or is going to pretend not to. Suddenly I don’t think I have the courage to ask about the note.
“It wasamazing,” Annica drawls.
“Yes, so good,” Dani follows with emphasis.
The boys mumble a “good” and a “great,” then they all turn to me, expecting me to chime in.
“I—” I don’t have words. “I have to use the bathroom.”
I quickly slide out of the booth and scurry off toward the restroom. Fuck, fuck, fuck. My friends rush in behind me.
“Are you okay? Are you sick?” Dani checks me over.
“I thought I’d be relieved to see him, but he doesn’t even recognize me,” I say.
Annica is confused. “Who? The chef?”
“Yes! Marco, I dated him the summer before sophomore year, remember?”
“Youdatedhim?” Annica says. “The Italian god standing out there who looks like he just stepped out of a painting?”
“Yes,” I say back, annoyed. “Why is that so hard to believe?”
“It’s not, it’s not,” Dani says quickly. “He just also looks really old? Like not really old but, like, too old for us—you know what I mean.”
“Accomplished,” Annica says. “She means he looks too accomplished for you.”
