I assumed no one had noticed. It’s not like I’ve ever been a contender for the park’s Miss Congeniality title. But I’ve been avoiding my coworkers. I’ve maintained distance from Turtle too, because I was hoping that if I kept my head down and busted my butt, he might forget that he had to reprimand me.
I force a laugh. “Have you ever known me to be subdued?”
“No, Piper. That’s what bothers me.”
“I’m fine,” I say with conviction. “Promise.”
“Who was the guest?”
“Doesn’t matter.”
“Roger said it was a boy—someone you knew. Someone from school?’
I groan. “I really don’t want to talk about it.”
“You dumped soda on someone. I want to know who it was and why you did it. Otherwise, you can stay in tonight.”
I straighten in my chair. “You’re going to ground me? For something that wasn’t my fault? That’s bullshit, Tati.”
“I left work early to check on you,” she says, keeping her cool, unlike me.
“I thought you were telecommuting.”
She leans forward, her expression pleading. “Please, Piper. Tell me what happened.”
I don’t want to talk about Damon. I don’t want to think about him. I sure as shit don’t want to spend my work shifts looking out for him, hiding every time I see a scuzzy baseball hat, methodically counting shallow breaths until they’ve evened out enough that I’m sure I’m not going to hyperventilate. It’s been forever since Gabi’s party, but I’m as messed up today as I was the night Damon put his hands on me.
I want to cry.
“It was sweet tea,” I say quietly.
“What?”
“It was sweet tea, not soda.”
Tati gives me a wry smile. “Sorry.”
“Mitchel Damon came to the park. Gabi’s—”
“I know who he is.”
“He reported me to management. I promised Turtle it wouldn’t happen again.
“But why did it happen at all?”
Incredibly, she doesn’t sound mad. She sounds worried. Sympathetic. Almost motherly. And that makes it just a little bit easier to say, “He was…bothering me.”
My sister closes her eyes, probably recalling the picture Gabi painted for her at Publix. She presses her lips into a grim line. “Bothering you about what happened at Gabi’s?”
“Yes,” I say, my voice small.
“So…” she says, like she’s genuinely trying to understand, “he’s angry with you because Gabi is?”
For the bazillionth time, I consider telling her the whole story. Every humiliating detail. But it’s hard to think the words, let alone give them voice.
“Something like that,” I tell her.
She sighs. “I thought this would blow over by now. I understand why Gabi was upset, but you two have so much history. She knows how you are.”
