“Clara!”
Something about Rose’s exasperation delighted me. Always. I stirred the sauce with a wooden spoon, breaking apart bits of parsley, the scent of vinegar filling the truck. “And no, I’m not into Mr. Rochesters. One, I like men who aren’t controlling-old-uncle types. Two, I’m not into brooding, either.”
“So, what then? What’s your issue with Hamlet?”
I placed the bowl of vinaigrette in the small fridge under the counter. “I don’t have anissue. He’s just—I mean, he’syourtype. Eager beaver overachiever.”
She was quiet long enough for me to get nervous.Didshe like him? A little bit of dread pooled in my stomach because even though I didn’t take flirting with Hamlet seriously, the thought of not having him as an option bummed me out. Not to mention the fact that I actually liked being on nonhating terms with Rose. And I didn’t know if I had the energy to be mortal enemies again. Especially over adude.
But after a few seconds, Rose shrugged and smiled. “He’s cute, for sure. But he’s made itso clearthat he likes you. I’ve got some pride, okay?”
I smiled tentatively. “Are you sure? Because, you should go for him if you want.”
“Thanks for the permission,” she said with an eye roll.
“It’s not permission! Jesus, I’m just saying—”
She threw a dish towel at me. “I said no! He likesyou! And honestly, the lady doth protest too much…”
I snatched the towel off the floor and waved it at her. “Can you not talk like that? I’m embarrassed for you.”
Rose spent the rest of the afternoon speaking like a Shakespearean reject to every customer. Touché, humorless one.
***
Later that evening, we were closing up the truck when Rose’s phone rang. “Hey, Mom,” she said when she picked up.
A few seconds passed before she exclaimed, “What? Tonight? But I’m not ready!” I heard her mom’s muffled voice. “Itisa big deal! I’m not ready.” They spoke for a few more seconds, with Rose’s voice so quiet I couldn’t catch the rest of the conversation.
After she ended the call, Rose pressed her forehead against the wall and started taking those shallow breaths again. I approached her tentatively, “Hey, are you okay?”
She nodded. “Yup.” But then she kept her eyes closed.
“Rose. Seriously, are you all right? Sit down.” I took her arm and pulled her over to the driver’s seat.
I crouched down by her and just watched her, unsure of what to do. She seemed seriously freaked out, and I knew friend duty involved making her feel better, buthow? I was about to tell some terrible joke when she looked up at me.
“I’m fine,” she said, sounding embarrassed.
“Are you sure?”
She nodded. I wasn’t sure if she wanted to talk about it, but it seemed like we should. I filled a cup with water and ice and handed it to her. “What do you have to do tonight?”
She took a sip before answering. “Thanks. And it’s not a big deal.” Which wasliterallythe opposite of what she had said to her mom.
“You seemed upset.” Understatement of the year.
Again, she didn’t answer right away, and I picked at a spot of dried sauce on the counter. After some silence, she said, “Well, it’s that we’re going to have a senator over for dinner.”
“What!”
“It’s really not a big deal. She’s friends with my dad and might write a letter of recommendation for me. I just, I didn’t know I had to have dinner with her tonight.” Rose picked at her nails again.
“Oh. I mean,for me, having dinner with a senator would be a big deal, but small potatoes when you’re a Carver, I guess,” I said.
She scoffed. “It’snotsmall potatoes. I have to impress her tonight isall.” Her voice was raised now. “This letter of recommendation is for an internship in thegovernor’s officenext summer! Only the most important internship of my freaking life!” She got up and paced back and forth in the truck, fanning herself off with her hand. “And I’m about to get home and have about five minutes to get this nasty grease smell off of me and be prepared to be informally interviewed!”
I glanced at the clock in the truck. “Well, how about I drive you home instead of to the commissary? I can handle closing up alone today. That should buy you some time?”
