I shake my head as Amelia’s gaze meets mine. “No.”
“Damn.” Lizzie blows out a disappointed breath. “You just looked kind of intense.”
“It’s Katie. Just a work issue.” It’s not a total lie, but enough of one that I feel like an asshole.
“Oh, okay. Tell her hi for me. Let’s check out the gift shop!” Lizzie grabs my arm with one hand and Amelia’s in the other and starts dragging us toward the building.
“I have to use the restroom first,” Amelia says, pulling away.
Lizzie’s eyes follow her, and a concerned look crosses her face before she plasters on a smile, leading the way into the shop. It’s full of the normal gift shop items like keychains, magnets, postcards, and hoodies, but there’s also stuff like local honey and jelly.
“When we were younger, we used to steal honey sticks,” Lizzie whispers, pointing at a selection of the flavored treats. “We’d sneak them in our back pockets or up our sleeves. For years. Minnie’s mom was horrified when she found out. We had to help out with like a million more chores that summer, and she made us both start leaving five bucks in the tip jars any time we went somewhere that has them.”
My brow furrows. “What the hell, Lizzie?”
“We had our reasons! Which was Mom,” she says, sounding sad and angry at the same time. “We did a big familytrip. I think it was to Mount St. Helens. Those were rare. It was usually us Boyd kids tagging along with the Sinclairs and our friend Haven’s family, but this time Mom actually went along. Minnie’s dad was letting all the kids pick out a stick. It’s a tradition. And Mom said her kids couldn’t have any, that we didn’t need the sugar and carbs. Minnie was pissed. She grabbed one when no one was looking and snuck it to me in the bathroom later. It was apricot-flavored. It became a thing we did in defiance of Mom’s rule, even though everyone ignored it when she wasn’t around anyway.”
“Okay, I’m not as mad about it as I was a minute ago.” No, I’m thankful for the amazing friend Amelia has been to my daughter. Even if she turned to shoplifting to be that friend to her.
Lizzie grins at me and starts picking out different flavors of honey sticks.
“Do they have any vanilla cinnamon?” Amelia asks, walking up to us.
“I grabbed like four of them.”
“Good. They’re still the best ones.” She reaches out to pull an apricot one out of the container and hands it to Lizzie with a chuckle.
“I was just telling Dad what a bad influence you are,” Lizzie says with a wink.
“Yeah, sure. We can pretend it goes that way and not the other way.” Amelia rolls her eyes at my daughter.
“I’m not an idiot,” I say to them. I’m pretty sure their influencing goes both ways.
“That’s a matter of opinion, Dad. You’re the one who somehow fucked things up and chased away the only woman you’ve ever actually cared about. Seems like a bonehead move to me.” Lizzie steps over to a display full of keychains with names on them, grabbing one that says Alexander.
“Well, yes, in that matter, I’m a complete and total idiot.” I meet Amelia’s wide eyes and try to tell her how I feel about her with just a look and silently beg her to talk to me. I know I hurt her, and the guilt of it eats at me, but seeing even a fraction of that pain in her eyes still makes me want to rip my own heart out and offer it to her as an apology and promise never to hurt her again.
“Glad we agree on that. Hey, Min, you have a five, right?”
Minnie blinks and then scowls at Lizzie. “Do I look like I want to mow the lawn or weed the garden? Of course I have a five.”
Lizzie buys the honey sticks and the keychain, and they each toss a five-dollar bill in the tip jar before we walk back toward the car. There are even more people now than there were when we got here.
“Who’s hungry?” Lizzie asks.
“When aren’t we hungry?” Amelia responds with a shrug.
“True. True. Alright, so we need to find some lunch and I know just where to get it. Nope, not telling you where. Get in. Trust the process.” Lizzie unlocks the car and opens her door.
Amelia crosses her arms and leans against the car. “Spring break, sophomore year. We met up in Fort Lauderdale, I trusted the process and got food poisoning.”
“I don’t know why you can’t block that memory out like I have.” Lizzie rolls her eyes.
“I literally thought I was dying.”
“But look, you’re still here, and you’re fine.” Lizzie motions with her hand up and down toward Amelia.
“I can’t eat sushi anymore.” Amelia shakes her head sadly. She’s lamented about not being able to eat sushi to me often over the last year, and we never order it when we stay late.
