“I’m really glad you like it so far,” Taylor tells her. “It does have some scary moments, so if you don’t feel ready you can stop whenever you want and pick it up again in a year or two.”
Meg nods with an expression that tells me she won’t be doing that.
Taylor has this little smile on her face, like she’s thinking the same thing I am, and I notice that she’s in clean clothes now and her long dark hair is slightly damp.
I head to the counter with the chicken, trying notto wonder why she decided to clean up before we got back just to do even more dirty work.
But on the way, I realize the glass and pine needles are already gone. She showered because she cleaned the shop, even though I told her I would.
“I needed to do some cleaning anyway,” Taylor says, like she’s read my mind.
“We brought dinner,” Meg tells her excitedly.
“What about your mom?” Taylor asks.
My stomach drops.
“She doesn’t live with us,” Meg says simply, like that question doesn’t even throw her. “Do you like fried chicken? We got it from Doc Holliday’s. It’s the best.”
“That soundsamazing,” Taylor practically groans.
“Itisamazing,” Meg gushes. “You’re going to love it.”
“You don’t have any place to sit,” I realize out loud.
Their faces snap to me and I wish I could take it back. Not really what I said, but just the fact that my voice was too deep and too loud. I probably sounded angry even though I’m not.
“Hang on,” I say, heading back out to the truck.
Knowing Meg, she’s telling Taylor not to pay any attention to me.
I grab a bag out of my truck’s storage box and try not to remember the last time we did this. It’s been a while.
“Here we go,” I say as I come back through the door, making sure to keep my tone and volume low.
“What’s that?” Meg asks, trotting over to check it out.
She doesn’t even remember, which tells me it’s been even longer than I thought.
“Picnic blanket,” I say, trying not to let her see the sadness I’m sure is in my eyes.
I pull the blanket out of the bag along with a ziplock filled with plastic utensils and a wrapped stack of paper plates.
“You’re ready for anything,” Taylor says appreciatively.
“Taylor said we could go up to her apartment,” Meg says.
“No, no,” Taylor tells her. “This is much better. My table isn’t really big enough for all three of us. Besides, doesn’t a picnic sound like fun?”
“But we don’t have music,” Meg says as I spread the blanket on the wood floor.
It actually does look really nice, like we’ve uncovered some kind of hidden treasure in the shop.
“Is the radio okay?” Taylor asks.
Meg nods her head enthusiastically and follows Taylor back to the counter, where she ducks down for a minute and then emerges with a victorious smile and the oldest looking radio I’ve ever seen.
“Does that thing work?” Meg asks, her nose wrinkled.
