I don’t hear from Kat again that night, so I have no idea how long she hung out with those new girls or if the older brother is indeed hot. I even took a long walk on the beach after dinner, intentionally leaving my phone at home so I wouldn’t keep checking it.
When I got back an hour later? Still nothing.
The only text I get from her the next day is a photo of her lunch from some restaurant and the message:DAD FINALLY GAVE UP. I see several phones and sets of keys around her plate on the edges of the photo, so unless her dad got a new pink phone case and a Patriarchy Sucks keychain, she’s with someone other than him. Part of me wants her to introduce me to them, because maybe then I’d feel included and they would know she had a life and a best friend back home.
But another part of me doesn’t want to know.
With Kat gone, no shift at Pearl’s, and both my parents at work, it’s too quiet. I try to keep myself busy but catch myself checking my phone every hour hoping she wants to talk. I’m so lonely, I’m relieved when my parents get home, and spend the second evening in a row watching reality cooking shows with them. My mom critiques everything and frequently declares she could go on and win the whole thing, while my dad pats her on the shoulder and murmurs, “Of course you could, honey.”
The next morning I try texting Kat again. Even though she basically ignored me yesterday, I give her the benefit of the doubt.
By the time I get to work, she still hasn’t responded.
On the bright side, today’s shift is even better than my first. I’m more comfortable talking about the menu, and an hour after I arrive, I earn a marriage proposal from an adorable octogenarian after he tastes the special (a shrimp po boy with a delightful Cajun sour cream that almost hadmeproposing to Chef Ray) I encouraged him to try.
He takes my gentle rejection gracefully, but promises to be back again before his vacation is over.
Myles isn’t at work, but Anders is. I take Myles’s advice and don’t speak directly to him other than a brief hello. At one point he frowns at me when he catches me eyeing his Tweety Bird tattoo, but I swear the man leaves six pens on the host stand after seeing me scramble to find an extra so someone can sign their check.
I can’t figure this guy out.
By two o’clock I have just one table, a couple on vacation from Michigan lingering over dessert.
Some annoyingly overplayed pop hit plays from the speakers above my head at the hostess stand, and I wrinkle my nose. Surprisingly I never really noticed the music at Pearl’s before even though I’ve eaten here a million times. Maybe because I’m always so focused on the food or whoever I’m here with. I must have been too nervous to pay attention during my first shift too, but today? Today I’ve been cringing at song after song.
I make a mental note to ask Trish if she’d be open to mixing it up a little. I already have the perfect playlist in mind.
While the Michiganders really draw out the last few bites ofPearl’s famous sea salt caramel sundae, I study the flyers pinned to the corkboard on the wall by the front door, and my eye catches on a bright blue one announcing Summerfest—arguably my favorite day of the summer. It’s Kingfisher Cove’s annual summer festival, not to be confused with Milwaukee’s music festival with the same name and which lands in the top ten things to do on my bucket list.
Our Summerfest has music too, but it’s, like, cranky Mr. Jones with his trumpet or the Pearson triplets singing cover songs. Food trucks come from all around, and vendors set up stands to sell everything from jewelry to custom-made bongs. There’s a huge arts and crafts tent (my favorite), carnival games and a dunk tank (Kat’s favorite), and a car show (my dad’s favorite). My mom rarely gets to enjoy it because her art gallery sets up one of the aforementioned stands and always nearly sells out of everything they bring.
I send up a wish that Kat will be here for it like she promised. If her dad still refuses to let her drive down and won’t bring her himself, I may have to beg one of my parents to go up and get her.
“I like your braid.”
I startle and turn to find Shelby behind me. She barely spoke to Myles or me on Monday, so I wasn’t sure friendship was in the cards for us.
“Oh,” I say. I spent way too much time trying to manhandle my hair into a side braid this morning. “Thanks. I like your earrings.” They’re large hoops with teal beads that look extra bright beside her cropped midnight-black hair.
She reaches up to touch one. “My boyfriend gave them to me.”She pauses and scrunches up her nose. “Well. My ex-boyfriend now, I guess. We just broke up.”
“Oh no,” I say. If I knew her better, I’d add something snarky about the ex to make her feel better. “I’m sorry.”
She shrugs as if it doesn’t bother her, but the downward tilt of her mouth says otherwise. “He stayed up at Brown for the summer, and I guess long distance was ‘too hard.’ ” She uses air quotes. “I mean, summer just started, so he barely even gave it a chance, but whatever. I’m sure some girl just caught his attention and he didn’t want to feel guilty acting on it. Anyway, that’s why I didn’t say much when we worked together before. You probably thought I was a total bitch, huh?”
Her chatter reminds me a little of Kat, and I smile. “I think I was too nervous to think about much of anything.”
“You did great,” Shelby says, then asks, “First job?”
“I worked with my dad at Triton Grocers for a couple of years, but this is my first time waitressing.”
“It’s a good summer gig. How old are you?”
“Sixteen.”
“Is that Myles guy your boyfriend?”
I choke on air. “Myles? My boyfriend?”
