“Ramona!” calls Tommy from the kitchen. “I need you on to-go pickup!”
I dump my tub of dirty dishes into the soaking sink and hustle to the to-go counter.
A light-skinned black boy with a near ubiquitous amount of freckles and short, curly hair sits perched on a bar stool beneath the takeout sign. I would know thosefreckles anywhere. “Freddie.”
He’s so intently focused on his phone that he doesn’t even hear me.
“Freddie!” I shove his shoulder a little.
Finally he spins around on his toes, and his deep brown eyes widen with recognition. Without even taking a breath, he pulls me in for a hug. “Ramona Blue!”
My chest tightens a little, and I don’t completely know why. This morning with Agnes, I felt like the giant, but now it’s the other way around. Freddie, who was always a few inches behind, is still an inch or so shorter than me, but something about him makes me feel cozy. His arms and legs are gangly, but still lined with a thin layer of sinewy muscle. He almost reminds me of one of those plastic dolls with long, stretched-out limbs you can tie into multiple knots. His jawline is rough with stubble and acne scars. His dark-brown eyes are a little sadder than I remember.
“Are you guys here for a few weeks?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “For good.”
My heart skips, and I push him a little too hard. “Seriously?”
“Grams retired, so she and Bart bought a place down here like she always wanted.”
“Bart?” I ask.
His mouth turns into a frown. “Gramps passed away a few years back. She got married to Bart last February.” He shrugs. “Good guy.”
“Damn,” I hiss. “I’m sorry to hear about your grandpa.”There’s so much more I want to say. But there’s some invisible barrier there between us created by the years we’ve spent apart.
He nods. “I think my gram called in an order?”
“Right. Let me track that down.” I run around to the other side of the counter and pack his bag full of extra hot sauce, ketchup, and plasticware. “Y’all need plates?”
“Sure. Fewer dishes for me to do after dinner.”
“Ramona!” snaps Hattie from the hostess stand. “I need table eight clear!”
I hand over the food and quickly make change for him. “Hey, I saw Agnes earlier today and she invited me over for breakfast, so I’ll see you in the morning? Maybe we can catch up more then?”
He grins, and I notice he still has the same sliver of a gap between his two front teeth. “For sure.”
We say good-bye, and I watch as he gets into a bright-white Cadillac turned orange by the setting sun.
FOUR
Hattie and I lie sprawled out on the couch. She woke me up in the middle of the night and asked me to come out here and watch TV with her because she had really bad indigestion from the crawfish étouffée we shared over our dinner break. I don’t think pregnant people are supposed to eat fish, or maybe that’s sushi? But Hattie said it was like wine and that a very little bit was okay.
Hattie’s been having more and more trouble sleeping. When the Olympics were on, I didn’t so much mind staying up with her, but now our late-night TV options are limited, and I can already tell it’s going to be a total headache trying to get my body used to a school year schedule again.
I check the time on my watch—a hand-me-down of my dad’s with an olive-green canvas strap and a black face. I have only an hour and a half until I have to be up for my paper route, and my body is already trying to fight off the idea of morning. Being a morning person is a lot more difficult when you don’t get any actual sleep.
With Hattie fast asleep and her head in my lap, there’s no going to bed now.
I scroll through my contacts until I land on Grace’s number. Somehow the thought of texting her in the middle of the night is less daunting. Something about the moon makes us a little braver. Or a bit more foolish. I’m not sure.Thinking of you,I type.Miss you.
As soon as I’ve hit send, I immediately regret it. She could think I’m needy or clingy, sending her text messages this late at night.
But moments later, my phone vibrates.
GRACE: This is so much harder than I expected.
