I put my phone back in my pocket. “It’s not him.”
“Then what is it?”
I looked up at him, trying to figure out how to answer this. In the weeks since we’d gone to Kirby’s together, I’d been waiting for the subject of Ethan to come up some other way between us. A passing mention from my mom, or William, or even Jilly. But it hadn’t. As far as he knew, I’d just had a bad breakup.
“Just too much like a first date I had with someone else,” I said. “Nobody wants to be a pale imitation.”
He studied me a second. Then he said, “That boyfriend of yours must have really been something. If the split ruined pancakes for you and everything.”
“Yeah,” I said. “Plus, I’m tired. But don’t worry. Ben and Iwillhave a great date this week. Don’t count me out yet. I’m still on track to win.”
I expected him to laugh at this, or respond in kind with his typical bravado. Instead, he said nothing, just stood there until I was acutely aware of his silence. “Okay,” he said finally. “We’ll see.”
I smiled, shifting my bag to my other arm. It seemed a weird way to leave things, heavy in a sense I couldn’t explain. Without thinking, I reached forward to his jacket pocket, pulling out one of those folded Kleenexes. “Sorry,” I said. “Couldn’t resist.”
“Must be going around,” he replied.
A car pulled into the lot then, curving around to stop in front of us. It was Lauren, in a black tank dress and silver bracelets, her hair in loose waves. Ira was in the front seat, panting, his signature bandana—yellow this time—tied jauntily around his neck. “Hey,” she said. “All done here?”
I slipped the tissue into my pocket as Ambrose said, “Yep. Let’s go.”
She waved at me as he climbed into the front seat, Ira jumping into the back and just as quickly poking his head up through the space between them.Just one big happy family, I thought, as they drove off. On my own way home, I passed the World of Waffles, lit up and busy as it seemed to be all times of the night, and wondered if I’d made a mistake. Just as quickly, though, I’d passed by, and it was behind me.
CHAPTER
20
BY THEbeginning of the following week, my mom was finally coming around to the idea of a couple of days away. She was predicting the trip would be a disaster, mind you, and saying she’d never agree to an actual wedding that far offsite in a million years. But for her, this was progress.
“See that?” she said to me on Tuesday morning, as she sat in front ofDaybreak USAwith her coffee. Melissa Scott was narrating a segment entitled “Tourist Traps!” that detailed various scams crooks used on people while on vacation. Or, as it might as well have been called, Exhibit A. “They ask you for help, then they steal your passport, then you can never get home. It’s evil genius.”
“You can get another passport,” I pointed out, sticking a straw in the smoothie I’d just made. “You don’t have to, like, live there forever.”
Mom grumbled as Melissa held up the travel wallet the current expert recommended, which basically made it possible to attach your currency and documents to your body in a series of what looked like double knots. “I mean, really.I can’t wear something like that! I just shouldn’t go. This is ridiculous.”
I slid into the seat beside her, facing our kitchen TV. “Mom,” I said. “What’s your real issue, here? This can’t just be about an offsite wedding. It’s too crazy even for you.”
She gave me a look. “Oh,that’snice. Thank you.”
“You know what I mean. Seriously, what gives?”
In response, she looked down at her coffee cup, running her finger around the rim. “I’ve just never been much of the vacation type. That’s it.”
“Because you didn’t have the opportunity,” I said. “Also, you were stuck with me.”
“I have never beenstuckwith you,” she replied. Then she reached over, brushing my hair back with her free hand. “You are the best thing that ever happened to me.”
“Okay,” I said, “but you’re still not answering my question.”
Exasperated, she dropped her hand. “Look. I know it’s not a popular or common thing, but Ilikeworking. I prefer it, actually. If I’m not doing my job then I feel at loose ends. Which is bad enough here at home. But we’re going to be on an island. With no escape.”
I raised my eyebrows. “Are youserious? But you always talk about how much you hate your job.”
“I donot,” she replied immediately, clearly dismayed. “No, no. I say that certain aspects get on my nerves, and specific brides or circumstances. But the job itself? Never.”
I sat back, trying to process this. It did actually fit, now that I thought about it. “So what you’re saying is that all thosetimes I wanted to go the beach, or the mountains, or the amusement park, wecouldhave and you just didn’twantto?”
She bit her lip. “Well, maybe not every time.”
