“How’s your dad? Your mom?”
“They were fine when I talked to them this morning. Please don’t worry. We’re going to be fine.”
I let my head fall against the window when he hung up. My temple bone bumped painfully against the glass as we turned down Wisconsin Avenue. My mind picked through every dark thought. I clamped my eyes to extinguish them, but one remained: If something happened to Jay, was this the way I wanted to leave things between us?
Chapter 38
The inauguration was a few days away, and the fires still weren’t fully contained. People were missing, dozens were dead, thousands of homes swallowed by the inferno. Jay was shaken but safe. Perversely, I thought, at least he was talking to me.
At the restaurant, the cooks swapped prison stories. Durk: locked up for possession. Eric: battery. The new dishwasher: drugs. His last offense won him what looked like a clunky watch around his ankle. We had a running joke where I’d ask him the time, and he’d pretend to read it from his ankle monitor. Leigh passed behind the bar carrying a box. Her brother was locked up for life. Rah appeared in the kitchen holding a broom like he wasn’t sure what to do with it. He looked sad, sweeping dust around. I knew he’d been locked up. I never asked for what.
While I refilled their water, a white couple talked fearfully about their futures. One of them worked for Veterans Affairs, the other for the CDC. What would they do if they were fired? Move back to Massachusetts? Part of me wanted to tell them my parents were in the same position, but I simply cleared away their appetizers in silence. Between the gun and my dad quitting, my parents weren’t even speaking to each other.
Milan came behind me and played with my ponytail. We watched the host seat a twenty-top in her section, a parade of parents and children talking loudly, shrugging off their coats. “This is gonna be a fucking nightmare,” she said before donning a vacant smile.
As I sorted through my receipts at the bar, one of the Black servers was flirting with a group of white guys in red caps. When I passed theirtable, one asked me for ketchup, touching my waist. I told him I’d let their server know. He thanked me. I didn’t go back that way.
While I was in the bathroom, Milan texted me,Ur side man’s out here looking like a villain.
When I came out, she was glaring at Tristan through the glass. He was leaning against his car like some guy in a problematic nineties high school movie.
“You should think about whether you wanna get caught up in all that,” Milan said.
I didn’t say anything, throwing my apron in the bin and stepping outside. Tristan straightened when he saw me.
“What are you doing here?”
“I haven’t heard from you in weeks.”
I didn’t say that I hadn’t heard from him either. He opened the car door like a Mafia boss taking me for a little spin around the block. Ducking inside, I said instead, “Sorry, I meant to call. Is your family okay out in LA?”
The car trembled when Tristan got in on the other side. “Yeah. I was trying to fly out there, but they told me there was no point. They’re actually turning away volunteers now, there’s so many. I just can’t believe those videos, it looks like the fucking apocalypse. I almost wanted to see for myself.” Noticing me beside him, he wrapped a hand around my ponytail. “You changed your hair?”
My scalp buzzed like a spazzing lightbulb. “Milan did it.”
“She did a good job. So I actually have something awkward to ask you.”
“Not like things could get any more awkward.”
“They could.”
“Oh, awesome.”
He glared at me. “I remember Nia said she was painting you. Is that still happening?”
It was almost painful to say it. “No.”
“Thank God. I was so nervous.”
“Why don’t you just break up with her if you’re so worried? Then you can do whatever you want.” I didn’t even know why I said that. I knew it’d be stupid to go through with the portrait, but hearing him relieved it wasn’t happening rattled something in me wanting to come loose.
“I’m not leaving her.”
I paused. “Would she ever consider opening your relationship?”
He shook his head. “I wouldn’t either.”
“Why not?”
