Lauren felt his heartbeat; it fluttered beneath her palm. For a second, just that, she felt older than him by years.
“Your mom doesn’t give a shit what time you get home. Or even if you come home.”
“My point exactly,” she said, feeling a swell of the old bitterness. She and mom had tackled the issue of curfews a long time ago. I won’t be your warden, Mom had said. My parents tried that and it only made me more wild. Now Lauren could come and go as she pleased.
David kissed her again, and then drew back with a sigh.
She knew instantly that something was wrong. “What’s the matter?”
He leaned across her, opened the glove box. “Here,” he said, handing her some papers.
“What—” She looked down. “The Stanford application.”
“My dad wants me to go for early decision. It’s due November fifteenth.”
“Oh,” Lauren said, easing back into her own seat. She knew he’d do anything to please his father.
“I thought you could do it, too.”
The eagerness in his voice made her want to cry. How could he drive her home, see her apartment, and not get it? “I can’t afford to do that, David. I need a scholarship. And not a few vanity bucks. I need a full ride.”
His breath exhaled heavily. “I know.”
They sat that way for a few long minutes, each in a separate seat, not touching, staring at the foggy windshield.
“I probably won’t get in,” he said at last.
“Come on, David. They have a building named after your family.”
“Then you will, too.” He turned to her then, gathered her into his arms, and held her, kissed her. She let herself be swept into that kiss until nothing else mattered but them.
Later, when she was alone again, walking through the sad darkness of her apartment, she couldn’t help wishing she lived in his world, where everything came easy. Dreams most of all.
When Mira returned from carpool, Angie was standing on her front porch.
“You’re up bright and early,” Mira said, walking up the path. “And you sorta look like shit.”
“You should talk. Does everyone wear ripped sweatpants and rubber shoes for carpool?”
“Most of us. Come on in.” Smiling, she led Angie into the house, which smelled of coffee and pancakes. Picking up toys along the way, she went to the kitchen and poured two cups of coffee. “Okay,” she said, settling into a plaid, overstuffed chair in the cluttered family room. “Why are you here and why do you look like a Survivor contestant?”
“Very funny.” Angie plopped into a chair. “I was up most of the night, working.”
“Working, huh?” Mira sipped her coffee and eyed Angie over the chipped rim.
Angie handed her sister a notebook. “Here’s what I want to do.”
Mira set down her mug and opened the notebook. Surprise widened her eyes as she read.
Angie launched into it. “In addition to the coat promotion, I’ve planned for wine night on Tuesdays, where all bottles would be half off; date night on Thursdays, where dinner would come with two movie tickets; and happy hour on Fridays and Saturdays. We could open the restaurant at three o’clock and serve drinks and free hors d’oeuvres until five o’clock. You know: antipasti, bruschetta, that kind of thing. My research indicates that a few happy hours a week could almost double our weekly gross. We’re wasting our liquor license by using it for a drink here and there. And how’s this: Rediscover Romance at DeSaria’s. It’s my ad tagline. I thought we could hand out roses to all the couples who come in.”
“Holy shit,” Mira muttered.
Angie knew what that meant: Her sister had come to the Big Item. The menu change. “I want us to double the prices and cut half the items on the current menu. We need to do more with fresh fish and seasonal vegetables.”
“Holy shit,” Mira said again, looking up. “Papa would have loved all this, Ange.”
“I know. It’s Mama I’m worried about.”
Mira laughed. “As we used to say, duh.”
“How do I pitch these ideas to her?”
“From a distance, preferably wearing body armor.”
“Funny.”
“Okay, princess. There are two ways to get around Mama. The first and most obvious is to use Papa. Ultimately, she’s always done anything to make him happy.”
“Unfortunately, she’s the one he’s talking to.”
“Yeah, so you’ll need plan B. Make her think it’s her idea. I did that when I wanted to go see Wings at the Kingdome. It took almost a month, but she finally decided I wouldn’t be American enough if I didn’t go with my friends.”
“How do I do that?”
“It starts with asking for advice.”
TEN
Lauren stood in the center of the dining room, staring down at the collection of salt and pepper shakers she’d gathered together.
All night she’d been trying to figure out how to ask Angie for an advance on her first paycheck. Or to borrow a dress.
Either way she’d look like a real loser. Not to mention that the DeSarias might wonder what had happened to her tip money.