Hold up. That was it? No follow up? No how about tomorrow? A few months of dating dry spell, and I’d lost my touch. Okay, let’s be honest, it was a fricken drought. Like, water emergency, send-in-the-reinforcements kind of drought. I played with my earrings and stared out at the service floor. What could I even say to that? Thanks for almost asking me out, I appreciate the sentiment? Total ego bruiser, dude.
I nodded my head and drummed my nails along the keys of the register, not sure what to say, but not comfortable enough to keep silent. “Yep.”
“I had plans with my friend and his girlfriend tonight, but not sure if I want to go. Haven’t seen him since I got back into town.”
Sure you did, buddy. Nice save. “Sounds fun.”
“Yeah, it would be if his girlfriend didn’t think I was the spawn of Satan.”
“How could she think that with your sparkling personality?” I deadpanned.
Jack opened the door to his office—oh, yeah, I forgot about that thing called work…which I was supposed to be doing right now. I knew I should count my till to make sure I had enough ones and change for my shift, but I wasn’t ready to end our conversation.
His lips tipped up at the corners. “Aren’t you funny. Ever think of doing standup?”
“I’m here every Monday night. Don’t forget to pick up a signed T-shirt on your way out,” I called as he worked his way to the furniture section.
I started counting bills, trying not to stare at Ryan’s nicely rounded ass as he disappeared into the back. Part of me really wanted him to invite me along with his friends. I’d like to see this girl who thought he was the devil’s spawn. We could compare notes.
Ryan stayed in back for the rest of his shift, working in freight. As he made his way to the door at the end of his shift, he said, “Have a good night.”
“You, too. Make sure to cover up those devil horns tonight.” I winked. Satan’s son or not, I wished he’d tried a little harder to ask me out. Something told me he’d be a good lay.
After work, I changed the oil in Payton’s car as a favor. Twenty minutes of scrubbing in the shower did nothing to take away the stench of motor oil etched into my nostrils. It was almost as bad as the preservatives they used for the cadavers in anatomy and physiology. Formaldehyde upped the ick factor when fishing around for organs and arteries. At least changing oil didn’t result in squirting intestinal juices.
I’d decided anything involving surgery was out for me—I could barely handle the sight of blood, something that I hoped got better with practice. Mom assured me it would. I didn’t agree. Every lab, every pre-med class, made me want to tear my hair out. I’d rather be in the sports medicine classes, learning how to treat injured players. But I had to do this. Only a few more years and I’d finally show Mom and Dad they could be proud of me.
Towel-drying my hair, I beelined it from the bathroom to my bedroom. I checked the weather earlier and, according to the weather app, it was supposed to dip into the low sixties tonight at the beach. Spring Hill was a typical northern California town—foggy and cool, besides the occasional freak heat wave. The total opposite of what people expected when they thought about California. I pulled my hair into a messy bun, tugged on my cutoffs , and picked out a light sweater.
“You ready?” Payton peeked her head in, her long auburn curls cascading down her shirt.
“Yeah, just give me another minute.” Time to pay my daily dues to my parents and give them a call.
I punched in their number and hit send. Mom picked up on the third ring, her voice measured, practiced. Her doctor voice she reserved for patients—and disappointing daughters. “Hello, sweetie.”
“Hi, Mom.”
“How are you today, Juliette?”
“Fine.”
I could seriously record this conversation and replay my responses on a tape recorder each time, it was so scripted. After countless numbers of these calls, I knew what question she’d ask next.
I mouthed have you talked to Eric? as she said it through the receiver.
“No, Mom. If he wants to talk to me, he can be a big boy and use the phone.”
I motioned with my finger right as she brought up question number two.
“Have you studied today?”
“No, Mom. Sorry to disappoint.”
“I just don’t understand. If Eric were in your shoes, he’d be studying at every opportunity.”
“Yeah, well I’m not Eric, am I?”
I knocked my fist against my forehead. Cool it. Those little quips wouldn’t earn any trust points with my mom and definitely wouldn’t show her I actually had an iota of maturity. Sort of.
Just as she began to speak, Payton let out a scream, blocking Mom’s voice. The hairs on the back of my neck rose. What the hell was going on out there? As much as I wanted to be tortured by this incredibly stimulating conversation, I needed to make sure my roomie wasn’t duking it out with some ax murderer.
“Mom, I have to go. Can we talk tomorrow?”
“Of course. Stay focused. Tell Payton I say hi.”