That unrelenting smile attacks my whole face again, and when Braedon sees it, his grin just gets bigger.
“Ah shit, man, seriously?” he says, knowing the whole scenario without me having to explain it to him. “She must be somethin’.”
He steps around behind the counter and punches buttons on the register.
“Yeah … she is.”
“She seems sweet,” he says and closes the register after putting a few twenties inside. “Cute as hell, too. But afraid of heights.” He glances at me briefly.
“Yeah, but we’re workin’ on that.” I lean on the counter, my arms lying across the top. “But I don’t think it’s an issue this time. Sienna’s different from other girls.”
Braedon doesn’t say anything. I know what he’s thinking, but he’s the opposite of Seth and doesn’t care to speak his mind. Braedon has always been the laid-back one of us, never offering much in the way of advice even when you ask for it. He prefers to let people find their own way because, in his words, they’re going to anyway.
“She’s different,” I repeat, though I think I said it more to myself than to Braedon this time, as if I need the reassurance.
I brush off that brief bout of doubt and let the dopey smile take over again.
The customer walks up and I step aside.
“Well, I’m gonna head out,” I say.
“All right,” Braedon says. “Can you cover for me Tuesday?”
“Sure thing,” I call out as I make my way to the tall glass door. “See yah later!”
The door closes behind me with the jingling of the bell.
I feel like I can’t get back to see Sienna fast enough.
Sienna’s been acting strange today. Ever since I got back from the shop, she seems a little distant. When she smiles at me it feels like there’s something else going on behind it. When I kiss her she kisses me back, but it just doesn’t feel the same.
I think I know what’s wrong; the same thing that’s wrong with me—she’s going back to San Diego in the morning.
I’m determined to make her last night with me memorable.
For the rest of the day, even though I feel as shitty as she probably does inside, I keep a smile on my face. I mess with her head as normally as I would any other day. I take her surfing and we walk along the beach together before sunset. And I get the smiles out of her that I can’t get enough of. But in a small way, it somehow feels … forced: the smiles, her kisses, her laughter. I just want to cheer her up, make her feel better about having to leave, let her know that nothing will change and that we’ll see each other again soon.
Finally, just before sunset, she begins to seem herself again. She curls up next to me in the hammock and we talk for a long time about her family, and later I tell her about the many odd jobs I’ve had—she laughs when I tell her I used to wear a chicken costume and stand outside a restaurant flashing an advertisement sign.
“Hey, you wouldn’t think so,” I say, “but several chicks walked up just to talk to me when I was sweatin’ my balls off in that costume.”
“Nuh-uh,” she says, wrinkling her freckled nose. “There’s nothing sexy about that.”
“That’s what I thought,” I say with a shrug.
She crosses her arms, sitting on the other end of my sofa across from me, our legs tangled in the center.
“You got laid, didn’t you?” She smirks and her playful jealousy is cute as hell.
I shrug my shoulders again, pursing my lips and looking off toward the television.
She makes a short breathy noise and her mouth falls open.
“Oh no, you did!” She throws her head back and laughs. “You got laid in a chicken costume!”
“HA! HA! No, not in the costume, but I did pick up a few girls when I worked there.”
She presses her toes, painted all kinds of weird colors, into the side of my thigh.