Huh. Calling to check on Hope didn’t even cross my mind. I never do that when my mom has her while I’m at work. God, I’m so bad at this. Even when I try really freaking hard, I still screw up. “Oh, yeah, sorry. I, uh…practice was really busy. We didn’t really have any downtime.”
“Okay.” I can’t tell if he means it or if he’s saying it sarcastically, like “yeah, right.”
I make a show of looking at the clock on the dashboard. “Gotta get to work, man. See you tomorrow. Thanks again.”
And I speed off.
? ? ?
I’m making a mental list of all the stats and info I should include in my letter to UCLA while taking all the expired containers of precut fruit off the refrigerated shelves in produce when someone taps me on the shoulder. I don’t have to look to know who it is. But I turn around anyway.
“Before you say anything,” Joni says, holding up a hand, “let me say my thing first.” Her other hand’s behind her back, like she’s hiding something from me.
I wait. She’s got a nose ring today. It’s a really tiny green stone. I wonder if she just got it pierced or if she just wasn’t wearing anything in the hole the last few times I’ve seen her.
“I wanted to say I’m sorry for being a total douche on Saturday. Sometimes I say things without thinking about how it will sound to the other person. It’s a fault. I’m working on it.” She blows her hair out of her eyes. “I don’t think you’re spoiled or angsty or anything else that I said. I actually think you’re pretty cool. So will you be my friend again, please?” She bats her eyelashes at me.
Maybe it’s the high I’m riding from conquering the hungry baby dilemma last night and having such a good day at soccer, but I can’t help but smile. “Yeah, okay.”
“Rad.” Joni brings her hand from around her back and hands me a package wrapped in aluminum foil.
“What is this?” I ask, taking it. It’s warm and about the size of my fist.
“It’s a vegetarian empanada.”
I stare at her. “Why are you giving me a vegetarian empanada?”
“It’s a peace offering. Duh. My dad made them this morning. He loves to cook, so even though there are about a thousand people in my house, we always have a ton of extra food around. I gave one to my bus driver this morning—he liked it so much, he gave me a pass for a free ride home.”
“You take the bus to work?”
She shrugs. “Don’t have a car yet.”
I open up the foil. A mouthwatering smell hits me. “This better be recycled aluminum foil,” I tease.
Joni holds up three fingers, in the shape of a W, and holds them over her heart. “Whole Foods honor.”
I take a bite of the empanada. “Holy shit.”
Joni grins. “Good, right?”
“Fucking amazing.” I devour the rest of it in two more bites. I guess with all the running around after practice, I didn’t realize how hungry I was.
“There’s more where that came from, friend.” She skips off just as some guy who looks like he came straight from the gym pulls an avocado from the middle of the display and about fifty avocados from the top of the pile, the ones that apparently weren’t good enough for him, fall to the floor. Joni stops to help him pick them up, and I watch from across the produce section as she checks him out as he bends over. I don’t mean checking him out in the “ringing up his groceries” kind of way. Her eyes are seriously glued to his ass.
Well, that was unexpected.
A couple of hours later, I take my break and open Meg’s journal. I stare at the checklist, waiting for some meaning to float up off the pages. But I got nothin’.
I flip back toward the beginning of the book. That entry I read yesterday about the baby-naming conversation is still bothering me.
I read it again.
Yeah, still feels off. There’s something about it that gives me an uneasy feeling—like I’m on my way to the beach and am about to realize I forgot to pack a bathing suit. But I still can’t figure out why it feels that way. Maybe it’s because I’m reliving that conversation about Hope’s name with the power of hindsight behind me, and knowing how the whole situation pans out taints the moment with bitterness. That could be it.
But then, wouldn’t all Meg’s journal entries make me feel this way? Why is this one in particular driving me nuts?
I’m about to skip ahead to where I left off when Joni comes into the break room.
“There you are,” she says. She pulls out the chair next to me and sits down. “I saw on the schedule that you’re off on Friday.”
“Yeah, why?”
“I’m off too. I thought we could do something.”
“Do something?”
“You know, hang out. Chill. Socialize in a nonprofessional capacity.”
Hmm. Does she mean as friends? Or something else? Because I’m beginning to think she’s not quite as gay as I thought she was.
“I have soccer practice during the day,” I say.
“After that.”