“The woods,” I say. “Right near The Crown. I saw you stumbling.”
She bites her lips, wipes at the pain all over her face. Some of it smears onto her sweater; some stays put. “I don’t know why I feel this bad,” she says.
I imagine it has something to do with dilated pupils and shitty fathers, but instead I put a hand on her shoulder to steady her and say, “Let me help.”
She hiccups, nearly falls asleep on her feet. It’s a struggle to get her home, partially because of her slurred, half-mumbled directions. We finally manage, and as we climb the stairs to her room, I’m thankful Chef isn’t around to potentially surprise us in this awkward situation. There’s a few posters on Emma’s wall, a video game console in the corner, several bookshelves crowded with haphazardly arranged novels.
Emma slips into bed and starts snoring almost immediately, shoes still on. I make sure she’s on her side, slide a trash bin next to the bed. I keep her bathroom door open, in case the urge is immediate. I sneak downstairs to get her a glass of water.
I help her tilt her head up a little and gulp down enough water to maybe make a difference. She goes right back to snoring, curled up atop her colorful, striped bedspread, knees to her chest. There’s a whiteboard in the corner of the room, smudged nearly black from shitty erasers. I think about all I could say to her, and instead write: I hope you don’t feel awful when you read this. If you’re ever lonely, you can call me. I sign my name and head home, sleep soundly.
*
At the end of the next day, I hang up my apron and wash my hands. The mood, as it always is this time of night, is one of survival. I have to wait for everyone else to survive before I’m gone, though, so I’m usually among the last to leave. Only a few people are left. Elias and Michelle are having some sort of meeting about the menu.
“Good job today, baby,” Elias calls out. People call each other all sorts of weird things in the kitchen, I’ve found. Almost everyone has multiple nicknames for each other. I’ve got “Fake-xican” and “baby,” I guess.
Vee is pulling up the black rubber mats that run throughout every station; a few ovens are on their cleaning cycles or slow-cooking something overnight. Other than that, the kitchen is a glimmering polish of stainless-steel cleanliness. The floors are mopped; the roaring hood is off.
“Thanks, Chef,” I say to Elias. “See you tomorrow.” I push the door open, noticing that what was debilitating exhaustion a week ago now feels like the status quo. Something I can survive.
“Of course you can,” Felix says, following behind. I don’t respond yet, because I have all night with him. Lately, I haven’t been dreading his arrivals. I’m starting to think that this whole thing has nothing to do with getting rid of him.
When I turn the corner, I spot Emma sitting on the bench in front of the restaurant, reading a book, tilting it so it catches the light of the street lamp. She’s got earbuds in, one leg tucked beneath her.
“Just forget it,” Felix says, because he knows what I’m thinking. “She seems like she’s a mess, like she just wants to toy with you. Focus on the kitchen. That’s going well.”
I wave a hand in his direction and am honestly surprised when he flitters away like smoke.
I know maybe Emma doesn’t give me as much thought as I give her, that she likes making out drunkenly at bars and having it mean nothing, that she’s leaving the island soon. But I also know that I want to surround myself with her. I slip a flannel shirt on over my gross, smelly T-shirt and then plop down next to her on the bench.
Emma jumps a little, gives me one of our shared, silent-shriek looks. She reads for a second or so, still listening to music. I check my phone for the first time since the morning but don’t really care enough to delve into the notifications. Emma slips a bookmark into the pages and pulls out her earphones. “Hey. Thanks for yesterday.”
A strong breeze blows by, makes the streetlights sway slightly. The shadows shift on Emma’s face and her eyes brighten; something I can’t point to makes me ache and yearn that we had something more. She looks up and then back at me, combs her hair behind her ear.
“Don’t mention it,” I say. “You looked the way I feel sometimes.”
Secrets slip out of me when I’m with her. She smiles at me, and I can’t help but reciprocate. We do that at each other like idiots for a second. For once, I’m okay with the awkwardness hanging around.
Firefly meadow and the lake? I want to ask, but the words don’t come.
A mile away, waves crash on the shore with such force that they send out a fine mist that shimmers beneath the streetlights, coating me and Emma. We’re quiet for long enough that it feels inevitable that eventually I will muster the courage to say what I want. Then Emma says good-night, and she gets up from the bench.
On the walk to my motel room, Mom calls, but I’m in no mood to talk, so I let it go to voice mail and then check the message she leaves.
“Carlos,” she says, imbuing my name with too much emotion, the way only a mom can. The moon should be a waning crescent by now, but it’s still full. Somehow, it still allows the surrounding stars to stand out, and it’s almost more beautiful than it was last week.
“When do you think you’re coming back?” Mom asks, her recorded voice fraught with worry. “Your dad and I miss you. We’re worried about you, and there’s some paperwork for school that you still need to fill out.”
I think of Emma reading on the bench. The way she was focused on her book, how the orange glow of the street lamp made it look like she was in a photograph. Light doesn’t behave like that anywhere else that I’ve been. Everything here is ethereal.
Yeah, I’ve noticed the absence of my family. I’ve noticed how many of my meals are solitary, even at the restaurant, with people around. How I rarely talk to living people. But anytime I think about my parents, it’s not Mom’s care that I remember, it’s Dad’s good-bye: So you’re running away. Just like your brother did. A lot of good it did him.
I don’t call Mom back.
CHAPTER 14
MILKSHAKES
Some milk
A lot of chocolate ice cream
METHOD:
It’s four in the morning and I’m hiking up the hilly street to meet up with Emma.
I’d been lying in bed, looking up videos on how to arroser fish, sleep eluding me. Then my phone started to buzz. I’d assumed it was Mom again, even with the time difference. I’d thought maybe something had gone wrong. Then I saw Emma’s name on the screen.
“Turns out I’m lonely,” she said when I answered. “Wanna go on a date?”
My room lit up, a cloud passing by to uncover the moon or something. “When?”