by Adriana Peck
“Dylan. Thornberg.”
I gasp. “Dylan’s here?”
I hadn’t thought about Dylan in years. We had a shared history of on-again, off-again dating all through culinary school. He was close to Paige and I supposed they kept in touch even after graduation. I had no idea he was still around in her life, let alone here in Deporte. “What’s he up to?”
“Ask him yourself,” Paige says. “He’s in town for the weekend. Texted me the other day. And he asked about you,” she adds.
“He asked about me?”
“He asked about you. And I think he’s ready to mingle, if you know what I mean.”
I did, in fact, know what Paige meant by that. I thought about it for a moment, hesitating to give her a direct answer immediately. Finally, I buckled. “When and where?”
“Seven tonight, my place. We’re pregaming there,” Paige says. “I’d say bring a friend if you have one, but I don’t know what Dylan’ll think of that if you did.” Paige giggles at her own joke, and I can’t help but giggle at it, too. It’s just like we’re freshmen in the dorm again, gossiping about boys we had class with.
I get directions from Paige on how to get to her place from mine. She’s always good with directions like that. It comes in handy, too, when you’re out on the town and have had a few drinks under your belt already. I’m going to take the subway to her place. I’ll take the yellow line from the stop by my house, to the green line at Market, and then get onto the Orange line until the very end. Paige’s apartment is right outside the subway stop. Easy-peasy.
We said our goodbyes and hung up. Everything was moving so fast. Dylan Thornberg is in town, Dad’s going to visit soon, and work gets faster and faster every day. And Mason? Mason is still as mysterious as ever. I secretly hope we’d bump into him tonight, but I know the chances were slim to none. I’d have to ask Mason out myself if I wanted that to happen, if that were ever possible with Gambio breathing down our necks during work.
I pick out a black dress from on of the many suitcases shoved into my closet. Trying the dress on, I think it looks to be more on the skimpier side, but tonight it’ll be more than appropriate. I gazed at myself in the mirror and smiled. Tonight is going to be a blast from the past.
Seven
I climb the stairs out from the subway station into the cold breeze of the Friday night air, my jacket wrapped tight around me. I know it’ll be easier out in the cold after I have a few drinks in me. Looking up, I see Paige’s apartment building exactly the way she described, a heavy red-brick walled building directly in front of the subway stop. I buzz her apartment number, 4G, and immediately get an answer.
“ROSA!” Paige squeals over the intercom. “Get up here!!” I can hear she’s already had a shot or two. Most likely with Dylan, of course. Who else? Dylan was a notorious party-drinker, always pushing Paige to do one shot more. I never give in, but Dylan always puts up one hell of a fight trying to work his magic on me. It makes the night more fun, he aways says. I don’t agree, but whatever. I head upstairs, resolved to limit my intake tonight.
The four flights of stairs to Paige’s apartment go by quickly, and Paige is already at the door waiting for me. Her silver sequin dress glitters in the hallway’s florescent lights, and judging by the way she leans out the door I can definitely tell that Paige is drunk already.
“Rosa!” She exclaims again, and we hug it out in the hallway. Paige’s heels are in her hands already, a bad sign for the night to come. If her heels already bother her, I wonder if Paige would be able to have a night out on the town like she planned. “Dylan’s inside already,” she says. “He’s asking about you. Still.”
“Still?” I giggle. What a charmer. “Let’s go, then.”
Paige’s apartment is a stark contrast to mine. Where my apartment has boxes stacked ceiling-high, Paige has her walls decorated with art and tapestries that are unmatched in their beauty. A tie-dye tapestry hangs by the door. Paige managed to find a wagon-wheel shaped coffee table in a thrift store somewhere, which was the centerpiece of her living room. An abstract painting of something resembling an…apple?…hangs in the kitchen, where I see a familiar face curiously investigating a high-tech refrigerator.
“Dylan!” I exclaim. He’s standing with one of Paige’s miscellaneous friends, holding a beer bottle. Yeah, he’s a bit much, sometimes, but he’s still a great friend. Dylan sets his drink down and practically bounds over to me. His leather jacket goes well with the black tee-shirt he’s wearing underneath, and as we embrace I can smell his cheap, yet somehow still effective cologne. He’s significantly taller than me, which makes the hug a little more awkward than it needs to be.
“How the hell are you?” he asks, a bright smile on his face. “Been up to no good here in the big city of Deporte, then?”
“Something like that,” I say. “But not as much trouble as you, I’m sure. How’s back home?”
“Back home sucks,” Dylan laughs. “You were smart enough to get out. Now, some other choices we made before weren’t so smart, but I think tonight we can really turn things around.” He winks at me, and I instinctively blush. He’s still got the moves, alright.
“Yeah? How’s that?” I ask slyly.
“You’ll see,” Dylan grins. “Paige and I came up with something truly special for tonight.”
The ‘truly special’ thing ended up being bar-hopping, my not-so-favorite going out activity, but I don’t mind. Honest.
Paige and Dylan have three bars in a row planned out for us already. I have no say in the matter, which is perfectly fine with me because I don’t know anything about bars. The first bar we visit was an absolutely packed Irish Pub with some sort of sports game on TV, and I feel that an entire neighborhood had somehow managed to squeeze itself inside the building. I can barely hold any sort of meaningful conversation with Paige or Dylan, as they were more focused on getting as drunk as possible. I can hardly make my way over to the bar, and the bartender is definitely ignoring me, so I really wonder how the two of them are managing to get shot after shot.
We leave after they’ve had their fill of shots, and we head to the next place on the docket. The second bar is quieter, but Paige and Dylan manage to make it even louder as soon as we walk in. It’s a superhero-themed dive bar, somewhat of a more nerdier outlet for Dylan to talk to strangers about superheroes in movies and in comic books. It feels like he’s completely forgotten about Paige and I when he enters into an argument with a stranger over whether or not the Hulk was physically inside Bruce Banner, or just tucked away in a pocket dimension that would open when Banner got angry. It gets very heated. Paige and I finally find an opening to talk about my new job as we scootch down the bar, and I spill the beans about the jerk from work.
“He’s such a meanie sometimes,” I tell my friend. “Honestly, I wonder how I manage to stand him.”
“Well, what’s he look like?” Paige takes a sip of her cocktail and eyes me suspiciously.
“What?”
“I mean, is he cute?”
I can’t help but blush when Paige asks me that. Yeah, I think he’s cute. Weirdly so. And our kiss in the pantry just made him all the hotter for it. He takes what he wants. And I guess that was me.
“He’s…alright,” I say to Paige, but she knows the truth.
“You liiiike him,” she coos. “You totally kissed, I can tell.”
How does she manage to find that out?, I think. But I don’t say that. Instead I yelp: “Stop that! You know I think he’s a jerk.”
“You don’t care about that, Rosa,” Paige says as she lifts her drink up, pointing it down the length of the bar. “Besides, look at our charmer over there. You didn’t seem to mind his attitude back in college, if my memory serves me right.”
I groan. “Don’t tell Dylan about this. Please.”
Now it’s Paige’s turn to giggle. She finishes her drink, slamming it down on the bar. “Whatever you say, compadre. My lips are sealed. Dylan won’t hear a word about it.”
“Hear about what?” his voice says from behind me, and I cringe instinctively.
“What do you want?” I ask him as I wheel around.
“Rosa,” he asks me slowly, “do you think the Hulk is more or less stronger than—”
“She doesn’t care,” Paige cuts him off curtly. “Whatever you think, she agrees with.”
I shoot Paige a look, but she rolls her eyes at me. I look back to Dylan, realizing I have to change the subject quick.
“Dylan, are you hungry at all? I’m famished. Paige?” I turn to my other friend. She nods. “Let’s go eat something, then.” I figure it’s best for us to get out of here anyways. We’ve been here far too long, and Dylan’s picking fights with strangers over comic books.
“I have an idea,” Dylan weighs in. “Let’s go to your restaurant!”
“No!” I exclaim, a little too passionately. I knew Mason was working there, so there was no way in hell I was taking two of my drunk friends around my place of work. Especially after Paige figured out about the kiss without me telling her. “Not tonight.”
“Come on, why not?”
“Paige!” I look to my friend for help, but she instead wears a devilish grin.
“Oh, Rosa, let’s just walk by. How about that?” Paige looks up at Dylan and winks. “We’ll eat somewhere cheap that Rosa won’t object to. No drive thru. But we want to see where you work, Rosa!”
My heart sinks. Dylan wanted to see my work, and it probably came from a good place. But Paige wanted to cause trouble, I could just sense it. But still, we can’t do too much damage walking by the restaurant, right? There would even be a chance that Mason wouldn’t be in the front of the place anyways, so they might not even see him. Still, I worry about how delicate the Mason situation really is.
I shrug. “Fine by me,” I say. “As long as we’re just walking past. I am not going into my place of work on my day off. You couldn’t drag me inside if you wanted to.”
“We’re noooot,” Paige drags it out. “We just want to see what you’re up to during the day, that’s all!” But by the look in her eyes, however, I can definitely tell she was going to try to pick out Mason from inside the restaurant. She needs to know who the target of all the juicy gossip is all about.
We stroll out of the bar, back out into the cold wind. The alcohol in my system definitely makes the cold more tolerable, and Paige and I link arms as Dylan trails behind us. I ask Paige for directions to my restaurant, even though she’s never been there before.
“It’s on the corner of Market and Main,” I tell her. “You know how to get there from here?”
Paige looks up at the sky, sticks a finger in her mouth and checks the direction of the wind. She laughs and says “Yeah, I know how to get there.”
We walk a few blocks north, then cross a street to our left. I’m starting to recognize where we are, and the closer we get to Restaurante Porto the more nervous I grow. I check my phone and see the time: 11:54. The restaurant closes in six minutes, and closing duties usually wrap up at or just around midnight. We weren’t going to see the restaurant in a rush, but we might run into the closers—
We turn a corner, and I gasp. The Restaurante Porto is half a block away, just out of earshot. It's closed, none of the lights are on. And I see someone locking up, just outside the restaurant locking the doors.
Mason is locking the restaurant up, and Benicio is there with him. My heart sinks. Paige gasps next to me.
“Is that—”
“That’s Mason,” I say to her quietly. But Dylan still manages to hear us, and he does the worst thing imaginable:
“MASON!” Dylan hollers out drunkly. He throws an arm around me and hollers again: “MASON! OVER HERE! IT’S ROSA!”
Mason hears Dylan the first time, craning his neck to peer at us from down the block. Our eyes lock. Great. I can tell things are ruined already. I can already see Benicio smiling from here. He yanks off his hairnet, cupping his hands around his mouth. “Rosa!” and waves his hands in a ‘come here’ motion.
Dylan’s arm is still around me, and our two groups begin the long walk towards one another to meet in the middle in front of a laundromat. There is an old man reading inside, and peers up at us as we congregate in front of the establishment. Mason can’t take his eyes off of me. He looks less angry than usual.
“Mason, I presume,” Dylan stumbles, throws a hand out for him to shake. Mason accepts it, calm and collected and introduces himself to the man whose arm was around his work crush’s shoulder. I couldn’t believe I was putting him in this position. Sure, Mason’s a jerk, but he doesn’t deserve this. I grit my teeth, try to make the most apologetic face I can as Mason and Benicio introduce themselves to Paige. She can hardly stand, and her heels are off again, strung together and hanging around her neck.
“Busy night tonight?” Paige asks. Benicio grins.
“I’ve never done so many dishes in my life,” Benicio says. “But I never give up the grind. Not this guy. I tell you, I’m going to work my way up and become head chef, just like Rosa here.”
I couldn’t tell if he was being serious or not. My best guess is he is trying to impress Paige, but I wasn’t going to stop him from putting his own foot in his mouth. Paige smiles anyways, seemingly charmed by this interaction. “You’re the dish boy?”
“Dish person,” Benicio says. “It’s better that way. More PC if you keep it gender neutral.”
Paige laughs again and touches Benicio’s arm. I look back at Mason, who I can tell has been staring at me the whole time. He’s been idly chatting with Dylan about pasta, and Dylan’s still got his arm around me. I try to shrug it off, but Dylan’s got a lock on it. I didn’t want to cause a scene in front of Mason, so I keep my cool as the two of them chat about this and that. Mason’s asking Dylan about what he does, and Dylan is happy to oblige talking about himself.
“Accounts receivable, basically,” Dylan summated. “They pay us, I organize the bills. Both companies are happy. I couldn’t be happier. Really, truly, fascinating.” They both laugh, I chuckle too as I try to include myself in the conversation.
“Rosa, I’ll see you tomorrow,” Mason says, abruptly cutting any chance of our interaction down to zero. He gives me a shy smile, one that shows me just how uncomfortable he really was. Mason throws his jacket over his shoulder, turns on his heel, and starts to walk away. I assume he’s going to hail a cab somewhere down the street, away from us. Away from me. My stomach does backflips. I can’t ask him to come back, or else Dylan’s going to make things weird. And I can’t come on too strong, Mason’s too cool for that.
Benicio and Paige are hitting it off next to us. They don’t care at all about the Mason/Dylan connection. And why should they? I hear them talk about food, too, and something tells me that instead of Mason joining our crew tonight it’ll be Benicio. Well, that’s just great.
Paige looks over to me. “So, pizza? Benny here says he knows a place,” and she giggles as she touches his shoulder again. Benicio loves it. He’s grinning from ear to ear.
“Rosa always says no drive-thrus,” Benicio says. “Don’t worry, this place is so small you couldn’t even drive a car through it.”
“Okay, Benny,” I say, poking fun at his nickname. “Show us the way.”
Benicio leads us in the opposite direction, away from Mason who I can see is still waiting for a cab. He’s talking to someone on the phone while he waits. I wish that could be me he’s wanting to talk to as he stands out there alone, but I accept my fate. I’ll just go get pizza instead. I resign to my fate as Dylan leads me with the group just ahead of us.
As soon as we’re out of sight from Mason, Dylan takes his arm off my shoulder.
Eight
The day after I bump into Mason is the longest day of my life. I can hardly focus on anything besides wondering how Mason’s going to act at work tonight. The day leading up to my shift is a long, tireless drag that fills me with anxiety with each passing minute. After Mason and
I kiss, I repay him by…stopping by work after close with another man practically wrapped around my shoulder? Really, Rosa? I honestly can’t believe myself sometimes, I’m such a hot mess.
I tell myself that I’m going to speak to Mason tonight, I’m going to set the record straight once and for all. I think certain things need to be put out there, such as my actual relationship status. Maybe that’ll clear the air between us, put this horrible rivalry to bed. Maybe that’ll get him to open up. To hell with ‘Chef’ Gambio’s rules about talking during the shift. He’s not even a real chef, as far as I know. I’ve never seen him help out on the line when things are busy; Gambio usually gripes behind the scenes when he’s forced to help Mason out with waitstaff duties.
I get to the Restaurante Porto early. Gambio’s waiting for me in the kitchen, going over the accounting books with an old-fashioned adding machine. He’s sitting at a stool, propped up on a counter where I usually start my afternoon prep. He’s wearing reading glasses. That’s a first. Each time Gambio adds his numbers up, a roll of paper spits out his work into what is already a long line of additions and subtractions. The paper spills out over the counter, into a giant white pile that resembles a hungry boa constrictor. I cringe. Whoever has to go over that later is a poor sucker, indeed, and hopefully it isn’t me.
“Rosa,” Gambio says without looking up from his machine. “Tonight’s going to be slow. There’s a big show downtown, everyone’s going to want finger food they can snarf down while they see an American fireworks display. You don’t have anything to panic about. Not many sit-downs tonight. That I will tell you.”
Great, I think to myself. More time to get closer to Mason. “Sounds great, boss,” I say. “We’ll still put on one hell of a show.”
“Show? We don’t put on a show. Get your head out of your ass,” Gambio says nonchalantly. He punches in an especially long line of numbers, peering carefully at his book as he types in every number with purpose.
