by Dee Lagasse
Respecting her wishes and never wanting to take away their moment, I wouldn’t announce the pregnancy, but I didn’t want Kinley to feel like she had to sit with her left hand in her jacket pocket, torn between wanting to be excited for herself and Davis, and not hurting my feelings. Standing up first, Davis offers his hand to Kinley who doesn’t hesitate to take it. Joining me on stage, Kinley leans in, and asks me if I’m sure. I answer her by waving my hand to the crowd. Taking a seat on the stool, I readjust the mic stand as I run through the possible songs I could play to commemorate their announcement.
“So,” Davis starts, looking down and shuffling his feet before turning his attention back to the woman by his side. “I asked Kinley a question last…”
“We’re getting married!” Kinley squeals excitedly, cutting him off while holding up her left hand.
Chuckling, Davis nods while the stage is immediately infiltrated by members of our family. The lounge is, once again, loud with applause and cheers. By now most of the crowd is Saturday night regulars. People who are here every Saturday, faithfully. People who know me and my family, at least at face value.
“This one’s for my brother and my soon-to-be sister,” I say into the microphone before I start a cover of “I’m Yours” by Jason Mraz, their song.
Bright bursts of light come rapidly as flashes from everyone’s cameras take pictures. Watching everyone in front of me celebrating leaves me torn. Pushing a small ping of jealousy back down, I smile and find myself looking for Chase in the crowd. It’s not that they’re getting married. Anyone can get married. Fuck, I was planning to, and look at how Noah and I were together. It’s what they have together. I’m jealous of their love. The closest thing I’ve ever had to something like that is what I have with Chase.
As much as I would love to envision the fairytale, happily ever after, I know I would never get that with him. It’s been twelve years since he saved me, for the first time, in gym class. If something was going to happen between us, it would have by now. I just wish he would stop looking at me like I’m the only girl in the room. False hope is a dangerous thing.
Somehow, I manage to make it through the next few songs before I start taking requests. Fifty minutes and a dozen songs later, I announce that it’s going to be “my last song and they better make it a good one.” The lounge chatters for a minute, and then it all just stops when Chase stands up from the table full of our friends and family, beer in hand and says, “To Be With You.”
Sneaky bastard. Choosing a song about waiting and wanting to be with someone. The song I used to sing to him all the time in high school when the crazy girls he used to mess around with were being, well, crazy, in the hopes that he’d take a hint. As I start singing the song made famous by Mr. Big, I realize just how dangerous false hope is.
I need to put the distance between us until my heart calms the fuck down. After being closed off for so long, my heart wasn’t used to being used to feel things. If Noah and I had been happy and head over heels in love, and we just broke up unexpectedly, I would mark these down to rebound emotions. But Noah and I were over long before yesterday. It’s as if my entire relationship was a dam, built by time and memories, keeping any feelings for Chase pushed way back. But now, that dam had been destroyed, and there was nothing stopping them from naturally flowing freely.
Accepting my feelings for him means learning how to deal with the fact that we will never be together, that he will never be mine. I did it once when we were kids and our friendship became better because of it. I don’t know if I could do it again, and have our friendship survive this time.
Avoiding his eye contact, I look straight ahead to the back of the room. For the first time all night, my voice shakes, I stumble on a few notes, and I forget the lyrics to a song I’ve sung a thousand times. The last strum of my guitar doesn’t come fast enough, and I find myself having to fight back the overwhelming tears trying their damnedest to break through when I say goodbye for the night.
“Thank you for joining me and my family in a few memorable moments tonight,” I say, holding my water up for cheers as I force a smile, making sure to make eye contact with everyone but Chase. “If you are, or have someone with you under 18, it’s time to cash out with your server and as always, I will be back to serenade you all next Saturday night. Cheers!”
Standing up, I turn the amp off and unplug my guitar. Dropping the cords into my guitar case, I remember I need to be lady-like in this dang dress. Bending at the knees, I place my guitar into the case, snapping it shut.
“I can’t believe I forgot how amazing it is to be in a room when you sing.”
“You’re biased, best friend,” I laugh nervously, shaking it off, hoping he can’t read my thoughts and that he stays where he is.
“No. You’re amazing,” he says, repeating his sentiment, pointing to my guitar case. “Let me take that for you. I have strict instructions from Ellis to tell you that you need to go see her. I guess there’s no one under 21 tonight, so she has something for you.”
Capparelli & Co. has always closed at nine the six days a week it’s open for as long as I can remember. Monday through Friday the doors open at four and close at nine. Saturdays are the busy days. Servers start coming in at eleven and we unlock the doors for guests at noon; it’s the only day of the week the restaurant is open for lunch. And Sundays, unless we have a private event, the restaurant is always closed. My grandparents have always thought it was important for their employees to have at least one day off.
Even though at one point in the week we all tend to cross paths, Sundays are for our family. Everyone—including the Merrimacks—head to Nonna’s around noon and we spend all day eating, drinking, and watching whatever sports game is on. It wasn’t until LJ, Ellis, and I started working here and collectively came up with the idea to stay open later and turn the lounge into an “after hours” spot.
Abbott Hills isn’t a big town. In fact, Capparelli and Co. is only one of three places open past ten at night in town. Between nine and ten, the restaurant closes its doors to allow the servers below to finish their shift and have any guest that isn’t over twenty-one leave the second-floor lounge. It’s normally an easy transition. Most of the locals understand, but sometimes there’s one or two that don’t think they should have to leave. When my uncle made his agreement with the town to keep the lounge open for bar hours, the deal was no one under eighteen after ten. After the first few times of Ellis having to deal with a few high school-aged douchebags, my uncle hired a security team to come on board after nine. They help with the nine o’clock transition, watching the door and making sure no one gets too crazy.
Usually on Saturday nights, I’m leaving with everyone under eighteen. Not that I ever have anything exciting to do, but I’ve never stayed for karaoke. Come to think of it, the last time I did karaoke was my 21st birthday…with Chase.
Thinking about the memory makes me smile. I was a broke college student, living two hours away from home in Rhode Island. My sorority sisters tried all day to convince me to go to a frat party, but I was in no mood to deal with a bunch of drunk, horny boys. It was a Saturday night. I could have gone home. My dad and Nonna all but begged me, but it wasn’t the same without Davis. As an enlisted Marine, Davis didn’t get the option of getting to come home for his birthday. So, despite being incredibly homesick, I felt guilty going home to be with our family when he couldn’t. So I had stayed at school.
While the girls in the house were getting ready to go out, Chase texted me to wish me happy birthday with a follow up asking what I was up to. As soon as he found out I wasn’t doing anything, he called me and told me he was on his way. Just like that. Going to Boston College on a full football scholarship, Chase was only about an hour from me in Providence. He rented a hotel room ten minutes from my sorority house for himself and showed up just a few minutes after the house emptied out.
I remember being slightly surprised he didn’t ask me if I wanted to change out of the leggings
, oversized Dropkick Murphys t-shirt, and flip-flops I was wearing before leaving. Luke, my on and off again, whatever he was at the time, would have never would have been okay with me leaving dressed like that or with a make-up free face, which I also had at the time.
“You never know who you may run into,” he would say. Looking back, Luke and Noah probably could have given each other a run for their money with their pretentious asshole tendencies.
But Chase never said anything about my outfit, my hairstyle, or the lack of make-up on my face. Wanting to avoid anyone from my school, we went to this little hole-in-the-wall Chinese food restaurant the next town over. The drinks were strong and there just happened to be a karaoke contest that night. After splitting a Scorpion Bowl and drinking three Blue Hawaiians myself, Chase convinced me to enter. “To Be With You” won me a $100 gift card to the restaurant and $100 cash.
Chase had refused to take the gift card or the prize money at the end of the night for our tab, which was ninety-nine percent my drinks, because after splitting the Scorpion Bowl, Chase had switched over to ginger ale, straight up.
“What’s got you all smiley, Cousin?”
Before I can answer, Ellis hands me a glass full of the same bright blue mixed drink I drank on my 21st birthday. The irony of the memory and this moment coinciding isn’t lost on me as I reach for the pineapple and coconut infused rum drink.
“Before you even try to pay for it,” she holds her hand up, stopping me as I reach for the cash I had shoved into the pocket of my jacket before leaving Chase’s. “Uncle Leo said to tell you happy birthday and that drinks for the crew are on the house tonight.”
In the entire time I’ve known my uncle, I’ve never known him to give anything away for free, even to family. He lives and breathes doing what is best for this restaurant. Which means no freebies for anyone—even for us. The confused look on my face must convey what I’m thinking because my cousin bursts out in a fit of laughter.
“Yeah, I know,” she agrees. “I pretty much thought the same thing you do. But I’m not going to argue with him. Apparently, he brought a bunch of pizza up to the table too. I think it’s the birthday-engagement combination.”
“Uncle Leo’s getting soft in his old age,” I smirk, shrugging and pulling out money regardless of what she said, dropping a twenty on the bar. “Toss this in the tip bucket.”
With my drink in hand, I make my way back to the decorated table in the front where my brother and our friends are sitting, eating pizza. The guys talk mostly about sports while Kinley and I talk about our plans for the annual Capparelli and Co. Halloween charity event that happens next month.
Sometime in that hour in between when my set ends and ten, Nicole “Cole” Christian comes strolling up the stairs, yelling a request for “strong, able-bodied men who want a round of drinks on her.”
I don’t know what the response is usually like for her, but this week, she lucked out. Chase, Tucker, Davis, Travis, and Kenny all jump up as soon as she steps foot over the threshold. Handing her keys to Kenny, she takes a seat next to Kinley.
“Normally there’s only one or two guys willing to step up and it takes them twenty minutes to bring all my shit up. I could get used to this,” she laughs, grabbing a slice of pizza while the fellas head down to bring up her equipment.
Cole’s dad and Kinley’s mom met while they were both going to a support group for people who have lost their spouses to cancer. Cole and Kinley were just toddlers and they don’t remember life without each other. And although while growing up most of the drama in our little circle was started between the two of them, now they’re inseparable. And if you ask them, they’re not step-sisters, just sisters.
Before I took over Saturday nights, my uncle was working tirelessly to book bands to play live every weekend. I had suggested that Cole—who had just dropped out of law school on a whim and was starting out her karaoke business—and I take the night in shifts and it caught on quickly. Some people came just for my acoustic set, some people came just for karaoke, and others stayed the whole night.
When Chase and Tucker come back into the lounge, each holding one end of a folding table, Cole salutes us and hops up on the stage to direct them. After taking a small sip of my drink, I blindly reach for another slice of pizza. Startling me, Kinley bursts out laughing from her spot directly across from me. We’re the only two sitting at the table right now, so I assume she got a text or something, because I know I didn’t do anything funny.
“You two are ridiculous,” she holds up her hand as I open my mouth to defend myself when I realize she’s talking about Chase. “Save it. Chase can’t move without you gawking at him like he’s that pizza you’re about to eat.”
The smell of coffee and maple bacon simultaneously infiltrate the barefoot beach dream nuptials of me and Chase, pulling me back to the real world. It’s now Sunday morning. I sang, we drank, and I slept over at Chase’s last night. Tucker had been so drunk that he ended up leaving his car at Capparelli & Co. and crashing in Chase’s guest room, leaving me in a slight panic. Once Tucker started stumbling, Chase had pulled me aside, asking if I wanted to stay longer or if I would be okay with leaving earlier than planned.
Worrying about his brother, instead of taking Tucker home, he brought him to his house instead. I had every intention of asking him to bring me home after he dropped off Tuck, but Chase offered to make cheese fries and I don’t have enough willpower to say no to cheese fries. After we split a heaping pile of fries, he offered to sleep on the couch, but I had shrugged it off. There was no reason we both couldn’t sleep, fully-clothed, in the same bed.
Bracing myself for the oncoming heart palpitations, I roll over to face Chase only to find his half of the bed empty. The grumbles in my stomach motivate me to move toward the smell of breakfast. My plan to hijack the platter of bacon Chase is adding to is thwarted when I step into the threshold of the kitchen. The open concept of the kitchen and dining room allows me to see the dining room is full of brown and yellow balloons.
An enormous vase holding at least two dozen sunflowers sits in the middle of the table, a small silver box sits next to the flowers. I try to search for words, any words, but fall short. Luckily, it only takes Chase a second to notice me standing there, like a complete idiot, unable to speak.
“Well, good morning,” Chase laughs, turning his back to me, adding in, “How’d you sleep?”
“Chase, what is all this?” I ask, ignoring his question.
When he turns back around, with a huge chocolate muffin that holds one lit candle, my legs begin to wobble, and I lose any will to demand an explanation. Blaming a non-existent hangover, I brace myself in the doorway, shifting all my bodyweight to the side closest to the archway.
“Make a wish, Hurricane,” he leans in, his voice low as he holds the muffin close enough for me to blow out the candle.
My first instinct is to wish that this perfect weekend never had to end. It’s funny how life happens just the way you need it to sometimes. If someone told me forty-eight hours ago when I was driving home from Boston that I would be ending the weekend feeling genuinely happy, in Chase’s kitchen nevertheless, I would have laughed in their face.
“You know,” Chase starts, chuckling to himself while he pours a cup of coffee. “I’m starting to think our friendship might be based on breakfast perks.”
“One, I didn’t know you were doing all of this,” I wave my hands around the kitchen and dining room theatrically. “And that’s rich, coming from the guy who notoriously says, given the chance, his last meal would be my chicken parm.”
Hopping up onto one of the two cedar bar stools behind the breakfast bar that divides the open space between his kitchen and the dining room, I add, “It’s your own fault you know. You invited me to your mom’s. And here you are, cooking for me. All it would take is one bad batch of pancakes or some runny eggs, and I promise, I’ll never come back.”
He pauses, only for a second, before handing me a solid b
lack mug. His bright green eyes lock with mine as I take it into my hands, smiling as the smell of my favorite blueberry coffee hits me. It seems he really thought of everything. His eyes don’t leave me as he takes two spoons full of sugar from the white milk glass bowl next to the coffee maker and adds to his own mug, or when he twists the cap off and pours a splash of milk into his coffee, or when he stirs it all together, tapping the spoon gently on the edge of the mug before blindly tossing it into the sink to the left of him.
There’s so much left hanging in the empty space between us, but I refuse to be the one that crosses that line. That stupid metaphorical line that has been drawn between us since we were teenagers. Moments like this make me wish I could read minds. As if my thoughts about wanting to know his were said aloud, a mischievous grin slowly spreads across Chase’s face.
“I’ll make you well-done eggs every Sunday morning, for the rest of my life, if that means I get to see you sitting up at my breakfast bar every week.”
Winking before turning his attention back to the pan of sizzling bacon, Chase knows that this time, I have no rebuttal. There is no witty comeback, no sarcasm...I’ve got nothing. And it seems to go without saying, we both know I’ll be right here at his breakfast bar, next Sunday too.
Chapter Thirteen
Chase
Most days I head to the teachers’ lounge for lunch, instead of sitting at tiny desk in my tiny office off the boys’ locker room. But today, I just wasn’t in the mood to deal with Bethany Callahan. The new sophomore English teacher didn’t seem to get the hint that I wasn’t interested. I wasn’t even being subtle anymore. But no how many times I declined drinks after work, she just wasn’t letting up.
