by Erynn Mangum
Jen looks at her watch and smiles softly. “Well, I have to go, guys. Have a great day!” She waves and is off.
I look at her swooshing hair as she leaves and then at Jack. He’s smiling one of those “It’s okay” smiles, which are perfected by the medical profession. I know. Zach does it.
“Kohl’s?” he asks.
“I don’t know.” I shrug. “It was mostly an excuse to burn three hours before I leave to go see Mom and Dad and Zach.” “Zach’s in town, huh?”
“Mmm.”
He gives me the same smile but pairs it with a shoulder squeeze. “Maybe he’s more tactful now.”
“Maybe.”
Andrew comes over as everyone else in the room has left.
“Hey. So?”
“Two thumbs up.” I show him my thumbs.
“Really? Cool beans!” He shoves his elbow in my ribcage. “Get it? Cool Beans? Like where you work? Get it, Maya?”
I rub my side. “Ow.”
“What’s the game plan for you today?” Andrew asks.
“I’m going to see the parental units this afternoon,” I say. “I think you bruised me.”
“Oh yeah, your Sunday tradition. Bruises are good for you; they toughen you up.”
“Tonight it’s at The Cheesecake Factory, so I’ve got three hours to kill. And I don’t want tough sides.”
“Get the key lime cheesecake; it’s stinking awesome.” He grins at me. “No tough sides? Like beef jerky or something?”
“Dude, I saw this woman at my apartment pool the other day,” Jack starts, covering his eyes with his hand. “Her skin looked like my mom’s suede couch. It was gross. There is such a thing as too tan.”
Andrew laughs. “Total agreement here, man. Hey, what are you guys up to for lunch?”
Both of us shrug, which spurs Andrew to clap his hands and order us to go to lunch with him at Kaiser, a local deli.
We arrive with the rest of the after-church lunch crowd and wait about ten minutes for a table. When we finally get seated, Andrew plops in his chair and grabs the menu. “Man, I’m starving. I can’t even remember the last time I ate.”
“Breakfast?” I ask sweetly.
“No breakfast. I’m out of Eggos. Ruined my whole morning.”
“There’s more to life than Eggo waffles, Andrew,” I say.
“But not more to breakfast.” He slams the menu down, and I jump. “I’m getting the number twelve.”
I look down at it. Ham, turkey, pastrami, salami, bacon, and three fried eggs on a toasted bun with lettuce, tomato, cucumber, guacamole, and cheddar and Muenster cheese. Big enough for two!
“Looks hefty,” I remark.
“Sounds good,” Jack says. “Hey, what exactly is pastrami?”
“Beef, kid. Cured beef.”
“Basically, it’s left out to dry, and they run out and get it right before it spoils, then stick it on a sandwich,” I explain.
“Sounds great.” Jack says this unenthusiastically.
“Doesn’t it, though?” Andrew says, all cheerful. “My mom used to feed us pastrami and bologna on bagels for our after-school snack.” He inhales, getting nostalgic. “I never eat it without thinking about her.”
“I hope that my future kids remember me for more than nearly spoiled beef,” I say.
“You sentimental fool.” Jack grins at me.
The server, a cute brunette who can’t be more than five foot one, comes to take our order.
“When did Zach get in town?” Jack asks me.
“Uh, yesterday, I think.”
“They going to be here long?”
“I don’t know, actually. Mom didn’t say how long they are here.”
“Excuse me?” Andrew waves over the server. “Could I get extra cheese on that number twelve?”
“Extra, sir?” She sounds like he just ordered a pig with an apple in its mouth. “It comes with cheddar and Muenster already.”
“That guy who just got served?” Andrew points nondis-creetly at the table next to us. The guy, a nice-looking man in his forties, looks at Andrew and holds up his sandwich like the monkey holds Simba on The Lion King. You can almost hear the African safari music starting.
“Yes?” the server asks.
“Is there swiss on there?”
“Yes, sir. Swiss and colby jack.”
“Yum. Could I get both on my sandwich, please?”
She nods. “Sure. It’ll probably be extra, just so you know.”
“Fine”.
She leaves, and Andrew turns back to us. “What were we talking about?” he asks.
Now I know why Andrew is the barrel-shaped giant he is. “Glad to see you’re taking that Atkins diet to heart,” I say.
“I’m not on Atkins. I could never survive without Eggos.” I just smile.
It’s three fifteen, and I’m busy grabbing a few things for my weekly trip. Calvin is racing excitedly around my ankles. He loves Sundays.
I’m still debating if I should take him. On the one hand, he’ll be ecstatic to ride in the car. On the other hand, he’d have to wait in the car through dinner because we’re not going to Mom and Dad’s first.
“Roo! Rooooo!”
Take him, I decide.
“Ready, baby?”
“Roo!”
“I’ll take that as a yes.” I pop a collar around his neck. It’s bright cherry red and Calvin’s favorite.
Jen isn’t here, neither is a note from her. If I had to guess, I’d bet she hasn’t been back all day. Her car isn’t in her allotted parking spot, so there’s no telling where she is.
I pull a Dr Pepper from the fridge and a box of Junior Mints from the pantry. I’ve got my jacket for later when it gets dark and drops the whole ten degrees that makes us Southern Californians cold. And I changed clothes from jeans and a sweatshirt to my black pants and a cerulean silky long-sleeved top. It makes my eyes look really blue, and with my hair fixed curly, I look fairly decent, if I say so myself.
You might think this is too dressed up for The Cheesecake Factory. I would completely agree with you. But Zach is always dressed in Dockers and usually has a sport coat with him. And Kate, his wife, typically looks like she has stock in Ralph Lauren or something.
Me? I’m all about denim. Give me a quality pair of jeans and I’ll wear them until they fall off my body in tatters that would make that “Feed the Birds” lady on Mary Poppins proud.
I open the door, and Calvin runs out, down the steps, and over to my car, wriggling excitedly. I grin, lock the door, and then go open the car for him.
We listen to my classic Elvis collection on the drive over. Calvin has his head out the window, tongue flapping, for the entirety of the trip.
I get to The Cheesecake Factory at exactly 4:57, which officially makes me early. I remind myself of a few rules: “Make friendly conversation, keep Travis and Jen out of it, and order the Godiva chocolate cheesecake.” Turning the car off, I look over. “Sit tight, don’t eat the seats, and stay out of my Junior Mints,” I lecture Calvin, who then falls with a huff on the passenger seat.
He curls into a little ball and looks up at me like, “Fine, whatever.”
Climbing out, I straighten my shirt and try to see my reflection in the Jeep window. Too dirty. “Cal, how do I look?”
He closes his eyes and conks out.
“Helpful.” I grab my purse, press the lock down, and shut the door. There’s the tiniest nip of chill in the air, which means San Diego’s excuse for winter is on its way. Where’s the snow? Where are the happy ski bums? Where’s the Dean Martin music?
They’re all in Colorado, I guess, because neither San Diego nor Hudson gets squat when it comes to snow. I have at least fifteen adorable scarves that I never get to wear, and if I do wear one, I have to crank up the A/C. I’m moving to the Rocky Mountain state ASAP.
I walk through the doors into the dark, crowded restaurant. People are pressing in all around the hostess station, making the two poor girls tending it duc
k for cover behind the menus.
“Maya!”
I turn right into my mom’s hug. “Hi, baby,” Mom says, pulling me tight. “The drive was good?”
“Yeah.” I pull away to give Dad a hug as well. “Hi, Dad.”
“How’s the Jeep running, Maya?”
This is Dad’s code for How are you?
“Good,” I reply. “How are you?”
“Fine. Good to hear that. Bring it by next week, and I’ll have a peek under the hood.” Dad shifts, looking uncomfortable in his slacks and collared shirt. I give him a sympathetic look.
Zach and Kate stand up from the bench where they were seated, and immediately three little kids plop down on it.
“Hi, Maya.” Zach smiles. “You look good. I like your hair.”
“Thanks. You look good, too.” And he does. He’s wearing Dockers (of course) and a white button-down shirt with the top two buttons undone, showing his white undershirt. He’s letting his sandy blond hair grow beyond his normal nearly shaved look, and it’s slightly gelled to a sticky-up preppy style. Zach looks identical to Mom — blond, green eyes, tall and lean, the whole package.
I look exactly like Dad’s mother, Nana. Short, average weight (meaning I have to run to stay lean), blue eyes, and hair as close to black as brown can get.
It’s kind of a funny sight when my whole family is together. Mom, Dad, Zach, and now Kate are all above five foot seven, and then there’s me.
I like being short though. I even wrote a sticky note why:
Reasons It Is Okay to Be Short:
1. I don’t hurt my back getting into the lower cabinets in the kitchen.
2. I get discounts from people who think I’m younger than I am.
3. I will never hit my head on a fan and cut hair I don’t want cut.
So, it’s all good.
“Maya, your hair looks really cute,” Kate says, giving me an awkward half-wave. Kate’s not big on physical affection. So we wave. Or do the little elbow-squeeze thing.
How very unlike me. The more hugs I get, the happier I am.
“Thanks, it’s really good to see you,” I return.
Dad’s buzzer starts going off for the table. “Davis, party of five,” he tells one of the hostesses.
She looks us over to make sure none of us is going to attack her like the impatient mob in the front will and then nods. “Right this way.”
We’re seated in a booth in the corner of the restaurant, and everyone settles in.
“How’s airline mechanics?” Kate asks Dad.
“Good. How’s doctoring?” Dad asks Zach.
“Big caseload but fine. How’s teaching?” Zach asks Mom.
“Same as before. How’s the coffeehouse?” Mom asks me.
“Busy but good. How’s the lawyer thing going?” I ask Kate.
“Slow time of the year, so it’s going well,” she answers.
And then the table falls into complete silence. Out of sheer boredom, I open my menu, even though I already know what I’m going to get.
Sunday evenings when Zach isn’t home aren’t like this. Usually, I wear my pajama pants over to my parents’ house. We play games or talk in front of their huge, gorgeous fireplace. Mom always makes a killer meal, like steaks and mashed potatoes or chicken fried chicken and creamy gravy, and sometimes we roast marshmallows over the fire and make s’mores or pop them in a cup full of hot chocolate. There’s nothing like it. Then Calvin and I drive home all warm and full, content to live another week on instant freezer meals.
I haven’t figured out if it’s Zach or Kate or both who put such a damper on the conversation. But ever since they got married, it’s as if talking is too personal.
Dad gives me a pained look over his bifocals and his menu.
“So, um,” I start, clearing my throat, “the, uh, funniest thing happened the other day. Um, you remember Travis Clayton?”
Ignoring my second rule, I might as well lay myself on the sacrificial altar for the sake of discussion. I gulp half the glass of iced lemon water our skinny, emo-ish server brings.
Mom immediately perks up. “He was adorable!”
“Who’s Travis Clayton?” Kate asks.
“Maya’s high school sweetheart.” Zach looks across the table at me. “Didn’t you two even discuss marriage at one point?”
“Right before we broke up, right before sophomore year.” I nod.
“In high school?” Kate is incredulous.
“College. I was at Cal-Hudson by then.”
“He was a sweet boy.” Mom’s still gushing. “I never understood why you two broke up. You were the cutest couple ever!”
“He played football,” Dad tells Kate. “He got a scholarship to Stanford as a running back.”
“Impressive,” Kate says.
“He tore his knee last game of freshman year. Never went back.” Dad finishes his little tale, and then everyone looks at me.
“Anyway …” I finish my story quietly. “Jen met him, and now they’re dating, and she doesn’t know that we dated because we hadn’t met yet when Travis and I were together, and now Travis doesn’t recognize me. Has anyone seen the server? I’m starving.”
“Didn’t he get some high honors senior year at Stanford?” Mom asks. “I seem to remember Gloria saying something about that.”
Apparently, Mom is the only one who didn’t hear me because Dad, Zach, and Kate are all staring at me like I’m holding a betta fish in my mouth like Giselle on Enchanted.
“What?” Zach asks. “How could he not recognize you? He was going to marry you, for Pete’s sake.”
“Who doesn’t recognize you?” Mom asks.
“He’s dating Jen? Weird.” Dad shakes his head. “Is that weird for you?”
“Who’s dating Jen?” Mom asks.
“I think … I think you might want to tell her … um, soon,” Kate stutters.
“You haven’t told who what?” Mom asks.
“That’s — wow.” Zach sits back against the bench and looks at me, eyebrows raised. “I’m sorry, kid. That’s got to be awkward — Jen and Travis dating.”
“What?” Mom gasps. “Travis is dating your roommate?”
I just sigh.
I am so full that I don’t think I’ll be able to eat for a good week, maybe two. I puff my cheeks out and look at Calvin, who’s happily sticking his head out the window as we drive to Mom and Dad’s after dinner.
“No more eating. Ever again,” I tell him.
Based on his expression of sheer joy, he doesn’t believe me. Either that, or he knows where we’re going. Calvin loves Mom and Dad’s house. Dad lets him on the couches, while Jen and I have a strict “no dogs on anything resembling furniture” rule. He’s a spoiled granddog.
I pull up beside their mailbox and let an ecstatic beagle out of the car. He half-runs, half-hops a dog dance to the front door.
“Hi, Calvin!” Mom says in a high-pitched voice as I open the door.
“Roo! Roo!”
She laughs as he tucks his tail under him and runs to her like she’s his longlost best friend. “Wow. Okay. Easy boy.”
“Calvin,” I call, with warning in my tone, as I pull off my jacket. “No jumping.”
He immediately falls to the floor, and Mom starts giving him a deep-tissue back rub. “Is you a good wittle puppy? Yes, you is!” She baby talks to him. He just moans like a cat.
No wonder my dog loves this place so much.
Zach watches the whole thing, arms crossed. “Huh. How come when I run to you, you never give me a back rub?” he asks Kate.
She smiles. “Your ears aren’t as cute.”
“Well, thanks.”
After another hour of sitting straight-backed on the sofa and making awkward small talk, I decide to go home. “Come on, Cal,” I call. He gives me a grudging look from Dad’s lap, where he’s now getting a tummy rub.
“Leaving already, sweetheart?” Mom asks from the recliner.
“I have to open at Cool B
eans this week,” I explain, finding my coat and purse.
“What time do you open?” Zach asks.
“Seven, but that means I’m there by about six thirty.”
He waves his hand. “That’s nothing. My early surgeries are all scheduled for six o’clock in the morning. Consider yourself lucky you’re not operating on someone when you get to work all tired.”
I bite back a sigh. “Right, right.” I know he’s not trying to point out the vast difference in our careers, but it sure feels like it.
“It was nice seeing you again, Maya,” Kate says politely. It looks like she’s debating giving me a hug, but then squeezes my elbows instead.
“Yeah, you too.”
Zach waves from the sofa. “See you later, Maya.”
“Bye, Zach. Bye, Mom. Bye, Dad.” I snap my fingers at Calvin and he moves in slow motion off Dad’s lap, soaking in every last minute.
“Bye, sweetie,” Dad says to me. “Bye, Calvin!”
“Roo.” This little yodel is more like a sigh of depression. I shake my head, watching my dog sulk to the front door.
It’s going to be a boring ride home. Anytime Calvin feels like I’m making him leave before he’s good and ready, he ignores me the whole way home.
I pull into my space in front of our apartment and yawn as I look at the dashboard clock. It’s nearly midnight, so already I’m looking at five and a half hours of sleep if I were to get in bed and be immediately asleep this very minute.
Jack is not going to like me very much tomorrow. I’m not a nice person to be around when I’m tired.
I nudge Calvin, who is curled into a little ball on the passenger seat. “Wake up, bud. We’re home.” He crawls across the seats and snuggles into my lap.
Awww!
I have a cute dog. Granted, he’s probably just not wanting to walk upstairs, but he’s so cute I can’t resist. I pick him up, climb out of the car, and carry him up the stairs.
The light from the TV is flickering in the windows, and I frown. Jen’s never up this late.
I open the door.
