by Sarah Dessen
I turned, looking at the stairway, the light at the bottom. I had no idea if Dave was already downstairs with everyone else, as I ran across the room, grabbing the banister to go after him. But after only one step, suddenly we were face-to-face. He’d been there all along.
“Is that really what it said, on the roof of the building?” I asked.
I could feel his breath, the warmth of his skin. We were that close. “No idea,” he replied. “But anything’s possible.”
I smiled. Downstairs, they were laughing, cheering, seeing out this last night in this sacred place. Soon, I knew we’d join them, and shut it down together. But for now, I leaned closer to Dave, putting my lips on his. He slid his arms up around me, and as he kissed me back, I felt something inside me open, like a new life beginning. I didn’t know yet what girl she’d be, or where this life would take her. But I’d keep my eyes open, and when the time came, I would know.
Eighteen
“Oh, crap,” Opal said, dropping a bunch of empty plates with a clang. “AHBL!”
“Already?” I asked. “We’ve only been open fifteen minutes.”
“Yes, but we only have one wait, and that wait is Tracey,” she said, stabbing two orders onto the spindle in the window between us. “We’re already in the weeds.”
She bustled off, cursing under her breath, while I pulled the tickets off, glanng at them. “Orders,” I told Jason, who was sitting on the prep table behind me, reading the Wall Street Journal.
“Call ’em,” he said, hopping down.
“You sure? We’re behind already.”
“If you’re going to be in the hole, you have to learn to call out orders,” he said, walking over to the grill station behind me. “Go ahead.”
I looked down at the top ticket. “Mediterranean chicken sandwich,” I said. “Order fries. Side salad.”
“Good,” he said. “Now hit that salad. I’ll do filet and drop those fries.”
I nodded, turning to the back table and grabbing a small plate from the shelf above. For all my time growing up in restaurants, working in one still felt brand-new. But there was nowhere else I’d rather be.
At graduation a week earlier, I’d sat with the rest of my class, fanning my face with a damp program as the speakers droned on and assembled family and friends shifted in their seats. When we all stood up, grabbing our caps to throw them in the air, a breeze suddenly blew over, lifting the air and all those black squares and tassels up overhead to take flight like birds. Then I’d turned, searching for the faces of my friends. I saw Heather first, and she smiled.
I was supposed to go back to Tyler, yes. But things change. And sometimes, people do as well, and it’s not necessarily a bad thing. At least, that’s what I was hoping the Saturday after Luna Blu closed, when my mom showed up to help me pack my stuff. My dad was there, too, and Opal, all of us making trips from my room to Peter’s huge SUV, chatting as we did so. Opal and my mom hit it off immediately, which I had to admit surprised me. But as soon as she found out my mom had handled all the financial stuff at Mariposa, she started picking her brain about how best to do things at her new place. The next thing I knew, they were at the kitchen table, a notepad between them, while my dad and I finished the job.
“Does that make you nervous?” I asked him as we took out my pillow and my laptop, passing by them. My mom was saying something about payroll, while Opal jotted on the page, nodding.
“Nah,” he said. “Truth is, your mom kept that restaurant afloat for two years longer than it should have been. Without her, we would have closed a lot sooner.”
I looked at him over the hood of the SUV. “Really?”
“Yeah. Your mom knows her stuff.”
I was thinking about this later, when I was finally packed up and we were getting ready to leave. I’d said my goodbyes to Deb, Riley, Ellis, and Heather the night before, at a farewell dinner—fried chicken, naturally—that Riley’s mom cooked for me at her house. My goodbye with Dave had been more private, in the hour he was allotted after I got home. We’d sat together on the steps to the storm cellar, hands intertwined, and made plans. For the next weekend, for a beach trip if he could ever get away, for all the calls and texts and e-mails that we hoped would hold us together. Like my dad and Opal, we weren’t kidding ourselves. I knew what distance could do. But there was a part of me here now, and not just in the model. I planned to come back to it.
As I shut the car door, everything finally in, I looked over and saw Mrs. Dobson-Wade, standing in her kitche. Dave was at work, their other car gone, and she was alone, flipping through a cookbook. Watching her, I thought of my mom, and all the problems we’d had over the last two years. Trust and deceit, distance and control. It had seemed unique to us, but I knew it really wasn’t. I also knew that just because we’d found a peace didn’t mean everyone could. But Dave had done something for me. The least I could do was try to return the favor.
When I knocked on her door a few minutes later, my mom and dad behind me, she looked surprised. Then, as we came inside and I explained why I was there, a bit suspicious. Once we sat down at the table, though, and I told her the story of what had happened that night, how Dave had come for me, and told my dad where I was, I saw her face soften a bit. She made us no promises, only said she’d think about what we’d told her. But then, something did happen. To me.
It was when we were getting into the car to leave. Opal and my dad were in the driveway to see us off, the house mostly empty behind them. It was so weird, like the reverse of when I’d left Tyler with him all those years ago. With all my departures, he’d never been the one watching me go, and suddenly I wasn’t sure I could do it.
“It’s not goodbye,” he said as I hugged him tight, Opal sniffling beside him. “I’ll see you very, very soon.”
“I know.” I swallowed, then stepped back. “I just ... I hate to leave you.”
“I’ll be fine.” He smiled at me. “Go.”
I managed to hold it together until I got into the car and we drove away. As the house, and them beside it, receded in my side mirror, though, I just started bawling.
“Oh, God,” my mom said, her hands shaking as she hit her turn signal. “Don’t cry. You’re going to make me totally lose it.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, rubbing my nose with the back of my hand. “I’m okay. I am.”
She nodded, turning onto the main road. But after driving about a block, she hit the signal again, turning into a bank parking lot. Then she cut the engine and looked at me. “I can’t do this to you.”
I wiped my eyes. “What?”
“Uproot you, make you leave, whatever.” She sighed, sniffling again, waving one hand as she added, “Not after I’ve railed against it for the last two years. It’s just too hypocritical. I can’t do it.”
“But,” I said as she dug a tissue out of her massive middle console, blowing her nose, “I don’t have any other option. Unless you want me to go to Hawaii. Right?”
“I’m not so sure about that,” she said, starting the engine again. “Let’s just see.”
In the end, we compromised. My mom let me stay, in exchange for a promise that I’d visit her regularly, either in Tyler or Colby. As for my dad, he had to be convinced that Opal, who’d offered me her spare room in exchange for doing some setup work for the new restaurant, was not getting in over her head. It was my job to keep in close touch with both of my parents, returning phone calls and e-mails, and being honest about what was going on with me. So far, it had been easy to hold up my end of the bargain.
I loved being able to finish out the year at Jackson. For once, I was really part of a class, able to partake in rituals like senior skip day and yearbook distribution, my time at a school ending when everyone else’s did. I studied for finals with Dave on his living room couch, him reading up on advanced physics, while I struggled with trigonometry. Then, while he worked, I pulled cram sessions at FrayBake with Heather, Riley, and Ellis, powered all around by Procrastinator’s
Specials he made personally. Dropping my napkin on the floor one day, I bent down to get it, only to catch a glimpse of Riley’s foot, idly wound around Ellis’s. They were keeping it quiet, but it seemed maybe she was changing her dirtbag ways, as well.
Come fall, when I started at the U, I’d move out of Opal’s and into a dorm, taking my simple living skills with me. In the end, I’d gotten into Defriese, too, but there was never any question that I’d continue to follow that third option, and stay. As for Dave, he’d gotten in everywhere he applied, naturally, but had decided on MIT. I was trying not to think about the distance too much, but it was my hope that no matter what happened, at least we’d always be able to find each other. I had a feeling I’d continue to put my packing skills to good use after all.
“How’s that salad coming?” Jason called out as I sprinkled a handful of carrots.
“Ready,” I replied, turning back and putting it in the window.
“Great. Get the bun and sauce ready for this sandwich and we’ll be golden.”
As I pulled out a bun, tossing it on the grill to brown, I glanced through the window, just in time to see Deb bustling past, tying an apron around her waist. “I thought you weren’t working today,” I called out to her.
“I just stopped by to pick up my tips from last night,” she said, grabbing two water glasses and filling them with ice. “But Opal was melting down, so I’m on now.”
I smiled. With the model done, Deb had found herself with entirely too much time on her hands. As it turned out, though, the same skills that made her such a good organizer also made her a great waitress. She’d only just started, but already she’d improved Opal’s working system by leaps and bounds. And acronyms.
“Where’s that sandwich?” Tracey said, poking her head in the window. “Anyone?”
“It’s coming,” Jason told her. “Keep your pants on.”
She made a face, then grabbed the salad, adding a ramekin of dressing and sliding it onto a tray. Behind her, Deb pulled off another ticket, stabbing it on the spindle.
“Order,” I said.
“Call it.”
I looked down. “Margherita pizza, extra sauce, add garlic.”
“Good. Plate this and I’ll get started.”
He slid the sandwich down with a spatula, and I picked it up, placing it in the basket I’d prepared. Behind me, the radio was playing, and I could hear the customers just beyond the wait station, and Opal chattering. I thought of my dad, somewhere in Hawaii, maybe doing this same thing, and missed him, the way I always did. But then, I did what I knew he’d want me to, and got back to work.
It was a busy rush, keeping up for about an hour and a half. Even though I botched a quesadilla, letting it k too long, and forgot to call a burger that we then had to comp, it all went reasonably well. Finally, around one thirty, Jason told me to take a break. I picked up my phone, grabbed a water, and headed outside to the back steps.
It was sunny and hot, another summer scorcher, as I started scrolling through my messages. I had a voice mail from my mom, checking in about going to Colby that weekend. An e-mail from the U about orientation. And one text message, from Dave.
There were no words, just a picture. I clicked it, watching as it filled up the screen. The shot was four hands, two with circle tattoos, all wearing Gerts. Behind them, blue sky and a sign: WELCOME TO TEXAS.
“Hey, Mclean,” Jason called out. “Order up.”
I slid my phone back into my pocket, then drained my drink. As I came back into the kitchen, stepping past him, I crumpled the cup in my hand, then turned to take aim at the garbage can behind me. I shot, sending it arcing toward perfect center. So pretty. Nothing but net.
Acknowledgments
Many thanks are due, again, to my agent, Leigh Feldman, and editor, Regina Hayes, for their
support, wisdom, and willingness to be aboard the crazy train that is my writing process. I’m also indebted to my readers, whose encouragement makes me want to keep writing, even on the hard days, and my babysitters—Krysta Lindley, Erika Alvarado, and Amanda Weatherly—who give me the time I need to do just that.
Lastly, forever and always, I am grateful beyond words for Jay and Sasha. You are my world, filling this life with joy, chaos, humor, and endless material. Thank you.
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