Getting Over Garrett Delaney

by McDonald, Abby

  I return her smile. “I hope so.”

  We’re silent for a moment, listening to the distant yells of kids playing and the murmurs of the Laurens deliberating about some star’s new hairstyle. I breathe slowly, feeling the sun seep all the way to my soul and the tension ease right out. This is what I needed, to be out, away from everything.

  Kayla splashes the water some more. “So, this plan of yours . . . You start with avoiding him?”

  “Yup. Detox. And then I have to start focusing on his flaws — to think about him as a regular person, and not Garrett,” I explain.

  She smirks. “That should be easy. Don’t get me wrong,” she adds quickly, “I’m sorry you’re hurting, but, well . . . to be honest, I always thought he was kind of a jerk.”

  My mouth drops open, and she hurries to explain. “I mean, he always acts like he’s so much better than everyone.”

  “He does not!” I protest.

  “Seriously?” She laughs, peeling off another strand of licorice. “Come on. I know he totally looks down on me, just because I don’t read all those stuffy books or watch boring foreign films.”

  “That’s not true.”

  Kayla fixes me with a look.

  “Well . . .” I trail off. The truth is, Garrett is kind of dismissive about Kayla — with her blond ponytail and perpetual cheer and the way she always wears school colors on game days. “Suburban” he called her, as if that was the worst kind of insult — doomed to marry by twenty, pop out three kids, and never live more than ten blocks away from her parents.

  And I laughed right along with him.

  “Don’t worry about it.” Kayla must have seen my expression, because she smiles, seemingly unconcerned by his-slash-my judgment. “Besides, it can go on the list, right? ‘Stuffy and judgmental.’”

  “I guess. . . .” Even though it’s part of the plan, it still feels disloyal to be talking like this.

  “Come on,” she encourages me. “Your turn.”

  “Um . . .” I shift, uncomfortable — and not just because of the splinters sticking into my thighs. “I guess he has this thing where he interrupts a lot. Only because he’s so enthusiastic about stuff,” I add quickly.

  “‘Talks over you’!” Kayla cries, then hands me a strip of licorice like a reward. “Next?”

  I think. “That beat-up military coat he always wears,” I offer, still hesitant.

  “Yes!” Kayla agrees. “What’s with that? Like he’s some Russian general.”

  I giggle. “And, he shows up late. All the time. I mean, it’s not a big deal, but —”

  “Sure, it is,” Kayla argues. “You can’t settle for that stuff. Blake used to do it when we started dating, so I just stopped waiting. If he didn’t send me a message or something, I’d leave after fifteen minutes.”

  I blink. “Wow, that’s . . . brave. Weren’t you worried he would just stop asking?”

  She shrugs. “It would have been his loss. But it worked. He’s always on time now, because he knows I won’t wait around.”

  There’s a whoop from the middle of the lake, and we look over to where Blake is wrestling TJ for control of an inflatable raft.

  “Last one out to the buoy buys Popsicles!” Kayla cries, then suddenly pushes off the dock and slides into the water with a splash.

  “No fair!” I cry, and jump in after her. I let out another shriek as the water hits me, sharp and icy cold. “You got a head start!”

  We play around in the water, racing to the far side of the lake and then fighting the boys for control of the floats, until our fingertips begin to shrivel.

  “We’re only letting you win,” Blake announces, finally ceding possession of a lurid green raft to Kayla.

  “Aww.” She leans over the side and kisses him lightly on the lips. “There’s room for two!”

  He hauls himself aboard, while I try to get comfortable on the inner tube without flashing anything compromising to the guys. But they’ve already lost interest and are racing back to shore, yelling threats and promises to the girls on the dock about just what — and who — they’re going to throw in the lake.

  “You good hanging out a while longer?” Kayla calls over, snuggled in the crook of Blake’s arm.

  “Sure.” I nod. “I’m good leaving whenever.”

  “OK.”

  I watch them drift gently back toward shore with their hands intertwined. I still feel a flush of shame about what she said earlier. She was calling Garrett the jerk, but I deserved it just the same. Maybe even more, because I was the one who was friends with her, way back when. I can see me and Garrett now: huddled together on the edge of every party, pointing out all the ordinary kids who we were sure would go on to lead such ordinary lives. At the time, it always felt like an affirmation. I wouldn’t settle for the easy path; I would be someone extraordinary, no matter how hard that made things right now. But now, looking back, I wonder if we weren’t just as bad as the bitches and cliques we made fun of, thinking we were different, above them all.

  I paddle aimlessly around the edge of the water for a while, watching dragonflies buzz in the reeds. It’s cooler now, and the kids splashing with their water wings have made way for adult swimmers, and dog walkers are skirting the edge of the lake. But by the time I reach the dock again, the girls are packing up, shrugging on sweatshirts and jeans over their swimsuits. “Hey, good timing.” Kayla hands me a towel as I pull myself out of the inner tube. “We were thinking about heading out for something to eat.”

  “My mom went to the store this morning,” Suzie offers. “There’s, like, a ton of meat we could grill.”

  “Grill! Grill! Grill!” The guys chant and beat their chests.

  “Could you be any more Neanderthal?” Yolanda sighs, fixing her hair up in careful braid.

  “I’ll be your caveman,” TJ says with a wink.

  “Animal, more like.” She rolls her eyes at me in solidarity. “Anyway, I vote the Burger Shack. Then we don’t have to worry about cleaning up.”

  “Sounds good to me,” Suzie says. There’s a general chorus of approval.

  “What about you, Sadie?” Kayla asks, packing up her stuff. “We can drop you, if you need to be anywhere.”

  I look around. These aren’t my people, and I know I’m just tagging along, but right now, tagging along feels just fine to me. Better than sitting home alone, anyway — trying to ignore the messages from the only other friend in my life.

  “I’m good,” I decide, smiling at Kayla with genuine enthusiasm. “Count me in.”

  This task is way too big for one girl to handle on her own. No matter how humiliating it seems to admit that (a) you’re madly in love with a boy who (b) doesn’t love you back and (c) has broken your heart so thoroughly that (d) you have to work through a twelve-step program to get over him, be brave.

  Why suffer alone when you could share the burden? Friends bring comfort, support, and snack foods for every occasion. And heartbreak goes so much better with cookies.

  I creep into work Monday morning, unsure if I even have a job to creep to. I didn’t get any “You’re fired” voice mails over the weekend, so perhaps my prayers were answered, and the Gods of Short-Term Amnesia managed to wipe out all recollections of my last shift.

  “Here she comes — guard the china!” LuAnn calls out, laughing, as I slink through the door.

  No such luck.

  “Um, hi.” I look around, nervous. We haven’t opened yet, so the place is still empty, aside from Aiko, who is curled up at a corner table, working in her sketchbook with her hood pulled up and the blue tips of her pigtails peeking out. “I wasn’t sure if you wanted me to come in, or . . .”

  “What are you talking about? Catch!” LuAnn tosses me my apron.

  I fumble for it. “Are you sure? Because after Friday . . .”

  “Ancient history,” LuAnn declares. “Now, give me your phone.”

  “What?”

  “Your phone,” she repeats, holding out her hand. Her nails
are painted a bright apricot, tipped with green. “Hand it over.”

  “Your buddy Kayla called,” Aiko adds, looking up. “She explained your whole unrequited love thing. Said you needed support.”

  “So we’re going to help,” LuAnn finishes with a smile. “I’m on phone duty today, and Aiko will . . . what is it you’re doing again?” She looks over.

  “Providing artistic inspiration,” Aiko says. She turns her sketchbook to show an elaborate sign: GARRETT-FREE ZONE! it says, with a big red X across his name.

  I’m overcome with a rush of emotion. After everything I did? “You guys . . .” I feel myself start to tear up. They’ve only known me a matter of weeks here, and still they want to help out?

  Then I’m struck with a sudden insecurity. Maybe Kayla guilt-tripped them into it. Or worse, they feel obligated, like I’m a charity case. “You know, you don’t have to,” I tell them quickly.

  “Sure we do!” LuAnn exclaims, surprisingly enthusiastic. “I love a good project.”

  “She’s right,” Aiko agrees. “You’ll be doing her a favor. And us,” she adds. “If nothing else, it’ll get her off my case.”

  “Hey!” LuAnn lobs a sugar packet at her. “I’ve just suggested, a couple of times, in passing, that you should be selling your art on Etsy, that’s all.”

  “Ha!” Aiko snorts. “Try ‘incessantly nagged.’”

  LuAnn pivots to face me again. “Anyway, I’m sorry that we didn’t take you seriously before,” she tells me sincerely. “It wasn’t fair to tease you like that.”

  “Oh,” I pause, awkward. “Well, thanks.”

  “Yay!” She smothers me in a quick hug, then steps back to show she’s plucked my phone from my back pocket. “So, starting today, it’s a clean slate. We’re going to get you through this — for the sake of our jobs as well as your mental health. Friday’s takings were . . . let’s just say below average.”

  “I’m really sorry,” I say again as she hustles me behind the counter. “I’ll make it up to you — I swear.”

  “We’re counting on it, kid.”

  I’m just tying on my apron when my cell phone begins buzzing loudly in LuAnn’s grip. She checks the screen. “It’s him!”

  I freeze. Aiko bounces over. “What do we do now?” she asks, excited. They huddle over the phone, full of excitement, like . . . well, like me. For a moment I forget that they’re supposed to be the calm, mature adults in this equation.

  “I can decline the call,” LuAnn suggests.

  “No!” Aiko objects. “Remember, she’s trying to be friends with him. Normal.”

  “Right.” LuAnn nods, passing me the phone. “Answer it. But keep it quick!” she adds.

  “Breezy,” Aiko agrees.

  “Like you don’t have time to talk right now.”

  “I don’t!” I tell them, rolling my eyes, but inside, I’m captive to a whole host of butterflies. “Hello?” I answer casually.

  “Hey, Sadie, what’s going on?” Garrett sounds calm — certainly not like he’s just spent minutes debating picking up the phone.

  “Nothing much,” I reply, keeping my voice even. “Work, you know. . . .”

  LuAnn and Aiko give me a thumbs-up. I angle away for some privacy, but they just scoot around the counter to stay in my face.

  “Put it on speaker!” LuAnn whispers. I roll my eyes, but click SPEAKER so that they can hear everything, too.

  “That’s cool,” Garrett is saying. “Listen, I need some advice. Can you help me out?”

  “That depends,” I say, trying to sound natural, and not like two overhyped women are hanging on our every word.

  Garrett laughs. “It’s for Rhiannon, actually. Our anniversary is coming up. This Saturday, it will be two weeks since we met.”

  LuAnn’s mouth drops open. “Is he kidding?” she hisses, and I have to cover the mouthpiece to mask the sound. “Seriously?”

  “Shhh!” I order her.

  “So I want to do something to celebrate,” Garrett continues, oblivious. “Maybe a special picnic or a gift or something, but I don’t want to come on too strong. Do you have any ideas?”

  I pause. This is when I usually tell him everything that I would want. The date of my dreams. But it’s clear from Aiko’s face that this isn’t an option now, she shakes her head so fast her pigtails whip back and forth.

  I take a deep breath. “I, um, I think that’s something you need to figure out for yourself,” I tell him, my voice quivering. “I mean, I don’t know her. And . . . this is personal stuff. Between the two of you.”

  LuAnn holds up her hand and gives me a silent high five.

  “Oh, OK.” Garrett sounds thrown. “But can’t you think of anything? I mean, usually you’re so good at this stuff, and —”

  “Sorry.” I cut him off. “Look, I have to go. I have customers. We’ll talk later. Good luck!”

  And with that, I hang up.

  “Way to go!” LuAnn cheers. Aiko whoops in agreement. I look back and forth between them, suddenly exhilarated.

  “I did it!” I exclaim.

  “Sure, you did.” LuAnn laughs.

  “No, you don’t understand,” I tell them. “I can never say no to him! I want to, but then he begs for help and does this thing with his eyes, and I crumble. I always wind up listening to him go on about his relationships and plans and how much in love he is.” I catch my breath. “But this time, I did it. I said no.”

  Progress. Finally.

  “You did great,” LuAnn agrees. “That can even be one of your rules or steps or whatever: no relationship talk. He has to find someone else to talk to about girls.” She grins. “Look at you, kid. Movin’ and shakin’ — soon you’ll be all growed up. I’m so proud.”

  “That makes one of us.” Dominique emerges from the back room, shooting us an icy look. “I thought she was done here.”

  “Hush, you,” LuAnn scolds her. “One of our brethren needs help. It’s our duty to assist!”

  Dominique just rolls her eyes. “Don’t you mean sisterhood?”

  LuAnn gasps and presses a hand to her forehead in a mock swoon. “You mean . . . Glory be! You know the meaning of that word!”

  “Ugh.” Dominique gives us all withering stares and takes up her position behind the register. “Just keep her away from me. I don’t want anything spilled on my shirt.”

  A busload of enthusiastic German tourists keeps us busy for the rest of the morning, leaving us with a sinkful of dirty dishes, zero tips, and a serious shortage of salami.

  “I hate it when national stereotypes are true,” LuAnn grumbles, clearing the tables with me. “See? Two quarters. Are they kidding me?”

  “Maybe they don’t realize they’re supposed to tip,” I argue. She’s not impressed.

  “Read a guidebook! Twenty percent, baby, all the way.”

  The door dings! and I look up to see Carlos sauntering in. He’s wearing scruffy jeans and a Pixies tour shirt, with dark sunglasses and three-day stubble on his face. He doesn’t look happy.

  “Uh-oh,” LuAnn breathes as he slouches over to the counter, takes off the shades, and squints at the bright light. “Don’t take any of his crap,” LuAnn tells me as she gathers her tray.

  “What do you mean?” I feel a flash of panic, but she’s already waltzed away, leaving me alone in the glare of Carlos’s hungover gaze.

  He points at me, then heads to the back office.

  I gulp.

  I knew it was too much to hope for, that clean slate LuAnn promised. Never mind needing money for that distant dream of a car. I’ll never make it without Garrett if I don’t have a job — and LuAnn and Aiko — to distract me through the long, lonely days of summer.

  I hurry back and find Carlos slumped behind the desk, rubbing his temples.

  “I’ve had some complaints, about Friday. . . .”

  “I’m sorry!” I cry, “I really am. It won’t happen again.”

  “I hate it when customers complain,” Carlos continues as if
he hasn’t heard me. He pulls a bottle of aspirin out of the desk drawer and gulps back four of them in one go. At least, I think they’re aspirin.

  “They call me up, and whine away, and expect me to actually care that you messed up the lattes with the cappuccinos,” he grumbles, “or put peanut butter on their PBJ when it gives them a fatal allergic reaction.”

  “I really am sorry,” I apologize again. “Please, just give me a second chance. I promise, I’ll be the best employee ever, and —”

  “I’m sorry, kid. We’re done,” he cuts me off, still clutching his head. “I can’t deal with the drama. This is why I don’t hire teenagers. You’re always having some crisis over something.”

  “Ha!” There’s a snort of disapproval behind me, and we both look to see Dominique in the office doorway, arms folded. “Maybe there wouldn’t have been a crisis if you hired more staff to cover the shifts.”

  “This is a private meeting, Dom,” Carlos snaps back.

  “I’m just saying.” She gives a haughty glare. “And maybe if you hadn’t forgotten the wholesaler order — again — I wouldn’t have had to leave her alone to go get more supplies.”

  I blink. Dominique ditched out early on her shift that day. She wasn’t on some mission for supplies, but I’m not about to argue, especially when Carlos is scowling so ferociously.

  “Are you telling me how to run my business?”

  Dominique shrugs. “Why not? You clearly need the guidance.”

  Carlos scrapes back his chair, enraged. “I’ve had enough of you ordering me around. Don’t forget: you’re just a waitress!”

  “Just?” Dominique’s voice goes up a couple of decibels in outrage. “Who here does your taxes, and checks the books, and saves your derrière when your buddy Fitz decides to skim five thousand dollars off the operating budget?”

  “He was borrowing it!” Carlos yells back.

  I look between them, furiously raging at each other, and decide to make a tactical retreat. “I’ll, um, get back to work,” I murmur, quickly scurrying past Dominique as she launches into a tally of Carlos’s many failings.