Maybe This Time

by Kasie West

“Right. Yeah.” He stood up, swung Gunnar’s bike out from under him, and loaded it into the back of the van.

  “Thanks,” I said.

  “You’re welcome. I’ll see you at school,” he said.

  “See you.” My heart was racing. Now was the time I should ask if he wanted to go out again, prove to Micah that I’d meant what I said. But instead I watched Kyle walk away. I didn’t need to ask him now. We had time.

  The voices in the lobby were even louder when I went back inside. I told myself to walk past without looking but I didn’t listen to my own advice. Micah, Lance, and Gunnar had joined June and Andrew around the laptop. What was so interesting about Andrew’s laptop anyway? My pride kept me from asking. But it didn’t keep Micah from seeing me.

  “Soph, come check it out. Andrew has already started the website for my dad.”

  I walked over to give the computer a polite glance, but my gaze froze when I saw the screen. A gorgeous picture of brightly colored plated food was the backdrop, and the business name stood out in big, bold letters. There were tabs along the top and Andrew clicked on the one marked Events. Pictures from tonight’s Valentine’s Dinner were already uploaded. Really good pictures.

  “Those are cool,” Gunnar said.

  They were cool. A lot were of the food, but then there were some of the guests, old faces wrinkled with happy smiles and young faces shining with laughter. There was even one of a tulip. It was a close-up, just showing the pink edges, and I loved it.

  “Who took pictures tonight?” I asked, trying to sound casual. I hadn’t seen a photographer.

  “I did,” Andrew said.

  “How?” How could a person as thoughtless as Andrew take pictures with so much life?

  “With my phone,” he said. “It has this thing called a camera on it.”

  “It’s just …”

  “It’s just that they’re really good,” Micah said when I didn’t finish. “My phone doesn’t take pictures like that.”

  “Maybe it’s the operator,” he said, giving Micah a smirk.

  “I have no doubt that’s true,” she said, smiling.

  I rolled my eyes. “Give me a break.”

  “Show us some of your other photos,” Lance said.

  And then it was the Andrew Show. Destination after destination of all the places Andrew had been in the last several years. Most were big cities—New York and San Francisco and London. But there were quieter towns as well, with pretty hillsides and remote cottages.

  “You sure travel a lot,” Micah said. She hated to travel. All the variables involved in the process made her anxious. If she had her way, she’d stay in Rockside working for her dad forever.

  “My dad loves traveling,” Andrew says. “And he usually takes me with him.”

  “What about your mom?” Gunnar asked.

  “No mom,” Andrew said simply. “She left when my dad’s career dried up.”

  “Oh,” I said, almost without meaning to. Andrew looked at me quizzically.

  “What?” he asked.

  I shook my head. “Nothing,” I said coldly. Andrew did not need to know the details of my life, that my dad had left as well, even if his reasons weren’t quite as shallow.

  Andrew was still clicking through his photos on the screen. One of them was of an airplane, soaring through a cloud-filled sky.

  “Wow,” Gunnar said. “One time we drove to an air show in Birmingham and I saw an airplane,” he added, sounding very much like the country kid that he was.

  “Wait, you haven’t been on an airplane?” Andrew asked. He met my glance, a mocking glow in his eyes.

  Micah, who was changing out of her work shoes and into some boots, said, “I have. We went to a food show in Vegas last year. Airplanes are the worst.”

  Lance nudged her arm with his. “It wasn’t that bad.”

  An uncomfortable feeling churned in my stomach. “Let’s go, Gunnar,” I said. “It’s getting late.”

  Lance looked at Micah and Andrew. “You guys ready to load up the rest of the catering van?”

  “Yes,” Andrew said. He shut his computer, tucked it under his arm, and left without a backward glance.

  I collected my brother and went to get the last few things still in the cafeteria. As Gunnar and I walked through the parking lot, I watched Micah, Lance, and Andrew carrying large trays of dishes to the open van.

  “I’m sorry I made it so you can’t hang out with your friends,” Gunnar said.

  “You didn’t, buddy. They’re heading home too.”

  I had always felt out of place here in my small town. Like the odd person out. I thought it was because I didn’t belong here; I belonged somewhere full of action and creative energy. When I went away to college, I had convinced myself, I would finally feel like I’d found my place, my people. But as I’d looked at all of Andrew’s pictures, as I talked with him, as I watched him in all his world-traveler confidence, I realized all these years, maybe I had been fooling myself.

  SUNFLOWER

  While growing, sunflowers tilt their faces to follow the sun throughout the day. So if a mother is like the sun and her child is like the flower … Well, the analogy speaks for itself. Mothers are super important.

  I leaned against the side of the flower van, my notebook open in my hands, my pencil furiously scratching away. I was attempting to sketch a skirt. I wanted a variety of pieces for my design portfolio, and so far I felt like I only had one or two really strong options.

  I paused and studied what I’d drawn. It wasn’t good. I growled and scribbled through it, making it completely impossible to fix later. I hadn’t designed anything useful in the past couple of months. It felt like my inspiration had dried up somewhere between Presidents’ Day and Easter. I slammed the book shut and threw it on top of my backpack just as Caroline came back to the van for more centerpieces.

  “Is your mother coming today?” she asked, lifting out two tin watering cans filled with sunflowers. “You should take a break to sit with her at some point. I think I can spare you for an hour.”

  I grabbed two centerpieces as well. “She picked up a morning shift at the diner so she might be a little late, but she’s coming.”

  “Oh, good.”

  I carried the centerpieces across the park to the tables set up between two big oak trees. I set the flowers down and stared at them. I wasn’t a fan of the tin. If it had been up to me, I would’ve arranged the big yellow flowers with small white daisies and white roses in painted mason jars. Or maybe clear jars filled with water and sliced lemons. But as Caroline had said, the organizer of the annual Mother’s Day Brunch, Ms. Jewel Jackson, would love the watering tins.

  I spotted Micah standing at a long table, lighting the fuel can under a chafing dish. I wondered what was on the menu. Last Mother’s Day it had been muffins, apple-cinnamon French toast, fruit, sweet tea, and lots of bacon. If Jett Hart was in charge, which he was, I had a feeling there wouldn’t be any bacon under those silver lids today.

  I walked across the grass to join her. “Hey, friend.”

  Micah twirled the lighter around her finger once and clicked the trigger.

  “Looks like you’re feeling better,” I said. She’d missed school on Friday with some stomach bug that I was glad I hadn’t caught because we’d shared a drink at lunch the day before.

  “Because my lighter-twirling skills are back?” she asked.

  “That was the main clue.”

  She smiled. “I feel so much better. Thanks for bringing me history notes last night.”

  “Of course. I mean, once I heard your dad made cookies, I was going to use any excuse to come over.”

  “And here I thought you were just worried about me.”

  “Right. That too.” I ran a hand through my hair, which had grown long past my shoulders.

  She tilted her head. “What’s on your hand?”

  “What?” I looked and saw the smeared pencil from the sketch I’d been drawing. I rubbed at it. “Nothing. Ab
solutely nothing.”

  “Caroline,” I heard a guy’s voice say from behind me. “The decorations are even better than last time.”

  I turned to see Andrew carrying a dish to the table. I hadn’t seen Andrew Hart—or his dad—since Valentine’s Day, and in the intervening months I’d convinced myself that I had overreacted. That Andrew probably wasn’t nearly as bad as I’d made him out to be.

  “Thank you,” Caroline said, arranging another centerpiece.

  “What?” Andrew asked when he noticed me staring. “Can’t a guy give a compliment? For example: Nice skirt.”

  My skirt was black with little oranges on it, and I’d paired it with a short-sleeved orange cardigan that I’d sewn lace along the bottom of and buttoned all the way up to wear like a shirt.

  “Did my dad tell you to try to match a menu item today?” he continued.

  Or, I hadn’t overreacted at all.

  “Does your dad actually talk to people he thinks are beneath him? Or only growl at them?” I shot back.

  After the Valentine’s Dinner, I’d gone home and Googled Jett Hart. Micah was right; he had connections. He’d been photographed with plenty of celebrities—from movie stars to models. Then I’d rewatched some episodes of Cooking with Hart on Netflix and was reminded of how gruff and obnoxious the chef could be. So my hopes were pretty low that he would actually use those connections for me.

  Andrew didn’t take my bait but his jaw tightened, so I knew it had bothered him.

  Micah waved the lighter in the air like a flag. “Really? Are you two going to be annoying at another event? Can we live in peace, please?” Unlike me, Micah had seen Andrew at three private catering events in the past few months. Events that hadn’t required flowers. She’d been the one to tell me he was nicer than I was remembering. She was wrong.

  “I’m busy working,” I said. “I will keep to myself.”

  “Promise?” Andrew asked.

  Micah elbowed him and he let out a grunt followed by a “What?”

  I shook it off and went back to the van for the last couple of centerpieces. You can handle Andrew Hart today, I told myself. You’re a professional.

  As I set the last sunflower centerpieces on their tables, Caroline handed me a piece of yellow paper. “The game!” she said, her voice full of excited anticipation.

  Right. I’d forgotten that the Mother’s Day Brunch always included a game of some sort. At the top of the page were the words: How strong is your mother/daughter bond? That title was followed by a list of questions, from favorite foods to favorite movies to nighttime rituals.

  “So you answer one side for yourself and the other side for your mom, or daughter,” Caroline explained. “Then you match up answers. The team who gets the most right wins our annual prize.”

  “Hank’s Barbecue gift certificate?”

  “Of course.”

  Because nothing says mother like a gift card for barbecue. But I couldn’t be too harsh. While my pick would’ve been a gift card to a spa, we didn’t have a spa in town. The closest thing we had was a nail salon and even that was a thirty-minute drive.

  “Fun, right?” Caroline asked.

  “Yes, that should be fun.” I handed her back the questionnaire.

  She did a last-minute sweep, taking in the tables and flowers. “We have extra flowers in the van, right?”

  “Yes,” I said.

  “Good, because the food table could use a little something. Will you take the stems off a dozen sunflowers and place them strategically around the chafing dishes?”

  I nodded.

  The tall sunflowers sat in a big bucket in the back of the van. I pulled one out and turned it bloom down to cut off the stem, then set it off to the side. I retrieved another flower. I flipped it and smoothed the petals down. I twirled the stem, watching the petals extend like a little flower ballerina. An image twisted through my mind: a dozen ballerinas flitting across a stage in airy, bright yellow tulle skirts with yellow ballet slippers, ribbons twisting up their legs, the stage blanketed with flower petals. I shook my head; I was so easily distracted.

  I finished the flower-beheading assignment and carried the fifteen sunflowers over to the food table, where Andrew and Micah were laughing about something.

  “You did not,” Micah said.

  “I did,” Andrew returned.

  “Prove it.”

  “What, you think I took pictures?” he asked.

  “You take pictures of everything,” she said.

  “Are you mocking my picture-taking skills?”

  “No, your skills are solid. I’m mocking the sheer number that you take.”

  “For work,” he protested.

  “Whatever,” Micah said. “Soph.” She turned toward me.

  I had laid out three flowers and was trying to decide if this was going to look good or cheesy. “What?”

  “Vote.”

  “On what?” Did she think I’d been following their conversation?

  “Andrew said he stuck his tongue in one of these fuel canisters when it was lit.”

  “Yes,” I said.

  “Yes, what? You think he did? These things are like a million degrees. The fire is blue!”

  “Yes,” I said again.

  “See, she believes me,” Andrew said.

  “I believe you are that stupid.”

  Micah laughed but then sucked in her lips and said, “Soph, that was mean.” But then she laughed again.

  “Thanks,” Andrew said to her. Then to me he said, “Is this what you call keeping to yourself?”

  “Believe me, I’m trying.”

  “How’d your mom like the gift?” Micah asked, changing the subject. She was excellent at avoiding conflict.

  Micah and I had gone shopping the week before and thought it would be fun to pick out dresses for our moms to wear today. My mom wasn’t exactly a dress kind of woman so I’d picked her one that seemed more her style—not too fancy, but comfortable.

  “She hasn’t opened it yet,” I said. “I left it on her bed with a note that she should open it before coming here.”

  “Fun! I’m sure she’ll love it.”

  “Hopefully.” I couldn’t say why, but I felt anxious about it. “How about your mom?”

  Micah grinned. “She was so happy with hers. She choked up when I gave it to her, but then tried to cover it up by saying she had a cough.”

  I smiled. Mrs. Williams was so sweet.

  “Cute necklace, by the way,” Micah said, leaning over the table to look at the pendant around my neck.

  “Thanks, I got it at Everything.”

  “What’s Everything?” Andrew asked.

  Micah gasped. “You haven’t been to Everything?”

  “No.”

  Micah looked up as if she was trying to figure out how to explain the unexplainable. “It’s a store next to Sophie’s work that sells—”

  “Mostly crap,” I said. “Other people’s crap.”

  “Not just other people’s crap! You can also buy a gallon of milk there. Or a brand-new shovel.”

  “So everything?” Andrew asked.

  “Exactly!” Micah said.

  I loved browsing through Everything. It was where I found half my jewelry and almost all the scrap material I used to design or embellish clothing. Because we were such a small town, the items there were never too picked over. People emptied their attics into Everything, and that’s where their attics stayed.

  “Mom!” Micah called out, then went running around the tables and across the grass to throw her arms around her mom. Mrs. Williams was a short, curvy woman who Micah had shot past in the seventh grade. She had copper-brown skin and kept her black hair just an inch long, accentuating her strong cheekbones and brown eyes. She was wearing the dress Micah had given her—a knee-length green one. She looked beautiful.

  I turned my attention back to the table and placed another sunflower. I tried to ignore Andrew, whose gaze I could feel on me. I also tried to keep myse
lf from messing with my overgrown bangs.

  “What?” I finally said.

  “Is your brother coming today?”

  “To a Mother’s Day brunch?”

  “Why not?”

  “This isn’t for sons. It’s a mother-daughter thing.”

  “Ah. I see how it is around here.”

  “It’s tradition. That’s how it is. You’ll learn more about tradition when you witness the reaction of fifty women deprived of bacon.”

  He lifted the lid off a chafing dish. “I know I’m not from Rockside, but is this not what you guys call bacon?”

  My eyes shot down to see the dish nearly overflowing with crispy bacon. “Oh, well, I’m glad your dad learned after last time.”

  “Pretty sure this town didn’t invent providing bacon at brunch.”

  I placed the last few flowers on the table, ready to escape.

  “Do you know what your problem is, Sophie?”

  I stiffened and glared at him. “What answer would I have to give for you not to continue?”

  “Your problem is that you have a chip on your shoulder. I’m not sure what about, but I’m trying to figure that out.”

  “A chip on my shoulder?” I snapped. “Do you hear yourself talk? Who says that? I’ll tell you who says that: self-absorbed guys who don’t live in the real world and have no idea how to truly relate to people. If I have a chip on my shoulder, it only exists for you.”

  Jett Hart walked up to the food table carrying a foil-covered platter, and I practically jumped out of my skin in surprise.

  “Good morning,” I said cheerily. Probably too cheerily considering my nostrils were still flaring with irritation.

  He set the platter down right on top of three sunflowers. When the dish didn’t sit right, he furrowed his brow and lifted it back up to see what the problem was. “Son, move those,” he barked. Andrew collected the three sunflowers as Jett walked away.

  I gritted my teeth. Great, my memory of him wasn’t wrong either. I sighed and held out my hands for the squashed flowers.

  Andrew dropped them in my hands. “They are kind of big and very … yellow.”

  I held his gaze for a moment in disbelief. “The chip on my shoulder seems to be getting heavier.”