Zach started the movie from the beginning, and, oddly enough, I was immediately caught up in the weird story about a cat and his magic bag saving a kingdom in another dimension. I couldn’t say exactly what it was, but something about the nostalgic characters and odd world charmed me.
At some point near the last twenty minutes of the movie, my parents wandered in. They stood there a minute, but didn’t say a word, heading off to bed before I remembered to say goodnight.
As the credits rolled, I set my empty mug aside, opening my mouth to say something, but immediately forgetting what it was when I looked over at Zach.
He was staring at me, smiling.
“What?” My cheeks heated.
He grinned at me, shaking his head. “Nothing. So what did you think?”
“It was cute. The voices were a little weird, and it’s sort of dated, but it wasn’t terrible.”
Zach chuckled and leaned back, his arm stretched out along the top of the couch. “That’s some pretty high praise there. Don’t get too excited, Margie.”
I rolled my eyes. “It’s an animated movie about a cartoon cat. It’s not exactly the kind of stuff I normally watch.”
The conversation sank into silence, but talking to Zach Robinson wasn’t really high on my list of things I wanted to do. Still, it was kind of nice that he sat up waiting for my parents to come home so I wouldn’t be alone, and I wasn’t going to be a jerk and kick him out.
“So, the truth,” he said, watching me. “Are you really okay? I mean, your mom and dad are back, but I’ll stay if you want. I’ve got more movies in my backpack.”
My brows bunched together. “Why do you have movies in your backpack?”
He looked away, shrugging. “Wishful thinking, maybe.”
“Wishful thinking?”
His lips fluttered as he blew out a sigh. “Hoping you’d change your mind, I guess.”
That again? “Look, Zach, I appreciate you doing… whatever it was you did tonight, but—”
He stood up and waved me off. “It’s okay. I… I get it now, for what it’s worth. I thought I understood before what you meant when you talked about, you know, the panic attacks and things, but seeing it tonight…” He scrubbed a hand across his face. “I’m sorry, Margie. I mean it. I know now. I get it. I won’t push you any more, I promise. Before, I guess I thought it would just be like getting to know each other, like regular people do, but that’s not how it is with us. I get that now, and I want you to understand that I get it.”
Not really knowing how to respond, I sat there, picking at the little fuzzballs piled on the blanket.
“You didn’t answer my question, though.”
I glanced up at him. “What question?”
“Are you okay?”
I flicked a fuzzball off of my knee and nodded. “Yeah. I’m okay.”
“Okay. Good.”
He shifted his weight from foot to foot, another awkward silence invading the living room.
“So… I guess I’ll go then.”
As he crossed to the DVD player, I watched him, battling internally with my need to be nice and my need to keep myself safe. Maybe he was just spouting more pretty words at me, but it felt different this time. I’d actually seen him do something decent for me, and in front of other people, at that. I certainly wasn’t about to get all cozy with him again, not after last time, but maybe he deserved a little more than total loathing and apathy.
The movie case clicked closed and he straightened as he stuffed it in his black backpack, heading for the front door.
Three in, six out.
“Hey, Zach…”
He stopped and turned. “Yeah?”
I flinched a smile. “Maybe… maybe one more movie would be okay.”
“You’re sure?”
I grimaced. “No, so don’t screw it up, okay?”
The backpack settled in front of the couch as he slowly lowered himself back down to the cushion. “If you want me to leave, it’s fine, you know. It is late.”
“Are you trying to talk sense into me?”
Zach sat up straight and immediately dug into his bag. “Nope. Not at all. So, what will it be, sappy Keanu Reeves and Sandra Bullock time travel, or campy space superheroes with one of the greatest scores of all time?”
Unable to fight it, I smiled and shook my head. “Flip a coin. Then you’ve all got a fifty-fifty chance with me.”
Chapter 18
After a full day of rest on Wednesday, I was ready to tackle the insanity of the Fourth of July on Carrinaw Island. People from all over the area flocked to the beach every year to get the best view of the fireworks. The entire town smelled like a barbecue from about ten in the morning until well into the wee hours of the fifth. It was a tradition I remembered well from when I was a kid, and it hadn’t changed much in the years I’d been away.
I was stuck in the front of the house that afternoon, but I kept my chin up knowing that at dinner I’d be back in the kitchen and away from the ever-drunker clientele for the evening shift. The lunch rush was winding down around one-thirty, and I felt pretty good about how I’d managed the crush of people wanting in the door. Honestly, it was one of those days where I was completely on top of my game in all respects. I kept people smiling as they waited, I seated tables and got drink orders, and I booked no fewer than twenty reservations for the end of the month over the phone. Basically, I was a hostessing machine.
It was around the time I was congratulating myself on a job really well done when it the day shattered into teeny tiny pieces.
Because of course it would.
At a quarter to three, the front door opened, and I looked up with a smile. A waif-like woman with long brown hair and a patronizing look floated in as her date held the door. Right behind her, Matt freaking Rosenberg strode through the entryway. My mask of pleasantry froze on my face. Keeping it together was absolutely crucial. I wouldn’t be the cause of an incident in the restaurant just when it was finally starting to take off.
“Welcome to Le Beau Tournée,” I said mechanically. “Two?”
“The mouse can count.” Matt smirked. “Yeah, two.”
Ignoring him, I checked over the seating chart to see who was due a table next, as all of the lunch reservations had shown or cancelled. I tried not to wince when I saw Lindy’s two top was free. Matt would walk all over that poor girl. I checked over my shoulder. Everyone else was swamped.
“A table just opened up,” I said, gathering two menus and motioning them to my right. “This way, please.”
I led them through the main floor to the far corner, to a table overlooking the water. As they sat, I stood the brown leather menus up in front of them. “Your waitress will be along shortly to take your order, but today’s chef’s selection is the chateaubriand au poivre crème, accompanied by grilled asparagus, all on a bed of garlic mashed potatoes. Our soup of the day is a lobster bisque, accompanied by a leafy green salad with our house vinaigrette. Enjoy your meal, and Lindy will be by in just a moment to—”
“I’d rather you take our order, actually.” He flashed me an evil grin.
I met his look with a tight smile of my own. “In case you’re unfamiliar with fine dining, that’s typically the waiter’s job. I’m the hostess. I seat you. There’s also a chef in the back that cooks your food, and other people that take care of the things in the kitchen, like washing dishes. I’m sure your date can explain it to you further if you need more clarification.”
Not waiting for a response, I turned on my heel and walked away, heading straight for the bar where Lindy was collecting drinks for another table.
“Heads up,” I said to her quietly. “I just sat a guy at your two top that’s guaranteed to be your biggest headache this week. Don’t take his crap, and let someone know if you’re having problems, okay? He’s also underage, so no alcohol.”
Her blonde eyebrows lifted and she glanced over my shoulder. “Oh… okay. Thanks for the warning.”
My
message delivered, I glanced at the front to make sure no one else had come in before heading for the back office. A quick knock, and I poked my head in the door. “Hey, Dad?”
He looked up from the computer. “Yes?”
My face puckered as the news came out of my mouth. “Just thought I should let you know that Matt Rosenberg is out here. I don’t want there to be any trouble, but…”
His expression darkened, and he turned to the security monitor behind him, scanning the dining room for the customer in question. “Thanks, Margie. I’ll keep an eye on him. Let me know if you have any problems, all right?”
“Sure thing.” I ducked out again and headed for the hostess station.
“No, you listen.” Matt’s voice carried across the room, and I cringed. “I told you, I don’t want you to take our order, I want her to do it.”
Without looking, I could picture his face— his smug, entitled expression doing that thing where it looked like it was puffed up and swollen as he gestures wildly. I closed my eyes and counted.
Four in, eight out.
Nailing my polite smile in place, I met Lindy halfway across the dining room on my way to his table. She was pale and twitchy, and I knew she wasn’t equipped to handle the sort of abuse Matt was capable of dealing out.
“Margie, I’m so sorry, but—”
“It’s okay,” I said, touching her elbow. “I’ll take care of it.”
Sliding past her, I kept my breathing steady and my work face on. I wasn’t about to let him ruin the one place I felt needed and useful on the whole stupid island.
“Were you ready to order?” I looked at his date, keeping my focus on her so I didn’t slug him where he sat.
She gave me an apologetic shrug. “I… guess so.”
“What’s this beef thing?” Matt said, shoving his menu at me so violently, that I had to step back to dodge it.
I glanced at where he was pointing. “Beef bourguignon. It’s beef braised in Burgundy wine and broth, with garlic, onions, and mushrooms. One of our specialties.”
He waved it off, swinging his menu recklessly. “Nah, not feeling it. What about this one? How’s your cock oven, Margie Mouse?”
Not about to let him see me flinch, I ignored his gross mispronunciation. “The coq au vin is wonderful, but it requires a more refined palate to really enjoy all its nuances. Perhaps you’d be more interested in our children’s menu, since the names are easier to pronounce.”
His face turned red, matching the fire in his gaze, but I wasn’t about to back down.
Three in, six out.
Without breaking eye contact, he tipped the menu onto its spine and swept it in an arc, sending a water glass tumbling on its side and over the edge of the table. The woman he was with skittered back with a yelp as I jumped, scrambling to catch the cup. Too late, it hit the floorboards with a crash, shattering into sparkling shards.
“Better clean that up, Margie Mouse,” he said, voice low and dangerous. “We wouldn’t want anyone getting hurt.”
I backed away slowly, my tight smile covering the building rage in my gut. A few steps clear of him, I turned and hurried to fetch the dustpan.
“And bring us a bottle of your house red when you come back to make up for your clumsiness,” he called to me.
Two in, four out.
“Coming through,” I growled as I pushed into the kitchen, stomping around everyone as I went for the cleaning supplies.
“Margie? What’s going on?” Zach said, stopping me with a wet hand on my arm.
“Matt’s looking for a fight,” I shrugged out of his hold. “I swear to God I’m going to serve him that broken glass with his meal if he doesn’t—”
“Matt’s here?”
I glared, daring him to tell me to calm down.
Instead, Zach took the foxtail and dustpan from my death grip and steered me out, a towel draped over his shoulder. “I’ll get the glass, you get the replacement. Maybe I can get him to leave.”
I snorted a laugh. “Yeah, right.”
I took a drink tray and new water glass from behind the bar, angrily filling it as I replayed every second of Matt’s words since he walked through the door. Margie Mouse. Freaking Margie Mouse. Good thing for him I wouldn’t be bringing a bottle to the table, as I’d probably crack him over the head with it.
I returned with the fresh water as Zach was finishing the cleanup.
“I kinda like how you look on your knees, Robinson,” Matt mused, leaning on an elbow as he watched on. “I bet Mousy likes it too, huh?”
Zach stood, straightening to his full height. “I think you’d better leave before they make you.”
Matt chuckled. “They who? You? Geez, man, when did you become such an uptight asshole?”
“About the time I realized what a waste of skin you are.”
I froze, utterly stunned at what I was hearing.
Matt turned in his chair, smirking at me. “Looks like you’ve got him pretty well-trained, Mouse. Maybe I should upgrade your nickname from Mousy to Pu—”
Unaware I’d even moved, I flung the contents of the water glass into Matt’s face. It was another of those weird moments where everything slowed to a crawl. I didn’t feel my hand around the cup. I didn’t say a word. One second I was listening to something horrible come out of his mouth, and the next thing I knew I was walking into the back office, sitting down in the chair as my dad bolted past me to the main floor. I just sat there, staring at security camera footage as three people escorted Matt out of the building, his date trailing behind them at a distance. After maybe ten minutes, my dad came back, sitting behind the desk with a long, tired sigh and reaching for his phone.
“Dad?”
“Are you okay, Margie?”
I murmured something in the affirmative. “Can I go back to the kitchen now?”
“Probably a good idea. I’ll call your mother and have her step in as hostess until Dana comes in at four. You sure you’re all right?” His finger hovered over the screen of the phone, waiting to send the call.
I nodded, shaken, but mostly still numb. “I think a break would be a good idea, but, yes, I’ll be okay.”
To prove it, I stood and straightened my shirt, tugging my skirt down a little for good measure. He looked skeptical, but I got the impression he had too many phone calls to make to argue with me about it. With my chin high, I left his office, cutting through the bar to avoid most of the eyes that followed me across the floor.
Well, I supposed that was one way to get moved from front of the house to the back. Hooray for total public embarrassment.
* * * * *
When the kitchen closed to new orders at nine, I was more than ready for the day to be over. Thanks to Matt’s visit, everything I did the rest of the afternoon and evening was riddled with little mistakes. I caught most of them, but getting a reprimand from Chef Antoine because I was slow with the julienned zucchini was more than a little mortifying, as was tossing out the first batch that I diced without thinking.
There was still a lot of prep and cleaning to do, but the garbage can was practically overflowing it was so full. It would be about my luck that it would break as I emptied it, but it needed to get done. It was some relief that it didn’t split as I pulled the bag out, but I wasn’t going to relax until it was in the dumpster.
The dishwasher thunked shut as I heaved the bag to the floor to tie it off, and Zach was there before I knew it, taking the ties from my hands.
“I got it,” I said, grimacing. “You don’t have to—”
“It’s part of my job,” he interrupted with a smile. “Are you trying to get me fired?”
Some of my irritation vanished when he winked at me, and it was hard to keep the amusement out of my expression. “Not today, no.”
He shouldered the bag. “Then you can get the door for me.”
Leading the way, I opened up the back for him and watched him walk across the lot to the fenced-in dumpsters. My small smile faded, however, as
movement caught my eye. Someone was walking up to him.
“I gotta talk to you, Robinson.” The slur in Matt’s speech was evident even from my vantage point. How long had he been waiting there? “We have a problem.”
Through the harsh orange illumination of the streetlight, I saw Zach set the bag down outside the dumpsters and turn. “Are you drunk? Probably not a good time to discuss your problems, then.”
“Oh no, this isn’t my problem.” Matt stopped a few steps from him, and I crept out of the building, hiding myself behind a parked car to overhear. “I want to know what your problem is.”
“My problem is the way you treat other people.”
Matt snorted. “The fuck do you care? It never bothered you until Mouse came back to town.”
“Don’t,” Zach growled. “Don’t even talk about her.”
Matt took a step or two forward. “I can talk about whoever the hell I want, Robinson. So, what, you decided to go slumming and now your friends aren’t good enough for you? I thought we were bros, man. Then some chick with a nice ass and decent face leads you on a chase, and now you’d rather hang with broke losers?”
“We’re not bros, and they aren’t the losers. As far as I’m concerned now, we aren’t even friends. I’m not going to stand by and let you torture people anymore, so get out of here before someone calls the cops.”
Creeping around the edge of the car, I watched them face off, less than six inches between them. It was like watching the timer on a bomb tick down to zero.
“The cops don’t scare me.”
“They should,” Zach said. “I heard what your mom said, Matt. One more drinking incident and they’re checking you into that clinic. Is that really how you want to spend the rest of your summer? You really want to miss your first semester at Yale because you’re too fucked up to handle your guilt over Chad?”
Matt’s hand flew back, his fist connecting with Zach’s face before I had a chance to yell out a warning. As Zach staggered against the dumpster fence, I bolted from my hiding place, back inside to get help. As much as I’d love the chance to hit Matthew Rosenberg again, I wasn’t stupid enough to try it when he was in full-on rage mode. I grabbed the first person I saw, Tori, who was dumping a load of dishes to be washed.
My Bittersweet Summer Page 18
