Four Letter Word
Page 22

“Absolutely,” I answered, head down.
“Is it Marcus?”
I kept the screen close to my body, shielded from prying eyes, and shook my head in response to Tori’s question while my insides tingled with a strange energy.
“My mom,” I lied, then winced because I lied, but I didn’t know if I could tell Tori who was really texting me, or if I should.
We didn’t keep secrets, but I was getting butterflies from a boy who wasn’t my husband.
What would she think of me?
“They have phones on the Ark?” Tori joked, touching my arm when I giggled and moving past me. “We have another table. I’ll get them started while you converse with Mary Magdalene.”
I nodded and stepped back until my hip touched the counter. My thumb slid across the screen.
Wild Thing. Good first day?
 
 
I looked up and saw Tori engrossed in waitress duties at Table 4, squinted, then realized she was smiling and nodding at Table 13, all while she held a hand behind her back and flipped Jamie the bird.
He found it amusing, a giant grin plastered on his face.
I laughed while I replied, but the smile lighting me up was because Brian remembered it was my first day.
Did Marcus ever wish me a good first day? I couldn’t remember.
So far so good, Trouble. What’s shaking with you?
My head at that old as shit phrase.
What? What’s shaking isn’t an old as shit phrase. Badass redheads use it all the time.
Think you might be the only one, babe.
Think you’re wrong, BABE.
You being cute?
Maybe.
Like that. Keep it up.
 
 
Giggling and feeling half my age, I glanced up at the sound of my name and saw Tori waving me over.
Gotta go. Tables to wait.
Me too. Meeting friends for lunch.
Later.
Later, Wild.
 
 
I tucked my phone away and joined Tori at Table 13, took their orders correctly—there weren’t any losers at that table—ripped the ticket off and gave it to Stitch myself, then helped her with drinks, carrying two glasses while she juggled three.
“Fuck,” I heard mumbled behind us while distributing the beverages.
I straightened and turned my head.
Jamie pushed up from the booth, his eyes heavy on his phone.
“Dash got a call. We gotta get back,” he directed at A, who immediately slid across the bench and took a final sip of his Sprite.
“Shit,” he muttered. “That sucks.”
“Yo, Legs. We need to get this to go.” Jamie cut his eyes to Tori and pulled out his wallet. He tipped his chin. “Wrap it up, babe.”
Babe.
I immediately thought of Brian, pulling in breath through my nose as the phone in my pocket seemed to triple in weight.
“Whatever,” Tori mumbled before she took off across the room.
I remained in place, watching Jamie toss two fifties on the table and Exhibit A a ten and a twenty, which was insanity.
No freaking way did the meal they were taking with them cost more than thirty dollars.
I raised my hand to bring to attention the monumental overtipping when Tori came rushing back over, bag in hand, which she wasted no time thrusting at Jamie’s chest.
“There. Enjoy your Reuben.”
He stared at her, looked down into the bag with a finger fishing through Styrofoam containers, then lifted his head and grinned, all crooked and rascal.
“Look at you, knowing what I like.”
Tori scoffed.
Exhibit A stood and thanked us under his breath before trailing behind Jamie out the door.
I wasn’t the only one watching through tilted shutter shades as the Boys of Summer climbed into a vintage sky blue Jeep with boards stacked on the roof.
It pulled to the end of the lot, dust kicking up behind the tires before it settled and cleared.
A bright yellow sticker on the bumper read, If it swells, ride it.
I chuckled.
Tori held up one finger while her other hand swiped the cash off the table, mumbling, “Ride this, loser.”
We giggled and high-fived.
Two hours later I slipped into the lounge for some privacy and tugged out my phone during my second fifteen-minute break. I typed with one hand while my other twirled a lock of red.
Hey, Trouble. Good lunch with your amigos?
 
 
He took twenty-three minutes to respond. I read it behind the bar with my back to my best friend.
Day went to shit, Wild. Busy. Talk later.
 
 
* * *
I got home from work with Tori a little after eight o’clock.
It was a long first day and we were both starving, which was funny seeing as we worked around food all day and, thus, ate an abundance of that food all day.
After changing out of my uniform and into my sleepy pants, I took the leftover shrimp tacos out of the fridge, heated what needed to be heated in the microwave while Tori danced around me with plates in her hands, then joined her on the couch, where we ate our dinner with some wine and watched the first episode of True Blood, because our vampire-loving hearts were missing Eric and his fantastic head of hair.
We loved Season 1 Eric. His hair was on point.
Not that he wasn’t still attractive with short hair after Pam had to cut it, because he was, this is Eric we’re talking about, but we just loved it all long and free-like.
“Made for tugging,” Tori snickered.
When I started yawning through Episode 4, I gave my best friend a kiss on the cheek and climbed the stairs, leaving her on the couch since she wasn’t tired yet and, as she put it, “Needed more of her LaLa.”
I caught the last remaining notes of my generic ringtone as I reached my bedroom. And because I didn’t know who was calling me and Brian had texted me “Talk later,” this being Later, I lunged for the phone and accepted the call, not bothering to glance at the name flashing on the screen before I did it.
“Hello?”
“Sydney Dawn, how are you, sweetheart?”
I fell back on the bed with a hand pressed to my forehead, the heel digging into my closed eye.
I should’ve checked the caller ID.
Rookie.
“Hey, Mom. I’m good. How are you?”
“You’re good?” She sounded appalled. “You leave your husband and you’re good? Well, I’m sorry, darling, but I don’t like this. I don’t like it one bit. You should not be good, Sydney.”
“Mom.”
I clenched my teeth.
“You know what scripture says. Marriage is a binding contract. One you do not simply walk away from. You should be sticking this out, in your home, not shacking up with Tori and living the single life doing God knows what. She’s always walked a thin line, if you ask me.”
“Mm. That’s funny. I don’t remember asking you anything.”
“Don’t give me lip,” my mother snapped in her finger-waving-in-my-face tone. “It’s disrespectful.”
I bent my knees and dug my bare toes into the comforter. My calves tensed.
“Don’t talk about my best friend, Mom. It’s really uncool.”
“I’m simply saying, you should be home, with your husband and dealing with this as a couple. It takes two, dear, and you’re backing out when you should be fighting for your marriage.”