Getting Over Garrett Delaney (15 page)

“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.

“Don’t even think I’ve forgotten about the frozen yogurt incident.
Imbécile!
”

And so instead of being the most humiliating experience of my entire life (OK, as well as), my oh-so-public meltdown actually turns out to be a meager token from the Gods of Fresh Starts. Because suddenly, I’m not alone in this anymore. Instead of being scornful, they actually want to help. I can’t believe it. Even Dominique comes around (when she’s done laughing all over again at my plight), probably to spite Carlos, or at the prospect of pulling out her military dictator act in the guise of a good cause.

Dominique. Helping.

I know.

“Repeat after me: I don’t need a guy to feel good about myself.” LuAnn prods me with a pair of serving tongs. Barely a week has passed since I came clean to them all, but already she’s settled in to her role as tutor-slash-slave-driver extraordinaire, determined to rid me of my love for good.

“LuAnn!” I protest. “I’m not out obsessing over every guy I meet. This is about Garrett.”

“Repeat it!” she orders, prodding me harder. “I’m serious, kid. You need to say it until you believe it. Fake it till you make it.”

I sigh. Arguing will only prolong the fight. “I don’t need a guy to feel good about myself,” I parrot obediently. “There, happy? Now, can I get my phone back?

“Ask Dom.” LuAnn shrugs. “She’s the communications keeper.”

This strategy — holding my phone hostage, except for brief visitation rights on my breaks — is designed to keep me from another crawling-on-the-floor incident.

I scoot around the counter to where Dominique is sitting at a back table, freshening her manicure before her shift starts. “Phone?” I ask. “Pretty please?”

She doesn’t look up. “You’ve still got another half hour.”

“But I promised I’d call my dad,” I say. “I’m taking the afternoon off to meet him in the city, remember?”

“You know the rules.” Entirely unimpressed, she blows on a freshly painted nail. “And you’re the one who asked me to keep it away from you.”

I sigh. She’s right — we picked Dominique for this because we knew she’d never let me slip. LuAnn is the voice of reason, Kayla my cheerleader, and Dominique? She’s the hard-ass, and thus perfect for minding my cell phone, letting me have it only for approved callers and rationed texts to Garrett. But right now, her hard-assedness is the last thing I need, when I have a legitimate reason for needing that phone.

“Come on, Dom.”

She glares.

“Dominique,” I correct myself quickly. “He needs to know which bus I’m taking.” Right on cue, my cell begins to ring. She starts painting the other hand.

“Just look at the caller ID!” I tell her, “It’s not Garrett, I swear.”

With infinite slowness, Dominique plucks my phone from her purse and checks the screen. “Fine,” she says, rolling her eyes. “You can take it. But no cheating!”

I take it eagerly. “Hey, Dad.”

“Hey, pumpkin, what’s going on?”

“Nothing much, just work.” I drift toward the back hallway, away from the chatter at the front of the café. “I’m just leaving. I’ll be on the eleven o’clock bus. We get in about two —”

“Here’s the thing,” he interrupts. “They canceled our shows here, so we’re heading up to Montreal for a last-minute booking.”

I stop. “Canada?”

“I know — it’s crazy.” He laughs. “I really wanted to see you, but we have to drive through the night to make it tomorrow. I’m sorry,” he says, “but we’ll do something when I get back — I promise.”

“Oh.” I recover. “Sure, that’s fine.”

“OK, I’ve got to run. They’re loading up the van. I’ll call you later, OK? Love you!”

“Love you,” I repeat dully, hanging up.

I stay there in the narrow space, trying not to feel that familiar wave of disappointment. He does this too often, changing plans on a whim, and although I thought I was too old to feel let down by him again, I can’t help the tightness in my throat and the flashbacks to being twelve, thirteen, fourteen: waiting on the couch at home for him to come pick me up, invariably an hour late.

“What’s up?”

I blink. Josh has paused from salad assembly and is watching me through the open kitchen door, his hair looping out from under his baseball cap in lazy curls.

“It’s nothing.” I force a smile. “Just, I was going to go to Boston to see my dad. But he can’t make it.” I shrug, nonchalant. “I guess that means I can take my shift after all.”

“What’s this about Boston?” LuAnn bounces beside me, a riot of patterns in a floral tea dress and striped cardigan. “Are you going to meet Garrett? Sadie, you know that’s forbidden.
Verboten! Prohibido!
”

“Interdite,”
Dominique adds, coming up behind her.

“No!” I yelp, cornered. “It has nothing to do with Garrett. And I’m not even going. I was going to see Jonny Pardue with my dad, but he can’t make it.”

“Jonny’s playing?” Josh asks, looking over with interest. “I saw him last year. He’s pretty great live.”

“I know.” I sigh. “I guess I’ll catch him on his next tour.”

“No need!” LuAnn exclaims. “Let’s.”

“What?”

“Go see him.” She grins. “I could use a break from this town. Ooh, road trip!” she sings out in glee. Dominique turns to make a hasty retreat. “Not so fast, missy.” LuAnn grabs her arm. “You can come, too!”

“I think not,” Dominique replies, looking mildly disturbed at the thought. “Besides, somebody has to cover if you all take off on some idiotic trip.”

“True.” LuAnn releases her. “Thanks for offering. You’re the best!” She makes as if to hug her, but Dominique has learned from her mistakes and backs away, disappearing into the café in a flash of crisp cotton.

“Look, you don’t have to.” I try to calm LuAnn before she gets carried away on her usual tide of enthusiasm. “It’s fine. I can go in another time … and if I’m not seeing dad … well, there’s not much point.”

“Sure there is: shopping!” She clasps her hands together. “My wardrobe is crying out for new stuff. This is perfect. Josh?” LuAnn turns to him, batting her eyes. “Wanna tag along?”

“Come on.” He groans. “Shopping?”

LuAnn sighs. “And music, and food, and other manly things. You don’t have to stick with us all day. Go look at the harbor or something while we do the girly stuff. Pretty please?”

He pauses, thinking. “I guess I could walk the Freedom Trail again or tour Fenway Park —”

“Perfect!” LuAnn leans through the window and gives him a loud kiss on the cheek. “Sadie, want to call what’s-her-name? Kaylie?”

“Kayla,” I say, still thrown. “Um, sure. But —”

“No buts!” she demands. “Well, except Josh’s, and that’s only because he’s so cute.” She blows him a kiss. He mimes catching it. “Come on.” LuAnn shoos me out of the hallway. “I’ll get music, you grab some snacks for the road. This is going to be the best!”