Piper
It was touch and go, getting Tati to Blitz Brews.
As soon as she got home from work, I spouted a carefully crafted lie about getting started on my college admission essays.
While she seemed pleased, she didn’t jump at the chance to reward me.
She’s never been the positive reinforcement type—not with me or herself.
As she often reminds me, she doesn’t have the time or the money to indulge.
She’s got to stay focused and keep a roof over our heads.
Okay, Tati.
I insisted on dinner out, guilted her into it with the phrase I use sparingly and judiciously—Mom and Dad would have taken me. Then I offered to drive because I’d strategically waited until she’d had a glass of wine to suggest leaving home.
When I pull her Volvo into the parking lot of Blitz Brews, she has an absolute fit.
“What’s the big deal?” I say as I shift into park. “I want seafood.”
“I’d rather have Italian.”
“That’s stupid.” I open the door and step into the balmy night.
“It’s hot. I’m not eating heavy pasta when fresh fish is an option.
” I walk toward the restaurant with her keys in hand.
Obstinate as she is, I don’t think she’ll opt to broil in the car while I eat red snapper in an air-conditioned sports bar.
Behind me, a car door slams.
“Wait up!” she calls.
***
I see Henry before he sees me.
He’s sitting at the bar, talking to his dad.
My heart manages a swoop of excitement before I bully it back into submission.
He’s in jeans and a gray T-shirt, and his hair is disheveled in its usual way. His sunburn has become a tan, and it’s doing him all kinds of favors.
I’m looking at him not like a hot guy, I realize, but like a hot guy with potential.
A flurry of nerves kicks up in my stomach.
Henry’s my buddy, my neighbor, my partner in crime.
He’s not a prospect.
And anyway, tonight isn’t about him or the undeniable exhilaration I feel when I think about being with him. Tonight’s about Tati and Davis.
I speak to the hostess while my sister squirms beside me.
It’s strange, acting as the adult in our duo, but I manage, requesting a table because those are closer to the bar than the booths circling the restaurant’s perimeter.
“For four,” I whisper while Tati’s distracted, digging around in her purse for her trusty Ruby Woo.
We have to wait a few minutes. The longer we stand in the lobby, the more my sister resembles a caged and very agitated tiger. I elbow her as she rocks from foot to foot and take immense pleasure in saying, “Holy balls, Tati. Stand still already.”
“I’m trying,” she mutters, opening a compact to apply her lipstick.
Oh my god, this is the best.
I sneak another peek at Henry, who’s guzzling soda. He looks nervous. But then his eyes collide with mine and spark with light. I smile. His whole face comes alive.
It’s a heady feeling, wielding the power to animate someone so vividly.
“Let’s go,” Tati snaps, pushing me forward, shattering the trance I’ve fallen into.
The hostess has taken off, weaving through the crowded tables. I follow. My sister trails close behind, like she’s using me as a buffer.
As soon as we’re seated, my name rings out.
I make sure to widen my eyes and drop my jaw. Henry’s walking toward us, wearing the same What on earth are you doing here? expression I’m feigning.
“Hey,” he says. “Here for dinner?”
“Yep. You remember Tati?”
He gives my sister a nod. “It’s wild running into you guys here.”
“Oh?” I smile up at him. “Why’s that?”
“This is my dad’s restaurant.” Subtly, he winks at me. He’s a cute winker, not a smarmy winker. Of course he is.
My stomach’s flitting around again, same as when he grinned at me a few minutes ago.
God—I’m attracted to Henry.
I mean, I’ve been attracted to a dreamy, idealized version of Henry for the last three years, but that was meaningless, because that Henry was just a fantasy.
This Henry, this flesh-and-blood, studious boy who wants to go to West Point and likes to dip his fries in tartar sauce and thinks he’s too good to read the Delphina trilogy?
He’s real, and he’s standing right in front of me, smiling like he’s been waiting all night to set eyes on me.
I’m not sure I have a type, but if I have an anti-type, it’s Henry Walker.
And yet…
He turns to Tati. “My dad opened Blitz Brews a few years ago.”
“How nice for him,” my sister says, voice tight.
A beat of silence passes before I remember the script and gesture to the chair beside mine. “Henry, you should join us.”
“Oh, I don’t want to intrude.”
“You wouldn’t be. Right, Tati?” I frown at my sister and call, “Hello—Earth to Tati?”
She’s scanning the restaurant like a lifeguard scanning the beach.
I say her name again, sharp with impatience.
“Oh!” she says with a nervous laugh. “What?”
I roll my eyes. “I was telling Henry he should join us.”
“And I said no thanks. Third wheel and all.” He’s good—hitting the beats we discussed right on cue, his tone light, his vibe virtuous. “Actually, though,” he says, touching his chin. “My dad’s here. I could go get him. Then there’d be four of us.”
“I don’t think—” Tati starts.
I beat her to the punch. “Yes! Go get him!”
Henry motors away, giving Tati no time to manufacture an argument.
She fidgets.
I sip my ice water.
Henry returns with his dad.
The astonishment that splashes over Davis’s face is pure comedy.
“Dad,” Henry says, “you remember Piper? This is her sister, Tati.”
They stare at one another, wearing matching expressions of stupefaction. I sense that they’d like to pretend this is their first encounter, except Tati knows I’ve met Davis, and Davis, of course, remembers me. There’s no way to create a convincing nice to meet you narrative.
“Davis,” Tati says in the same intrigued but wary way someone might say viper.
“Nice to see you again, Tati.”
“Hang on,” Henry says with contrived—though convincing—disbelief. “You two know each other?”
“We’re acquainted,” Tati says.
I grin. “Small world.”
“Sure is,” Davis says, making eyes at my sister.
Tati glares at me. She’s on to our plan.
Oh well.
“You guys really should sit,” I say. “You know, since we’re all friendly.” I push the chair next to me out, and Henry slides into it, leaving his dad to round the table and take the seat beside Tati.
We’re silent for a few minutes, scrutinizing our menus, until a server drops by to take our orders.
Davis and Henry have already had dinner, apparently, so they choose desserts, and Davis asks for a beer.
I begrudgingly agree to share a crab cake sandwich with my calorie-conscious sister.
I’d prefer my own entree, as I’d like to eat my feelings; so far, this setup isn’t going great.
Our table is a melancholy island in the otherwise exuberant ocean of the sports bar.
But Henry seems unflustered, so I try to chill.
“Haven’t heard from you in a while,” Davis says, twisting in his seat to look at Tati.
“Yes, well. I haven’t had a lot to say.”
“Funny. That wasn’t the case last time we were together.”
Whoa—I’ve never seen a man contradict my sister. They usually fall all over themselves to win her good graces.
She’s got no response, so he must have a point.
“Where’d you guys meet?” Henry asks.
Davis smiles wistfully. “The beach. We were both out for a walk. Ended up walking together.”
“Piper and I met at the pool,” Henry volunteers. “Twice. This last time, she fell in.”
“Had she been drinking?” my sister asks.
He’s caught off guard. “I, uh, don’t think—”
“No,” I interject. “Jeez, Tati.”
“If she was with my boy,” Davis says, “she wasn’t getting into any trouble. He’s the most responsible kid on the planet.”
“I’d take responsible over reckless any day,” Tati says.
A reckless drunk—how wonderful to know that’s how she sees me.
“I don’t know,” Davis says after a swig of beer. “Sometimes responsible gets boring. I’d like to see Henry live a little. Make some mischief once in a while.”
Tati huffs. “And I’d like Piper to stop seeking mischief out.”
I find myself leaning closer to Henry, my ally in this agony.
He smells soapy and crisp. For a second, I let myself imagine what it’d be like to cocoon under his arm.
The phantom sensations—warmth, safety, comfort—surprise me.
I haven’t felt the urge to touch anyone or be touched since before that night with Damon.
When I’m with Henry, though, I don’t feel on edge.
If I were to ask him to slow down or back off or leave altogether, I’m confident he would.
Across the table, Tati’s shoulders are starting to relax, even as she goes on about what a piece of work I am. Davis appears amused.
I elbow Henry and mutter like a ventriloquist, “What is happening?”
“They’re connecting,” he says close to my ear.
“Yeah, by talking shit about me.”
He shrugs. “And me. The boring one.”
“She’s so impulsive,” Tati’s telling Davis. “So careless. And dishonest!”
I’m tempted to defend myself, but I did lie about my college essays earlier, so I’m not operating with the cleanest track record. I might be sort of impulsive and a bit careless and a little dishonest sometimes. So what?
“He’s got his whole future planned out,” Davis says, waving a hand toward Henry. “He gets up every morning to run. He’s never without a book.”
Tati laughs—laughs! “Hey, now. I like to read.”
“No shit. I’ve seen the library you call a living room. And what’s so wrong with a little impulsiveness anyway?” he asks, nodding in my direction. “Adventure’s hard to find when you’re married to a blueprint.”
Well. Davis might be okay.
I’m no body language expert, but Tati must think so too. She’s swiveled her chair toward him and is inclining her shoulders in his direction. She looks at him like he’s preaching gospel, which is crazy because she disagrees with literally everything he’s saying.
Davis seems positively entranced by my sister.
“Speaking of blueprints,” he says, “what’ve you got going on later this week?”
“Oh, gosh. I’d have to check my day planner.”
For a second, I think Tati’s being serious. But her eyes are sparkling, and her mouth is quirked into a smile aimed right at Davis, and I realize that—holy shit—she’s teasing him. Flirting with him.
“Yeah, I’ve seen your day planner,” he says, matching her grin. “Work, work, work. I assume you’re free evenings and weekends?”
“I might be,” Tati says. “Depending on what you have in mind.”
Davis stretches an arm over the back of her chair. He’s not touching her—not being handsy or too forward—but there’s something suave about his posture. Tati’s fixated on him as he says, “How about we go someplace nice? Someplace fancy.”
Henry leans toward me and whispers, “How hungry are you?”
“Pretty hungry.”
“Cool. Let’s get out of here, and I’ll buy you a burger somewhere else.”
I glance back at Tati and Davis. If this were a rom-com, the next scene would be a montage of the rest of their evening, set to a peppy song.
The two of them trading anecdotes about their teenagers, Tati sharing her crab cake, Davis feeding her bites of his mud pie.
They’d laugh and flirt. His palm would migrate to the small of her back.
Her hand would land on his leg. And then, when the moon is high, they’d head out to the beach, where they first met. They’d kiss, silhouetted by starlight.
“Yeah,” I tell Henry. “Let’s bail.”