Chapter 33
33
Tatum
Once a month, Sunday morning at Rita’s Diner is bingo time. I pass out the cards and stampers to the elderly diners with a smile. This is me in my prime, putting on a show for an audience of seniors. It’s always been my favorite event of ours, and not because it’s some pillar of sweet, innocent fun. No. The seniors of Trove Hills are lethal in their competitiveness. There are high-dollar restaurant coupons on the line. Sometimes even electronics. When one of the prizes was a flat-screen TV, I thought Mr. Tompkins and this usually very mild-mannered old woman named Anne were going to go into our parking lot and fist-fight over it, and neither of them even won. It was just that serious.
“How come you never play with us?” my dad asks when I reach his table.
“I have to work,” I tell him. “I’m not meant to be on the other side of the fence. I don’t think I’m safe among your kind.”
“Nonsense,” Denise calls out from behind the counter. “You can join them for a game!”
She’s been in unusually good spirits with me. It seems to be because generally, I’m a mope. She hasn’t said that. She just keeps gassing me up for silly things like bingo, or letting me leave when it’s slow instead of making me inventory our sauces or wipe down the sugar ramekins like she used to do. The cooks are the ones who’ve told me I’ve been a bad time lately, because as usual, they don’t believe in subtlety.
Despite knowing they’re right, I haven’t been able to change my ways. It’s so nice to just slump around and pity myself sometimes. It’s beautiful, really. They’d do the same thing if they got a letter from June. I think I’m handling it pretty well, all things considered.
“This is great,” Dad says when I sit down, kissing me on the side of my forehead.
“Don’t forget to grab a stamper,” Mom reminds me, peering up through her readers. She’s scanning some article on her phone, and in the moment, she looks so unbelievably old that it steals my breath.
My mom and dad love bingo. They’ve been joining us at Rita’s every Sunday for years. They used to be the youngest people in the group. Gradually, they’ve started to fit right in. Obviously that’s how time works, but it still surprises me. In my mind, they’re the same parents they’ve always been, but every so often, I can see them for who they’ve become, and it scares me a little. I can never stop the clock.
“Room for one more?”
The sound of the voice cannot belong to who I think it does. This has to be my mind playing tricks on me.
“Hello there!” my dad says in his doctor voice, overly bright and friendly. “You’re more than welcome to join us at this table, so long as you don’t mind my elbow. I’m left-handed.”
June slides into the seat across from me, sitting next to my dad. I can see the exact moment he smells her, the cloud of heavenly scent that wafts around her every move. It puts him further at ease, and he hands her a stamper and a stack of bingo cards. He gives me an eyebrow wriggle he thinks is discrete. Luckily, June isn’t paying attention to him.
She’s looking at me.
All the while, I stare back in disbelief. She has managed to get more beautiful, or maybe absence has done that thing I’m always hearing about—made me grow fonder. She’s got her hair in her natural curls now, pulled up into a half ponytail, framing the exquisite roundness of her face. Her lips are a dark ruby. There’s that touch of highlighter she loves on each cheek, drawing forward all her best features.
She holds a single coral rose, the same as the one in the bouquet she got for our first date. I shouldn’t be staring at her. I know I’m betraying my own feelings by showcasing all of my yearning in this single unbroken look. But I can’t help myself.
“Excuse me,” I say. “I’ll be right back.”
Dashing behind the counter and into the back kitchen, out of sight of all the customers, I pull out my phone to do the only thing that makes sense to me right now—text the group chat.
Tatum: She’s here.
Emmett responds in seconds.
Emmett: Shut the fuck up.
Presley joins just as fast.
Presley: Who?
Before I can answer, Nya’s name appears on the screen. The gang’s all here for me.
Nya: Obviously June. Is she on her knees groveling?
Tatum: I don’t know. I got up before we could speak.
After the website submission, I caved and told them everything. There was no way to keep it to myself anymore. They’ve been begging me to act on it, pressuring me to show up at the baby shower June mentioned in the letter. Nya even found the gift registry for the cousin, which led to figuring out the exact date and time of the event. It’s today, I realize, putting it all together. In a few hours.
She’s come to see me beforehand.
Nya: Tatum.
Emmett: TATUM!
Presley: Go back there!
Tatum: She’s got the coral rose. She’s definitely the one who wrote the request.
Nya: Of fucking course she wrote it. You think there’s another person who wants to talk to you about how they mix ranch and mustard and barbecue sauce together or whatever it is she does?
Presley: She should’ve mentioned soup. Then we’d have known for sure much earlier.
Nya: We’ve always known for sure. Tatum’s just pretending we haven’t because she’s in shock.
Presley: Did we ever find out what she thinks of it, though?
Nya: Not now.
She chooses a previous text of mine to reply to next.
Nya: What did she say before you got up?
Tatum: She didn’t say much. Just asked if we had room at our table. My dad answered, which is a whole other layer of mortification.
Emmett: Tatum, if you don’t get back out there I am going to fly to Trove Hills and shove you out there myself.
Tatum: Excellent. I can be solidly into Michigan by that point, headed for my brand-new life.
Nya: You took a risk in New York, and she rejected you. She took a risk with the letter, and you rejected her by ignoring it. You’re even. What are you so afraid of now?
Tatum: Myself.
Nya: Well, boo, bitch, scare yourself into moving it along and getting your girl. We’re waiting. And so is she.
I run my hand through my hair, setting the stray pieces I didn’t bother to fix before leaving. It’s not what I hoped to be wearing—no-slip shoes and raggedy black jeans that smell of fryer grease. But this is the Tatum she’s always known. And I do have on my winged eyeliner, which means a lot. Still, I have to take out the compact mirror I keep in my staff locker, giving myself a once-over.
When I return to the diner, June and my parents are smiling and laughing like old friends reunited.
“There she is,” my dad says, noticing me first.
June looks up. The comfortable smile on her face gets replaced with something like worry. It’s here that I notice her new pea coat, long and plaid, and a new pair of brown heeled boots that match one of the shades in the coat.
“Hi, June,” I say shyly. “Could we talk?”
“Sure,” she says. “I’d like that.”
“Let’s go out back.”
“What about your bingo game?” my mom calls out.
“Play it for me, please. And if I win, it’s yours,” I tell her.
“If you say so,” she mutters. “Kinda defeats the point, but okay.”
I lead us out the diner’s back exit, past our dumpsters and off to the far edge of the parking lot, which presses up against the forest preserve. This is as private as it gets here. Only the cooks come out to this part when they want to take a smoke break. I resist the urge to press up against June, and I settle for leaving a sliver of space between us.
“I tried to write to you,” June tells me, confirming it was her. “I’m not sure if you got it.”
“I did,” I tell her.
This takes her by surprise, which surprises me in return. It’s a soft kind of heartbreak that unfolds on her face. The way she bared herself in that letter is not easy for anyone to do. My defenses lower, making space for what I really want to say.
“I was so hurt by what you said to me on the phone,” I tell her. “That you wouldn’t even hear me out about my feelings on New York. It just totally shut me down. I should’ve said a real goodbye to you at least. I’m really sorry I didn’t.”
“I understood,” she said. “I would’ve shut me out too.”
“But you were right,” I say. “I wasn’t ready to leave my family. We were still figuring everything out. The timing was wrong.”
“Is it still wrong?” she asks, eyes flickering down to my mouth.
“Not at all,” I tell her. Cupping her chin with my hand, I pull her toward me. And I kiss her.
It’s nothing like the heady moment in Eleanor’s living room. If that was fire, this is water, cool and refreshing, waking me up to the wonder of this sensation. My arms wrap around her waist as her hand finds the small of my back. The kiss, first delicate, becomes deeper. Less restricted. My mind, usually racing with thoughts, turns static. For once, I am here, right where I am meant to be, no resistance left.
When June pulls back, a smile blooms on her face. She presses her nose to mine, grabbing the back of my neck to do it.
“I’m so sorry it took me so long to get this right,” she says.
“June, I forgave you the moment you sent me that email. Forgive me for not replying.”
“You didn’t have any revisions? No neater way to say what I was trying to put into words?”
I kiss her again, quick. A seal of approval. “You said it better than I ever could. I would never want to edit you. I was just scared. I still am.”
She puts her lips to my ear. “Me too,” she whispers.
“Okay,” I tell her, grabbing her hands. “Let’s just be scared together.”
“I can’t stay long,” she tells me. “But I wanted to see you. And I want to see you again.”
“Go on a date with me,” I blurt out. “Tomorrow night. If you’re still here. I seem to recall you owing me a favor.”
“Yes,” she says, beaming. “Of course.”
I beam right back. “I’ll pick you up at seven.”