14 McKenna #3
my best to look graceful as I chew the large wad of pasta while also sort of smiling back and raising my own hand in return.
“Ooh, who you waving at?” Rae asks from across the table as she twists in her seat to get a look. Rae’s also dressed up, wearing
a cute yellow sundress that complements her olive skin. When her eyes land on Beck, he waves at her too. Without turning away
from him, she whacks the arm of our friend Chloe. “McKenna’s making eyes at that guy over there,” she teases. “Is that Matthew
McConaughey’s son you’re drooling at or what?”
“I am not drooling!” I give her a mock glare. “And turn back around, would you?”
“Maybe McKenna’s getting ready to end her dry spell,” Rae singsongs, and several girls laugh along, myself included.
I’ve made no secret of the fact that I’m not interested in finding a boyfriend until I finish my degree.
Some others on the team might be able to handle the demands of swimming, schoolwork, and a committed relationship. Not me.
Even so, I can at least say hello to the guy.
“He’s just the brother of one of my students at the club,” I explain. “I should go say hi for a second though.” I start pushing
out my chair as all the girls hoot and whistle. I can feel my cheeks turning crimson, but I can’t sit back down without looking
like even more of a fool.
“Hey!” I snap at them in a whisper-shout. I point a finger at Rae, then move it along to indicate several girls at the table.
“Behave!”
As I near the back corner of the restaurant, Beck’s in a deep discussion with his companion, both of them making sweeping
hand gestures as they debate something. The other guy, a short, skinny dude who looks a little older, has on an apron that’s
covered with splotches of red sauce. I’m suddenly less sure I should interrupt, but then Beck notices me and motions me over.
“McKenna, hi!” He gives me a slow grin, and I realize that Rae’s right. With his high forehead, deep-set eyes, and lazy smile,
Beck does look like he could be Matthew McConaughey’s son. “Help us out here. What are your thoughts on basil-and-lemon-infused
olive oil?”
“My thoughts on . . .” I hesitate, caught off guard. “I’m sorry, what?”
“This is my buddy Damon,” Beck says, switching gears.
Damon reaches out to shake my hand. “His uncle runs this place, but I’d wager Damon’s the best chef in the family.
He makes all the fresh pasta you ladies have been enjoying.
God of the pasta wheel, we call him. Uncle Joey’s finally letting our friend Damon add a couple new dishes to the menu, and I was talking through some of the ideas with him. ”
“Lucky for me,” Damon says with an easy smile, “Beck’s got one trick after another up his sleeve.”
I look back at Beck. “Is that so?”
“Aw, now you guys are making me blush,” he jokes.
“How do you know so much about cooking?” I ask. “Aren’t you a marine biologist or something?”
“Or something.” The corner of his lip lifts, and then I remember Leo told me his brother was an environmental conservationist.
“Cooking’s always been more of a pipe dream, but sometimes we have to make choices.”
“So why’d you choose tide pools over kitchens?”
“Chefs keep some pretty cracked hours,” he says, giving Damon a small nod. “Figured I was better off following the path that’d
let me be around for my brother, help my folks.” He shrugs as though it’s no big deal, but I think it probably costs him more
than he’s saying. Even so, isn’t family worth any sacrifice?
“Is it worth it?” I ask, giving voice to my thoughts.
“You know it.” He grins lazily, his eyes lingering on my face, and I wonder if Leo knows his brother is such a shameless flirt.
“Okay, well, I don’t want to stand in the way of culinary genius. It was nice meeting you, Damon. See you, Beck.”
He opens his mouth to say something else, but I pretend not to notice, turning away and hurrying back to my table. In another life, I’d have stuck around a little longer to see where the conversation might lead, but just like Beck, I have commitments of my own.
Back at our table, I see that Jenna Wynn, our best backstroker, is now sitting in my chair.
“Here,” she says, moving herself halfway over on the seat. “Squeeze in.” She takes a piece of calzone from my plate, biting
off a large chunk, then pushes the plate in my direction. Across from us, Rae is rattling off movie titles, which I deduce
are forming the basis of some sort of top-ten list, and everyone keeps shouting and laughing about how bad her selections
are. She’s hamming it up for them, listing one movie after the next, and I feel myself smiling just watching it all.
Jenna’s arm is flush against mine, and we both ignore the fact that this chair is way too small for two people, especially
when they have glutes as muscular as ours. Instead, I give her a nudge.
“Pass me that dish.” I point with my other hand.
I dump a scoopful of rigatoni onto the plate we’re apparently sharing, reveling in the closeness I feel to these girls, my
swim family, and reminding myself there are plenty of times when the choices I’ve made don’t feel like sacrifices at all.