Chapter 23
BEFORE MY SHIFT AT Monte’s, I call Jillian about seventy-six times. Each call goes straight to voicemail. I sit in bed, riddled with exhaustion, trying to figure out how exactly I’m supposed to handle this. I don’t even know where Jill is so I can go and snatch my laptop back. And assuming she is at Camilla’s, I have no idea where Camilla lives either.
For once, I take a deep breath and make a Big Girl Decision. I have to prioritize Monte’s. Today is my first day back as a waitress, which means my laptop will have to wait for another six hours. I simply have to hope that Jillian somehow doesn’t peek, doesn’t find my iDiary account, and doesn’t hate my guts.
This is going to be a long day.
But when I arrive at Monte’s, I am so unbearably excited to be a waitress again that the laptop anxiety momentarily fades. My mind is pinned on the higher pay, the tips, the frogless job. Being able to leave work and not looking like a sweaty mess. I checked my bank account the other day, and I’m so close to having enough saved up for the car. If I bring in enough tips, it’s a done deal. Not to mention that I get to see Wilson again, and that is enough to light me up from head to toe.
“I can’t believe you’re abandoning me,” Anita says, pouting.
We stand in the break room before our shift, Anita in her squirrel costume and me in the waitress uniform: jeans, a white T-shirt, and our green Monte’s Magic Castle apron tied around my waist. I smile at my reflection in the mirror, smoothing out a few wrinkles here and there. It’s been a long time coming.
“I’m not abandoning you,” I say, even though I am, sort of.
“You’re leaving me alone in the woodlands crew. Next thing I know, you’re taking Margaret’s job as the princess.”
That’s ridiculous enough to make me laugh. “I could never be a princess.”
“You were a great frog.” Anita grabs my shoulders and gently shakes me. Her eyeliner-rimmed eyes stare intensely into mine. “This doesn’t have to be the end, Jacqueline. Just get into the frog costume and we can pretend the identity crisis never happened.”
I step out of her grip. “Jackie isn’t short for Jacqueline, weirdo.”
“That’s beside the point.”
“Look, Anita. Frog Jackie is dead and gone. The quicker you move on, the better.” Satisfied with my uniform, I move on to my hair. As waitresses, we are required to have our hair tied up. This morning, Julie helped tie my curls back into a neat little bun. She even did a few braids at my temples to keep my baby hairs at bay. It actually looks pretty cute.
Anita hops off the pity train and takes a seat on the couch. “How did you even manage to convince Wilson to give you your old job back?”
Good thing I was prepared for this exact line of questioning. Before work this morning I sat in bed and planned the entire story in my head. I definitely don’t want anyone thinking that my budding relationship with Wilson is what got me the job.
I grab a bag of chips from the cupboard—the ones I picked out with Wilson at SmartMart—then take a seat next to Anita on the couch. I rip open the bag and offer her one. She takes a handful. “Remember Kenzie’s breakup letter?”
“I do,” she says, crunching away.
“Well, I made a deal with Wilson,” I share. “If I helped him win her back, he’d give me my old job back.”
Anita looks impressed. “No shit. He actually agreed to it?”
I pop a chip into my mouth. “He was desperate,” I say. And so was I .
She chews thoughtfully. “Wait— So if you got the promotion, that means he and Kenzie are back together.”
“Nope. They broke up for good yesterday.” I have to hide the giddiness from my voice. “Turns out they both moved on.”
“And he still honored your promotion?”
I nod. “He’s a man of his word.”
If she can sense that there’s information I’m leaving out, Anita doesn’t pry. Instead she reapplies a coat of gloss to her lips and smiles. “Good for you, Jackie. Don’t get me wrong, I still hate you for ditching me, but I respect the hustle.”
I grin proudly. “Thanks.”
Then our time has run out, and the clock reads nine. We punch in for our shift, and as we’re walking down the hallway to the main area, Wilson’s head peeks out from his office door. “Jackie. Do you have a minute?” I tell Anita to go on without me. She shoots me a worried look, but I insist, waving her away.
The moment I step into Wilson’s office, he shuts the door behind me.
“Hi,” we say in unison. We are both shy and nervous, trying to navigate this new dynamic.
“Nice uniform,” he adds.
“Thanks,” I say. “Froggy’s on fire out back.”
His laughter is punctured with that typical Wilson seriousness. “I think you’re joking, but as your boss, I have to ask— is the frog costume currently burning behind Monte’s?”
“Of course not,” I say. “But that costume should be burned. Or at least dry-cleaned, and maybe more than once.”
The smile on his face does something unusual to my heart. “Noted.”
He is typical Wilson today, the version of himself I have grown most attached to—neat hair, khakis, white shirt. He is so wholly him that it makes my breath catch.
He perches on the chair’s armrest. I try not to wiggle when his eyes rake me over, head to toe. “Are you sure you’re ready to be a waitress again? We can have Dominique train you for a few days—”
“Wilson,” I say very sternly, showing him that I mean business. “I was waitressing at Monte’s before you even worked here.”
“I want you to feel comfortable.”
“This is where I feel most comfortable. Didn’t Monte Jr. tell you that I consistently brought in the highest tips?”
Wilson grabs my hand and gently tugs me toward him. His eyes are soft, gentle. I feel so elated to be the one he looks at that way. “He didn’t,” he says.
“Well, I did, and you’re just going to have to take my word for it.” I know it may seem like I’m lying, but I’m not. I was a great waitress once upon a time. “And what about you? How’s that list of changes going?”
At the mention of a to-do list, I see Wilson’s entire body shift, like it’s adjusting under the weight of his responsibilities. He runs his free hand down his face and says, “I have four interviews this afternoon for cleaners, and we’re having new cameras installed by the end of the week. Inside and outside.”
I squeeze his hands. I know how hard change is for him, too, but this is a great way to start. “See? I knew you could handle it. But make sure you tell me where all those cameras are, so I know where to avoid.”
That makes him laugh, and maybe that’s what the two of us need: his sternness and my inability to take anything seriously. We are like a perfectly balanced scale.
“I’m hoping to have the floors replaced by the winter,” Wilson continues. “We’re going to have to close for a week or so.”
That’s music to my ears. “I think everyone could use a week off. Especially you.”
He blinks up at me. I don’t miss the subtle lines of exhaustion etched into his face. Suddenly, all the authority and the responsibility is stripped away, and I’m staring down at a nineteen-year-old who is keeping a family legacy together and doing a damn good job at it.
“Your dad would be so proud of you,” I say. I hope it doesn’t cross a line. I hope it doesn’t make him uncomfortable or drudge up bad feelings or—
Wilson stands up abruptly, and then he is kissing me. If his arms weren’t locked around my waist, I would’ve been knocked backward. It takes a minute for my brain to restart, and then I am right there, too, meeting him halfway. The feel of his lips, the touch of his hands, the warmth of his breath. It’s a feeling that is so new, and I never want it to get old.
“Thank you for saying that,” he says, resting his forehead on mine.
“I mean it,” I say.
“I’m proud of you, too,” he adds. “And I’m excited to see you as a waitress. To be fair, you as a frog set the bar pretty low, so it’s only up from here.”
I lightly smack his arm. “Just you wait. Soon you’ll be implementing a new Employee of the Month program strictly to award it to me.”
When Wilson laughs, his face is so close that I catch his breath with my own. “Showing you favoritism is probably a mistake.”
“Fine,” I agree. “I’ll take my rewards in private, in the form of various chocolate bars.”
I think that reminds him of something. He quickly says, “Just so you know, my entire car now smells like fried food and chocolate.”
“Then perhaps you shouldn’t have a crush on a girl who strictly consumes those two food groups.”
“Remind me to introduce you to a vegetable.”
“I would rather die.”
Wilson kisses me again. I hope that door is locked, but it doesn’t stop me from digging my fingers into his hair and holding his face to mine. I breathe in his familiar cologne. I remember how a month ago we sat in this room, arguing across the desk. Now the space is the same, but the people in it are entirely different.
When he breaks away, I meet him with a smile. “You’re going to make me late for work.”
He checks his watch and sighs. “You’re right. You should go.”
As if it physically pains him to do so, Wilson pulls away. His hands remain on my waist, his eyes locked on mine.
“You are my boss, you know,” I say. “You could just allow me to be late.”
“I could,” he says, “but we both know how much I hate tardiness.”
That makes me laugh. “I swear you’re nineteen verging on ninety.”
“I have to be mature enough for the two of us, Jackie.”
Another fantastic point.
Wilson kisses me goodbye, and I’m off, sneaking down the hallway like a ninja, checking over my shoulders to make sure no one has spotted me. It’s completely unnecessary and silly, but also sort of fun, so I continue to do it anyway. When I make it to the dining area, I realize I’m the only waitress scheduled today—which means every table is mine for the taking. Normally, I’d be stressed and annoyed with the prospect of actually having to work. Today, I feel hungry. Hungry to make some money, buy myself that Nissan, and, most important, impress Wilson.
When the first three hours of my shift go by, I’ve only had three customers: two families that showed up with their kids, and one group of teenagers that ordered both an impressive and disturbing amount of pizza.
The real money comes from serving parties—that’s where the tips are. Tables like this don’t make much, but I still have fun flexing these old muscles. The second I went to greet that first table for lunch, everything came back to me. My old greetings, the way I memorize the orders (mentally linking the food to some part of their appearance, like cheese pizza for striped shirt ), the dad jokes I used to carry in my arsenal. When the teenagers ask for hot sauce, I bring them two types. “This one is very hot,” I say, handing them the first. When I place the second bottle on the table, I finish it off with, “This one isn’t as hot, but it has a great personality.” It makes all of them laugh.
When my shift ends, it’s the most fun I’ve had at Monte’s probably ever. I meet Anita in the break room. “So?” she prompts, taking a chocolate chip muffin from the case. “Was being a waitress everything you wished for and more?”
I think the grin on my face says enough. “Anita, I forgot how fun it was.”
She looks at me like I’m crazy, but also like she’s happy for me. “Please don’t turn into some weirdo who actually enjoys being here. I can’t handle any more optimism.”
I hook my arm through hers and we head outside to the parking lot. Wilson is locked away in an interview, but I text him a quick goodbye. When we get outside, the heat slams right into me. I search for Julie’s car in the parking lot and come up empty. Which is weird. Julie is never late. She knows I finish work at three. She’s always here, parked in the first row, waiting with the windows down.
Anita holds a hand up to her eyes to block out the sun. “Something wrong?”
“My sister isn’t here.” I’m already on my phone, dialing her number.
“Damn it. Your hot sister isn’t coming today?”
“No— Not Jillian. Also, ew . I thought we agreed you’d stop with that. My other sister, Julie, was supposed to be here.” And now she’s not answering her phone either. I call two more times, and it goes right to voicemail.
“Come on.” Anita takes my hand and ushers me through the parking lot. “I’ll give you a ride home.”
Which is how I end up stuffed into her car. And when I say stuffed, I mean stuffed . The entire car is littered with garbage—plastic water bottles, fast-food bags, too many receipts to count. There are even black eyeliner pencils everywhere. I find two of them in the cupholder and one wedged between the seat. It makes me desperately miss Wilson’s car, with its fresh leather scent and freakishly clean interior.
During the drive home I try to call Julie two more times. Both go straight to voicemail, which makes a steady beat of panic creep into my chest. Julie always answers her phone. If I miss one of her calls, she assumes I’m somewhere dead in a ditch and has 911 on standby. For her to not answer, something must be wrong.
When Anita pulls up in front of my house, the answer stares me straight in the face.
Jillian is home.
Her car is parked in the driveway, like it never left.
That must be why Julie isn’t answering. She and Jill are either talking through their fight or are so deep into a screaming match that their voices drown out the ringtone.
After thanking Anita for the ride, I creep up my driveway. I try to peer into the windows, but the blinds are closed. Which means I’m going to have to handle this the old-fashioned way.
I unlock the door and step inside to meet my fate—
Julie and Jillian are sitting side by side on the couch, staring at me. On the cushion between them is my laptop. And on the screen is my iDiary account.