12. Meg
12
MEG
I had literally just come back from the library and sat down when Beefcake, AKA Derek called and suggested an evening of fun.
Which I was always up for, you never had to ask me twice.
So usually, I’d be all-in for a rendezvous with him. He was as uncomplicated as they came. He made no demands on my time, was fun all around, and never insisted on sleepovers unless I was in the mood which I rarely was.
So, what the hell was with the sudden hesitation? Free drinks and dinner at Silver Spoon, the swanky outfit where the glitzy Who’s-Who of Newport hung out, and suddenly I wanted to think about it and get back to him on that?
Baffling, to say the least.
Not that I had time to sit and unravel these new thorny feelings whirling inside me. I had four days to get myself out of this funky state.
Hopefully, by Friday, I’d be back to my normal self, whatever normal now was. I was going to Silver Spoon. And my biggest worry right now should be what to wear.
A text came in from Byron. And shut up , my heart didn’t skip a beat. I bid Beefcake a hasty goodbye and read the text.
Byron: Your lunch was delivered to my office. I left it outside your door.
I looked at the words, and the whole text was its own weird mood. The only assumption I came to was that Byron felt stupid about our text exchange earlier.
I feel your pain, guy, me too. So I kept it professional but light.
Me: Thanks. No delivering it to my desk though? Tsk tsk.
He was back at lightning speed. Like he had already typed a text and all he had to do was press send.
Byron: I’ll let Nelson know, so it doesn’t happen again.
Whoa, did anyone feel that Arctic breeze blow in? I felt the bitch in me revving up to slap back, and I made two attempts.
Who pissed in your cheerios? WTF?
So, we goofed. Relax. It’s not the end of the world.
Then I decided to leave it. There was only one simple conclusion to be drawn from the facts presented.
If the man couldn’t handle a little charged text exchange, then he had no business texting someone like me in the first place.
Besides wasn’t this a saving grace in disguise? His mood flip-flopping was the perfect reason to strangle my crush. Broody fools didn’t do it for me.
And sure, the crush wasn’t going to stop immediately, but I gave it 24 hours, 36 tops, and 48 on the outside. By then I would be cured of this stupid tingle tickling my insides every time I came in contact with Byron Belmont.
I kicked off my shoes and strolled to the secret passage door to get my food.
There it was all neatly laid out on a fancy cart with silver domes over the plates. It was a little different from my usual way of enjoying burgers and fries from a brown paper bag, and it even came with linen napkins and silverware.
Though I was still going to eat the burger with my hands like God intended a burger and fries to be consumed.
I was knuckle-deep in the burger and sixty pages into a contract Roman had me go over with a fine-tooth comb when I got a text.
And look at me jumping on it like a teenage girl with the hots for a boy.
But it wasn’t Byron. Like I said, it was going to take up to 48 hours for the crush to fizzle out completely and die.
It was Mimi on FOUR EMS, our sisters/mom group text.
Mimi: Sooooo… How’s it going with the new job, Sis?
I wiped my fingers on the linen napkin wondering if they were used to heavy grease and ketchup stains on the napkins at Belmont Manor. Probably not.
Me: As weird and fucked up as I imagined it was going to be.
Mom: Language…What’s going on, baby.
Me: Besides walking in on my half-naked co-worker and getting a goose egg the size of golf ball on my head, it’s going great!
Mimi: Goose egg? Did you fall? Did you mess up my dress?
Me: Oh, I’m fine, thanks for your concern. Your dress is fine.
Mom: Are you okay? You know bumps on the head can be dangerous.
Me: Yes, that’s what he said.
Mona: LOL! Is he hot?
Mimi: As long as you didn’t bleed all over my dress.
Me: Will you shut up about the dress? It’s fine. In fact I think the damn dress is cursed. Crazy shit has been happening ever since I put it on.
Mom: I still think you should see a doc about the bump!
Mona: Hellloooooo! Is. He. Hot????
Me: I didn’t notice. He’s my co-worker, not my next date.
Mona: Ohhh, you’re dodging. He IS hot!
Mom: Come home after work, Meg. I’m making lasagna tonight.
Me: Yes, please! Make enough for lunch tomorrow. But I got to get back to work now. Later sexy ladies, see you tonight.
I was slurping the dregs of my root beer float when there was a soft knock on my office door, and a woman about my age entered.
“I come to get food cart,” she said. “Mr. Belmont says it’s here. I’m Sophia.”
“Hey girl, I’m Meg. How’re you doing?”
Sophia’s bottom lip quivered. “Meg? You are Isabel’s friend!?”
“Yes, she’s my bestie with a capital B,” I replied, but I might as well have told her a meteor was about to hit Belmont Manor because the next thing, a couple of tears spilled onto her cheeks, and she was begging me to bring Isabel back.
Like I had any control over that.
I realized something. “Wait, it’s you, Isabel was teaching how to cook, isn’t it?”
She nodded vigorously and rattled something off in Italian.
Now sure, my great-grandparents arrived on the rocky shores of Newport in a boat eons ago, and the Belfiore’s considered themselves proud Italian Americans. But as far as actually speaking the language, mastering Italian didn’t quite trickle down from one generation to the next.
All I knew at this point were Italian endearments and curse words. Compliments of Pops.
By now, Sophia was staring at me as if she could pry her future success as a chef from my hands. “You bring Isabel back, si ? Everybody happy.”
I adopted a gentle tone. “Okay, listen Sophia. I’m trying to get a great French chef to come and work here. Marguerite can slap a plate of food together that will make your tastebuds twerk with joy. And I’m sure she’d love to train you. It will work out fine.”
Sophia’s eyes hardened, tears drying up faster than you can say mama mia . “French chef?” she said, spitting those two words out like a witch unleashing a curse.
I was still trying to find words to comfort her when, unexpectedly, and I do mean unexpectedly , a huge crash exploded from behind the secret passage door.
We both jumped, my heart hammering in my throat.
And I couldn't be the first person to crack a joke downplaying a terrifying moment. I blinked at Sophia, trying to mask my panic with a raspy chuckle . “Must be a ghost?”
This was the straw that broke the camel’s back. Sophia wasn’t staying for the ghost round-up, and the food cart forgotten, she deserted my office with a hysterical yelp.
Leaving me to battle whatever the hell was going on by myself.