Chapter 6
“Can you show the bartenders how to maximize lime garnishes? We’re a case short this week,” I said in my morning phone call with Raya the following day.
“How do you maximize lime garnishes?” Raya asked.
“Cut them into thinner pieces.”
“Right. You could’ve just said it like that.”
“I could’ve. How is everything going?” The view out the window in my bedroom was the neighbor’s fence, light brown and water stained. I really did miss the view from my apartment. I was on the fourth floor, city-facing.
“Everything is fine. We’re doing well. I have things under control.”
I didn’t want to tell her that her illusion of control was because I was dealing with all the fires from here. “I’ve been thinking about that review.”
“Stop thinking of that review,” she said.
“I can’t help it,” I said. “We need to work on the inside of the restaurant. Give it more atmosphere.”
“Like what?” she asked. “We already have all the tables and linens and artwork picked out and in place. What else is there?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “I need to figure it out.”
“Or, you could stop worrying so much. It was one review. Any restaurant takes a minute to get on its feet. We are handling things. There’s nothing you can do about the inside of our restaurant for now. It will keep, Sutton.”
“You’re right. Thank you. I appreciate all you’re doing. I’m not sure how much longer I’ll be here. My mom is still recovering.”
“Take all the time you need. I totally understand. And remember, I have a honeymoon happening this summer, so this is helping me feel better about taking time away for that.”
“You never needed to feel guilty about that,” I said, ticking two items—discuss lime shortage, brainstorm ideas for the inside of the restaurant—off the to-do list in my daily calendar next to me before closing it.
“And you don’t need to feel guilty about this.”
I rubbed the bridge of my nose between my eyes. “You’re right. Okay.”
“Nate came through with the meat, I see,” she said.
“That sounded wrong.”
She laughed.
“He gave me his contact, yes,” I said.
“But we still hate him?” she asked, her subtle way of asking me if we’d made up.
We had not made up. We would never make up. He broke up with me in the coldest way possible. I didn’t do second chances. “We do.”
“Okay, done.”
My phone buzzed with a text. “I better go. My mom is probably asking for fresh fruit and a cappuccino.”
“She’s been a difficult patient?”
She’s always difficult, I wanted to say. But now she’s difficult and in pain. “She’s been fine,” I said instead, because that’s what I did: I protected my mom from outside opinions. I was the only one who got to judge her.
My phone buzzed next to my ear again, and I pulled it away to see if the text that came through was something I needed to talk to Raya about. It wasn’t. It was from Tara. How did the first therapy session go? Did she guess that you were strangers? Please say she guessed.
“I think that’s it,” I said, back to Raya. “Unless there’s anything you need to talk about.”
“No, I don’t think so.”
“Tell Selma hi for me.” Selma was her fiancée.
“Sutton says hey,” Raya said.
I heard a soft voice in the background.
“She says hi back and that she hopes your mom feels better soon.”
“Me too,” I said. “Talk to you later.”
“Okay,” she said. “Bye.”
My phone buzzed again as I was hanging up. Tara. Again.
Can I take you to brunch right now? So you can tell me everything.
I’d just helped my mom settle down for a nap in her room. Her meds made her sleepy, and she’d probably be out for three hours. And even if she wasn’t, I’d put her cell phone next to her in bed, so she could call me if she woke up and I wasn’t there. Like she always did.
I really needed to talk to Tara face-to-face if I was going to cancel this nonsense with the therapist. And I was.
Yes, send me an address and I’ll meet you there now.
I wasn’t exactly a hugger, but Tara was, so I returned one as we met in front of the Kountry Kitchen in Old Town.
“I think I was a little tipsy the other night when everything went down,” she said. “But have I said thank you?”
“You have,” I assured her. “A lot.” Which was making it hard to tell her that I couldn’t do another session.
“Good, because seriously, thank you for doing this. I know it’s weird.”
“Just a little,” I said, sarcasm heavy in my voice. “Do you guys do stuff like this a lot?”
“Make strangers go to therapy?” she asked.
“Or something comparable.”
“Michael is a prankster, but no, this is a new level. But if it’s how I’m going to get him in front of a professional, it’s worth it.” She laughed as she said it and turned toward the door.
I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. Then followed her inside.
It wasn’t very busy and we were seated right away. After the waitress took our drink orders (I stuck with water instead of the mimosa Tara ordered so I wouldn’t agree to testing the priest and wedding planner next), I opened the menu.
“It’s not that I think Michael needs a therapist,” Tara said suddenly, bringing my eyes up from where I was trying to decide between an omelet and French toast. “I mean, I think everyone could benefit from talking through their past and having tools for their present. It’s more about me, really.
It will give me peace of mind to know we have our communication dialed in before taking the leap. You know?”
“Are you worried about your communication?” I asked.
“Not more than anyone about to get married should be.” She shrugged. “My therapist says it’s normal.”
“I’m sure it is,” I said.
“Are you in a relationship?” she asked.
“Not at the moment,” I said.
“Remember Clint? From high school?”
“How could I not?” He was my high school boyfriend.
I broke up with him because he was constantly copying all the answers off me for our homework assignments.
I was worried the teacher was going to eventually realize our answers were exactly the same and I’d be dragged down with him.
“Wait, do you still talk to him? Does he still live around here?” I may have visited my mom quarterly for the last ten years, but Tara was the only other person I had visited here before she too moved away.
I had my schedule and it worked perfectly.
Introducing other people to it might have changed that.
“No, I don’t think so. I was just thinking about him and how much everyone loved him. He was so fun and cute. I was beyond jealous when he asked you out.”
“You were?”
“I’m obviously over it now.”
I laughed. “I hope so because he wasn’t that great.”
“What are you getting?” she asked, nodding toward the menu.
“An omelet,” I said. “What about you?”
“Pancakes with strawberries.” She closed the menu and leaned her elbows on the table. “So? How did the session go?”
“It went fine. I thought she was catching on at first, could tell that we didn’t really know each other, but then Elijah started lying and making up stories about us,” I said.
She leaned back against the padded booth and crossed her arms. “Of course he did.”
“If she didn’t realize after one session, I’m not sure she will in four.”
“You don’t think so?”
“I don’t.”
Tara’s eyes dropped to the table.
I reached across and grabbed her hands. “You shouldn’t have to do this to prove he’s a good guy.
He’s not Bobby.” Bobby was her high school boyfriend and a huge jerk.
Had cheated on her twice, even after she’d forgiven him the first time.
It felt like she’d been dating nothing but Bobbys ever since.
I hoped she wasn’t dating another one now. “Right?”
“No, of course not.”
I shifted back in my seat, releasing her hands. “Then I think we need to call it. No need to play this game. Trust your heart.”
“You don’t want to do this for me?” she asked.
I swallowed down the lump that immediately formed in my throat.
The memory of her standing on my front porch jumped to the front of my mind.
She was dressed in a mid-length black dress, gripping a folder holding piano sheet music.
She was supposed to perform that day. I was supposed to go with her and help her turn the pages while she played, but mostly for moral support.
She’d been nervous. Behind me, my mom was in the middle of angry cleaning.
She’d insisted I help. She was unreasonable when she got like that.
I’d texted Tara that I couldn’t make it.
Then she’d shown up on my porch, telling me she couldn’t go through with it.
It was her parents’ dream, not hers. I’d blamed it on Bobby back then, her quitting piano.
After all, she had just caught him cheating for a second time a few weeks before.
But it was at least partially my fault for not being there for her that day when she’d been there for me so many times. Guilt overwhelmed me now.
“This will help you feel better?” I asked.
She nodded emphatically. “Will you give it one more session? If there is any chance it will work at all, if it will get him to do therapy with me, it would mean the world to me.”
I drew in a deep breath. “Is Elijah the kind of guy to honor a pact?”
“What?” she asked, confused.
“We made a pact about not lying in the next session, so maybe that will help.”
She smiled. “I picked the right woman for the job.”
I held in a groan. One more session. I’d do one more session for her.
The waitress came by and took our orders. When she left, I said, “So is he? The kind of guy to honor a pact?”
“If Eli said he wouldn’t lie, he won’t,” she said.
“Good.”
“But maybe we need a backup plan as well,” Tara said, thinking. “How can we get her to know you two are strangers without outright telling her?” Her eyes shot to the door over my shoulder. “Oh no.”
“What?” I asked, looking too.
“It’s like they know we’re talking about them.”
Elijah and Michael walked in, side by side, scanning the room. I rolled my eyes. Clovis was a small town, but not this small. “Did they know we were going to be here together?” I asked.
“Yes,” she said. “They probably don’t want us scheming. Also, they work up the street.”
“They work together?” I asked.
“Yes,” she said, but before she could say more, Michael was leaning over and placing a soft kiss on her lips.
“Hey, babe,” he said.
Tara slid down the bench like she was going to welcome them into our brunch. I gave her a look that said, If you want to win this bet, I need to spend as little time as possible with this man.
In high school, she was so good at reading my looks. But now she was unpracticed because she just gave me a confused face back. I sighed when Elijah gestured for me to scoot over, but I inched down the bench anyway.
“Good morning, fake fiancée,” he said.
“It was,” I replied.
He laughed.
“Sutton was just giving me a report on the therapy session.”
“One down, three to go, baby,” Elijah said, and he and his brother high-fived over the table.
I watched Michael closely, the way he brushed a piece of hair off Tara’s forehead, how he smiled while she talked. He seemed sweet and attentive. I wondered if it was Tara’s past that was making her nervous or if there were red flags she was worried about.
The waitress came back. “Do you two want to order something?”
“They aren’t stay—” I started to say.
“Do you serve burgers this early?” Elijah asked over the top of me.
“I want one of your breakfast skillets,” Michael said.
Okay, apparently, they were staying. I must’ve sighed again because Elijah gave me a sideways glance. “Try not to be too welcoming,” he said. “You might hurt yourself.”
I gave him a forced smile. The less I said, the less he’d know.