49. Valentine
Following Justin’s SUV through town in my mom’s sleek black Jaguar makes me simultaneously feel like a brilliant detective and a giant creeper. He’s already stopped once at the dry cleaner, an errand exclusively reserved for private school kids and middle-aged office workers. And now he’s pulling over on the side of Main Street near Ella’s favorite café.
I snag a parking spot a few cars back and let my engine run, figuring he’s just grabbing coffee. But instead of going to the café, he heads for a restaurant with an outdoor patio that’s packed with brunchers. He takes a menu and says something to the hostess, but she doesn’t seat him.
And that’s it—exactly the type of opportunity I was waiting for. I pull out my phone and click on my text chain with Amber.
Me
You busy? Wanna grab lunch?
There’s no hesitation, no nervous rumblings in my stomach. This is the part I’m good at. And as luck would have it, she replies right away.
Amber
In car. Beach bound. Where were you thinking?
I look up at the restaurant and type out the name.
Me
Le Petite Chat?
Amber
Done. See you in five.
I turn off my engine and scoop some quarters from the console for the parking meter. I take my pay-as-you-go work phone from the cup holder, something August and I rarely use but has been clutch in the past, shove it in my purse, and head straight for Justin.
I let him see me first. He waves.
“Oh, hey,” I say, lifting my sunglasses and giving him a “nice to run into you like this” smile.
“Getting lunch?” he asks and offers me his menu.
“Actually, yeah,” I say and accept it. But before I open it, I pause, like I just got an idea. “Wanna join me?” I don’t give him the polite out that most people would by adding if you have time. I just smile at him and wait.
He smiles back. “I was gonna order to go, but... yeah, why not.”
Hole in one.
He turns back to the hostess and tells her we want a table for two.
“Three,” I correct him. “Amber’s coming.”
He hesitates, like he’s reconsidering, and I wonder if I read this all wrong. Maybe the flirting I saw between Amber and Justin was just a product of too many beers or a mutual frustration with Ella. Maybe it meant nothing at all.
But I’m in this now, and I’m going to make the most of it. “Where’s Ella today?” I ask, even though I know, taking my seat at the table the hostess indicates.
He scoots in his chair. “With your cousin.” He doesn’t try to cover his annoyance.
But what’s interesting is that Ella didn’t hide hanging out with August like some people would. She was honest. “Oh yeah, forgot about that.”
“I didn’t,” he says. “But hey, I’m here with you, so I guess it’s all fair.” Then he attempts a charming smile and lets his eyes drift down to my bikini strap.
Eyes on your menu, dickface.
And lucky for me, Amber’s five-minute estimate was spot on.
“So, what’d I miss?” Amber asks, sliding into the seat next to me.
The whole lunch conversation is weirdly hard to read. Amber and Justin clearly get along. They have the same sense of humor and the same self-obsessed stupidity, but after some banter we keep hitting awkward ruts in the conversation where it looks like one or the both of them wish they weren’t here. Like right now.
Justin pushes his chair back and drops his cloth napkin on the table. “Bathroom,” he says like it’s a decree and walks off.
When he’s out of earshot, I turn to Amber. “Sorry, I guess this was a bad idea.”
She spears a bite of her salad. “You mean lunch?”
I sip my mocha. “I mean inviting Justin to join us.”
“Oh,” she says, a little surprised.
“Not trying to pry, but it seems like you guys are a little uncomfortable,” I say, most assuredly trying to pry.
She laughs. “Definitely not uncomfortable. He’s just not civilized enough to make adult conversation for more than fifteen minutes.”
I smile. “Okay, if you’re sure.”
“Positive,” she says, but since I’ve already done the work of getting us here, I’m going to make absolutely certain. So I reach into my purse and find the pay-as-you-go cell, discreetly punching in my own phone number.
It only takes a second before my real phone, sitting on the table next to my drink, starts ringing. I snatch it up, telling Amber I’ll be back, and leave my purse on the table, where my extra phone will be able to hear whatever Amber and Justin talk about.
I make my way off the restaurant patio and step onto the sidewalk, well out of earshot, just as Justin returns to the table. I press mute on my phone and then record, pretending to say hello to my imaginary caller, and keeping my back to the table so they have no reason to think I’m observing.
“You headed to Derek’s later?” Amber asks.
“Yeah, definitely,” Justin replies. “If I didn’t, he’d probably hunt me down and drag me there caveman-style. You?”
“Maybe,” Amber says, and I can hear her shrug. “I’m always up for some Derek sparring. Or maybe just outshining my look-alike he insists on toting around like a handbag?”
Justin laughs. “Now that’s funny.”
“For you maybe. For Derek it’s just embarrassing.”
I pace on the sidewalk, wondering if I should press end and return to the table. Maybe I was wrong about the flirting.
Then their conversation lulls.
“Anyway, it’s nice... having lunch together, I mean,” Amber tells him, but his reply sounds a bit like a humph or a grunt.
“Awesome response,” Amber says after a beat.
“What do you want me to say?”
“I don’t know. Anything,” Amber says, and her casual tone wavers.
“Just trying to eat my lunch, Amber.”
“Then stop making things awkward,” she says. “Mia’s noticing.”
“So let Mia notice,” he replies dismissively.
“Well, I don’t need her telling Ella.”
“Telling Ella what? That we’re bad lunch conversationalists? Who cares?” he says, and now I’ve changed my mind—something is up and it’s not flirting. She’s too pushy and he’s too glib.
I pace on the sidewalk.
“I care,” Amber says.
“Then stop. ’Cause I don’t.”
“Real nice,” Amber says, and I can hear in her tone that it’s more than just pride; she’s actually bothered.
Justin doesn’t reply, dropping once again into uncomfortable silence.
I steal a glance at the table. Amber is pushing her food around, getting progressively more pissed while Justin is just as indifferent.
“You can save the rude silences for your therapist, Justin, because I’m not having this conversation with myself. If I get one more inkling that Mia’s sensing something’s off, I swear I’ll tell Ella myself,” Amber says, and the challenge is clear.
My stomach does a somersault, and I press the phone harder to my ear like it might help me hear better.
“Don’t be an idiot,” Justin snaps.
“Well, look who finally joined the conversation.”
“There is no conversation,” Justin says, now full-on pissed. “We were wasted. End of story.”
Jack-effing-pot!I steal another glance at them, just in time to see the pinched expression on Amber’s face.
“I guarantee Ella would disagree,” Amber fires back.
“Damn it, Amber. Why do you have to be such a bitch?” His voice trails off, and he throws some cash onto the table. “You know what? I’m out of here.”
“Charming,” Amber says, but as much as she’s trying to brush off his spite, I can hear the undertone of hurt in her voice. “And I don’t need your money.”
He half laughs. “Let’s just call it a thank-you for services rendered.”
Oh no.I look at Amber, whose face has gone stone cold, like she might murder him and stuff his body in her tennis bag.
“Run away and play pretend with your perfect suburban good girl,” she says, her tone dangerous. “Maybe she’ll never find out you’re a cheating asshole, or maybe she will. Who can say?”
“You wanna know why Derek broke up with you?” Justin says, matching her cool aggression. “Because you’re someone to screw, not someone to date. No one likes you. Not even Ella. So go ahead and tell her whatever you want. It won’t stick.”
Then he walks away, leaving Amber staring daggers into his back.
“Whoa,” I say under my breath and press end on my pretend call, typing a text to August.
As I press send on my message, Justin breezes past me. “Sorry, gotta bail,” he says, the nastiness gone from his tone and replaced with a calculated smile that makes my skin crawl. He walks backward toward his SUV. “Lunch is on me, though.”
He opens his driver’s side door and hops in. When I turn back to the table, Amber’s asking our server for the check. Her shoulders are tense and her eyes are misty.
“Everything okay?” I ask as I approach her.
“Perfect,” she says, trying to cover the upset in her voice with a sip of her iced tea. “Always.”