Chapter 2 Larissa #2
“Someone threw up on her boots in the bathroom,” I said, shading a daisy. “They could not be saved.”
“So you gave her your shoes?”
“I did. One of us had to piggyback the other one out, and she’s stronger.”
“Did you get your shoes back?”
“Yes. She returned them the next day—but it was touch and go for a while there. She is known to take things. Mostly hoodies.” I held up the napkin to show him my sketch. He gave me an approving nod.
“Did you know Lexi before you started working together at the diner?”
“Yeah. We used to live in the same building,” I said. “She got me the job.”
“Do you like working at Donna’s?” he asked.
I shrugged. “I like the hours. I’m a morning person.”
He scoffed. “I’m not.”
My face fell. “I’m sorry…”
He seemed to realize what he’d implied. “No, it’s fine. I didn’t mind waking up—”
“I thought you said you were already up.”
The corner of his mouth twitched. “Okay. I was not up. But I’m happy to help. Seriously.”
I gave him a look that called bullshit.
“I mean it,” he said. “I’ve been having trouble sleeping. I would have woken up anyway and just laid there, so at least I’m doing something.”
I didn’t get to press him for more because the bread showed up.
The server dropped it off, then brought us two plates and a ramekin of butter and left again. She was right, they were huge, lined up next to each other across the table like we were at a farmers market.
“So how’d you meet Mike?” I asked while he pulled the French loaf in front of him and started slicing.
“We grew up on the same street. Jesse and Xavier too. Went to school together.”
“Same college too?”
He slid me a piece. “No, Mike didn’t go. He went into a trade.”
I cocked my head. “A trade? What trade?”
He looked surprised. “He’s a licensed master plumber. He didn’t tell you?”
“No…”
“Yeah. He can do all of it,” he said, buttering his slice. “It’s his side hustle right now. He prefers the personal training, but he is a plumber.”
Huh. I had to admit, that impressed me. And Mike had never mentioned it, which sort of impressed me more.
He nodded at me. “Have you met his stepdad yet?”
“Not yet,” I said, taking a bite of the bread.
“You’ve probably seen his billboards. The Toilet King?”
I had to cover my mouth when my jaw dropped. “That’s Mike’s stepdad? The Henry Tudor guy with the plunger?”
“Yeah. That’s why Mike went into the business. I think Tony wants to leave it to him when he retires.”
“I had no idea that was Donna’s husband. Wow.”
He took a bite and chewed, then he gestured to mine. “Thoughts?”
“I like it,” I said. “It has a really nice crust on it.”
“Yeah, but almost too much. It was a little hard to bite into,” he said, examining it.
“So what’s your rating, then?” I asked.
He bobbed his head. “I give it a seven and a half out of ten. You?”
“Nine out of ten.”
“Really. That high.” He wrote down my answer. Then he set the napkin aside and started cutting slices of the sourdough. “So how long is your mom going to be in the hospital?” he asked.
“Just today if everything goes fine. She slipped on some ice and broke her wrist. It didn’t set right.”
“I thought it was cancer or something. You both seemed a little upset.”
“I was upset because I just found out my alcoholic degenerate father with a gambling addiction managed to get my Social Security number and open a twenty-two-thousand-dollar credit card account in my name. It’s in collections.”
I probably shouldn’t have dumped this on him, but I wanted to blurt it out. Hurl it at this stranger and watch him flinch when it hit him.
But he didn’t flinch.
“My mom died three months ago,” he said. “It was unexpected. I’ve just been a little… out of sorts myself. So I get it.”
We looked at each other, some unspoken understanding passing between us, like we were agreeing to be whatever kind of mess we needed to be at this table.
That it was mutually acceptable to just eat this bread and be in our feelings and say whatever it was we wanted to say without judgment from either side—which was good.
Because sometimes I was too tired and too done to pretend I was fine.
“Has he ever done this before?” he asked.
“To my mom,” I said, watching him butter another slice. “She said he never had access to my Social, so she told me not to bother worrying about it. Obviously she was wrong.”
“You can’t dispute the debt?”
“I can. I will. But it’s a process and it doesn’t always get reversed.
They took my tax return money yesterday.
I was going to use that to get my car out of the shop.
My mom’s been out of work for two months.
She’s going to need another month to recover enough to go back.
I’m paying all the bills. I just didn’t need this right now.
” I stared at the piece of bread on my plate.
“You’re a pharmacist?” I said, changing the subject.
“Yeah. I work at Bergmans.”
A big retail pharmacy chain. He had a good job, and he was smart. I couldn’t imagine being able to understand all that chemistry. It felt harder than being a doctor for some reason.
“That’s a lot of school,” I said. “I never liked school,” I admitted.
“Oh yeah? What do you like?”
I shrugged. “I like cooking—sorry if I smell like soup, by the way.”
“You don’t smell like soup. You smell good, actually.”
I paused and looked up.
“Not that I’m sniffing you,” he said quickly. “It was just when I held the door for you and you walked past me, I—”
“I’m glad I don’t smell like soup,” I said, holding back a small smile.
He cleared his throat. “Are you going to be a chef, then?”
“No,” I said, going back to the napkin. “I’ve worked in enough restaurants to know I don’t ever want to cook in a kitchen.”
“Did you go to college?” he asked.
“No. I took a pottery class once.”
“You’re artistic, then,” he said, somehow making my sad education sound interesting.
“I guess so. I sew a little bit. I make my own clothes sometimes, my own jewelry. I got really into paper quilling at one point and I was pretty good at it, but you can’t make that a job.”
His cell phone vibrated. “Sorry, hold on.”
He read the message. “It’s Mike, asking where we are.”
I watched him while he texted a reply. He looked stern when he was focused. Sort of how he looked that first night.
I knew Chris was single from Mom’s prying in the car. Lexi mentioned it, too, when she was auctioning off which guy friend I should get a ride home from the night of the concert. I’d picked Mike, mostly because he actually smiled and seemed less irritated at being asked.
I laughed a little to myself remembering it.
Mike had been actively flirting with me and in the middle of it, Chris mumbled something about being closer to my city than Mike was.
He’d said it like he was honor-bound to inform me of the logistics so I would be fully aware of how much I was inconveniencing Mike.
I chose to inconvenience Mike.
Two months ago meant Chris’s mom had just died. I guess I could understand why he’d been a little dark.
He was still a little dark. But that was okay. I didn’t care so much this time around.
We tasted the sourdough and both gave it a nine.
“Should we try the pumpernickel?” he asked.
“Yes.”
We bit into it at the same exact time and chewed, watching each other for the reaction.
I swallowed. “Well?” I asked. “Is it ass?”
“No. Definitely not.”
“Right? It’s so good. What’s your rating?”
“Honestly? I give this a ten,” he said.
“Me too. We wouldn’t even have tried this,” I said, sliding the napkin in front of me to jot down the score. “Good thing we didn’t succumb to the peer pressure.”
“I think it’d be good with some eggs,” he said.
“Yeah.”
“Let’s order some. Try it.”
I nodded. “Okay.”
“Do you want some bacon? Ham?” he asked.
“Sure. Ham sounds good.”
He ordered our food and I realized that he was right about the bread—it did settle my stomach. I think I’d been so hungry I’d gotten nauseous, and now that I’d eaten something, I was feeling better. In fact, I was suddenly starving.
When the server cleared our empty plates thirty minutes later, I realized Chris had gotten me to eat a full breakfast on a morning when I probably wouldn’t have eaten at all if I’d been left to my own devices. I actually felt okay now, like I could somehow handle the rest of my day.
I needed to be in a cute café drinking a coffee and eating breakfast with someone, not sitting alone in a waiting room, letting it all fester. Chris knew that. And I was really grateful that he did.
Mike must have known Chris would do this for me. Sending him was Mike’s way of taking care of me when he couldn’t be there himself. It was thoughtful and considerate.
Maybe I didn’t need to break up with Mike for bailing on me after all.