Chapter 10
ten
Percy
Famous Mackinac Island fudge—check!
Tour of a haunted theater that isn’t actually haunted—check!
A quick jaunt past the Main Street shops—check!
The afternoon passes in a blur as I work through the items on my dad’s list. We keep up a running commentary via text.
He doesn’t call, and while I feel like a coward, I’m grateful.
He’s probably as raw today as I am, the distance of text helping to keep the emotions at bay and giving him time to process so he doesn’t break down.
Like I’ve wanted to for the past couple hours.
I haven’t bawled my eyes out, at least—not like I did at Friendship’s Altar.
But I can’t remember the last time I relaxed, and my eyes feel permanently strained from the effort to rein in my emotions.
I used to love running around downtown as a kid.
The car-free streets and picturesque storefronts seemed torn straight out of a storybook, and a little part of me was always surprised when a stranger walked past tapping away on a cell phone instead of lugging a lantern or a rifle or whatever people would’ve carried back then.
Now, however, all I can think about is what my dad and I have lost. This stupid trip was supposed to be cathartic—a way for us to honor my mom in one of her favorite places so we could finally move on.
Yet so far, I feel trapped more than ever in the past. How can I let go when every familiar sight or sound or smell conjures a fresh memory that hits me anew with crippling grief?
My brief run-in with Chris outside the fudge shop hadn’t done my fragile emotional state any favors either. I get it—he hates me, as well he should. But I could still do without the walking reminder of what a disappointment I’ve been to the people I care about.
I’d intended to stop by the Royal Lilac before dinner, but by the time I’d squeezed in the last of my dad’s mandated stops, night had fallen, and I was running late.
The dinner—like this entire trip—had been my dad’s idea, and he’d chosen my mom’s favorite restaurant.
Casa Nostra was where they’d had their wedding rehearsal dinner, and we’d eaten there together at least once every trip we’d taken to Mackinac Island since.
Personally, I think the food’s only okay, but the touristy decor grew on me, and it’s the site of many happy memories.
Tonight, however, happiness is the furthest thing from my mind.
Even moving at an almost-jog, it takes me over thirty minutes to navigate Main Street past the sea of tourists trying to shove their way onto the ferries departing for the mainland.
I barely have time to admire the restaurant’s gaudy interior as I rush past, scanning for Oshkoff and the others.
I spy them at a large table in back and, giving the hostess a strained smile, hurry over.
Judging by the lack of free seats, I’m the last to arrive.
It takes me a moment to find the one open spot…
and of course, it’s right next to Chris.
My feet drag as I approach. No big deal, I tell myself as my heartbeat quickens.
He’ll ignore me, and I’ll ignore him. Piece of cake.
Chris must hear my footsteps—or maybe sense the object of his greatest loathing—because he looks up, eyes widening a fraction.
From the way he glances at the seat beside him and tenses, he must realize the same thing I had.
So much for our mutual effort to stay as far away from each other as possible.
Chris turns to the girl, Quinn, on his other side. As I slide into my seat, I catch a bit of their whispered discussion.
“—switch with me!” Chris hisses.
Quinn shakes her head, looking vaguely amused. “Nah. After how you’ve been moping all day, I think this’ll be good for you.”
“I have not been—” He cuts off, shooting me a glare.
Behind his rigid back, Quinn rolls her eyes at him and smiles at me. “Good to see you again, Percy. Enjoying your fudge?”
“Oh, um…” I stammer. With Chris less than a foot away, it’s difficult to concentrate. I rip my eyes from the faint birthmark marring the otherwise smooth skin on his neck and focus on his friend. “I haven’t actually tasted it yet. It’s mostly for my dad. He wanted me to bring him back some.”
“Cool.” Her eyes narrow on Chris. “We were about to get our own before we ran into you, but someone changed his mind.”
Chris flushes, and I try not to stare at the way the color spreads over his faintly stubbled cheeks. He mutters something unintelligible.
Quinn ignores him, her attention still on me. “Did you get a chance to check out any of the art galleries? There was this awesome one over on Market Street where all the sculptures were made from limestone found on the island. Did you know that—”
She prattles on, and I can’t help but be impressed by how much she seems to know about Mackinac Island, especially when she admits it’s her first time here. I recognize most of the facts, but a few are news even to me, and I try to respond with more than grunts or one-word responses.
Chris isn’t so inclined. He spends the entire conversation sulking, his gaze alternating between exasperated looks directed at an oblivious Quinn and far more pointed glares thrown my way that leave me stammering.
The fact that it’s Chris, the guy I used to trust more than anyone in the world, who’s looking at me like he wishes I don’t exist makes me want to curl into a tiny ball until I disappear.
I send a silent prayer of thanks when the waitress arrives to take our orders, giving me an excuse to turn away and study my menu. Not that I really need to look. When it’s my turn, I order the same thing I always do—a diet pop and the lasagna special.
The waitress finishes her rounds and bustles off, bringing an end to my reprieve.
I’m not sure if I’m relieved or saddened that Quinn’s been drawn into an argument with the girl to her right about a plot point on some television show I’ve never heard of.
That leaves both me and Chris sitting there awkwardly.
Tension chokes the space between us, and from the way his fingers clutch at his silverware, I’m half-convinced he’s contemplating murder by butter knife.
The one time I let my eyes wander, I find Chris’ expression so cold and distant that a shiver runs down my back.
I quickly jerk my eyes away and swallow.
Right—no more stolen glances.
The server returns with our drinks, and that at least gives me something to distract myself.
I take a deep gulp of artificial sweetener that may or may not be carcinogenic and consider trying to strike up a conversation with the girl to my left.
She seems nice enough—I think her name might be Kate—but she’s already deep into conversation with the guys sitting across from me.
They all seem to know each other, and I chicken out of interrupting them.
I’ve never been confident enough to insert myself like that—not like Chris.
Being stuck here with me must have thrown him off his game, though, because he seems as determined as I am to sit and stew in silence.
I shift uncomfortably in my seat, and my knee bumps into Chris’. Blushing, I turn to mutter an apology, but before I can get a word out, he snarls, “Watch it, Wentworth! Don’t touch me!”
The utter disgust in his voice tears at me, and before I can fully process what I’m doing, I shove out of my seat and stride away.
No one calls out or tries to stop me, which somehow makes my escape feel all the more anticlimactic and depressing.
Of course, with my order already in, anyone who noticed my departure probably assumed I’m heading to the restroom.
When I reach the front of the restaurant, I hesitate. I gaze longingly at the glass doors leading out onto Main Street, then sigh and veer down the hall toward the bathrooms after all. I splash some cold water on my face by the sink and allow myself a moment to just breathe.
I don’t know why I’m still so affected by Chris’ proximity.
He’s not my boyfriend anymore. He’s made it quite clear he isn’t even my friend anymore.
This trip is supposed to be about my mom, not my ex.
If I could survive the daily hospital trips and all those restless nights, I can get through one lousy dinner without suffering a complete mental breakdown.
When I feel marginally more like a human being, I dry my face off with some paper towels, walk out of the bathroom…
and almost collide with Chris and Quinn in the hall.
The sight is so unexpected—and so on point for this horrendously awful day—that I can’t help but laugh.
Touché, universe. Just when I think things can’t get any worse.
“Oh, there you are, Percy! Chris and I were looking for you.” Quinn shoves Chris forward. “Weren’t we, Chris?”
“I should’ve known that story you fed me about wanting to check out the paintings near the front was bullshit!” Chris glares between us.
“Oh, no, I do want to look at them,” Quinn replies, gazing at the nearest picture.
“There are some fun prints here. But that can wait. The two of you clearly need to talk, and since neither of you seems willing to take the first step toward reconciliation, I thought I might as well give you a gentle nudge.”
“If you want to talk to Percy so bad, be my guest.” Chris spins and stalks back toward our table.
Or at least, he tries to. Quinn grabs his arm, yanking him to a halt. Given how much bigger Chris is than her, he could probably break free of her grip if he wanted to. Instead, he sighs.
“Why do you care so much anyway? You don’t even know him.”
“I know you. And whatever this is—” she gestures between the two of us “—it’s clearly a big deal. So, stop avoiding your problems and face them head-on. Trust me, it’s for your own good. See you back at the table!” With that, she skips away, leaving Chris and me standing awkwardly in the hall.