Chapter 6 Now
Now
“Good morning, ma’am,” says the high school–age girl behind the hostess stand at Bubba’s, a greeting that makes me feel ancient.
She’s wearing the same navy polo I did back in the day, but that’s where the similarities between high school me and this Gen Zer end.
She wears an array of miniature butterfly clips in her hair and her makeup is TikTok perfect. “Joining us for breakfast?”
I glance at her nametag. “Hi, Parker. I don’t need a table, actually. Is Bubba here by chance?”
“She left about an hour ago. I can write down a message for her?” She flashes an Invisaligned smile at me, and I think with millennial pride about the mouthful of colorful braces I sported throughout middle school.
My awkwardness was more of an era than a phase.
Parker may have an expensive skin-care routine and subtle orthodontics, but hey—at least I’d built character.
“Sure, thanks,” I say, fishing a business card out of my bag. “I just had a work question for her—well, for her son. And I wanted to see if she could pass my current email along to him.”
“Sebastian? He’s here!” Parker gestures over her shoulder. “He’s unloading a delivery out back.”
“Oh,” I say, surprised. Weren’t he and Claire supposed to be long gone, happily back in California?
My plan was to email him about the “Real Weddings” opportunity and throw in a quick heads-up about the witness fiasco.
FYI—we’re halfway married, ha-ha! Something like that, but less unhinged.
I’m in no way mentally prepared to have either conversation in person.
I’m about to ask Parker to just take down the message anyway, but her eyes have drifted to her phone. I sigh, resigned. This conversation is going to be awkward as hell no matter the format. No sense delaying the inevitable.
I maneuver past Parker and toward the exit to the employee parking lot with my head down, praying no one I still know at this place will spot me.
I push the door open (it’s just as heavy as I remember) and find Sebastian outside, transferring crates of soft drinks from the back of a truck to a dolly.
He looks so different from how he did when I saw him yesterday that I have to do a double take.
The expensive-looking clothes have been replaced by a Bubba’s T-shirt, athletic shorts and sneakers.
His forehead is slick with sweat, his curls messy and matted.
As he lifts another crate from the truck, cords of muscle ripple along his tanned arms. Fine—so maybe I do a triple take.
When he notices me, he straightens. He shades his eyes with one hand like a visor, squints in the sun. “Lina?”
“Hey,” I manage.
“Hey. What are you doing here?”
“So funny story actually.” I cannot manage proper verbal punctuation with this man. It’s strange, standing in this parking lot with him. Familiar, too.
He leans against the truck, arms crossed. Which only serves to emphasize his muscles, I notice with annoyance. “Let’s hear it.” His mouth quirks, like he’s trying not to smile. God knows why he thinks I’m here—and whatever that is won’t be as ridiculous as the truth.
I reach into my bag for the envelope and brace myself to rip off the Band-Aid.
“More of a question,” I say, chickening out. “I was wondering if you and Claire would be open to letting me feature you for my column.”
“For your wedding column?”
I don’t love the way he emphasizes the word wedding, like it’s trivial. Or the half smirk still plastered on his face.
“It’s my boss’s idea,” I clarify. “It wouldn’t be a lot of extra work for you guys or anything. Just an interview. Maybe I could tag along on some appointments and take notes. You’d barely notice me.”
I scan his face, trying to ascertain how he feels about this idea—the girl who harbored a humiliating teenage crush on him writing an article about his wedding to someone he actually wants to be with. He still looks mildly amused. It’s starting to infuriate me.
“You know what? This is weird. I’m sorry. I should go.”
I turn to leave, but he reaches me before I get to the door.
“Wait,” he says. “We’ll do it.”
I turn to face him. We’re standing much closer now. I have to tilt my head back to meet his eyes. “Really?”
“Yeah. Claire’s obsessed with your column.” His half smirk shifts to a genuine smile. “She probably would have told me to ask you anyway.”
“All right, then. Great. I can coordinate everything with Claire, if that’s easiest?”
“Oh, sure,” he says, narrowing his eyes. “I’ll give you her email.”
There’s a pause, neither of us saying anything. He seems to be waiting for me to say something else. I should leave—I will, in a minute. But first I give in to my curiosity.
“So, how long are you out here for?”
“Just this week was the plan,” he says, glancing over his left shoulder toward the beach.
“Claire had to fly back. I wanted to stay a little longer, help my mom out for a few days. But now that I’m here I’m realizing she could probably use more help than she let on.
” His expression shifts again, brows knit with stress or concern or a mix of both.
“So to answer your question, I’m not sure how long I’ll be here.
For now I canceled my return flight.” He smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes the way it normally does (or did, rather).
I really should go. Instead I say, “I heard she’s selling the restaurant.”
He nods, confirming. “One last season.”
I shake my head in disbelief. “I bet that was a hard decision for her. I never thought she’d retire, to be honest.” I don’t add, let alone sell the restaurant to strangers.
“Me either. It’s the right thing, though.” His voice is firm, like this is something he’s said before.
Yesterday, when Sebastian had told me his mom was retiring, I’d briefly wondered if he’d take over the family business.
But I should have known better. So much of what I thought I knew about Sebastian all those years ago turned out to be wrong, but if there was one thing he had been unwaveringly honest about it was his resolve to never end up stuck here like his mom.
It was no accident that he chose a college, a career, a fiancée—an entire life—based on the opposite coast. Don’t get me wrong: I’m sure it pained him to see his mom give up the business her life had revolved around. Just not enough to stop her.
“Well, I’m glad she has you here for a while. I’m sure it means so much to her. Tell her I say hello, will you?”
He nods. “For sure. She’ll be jealous she wasn’t here to hear you say it herself.
” I feel a pang of guilt, brief but sharp, as I think again of how many times I’ve passed on joining my parents for dinner at Bubba’s over the years.
How many staff reunion invitations I’ve declined.
Today is the first time I’ve set foot in the restaurant in more than a decade, and the flood of emotions and memories I’m wading through now reminds me why.
Sebastian takes a step back toward the truck. My cue to finally get out of here.
“I’m glad you came by, Mariano,” he calls out. “Maybe I’ll see you around this summer. For the column and all that,” he adds.
“See you around, Nikolaou,” I say as I use all my strength to push through that damned door.