Chapter 13 Then Fourteen Years Ago
Then
Fourteen Years Ago
Returning to work on the Fourth of July wasn’t one of my brightest ideas.
I didn’t realize this until about an hour into my shift, which started at noon. Because the first hour, I was too busy replaying the four-minute drive here to fully register the chaos around me.
I’d gotten my stitches out the day before, right on schedule, and after ten days cooped up at home I couldn’t wait to get back to my normal routine.
I’d been under strict orders to avoid swimming, sand and direct sunlight, and the antibiotics I was on to prevent infection had meant no sneaky sips of alcohol, either.
Maren dutifully hung out with me for a few hours almost every day, distracting me with rom-com marathons or ambitious baking projects—activities we otherwise reserved for rainy days.
Aaron had unceremoniously dumped her over text, so she hardly minded the excuse to disappear from our social circuit for a little while.
Maren had wanted to spend my first day of freedom at the beach, but after missing almost an entire paycheck I couldn’t turn down time-and-a-half holiday pay. The beach could wait until tomorrow.
The sound of tires hitting the driveway sent a shiver down my spine.
I opened the front door and waved to Sebastian, who waved back, then reached across the passenger seat of his Jeep to push open the door for me.
As I got in, it hit me that this was my first time in a boy’s car, or any friend’s car, for that matter.
(Well, if you didn’t count the time I was in and out of consciousness.) Sebastian was old for his grade and had gotten his license in June when he turned seventeen.
Maren and I would be taking Driver’s Ed that fall in preparation for our learner’s permits.
“Nice car,” I said, because it felt like a thing you’re supposed to say. I instantly regretted it.
“Thanks,” he said. “It’s old but it does the job.”
He had a CD playing. The familiar beats of a Third Eye Blind song came through the speakers.
“How’re you feeling?” His hand braced the back of my seat as he looked over his shoulder and reversed out of the driveway, his other palm spinning the wheel.
“Great!” I chirped, but reflexively I covered my scar with my left hand. I’d have worn pants if it weren’t eighty degrees today. (I almost did anyway.)
“That was a pretty nasty fall, Mariano,” he said, glancing over at me.
My eyes darted to the road ahead, face neutral, but inside I was reeling. I’d hoped Sebastian had only caught the aftermath of the … incident. But apparently he’d witnessed the main event.
“Not my finest moment,” I said, shifting in my seat. “But it could have been a lot worse. I haven’t officially thanked you for what you did. So, yeah. Thanks.”
“Of course,” he said, raking a hand through his luscious curls. “Glad I was there at the right time.”
That certainly was one way of looking at it.
Two minutes later, he parked his Jeep in the employee lot, and we entered the lunch rush.
Along with Memorial Day and Labor Day, the Fourth of July was one of the three biggest weekends down the Shore, which meant all hands on deck at Bubba’s.
We all worked extended shifts to accommodate the influx of crowds during the day (for the beach) and at night (for the fireworks show over the ocean).
Tina was the morning shift leader, Sebastian the afternoon, and during our midday overlap they kept spirits high with the promise of a reward after the restaurant closed at 9:00 p.m.: a staff party at Tina’s house while her parents were out of town.
I barely saw Sebastian all day, not that I really had time to notice.
Our staff was thrown a new curveball almost every hour.
At 1:30, the ice machine broke, so Sebastian and a busboy named Sean Wilkinson wheeled empty coolers to the 7-Eleven, filled them up and lugged them back.
Just before three I lost a coin toss with Ravi and had to unclog a toilet, and sometime around four we ran out of ketchup.
By eight, my feet were throbbing in my Payless shoes, my skin caked with a layer of sweat and grime.
I powered through the final hour knowing the restaurant would be dead as soon as the fireworks started at dusk. I exhaled a literal sigh of relief when I heard the crack from the first test go off and the remaining customers began scrambling to finish their meals and snag a spot on the beach.
After my last table signed their bill, I reached into the utility closet to grab the mop and start my closing duties, but someone touched my arm to stop me. I turned and found myself inches from Sebastian.
“The floors can wait, Mariano,” he said, taking the mop from me and resting it back against the wall of the closet. “Come watch the show with us.”
I peered around him to the dining room, which had been bustling just a couple of minutes ago.
Now it was nearly empty; the rest of the staffers must have already gone outside.
I spotted Bubba near the hostess stand and felt my skin flush, worried she’d caught us all slacking off.
I never wanted to disappoint Bubba. But she winked at me and mouthed, Go.
Sebastian led me out the back door, past the dumpsters and around the corner of the building to a small stretch of boardwalk with a ramp that led to the parking lot behind the restaurant.
Someone had moved the Bubba’s delivery truck that was usually parked there to make space for the staffers to sit on the ground with a perfect, unobstructed view of the fireworks above the ocean.
Normally I’d sit next to Tina, who had clocked out hours before and come back for the fireworks, but she was sitting cross-legged between Ravi and a middle-aged waitress named Kelly.
Sebastian dropped to a spot on the ground and I decided that it would be more conspicuous if I didn’t just sit next to him, so I gave in and took a seat, crossing my legs.
We were silent for a few minutes as pinwheels and weeping willows exploded above us. I sucked in deep breaths of the fresh, salty air, thankful to be outside.
Then, eyes still trained on the fireworks, Sebastian asked, “So how have you been, Mariano? I feel like you’ve been avoiding me this summer.”
My face felt hot. I shrugged. I wasn’t exactly a smooth liar, but I could handle some strategic downplaying.
“I’ve just been trying to focus on training,” I said, my eyes locked on a constellation of red and blue sparks that spelled U-S-A. Tina glanced over at us, eyebrow raised. I hoped the sound of the fireworks prevented her from actually overhearing our conversation.
Sebastian leaned back onto his elbows, one long leg stretched out in front of him and the other bent at the knee. “Worried I’ll distract you?”
I turned to him just as he was doing the same, a smirk dancing across his mouth.
I sensed the flirtation in his tone, but instead of exciting me like it would have last summer, it put me on guard.
Sebastian acted this way with everyone, I reminded myself.
I wasn’t special; I just happened to be the one sitting here.
I rolled my eyes and said, “I just don’t want your mom to relegate me to the snack bar again.”
“She never would,” he said, his tone serious now. “You’re one of her favorites these days. Always on time, willing to cover shifts at the last minute. The customers like you …” His voice trailed off, then the smirk reemerged. “It’s like that whole ice cream machine saga never even happened.”
At this I rotated my whole body to face him, my voice low. “Does she seriously remember that?”
Sebastian laughed. “Relax, Mariano. I’m kidding. That thing is ancient and she probably didn’t even notice.”
I turned back to the fireworks, a little embarrassed. But mostly I was glad to hear how much Bubba liked me.
We watched the show for a few more minutes, any awkwardness in the silence between us masked by Bruce Springsteen via a nearby speaker, singing “Jersey Girl.”
Sebastian stood up quietly.
“Where are you going?” I hissed.
“Everyone’s beat,” he said, gesturing to the rest of the staff, who were in various lounging positions to relieve what I imagined were feet that throbbed as much as mine did. “I’m going to start closing.”
“I’ll help.”
Inside, Bubba and Omar were already making good progress on closing up the kitchen, so we started on the dining room.
Sebastian cranked up the volume on the speaker system, which broadcast the same Pandora beach vibes station all summer long—a mellow-meets-punk mix of Jack Johnson, Sugar Ray, Red Hot Chili Peppers and Third Eye Blind.
We didn’t talk as we worked, but we fell into a companionable rhythm.
First we disinfected all the tables, then he stacked the chairs and swept, and I followed each finished section with the mop.
It was an efficient system—we finished closing the dining room with two people faster than we would have been able to with the full staff and all their shenanigans.
“Do you want a ride to the party?” Sebastian asked me as I tossed my apron in the laundry basket with the dirty kitchen towels.
My feet ached in response. “Honestly? I’m exhausted. I think I’m gonna bail.”
Sebastian surprised me by saying, “I was thinking the exact same thing. I’ll drop you at your place on my way home.”
“Okay,” I said. “Thanks.”
He turned to the long expo counter that connected the dining room and the kitchen. Through the hatch, I could see Bubba and Omar hunched over the sink, speaking in hushed tones. Bubba looked upset.
“Mom?” Sebastian called.
Bubba snapped up. Omar pivoted to one of the prep stations.
“Hey, honey,” she said, attempting to arrange her face into its usual sunny expression. But her weariness was clear.
I glanced at Sebastian. I knew he must have clocked the tense moment, too, but if it concerned him he didn’t let on.
“All closed up out here,” he said. “I won’t be late tonight. Just dropping Lina off and then I’ll see you at home.”