Chapter 13 Then Fourteen Years Ago #2
Bubba smiled gratefully at her son. Then she looked back and forth between us, eyes narrowing in a way that seemed playfully suspicious. “You’re both angels, thank you. I won’t be far behind you.”
We drove for a few minutes without talking. Normally I would have agonized over something to say to avoid coming across as awkward or uninteresting, but I was too tired for my usual mental gymnastics. I couldn’t wait to get home and fall into my bed.
“How do you feel about a pit stop?” Sebastian asked about halfway to my house. I meant to respond with something along the lines of No thanks, I’m ready to sleep for a year, but instead the words that came out of my mouth were: “What kind of pit stop?”
Instead of answering, he offered me a crooked smile and flicked on his turn signal just in time to pull into the parking lot of Twisters, my favorite ice cream shop in town.
“Don’t they close at ten?” I asked, glancing at the dashboard clock. It was 9:52.
“Eight minutes is plenty of time to scoop two honey-fudge cones. And I trust you aren’t going to argue with me and say that isn’t the superior flavor.”
I kept my mouth shut and opened the passenger door, because he was right: I wasn’t going to argue.
A bell above the shop door tinkled as we opened it, and I recognized Isaiah Thompson from school behind the counter. A look of annoyance flashed across his face at the sound of such late arrivals, but a smile quickly replaced it once he saw Sebastian. Everyone loved Sebastian.
“Hey, man,” he said. “Honey fudge on waffle?”
“And whatever she wants,” he said tipping his head toward me.
“Same, please,” I piped up.
Sebastian pulled a ten-dollar bill out of his pocket before I could object, and I felt too awkward to offer to pay him after the fact so I just accepted my cone and thanked him.
My first car ride with a boy and now my first time being treated for anything.
Maren’s voice thrummed in my ears: Are you on a date with he who shall not be mentioned? So much for a Sebastian-free summer.
I followed Sebastian to a bench outside. The sugar worked its magic quickly, and I found myself no longer thinking about my aching feet.
“You gotta go way faster than that in this heat,” Sebastian said, stifling a laugh as chocolate dripped down the side of my hand. His scoop was already more of a mound. I shot him a glare, racing to catch up.
“Tina will be bummed we’re missing the party,” I said once we’d both gotten to our cones and the drip-risk had subsided. “Do you regret skipping it?”
“Nah,” Sebastian said. “There will be plenty more parties this summer, I’m sure. They’re all the same, really.”
His blasé attitude surprised me. Most of the rising seniors I knew jumped at every invitation, because they knew there were only so many left.
“And I try not to stay out late when my dad’s traveling,” he added. He still sounded casual, but his gaze drifted across the parking lot. I could tell he had something on his mind. I wondered if it had to do with whatever Bubba and Omar were discussing in the kitchen.
“Is he somewhere cool, at least?” I asked, trying to lighten the mood. Mr. Nikolaou was a bit of a mystery to me. He traveled a lot for his fancy New York City job and didn’t come by the restaurant often, but whenever he did Sebastian beamed with pride. I could tell how much he looked up to him.
Sebastian laughed derisively. “Philly.” He glanced sidelong at me, which I took as permission to laugh, too. No shade on Philly; it just wasn’t the far-off city I’d been expecting.
“He was supposed to come home tonight,” Sebastian continued, “but now he won’t be back until tomorrow.”
I nodded slowly, feeling like I was starting to understand. Philly was less than an hour and a half from Brantley Beach—certainly close enough for Mr. Nikolaou to drive home for the night, even after a long workday. Maybe that was what had upset Bubba.
We were quiet for a moment, and then I surprised myself by asking, “Is it weird to think about graduating next year?”
He paused before answering, as if seriously considering the question. “Yeah,” he said, “I’d say weird is the right word. It’s weird to think that this time next year, I’ll be getting ready to move, and I don’t even know where. There are so many unknowns.”
“Sounds scary,” I observed.
He shrugged. “It’s a little scary, yeah. But at the same time I feel kind of ready to move on. When I was a freshman I never would have thought I would feel that way, but it’s the truth. I just feel like every year that I’m here is the same: school, working at the restaurant, surfing, parties.”
“Do you think you’ll go far away, then?” I asked, willing my tone to register somewhere between completely apathetic and vaguely curious.
“Yes,” he answered without hesitation. “Only because I know myself, and I know my mom, and if I stay close she’ll never fully accept that I’m not going to stay here and help her run the restaurant forever.
My mom was born here and never lived anywhere else.
She’s only been to a few states, never outside the country.
The restaurant is her whole life. I need her to understand that it isn’t going to be mine. ”
I thought about how, no matter how early I clocked in, Bubba was already there, poring over piles of paperwork in her office.
How she stayed even after everyone else clocked out, tinkering with leaky pipes and loose floorboards.
Whenever anyone on staff (lovingly) joked that she practically lived at the restaurant, she waved them off.
But there was clearly some truth to it. And Sebastian didn’t think that was a good thing.
“You don’t want to feel stuck,” I summarized.
“Yeah. Exactly.”
“What does your dad think? About college,” I clarified.
He shrugged. “I don’t think he really cares how far away I go, as long as the school has a good business program.”
I nodded, though this made me a little sad for Sebastian.
My parents and I were already starting to talk about colleges, mostly in the tristate area and a few farther up the East Coast. My mom and I loved mapping out the visits we wanted to take during my junior year, and my dad spent at least a few hours every month researching local and national scholarships I might be eligible for.
Although I knew finances would play a big factor in my decision, I also knew that my parents very much cared about where I ended up.
And—above all—they wanted me to be happy.
“What about you?” Sebastian nudged my shoulder playfully. The unexpected contact made my spine go rigid.
“I’ll definitely stay on the East Coast for college,” I said. “After that? I don’t see myself moving too far away from Jersey, but I’d love to work in the city. I want to be a writer. Maybe work for a magazine or a website.”
“That’s so cool,” he said. “What do you want to write about?” It was the first time someone took my interest in writing seriously enough to warrant a follow-up question. I forced myself to look up at his mossy eyes. They dazzled with the reflection of the shop lights.
“I’m not sure, exactly. Definitely something happy.
” I felt vaguely self-conscious about the fact that this was the longest I’d spent talking about myself with Sebastian, but he seemed genuinely curious, so I continued.
“My mom always has these depressing news shows on, and my dad’s forehead is always, like, scrunched in concern when reads the paper.
Maybe I could write for one of those fluffy travel publications, or do feature profiles. ”
“You could always write about ice cream,” Sebastian said, raising his cone. “I can’t really think of anything happier.”
I laughed. He was joking, of course, but I imagined capturing a honey-fudge cone in words to someone who had never tasted one. It struck me as a fun challenge.
“You will be,” he said, his tone matter-of-fact.
“I will be what?”
“A writer. I bet you’ll be a great one.”
The bell above the door tinkled to our left as Isaiah exited, waving to us on his way to his bike.
“This,” I said, turning to Sebastian and holding up the bottom inch of my cone, which was packed with the last bit of honey-fudge goodness, “is the best part.”
“You are correct.” He tapped what was left of his cone against mine in a cheers. “To not getting stuck.”
“To not getting stuck,” I repeated.
A swell rose in my chest. I didn’t fight to tamp it down. Sebastian had shone his light on me, and I let myself melt from the warmth.