Chapter 13
THIRTEEN
WIL
I take a seat at the bar and watch ESPN coverage of the MLB playoffs.
Goddamn, what a day. I shouldn’t be surprised that Dad found a reason to chew me out—in front of Felix and the entire customer service staff, not to mention fans—but he did, even after a successful media eval.
I’m never going to make him happy. At this point, maybe I should cut my losses and defect to Best Buy.
I’d probably make more money and get stock options to boot. Dad would love that.
I didn’t invite anyone else from the store, although there’s always a chance that someone might randomly show up.
And if other people are around, me hanging out with one of my employees looks less like me hanging out with just one of my employees.
Fraternizing. Socializing. But if I’m being honest, I want Abbey all to myself.
I open the copy of TC Weekly I grabbed at the front door and read an article about the Hometown League’s upcoming Fall Fest benefit at Lakeland Park.
The write-up gives a brief history of the nonprofit and details about the event: free pumpkins for the kids, cider, apple donuts, brats and hot dogs, Battle of the Bands, a ball game with a few major leaguers.
“We’re incredibly proud of the work of the Hometown League,” said director of facilities Andre Schmidt, who recently joined the League after several years at the corporate office of Hometown Electronics, a major supporter of the nonprofit.
“Fall Fest engages our community, provides a day of family entertainment, and serves to establish a significant financial foundation for the upcoming year.”
I bark out a laugh. I’ll bet Andre hated every minute of that interview. I flip through the rest of the paper, then fold it up and tuck it on the other side of the bar. I don’t know why I feel like I should protect Abbey from seeing it, other than a gut feeling that something wasn’t right there.
I smell Abbey before I hear or see her, which sounds completely Hannibal Lector, I know. Her perfume is like a ray of sunshine in a bottle. Even her hair smells good.
“Hey.” She slides onto the stool next to mine, then nearly slides right off again. I reach out to steady her, and her skin is soft and smooth and somehow buzzing beneath my fingers. “You okay?”
I hold onto her longer than necessary. I’m desperate for this, something, a connection, a friend. And ever since she “nearly died” at Ruh-Roh—a story she’ll tell anyone who’ll listen—and I held her in my arms, it’s gotten worse.
“Long day.” She settles onto the stool.
Lisa, the bartender, whose hair is a bright mermaid aquamarine, walks over with menus. “Chips and salsa?”
“Absolutely,” Abbey says, “and can we get an order of queso? Thank you so much.”
“Must be payday,” Lisa says.
Abbey grins. “I wish. We’re celebrating, so I’m going to treat myself.”
Jeremy should’ve given her a much bigger raise if queso is a treat.
“Celebrating?” Lisa looks from Abbey to me and back to Abbey, whose cheeks have turned salsa red.
“Good news at work. Right, Wil?”
“Right, and can we get separate checks, please?” I clear my throat. I want to pay, to treat her, but I’ll respect the boundaries that she’s set.
“Sure thing. Drinks?”
Abbey orders first—a house margarita on the rocks—and I order a Modelo Negra.
“Thank you for asking for separate checks,” Abbey says after Lisa walks over to the cooler, “although I do appreciate your offer to pay. I just don’t want anyone to think you’re treating me any differently than you treat everyone else.”
Lisa sets down a coaster and my beer and moves to the opposite end of the bar to make Abbey’s margarita. We watch in silence for a moment as she rubs lime around the rim of the glass and then tips it upside down into the salt ring, and I figure out what to say that won’t offend Abbey.
“Well, you earned it.” I take a swig of my beer. Maybe I should have waited for her to get her drink. I set it back down on the coaster and swipe at the condensation. “You doing okay? That was a lot of corporate higher-ups to deal with in one day.”
“Hmm,” she murmurs, “including the president and CEO. How are you doing after that little tirade?”
“Ah, you saw that.” I feel my neck heat. A lot of people have seen him lose his temper with me; I should be used to it by now. But the fact that Abbey witnessed it lands differently.
She nods.
The thing is, I know he’s a blowhard who doesn’t know squat about running a media department, even though it makes him and his company a shit-ton of money.
I don’t say any of that, and I don’t expect her to share her opinion of him with me, either.
It’s tricky, being the son of the revered Hometown CEO.
Neither of us is in a position to be truthful to the other.
“I’m used to it,” I say.
“That doesn’t make it right,” she says quietly. “Why was he so upset? Ninety-four not good enough for him?”
He wasn’t upset about the score. He was upset that I hadn’t taken his advice and fired Aurora. “How many times do I have to tell you, Wil?” he barked. “Surround yourself with good people, and you can’t fail.”
That’s what I’m doing—for Aurora. That’s why we hired and promoted Abbey. I’m not ready to give up on Aurora yet. And besides, even if I had fired her, he would have found fault with something else.
I tip my head back and run a hand along the back of my neck. “Nothing’s ever good enough for him.”
Abbey must catch the finality in my tone because she doesn’t press for more. “Anyone else coming?”
Lisa delivers her margarita. She flicks her tongue against the rim for a tiny bit of salt, and I nearly choke. Do not go there.
“I didn’t invite anyone else.”
“Oh.” She takes a sizable drink.
“You handled your first eval really well.” I tap my fingertips on the bar, a rich, golden wood painted with a colorful, intricate floral design and then shellacked to a high gloss.
I’ve got so much excess energy, so much adrenaline, that I don’t know what to do with myself.
I glance up at the game on TV. I should go to the batting cage later and burn some of it off.
I’m surprised when she swivels on the stool to face me and her knees knock against my legs. Without thinking, I place a hand on her thigh to steady her. She’s warm and solid and—what are you doing, Wil? I yank my hand back.
“Thanks,” she says, “but it was a team effort. We all worked hard the last couple of weeks to get ready for the eval. So why don’t I see anyone else from the team?”
That’s a good question, considering we’re not supposed to be socializing. We’re not supposed to be friends, I’m not supposed to have a crush on my employee, and we’re not supposed to go out for drinks after an eval, not without the rest of the team.
Things have been a little awkward since the Ruh-Roh show.
Every morning when I see Abbey walking across the parking lot, I think about how she could have been crushed by all those obnoxious Ruh-Roh fans.
I think about how good and warm she felt in my arms, how I kept her safe, how I was so relieved that she wasn’t hurt, I almost, almost pressed my lips to her hair.
I know she’s gone out of her way to avoid me at work—not always, but enough that I’ve noticed—and I don’t like it.
Some days, when I’m the manager on duty, I watch her move through the department stocking CDs or helping fans.
Sometimes, she sings along to whatever song is playing overhead.
When the department’s empty, she shimmies along to “Lovefool” by The Cardigans or “No Diggity” by Blackstreet.
Once, she awkwardly chugged down the aisle to “C’mon N’ Ride It (The Train) by Quad City DJs.
I almost laugh now, remembering how serious she looked while she chugged, and then, how embarrassed. So adorable.
I’m not sure how to explain why I invited only her tonight.
I can’t even explain it to myself, but I give it a try.
“Typically, it’s only Felix here for an eval, not an entire corporate department.
I wasn’t expecting… all that. I thought maybe you’d appreciate a quieter night after dealing with so many people. ”
She turns back, and I miss the feeling of her knees against my thigh. “It wasn’t the best surprise, but I survived.”
“I’m sorry about Kelsey.”
She scoffs. “Why in the world would you apologize for your sister’s behavior?”
I shrug. “She was particularly awful today.”
“Well, she definitely gets that from your dad. No offense. Why does he treat you so disrespectfully? If you don’t mind me asking.”
So we’re back to Dad. I take a long drink, and then, for some reason—maybe because sitting next to Abbey Rhodes at La Cuchara feels like the most natural thing, the most comfortable I’ve been in such a long time, like we’re supposed to be here, together—I say, “If you ask him, it’s not disrespect. It’s expressing his disappointment.”
“In what?”
“That I don’t meet his expectations. It’s supposed to inspire me, encourage me to do better.”
“Is it working?”
“I guess?” It’s all I know.
“Well, that’s bullshit.” She takes another sip.
“Maybe. I suppose because he learned it from his father, who learned it from his.”
“What about you? Are you learning that, too?”
I shake my head. “I’m learning the opposite—that everyone is worthy of respect, even when they screw up. At least I hope so.”
“I can think of a few people who don’t deserve my respect.”
I wait for her to elaborate, but Lisa comes over to take our orders—the number eleven combo for me, as usual, but tonight, Abbey orders two a la carte bean tacos.
The least expensive thing on the menu.
I want to buy her a full meal. Taquitos and tortilla soup and a chimichanga and churros.
And queso—always queso. I want to hunt down those people she doesn’t respect—for good reasons, I’m sure—and teach them a lesson, especially if they hurt her.
Which is counterintuitive, I know. I want to show her every day how worthy of respect she is.
Abbey Rhodes has turned me inside out.