CHAPTER 20
Finn
I hold the door for both Emma and Jasmine, and we step inside the cultural wonder that is Sweetbriar’s most notorious restaurant.
I wait for it. It will be any second now. Emma turns to me, confused.
“I thought this was an Italian restaurant.”
“Oh, it is,” I say.
Since this is a seat-yourself joint, I direct everyone to a red vinyl booth on the far wall. Along the way I greet several of Aunt Phyllis’s friends, the feed store owner and his wife, and the deputy sheriff.
At each table, I introduce our friend, Emma Clark, who’s new to town.
“Hello,” she repeats each time we stop. “It’s very nice to meet you.”
We settle in, and I try not to show my hurt when my only child chooses to sit with Emma instead of me.
I don’t mind it, really, since it gives me a chance to watch the two of them interact.
Emma is very sweet with Jasmine and doesn’t seem to mind her incessant questions.
That’s a social skill my daughter is still working on.
Her Uncle Kevin tells me to let her be, since she’s obviously destined for a career in Naval Intelligence.
The waitress stops by to deliver the laminated menus and our waters. She asks us if we need a minute, and we all answer in the affirmative. Jasmine and I know exactly what we’re getting, but we expect that Emma may have some questions as she attempts to navigate the menu.
Emma opens it up and begins to read. She glances up at the walls and back to the menu.
She glances at the cash register, the bathroom doors, and the ceilings, and then the menu again.
She closes the menu and takes a dainty sip of her water.
I’m surprised she’s not yet asked the million-dollar question.
“Aren’t you going to ask?” Jasmine is wiggling in the booth like she’s about to bust with excitement.
“If you have questions, we have answers,” I tell her.
“Mind if I take a guess?” Emma asks.
“Guess! Guess!”
She smiles. She has a drop-dead gorgeous smile. She’s a very pretty woman, especially when she’s not being berated by her fuckhead employer.
“So, my guess is that this was a Mexican restaurant for a long time. Maybe even an institution around here?”
“Yes!” Jasmine squirms. “Guess its name!”
Emma checks the menu again. “The Pinata?”
“Yes! Keep going!”
“And then the owners sold it.”
“I knew she’d get it!”
“To people who wanted to make it an Italian restaurant named Parmigiana.”
“You’re batting a thousand, Miss Clark.”
She grins at me. “Please, call me Emma.”
She’s just turned the tables on me. “If you call me Finn.”
She nods, then resumes her conversation with Jasmine, her voice lowered.
“But these new owners were too cheap to change anything, including the decorations or the menu or the sign. So they kept all the sombreros and chili peppers and ponchos as decorations, used sticky notes to update the food choices, and wrote the second half of the name in magic marker and opened up for business.”
“Impressive, Emma,” I say.
“Thank you, Finn. And that’s why today we see the list of pizza toppings in the burrito section of the menu.”
“And under a picture of the burrito, too,” Jasmine whispers.
“We have a winner,” I say.
Emma and Jasmine giggle together.
“Now,” I say. “Guess how long ago this transition happened.”
Emma glances around again. “Six months?”
Jasmine is dying to be the one to deliver the punchline, so I gesture for her to go ahead, but add, “Indoor voice, please.”
She leans in close to Emma and whispers, “Five years.”
Emma’s eyes widen. And she bursts out laughing just as the waitress returns.
She orders spaghetti and Jasmine orders pizza, and they agree to share. I order my standard lasagna and a side salad.
I try to make conversation with Emma. She’s courteous but not exactly an extrovert.
“So, this place and the diner are pretty much the only dining options around Sweetbriar. It’s a good thing Phyllis can throw it down. The MacLaines would have starved otherwise.”
Emma smiles politely.
“You were pretty spot-on about this place.”
She shrugs and spins her straw in her red plastic water glass. “I’ve been around food service all my life.”
“Did your family own a restaurant?”
She shakes her head. “Nope. I’ve been a waitress since the age of sixteen. I know a lot about that world and, you know, the personalities usually involved.”
“I bet.” That’s all I can think to say. Emma seems like a smart woman. I wonder why she didn’t go to college and work toward a career. But it’s none of my business, of course, so I don’t ask.
I suddenly feel like a real shit. Not only did I act like a complete ass with her, but it’s also plain to see that I have no business lusting after her. My guess she’s in her late twenties, which doesn’t make her much younger than me, but there’s something about her that seems innocent.
I look at Emma and get the feeling that her childhood was probably very different than Jasmine’s.
Maybe one day she’ll want to share that with me. Maybe there’s something our family can do for her, if she chooses to stay in the job long term. Like tuition reimbursement or a scholarship.
Emma is engaged in a heated conversation with Jasmine about hair. Jasmine’s asking why her hair is so shiny and how she gets it that way.
Emma looks up to find me staring at her. She straightens. I see a flash of alarm in her eyes before she returns her attention to Jasmine. I think I’ve already given the poor woman reason to suspect her boss is a real bastard.
Well, of course I have. And she would be right.
We have a wonderful time at dinner, and later while enjoying our desserts from Carla’s Creamy Cone. By the time our evening comes to a close, I think both Jasmine and I feel like we’ve known Emma much longer than just one day.
Jasmine grabs Emma’s hand on the way back to the car and swings her arm wildly. Emma laughs.
I wonder if Jasmine would want to do that with her mother if Amy had lived. Of course she would.
I hold the door open for Emma again, and this time she smiles politely and steps up into the passenger seat. I almost wonder if when I opened the door for her earlier—and she looked at me in confusion—it could have been the first time anyone has showed her that courtesy.
That can’t possibly be right, can it?
“Do you need anything from town before we head back, Emma?”
She shakes her head. “No, thank you, Finn.”
I’m damn glad she’s dropped the mister.
When we get home, I tell Jasmine it’s time for her bath. When she’s done, she snuggles her head into my chest as I read to her. When her eyes grow heavy, I kiss her head, turn off the lamp, and head toward the door.
“Dad?”
“I thought you were asleep.”
“I really like Emma, and I want her to stay.”
“She’s very nice. Good night, sweetie.”
“Dad?”
“Yeah?”
“Thank you for running after her, like in the movies.”