Smart Mouth Waitress (31 page)

Friday was the day Marc kissed me.

I didn't know that when I woke up that morning, or I would have flossed in addition to brushing.

It was my first day off work and Haylee came over around ten. I'd offered to let her do her laundry at my house if she helped me with grocery shopping. She thought this was a great idea, because she had some blankets to wash, and it would save her nearly fifty dollars.

Andrew came in with her, hauling the overflowing laundry baskets. He'd lost a lot of weight since the last time I'd seen him, so I said, “Isn't Haylee feeding you, dude?”

He waved his Tyrannosaurus Rex head back and forth, flailing at the air with his tiny dinosaur arms. “I have Chrohn's disease,” he said.

“Oh. I didn't know.” I felt terrible for seeing him as a dinosaur, but I couldn't
un-see
it.

Haylee put her arm around Andrew protectively and gave him a smile. “We don't know for sure, but he's doing a lot better off gluten, aren't you, baby?”

“Sucks,” he said to me.

“We have some rice crackers in the kitchen,” I said. “Unless you … have somewhere you need to be?” As bad as I felt about his health problem, I still didn't want to hang out with him all day.

Andrew mumbled something about editing a film, gave Haylee a kiss, then left.

After the door closed, Haylee said, “It's been a tough week.”

“No kidding. He has that wheat disease?”

“No, not exactly. He might have to get part of his colon removed.”

We walked over to the laundry room, at the corner of the house, and I helped her sort the laundry as she told me more about Chrohn's disease. It's an inflammatory bowel disease that can pop up in your teens or early twenties, and there's no cure, just management.

“That's so awful,” I said. “Poor Andrew.”

Haylee twisted her lips in a strange sideways manner. “People die from it.”

There we were, sorting laundry, when I realized Haylee's boyfriend could die. I apologized for being so casual in my initial reaction.

“You didn't know,” she said.

“Poor Andrew,” I said again. I made a note to add good health to my list of things to be appreciative of.

Haylee stuffed an enormous comforter into the washing machine, along with a second blanket. I could see why the lady at the laundromat yelled at her.

I pulled the blanket out, saying, “You don't have to pay per load, so let's leave some space to get clean.”

“It'll take longer,” she said.

“If the items are jam-packed, there's no room for the water to circulate, and the dirt won't rinse out.”

She stepped back, hands in the air, laughing. “Easy there,
Mom
.”

In a high-pitched voice, I wagged my finger at her and said, “You should be so lucky to have me as your mother, dah-ling!”

We laughed together, and I remembered how much the three of us—me, Courtney, and Haylee—had enjoyed hanging out together before Andrew came along. 

I could give Andrew a chance. Besides having an unusually-large melon head and bad taste in movies, he wasn't a bad guy. The idea of him being ill had also softened me towards him.

Why does finding out someone has pain in their life make you appreciate them more as a human being? Shouldn't we all assume everyone we meet has their own pain?

After we put the second load into the washer, Haylee and I had some lunch and made fun of Britain. Haylee had met her at Courtney's house and been unimpressed, though at least Britain hadn't terrified her the moment Courtney left the room, like she'd done to me.

I stuck my nose up in the air and did an impression of Britain hating everything by comparing it to something else, like she'd done with
The Hunger Games
and
Battle Royale
.

“This peanut butter is stupid,” I said, holding up the plastic container of Kraft smooth peanut butter. “It's just a rip-off of Skippy peanut butter.” I pulled out the hem of my t-shirt. “This shirt is a rip-off of pants. Pants did it first.”

“Pants is a funny word,” Haylee said.

My scalp, right behind my ears, started to ache. I think of that spot as my
evil laugh
indicator, as the little muscle soreness only happens when I'm making fun of someone.

If being mean is wrong, why does it feel so good? Why is it so enjoyable to make fun of your friends with your other friends?

After loading up the third batch of laundry—mostly Andrew's gonchies, which I refused to handle—we took my mother's Land Rover and drove to Fraser Street to the No Frills (yes, that's really the name) to buy groceries.

You'll remember I mentioned this was the day I kissed Marc, and I am getting to that
part
.

Outside the grocery store, I saw a familiar-looking brown and cream Shih Tzu.

“Pickles?”

The dog wagged its tail.

“Rover?”

The dog wagged its fluffy tail even more vigorously. So much for identifying Pickles by name. I explained that she looked like Marc's dog, so Haylee knelt down to check the collar tag, while I tried to not look like a dog thief.

“This is Pickles,” she said. “If Marc's in there, we have to hunt him down.” She seemed over-eager about the
hunting
part, so I urged her to remain calm as I grabbed a shopping cart. She'd gotten so excited during our video chat, while I was reading out his text messages, and I worried she'd bring up my virginity in front of him.

Inside the store, we split up to cover more ground, and Haylee found him first, in the dairy section. She hadn't met Marc before, but had seen photos.

I walked up, as casually as I could, pretending to be looking at the selection of butter.

The chilly air from the dairy cooler had created visual distractions on the front of Haylee's thin sweater—distractions that Marc kept checking out.

“She has a boyfriend,” I said to Marc. “Eyes off the nipples.”

“Peridot,” he said. “Perry, Perry, quite contrary.”

“Whatcha shopping for?” I asked. “We saw Pickles out front. I totally knew you were in here.”

He scanned the section of soft cheeses. “I was looking for goat cheese, but it would appear they don't have any.”

“This is No Frills,” I said. “Goat cheese is clearly in frill territory. You need to hit Whole Foods.”

“Mom knows best,” Haylee said.

Marc squinted behind his cute tortoiseshell glasses and scratched his head. “Did I send you some drunken text messages the other night?”

“Yes. You were very flirty,” I said.

Haylee said, “Ooh!”

Marc pulled some cream cheese off the shelf and put it in the plastic shopping basket sitting by his feet on the floor.

“Do you like my girl here?” Haylee asked.

I smacked her on the arm.

Marc scratched his ear, looking more uncomfortable by the second under the bright grocery store lights. “Perry's a special girl,” he said to Haylee.

“You should pop by the house,” Haylee said. “We're having a girls' day, but you could help us fold laundry.”

“Sure,” he said. “Pickles likes your house.”

I said, “I repainted my bedroom. You can check it out.”

Haylee commented, “How forward!”

“Haylee!” I pulled her ponytail.

Marc's cheeks reddened. I really hadn't meant anything frisky when I'd mentioned my bedroom. My pal Haylee was enjoying the vicarious flirting way too much, so I quickly dragged her off to the produce section after I said goodbye to Marc.

“Focus your energy on finding some good yams,” I said to an over-excited Haylee.

“Do you mean yam-yams or orange potatoes?” she asked. “Because what people call yams aren't actually yams.”

“Those things, smartypants,” I said, pointing to the oblong potatoes with the thick brown skins.

She closed her eyes and began groping the potatoes, making dirty noises. People turned to stare.

Normally, I would have jumped right in with her, but I didn't want Marc to catch me acting like a doofus.

I didn't know how he wanted me to act, besides staying quiet and letting him ramble on during conversations, but feeling up root vegetables was probably a bad move.

“Pick five and put them in a bag,” I said to Haylee, putting some distance between us as I moved over to browse the non-suggestive broccoli.

Chapter 20

Haylee and I got the grocery shopping done, though the bill for a full cart of food was a shocking two hundred dollars, paid for with my parents' debit card.

“Junk food's cheaper,” Haylee said. “Andrew and I have started eating healthier, and it's killing us, budget-wise.”

I was quiet as we loaded the groceries into the Land Rover. Haylee had grown-up worries, with Andrew's health and their budget problems. She'd been working at a movie theater since we graduated, and going to school part-time at VCC, Vancouver Community College, which has a campus downtown and one on East Broadway.

I didn't want to think about Haylee's problems. I wanted to be a giggly girl, crushing on two boys, one of whom had promised to come to my house later that day.

Marc came over
at two o'clock, and the three of us—four if you count the dog—sat in the back yard enjoying the early spring weather while Pickles snorted in the grass and ran around the fenced back yard.

“We're moving in,” Marc said to me. “I hope your parents don't mind.”

I licked my lips in anticipation of the kiss that was about to happen in less than half an hour. Okay, not really, because I'm not psychic, and of course I didn't know.

Haylee, however, was
inspired
in her Machiavellian machinations. As soon as we came back into the house so I could show Marc my painting job, she said she had to make some phone calls and switch over the laundry. “It's going to take some time, so start the tour without me,” she said, giving me a wink.

Pickles, content to be in the sunny yard, stayed behind, though we left the door cracked open in case she got lonely.

Quietly, Marc followed me up the old wooden stairs to my bedroom. Had the stairs always squeaked so much? The sound was deafening.

With Haylee sequestered off in the laundry room, we were practically alone in the house. My brother wouldn't be home from school for another two hours, and my father home from work about the same time.