Smart Mouth Waitress (34 page)

Since her phone call, I'd been operating under the dual assumptions she wanted to be my friend, and that she also wished me bodily harm. It was only because she suggested my workplace, where I could have concealed weapons hidden around the premises, that I'd agreed so readily.

“This is embarrassing,” she said.

My curiosity threatened to reach across the table and shake it out of her.

“Go ahead,” I said calmly.

“You can say no,” Sunshine said. “But Jade is one of my personal heroes and it would mean so much to me to get her feedback.” She carried on talking, her words washing over me as meaningless noise.

Jade.

My mother.

Sunshine wanted me to introduce her to my mother, or send my mother some of her songs. I blanked out, the noise of the restaurant turned up to maximum in my brain, muting Sunshine.

Nigel brought us our food and berated me for having my cell phone out on the table. I apologized and stuck it in my pocket, feeling annoyed at myself, because I should have known better.

I grabbed my crispy bacon and munched away while Sunshine talked about her
sound
.

Even then, I had a pretty good feeling whatever music Sunshine had made, it was going to be good. And since that day we met at The Whistle for brunch, I've heard pretty much everything she's recorded and it's all good. She's unique and sweet, a bit music-nerdy, not unlike that girl from Karmin, who does the rap covers.

Seated at the little table across from her, my mind started to clear up from the previous night's fun. How had Sunshine gotten my phone number? I'd called both her brother and her ex-boyfriend the night before, according to my phone records. She must have gotten my number from one of them, so who was it?

And what had he said?

I still had no recollection of my topic of conversation, thanks to Haylee and her endless string of vodka-related dares. An image came back to me as Nigel appeared at our table and refilled my cup of coffee: me, lying on my back and pouring vodka into my belly button, then daring Haylee to drink it, which she did, lapping it like a cat.

If that was the level of depravity we'd achieved, I could only imagine what I'd said on the phone.

Sunshine asked me a question, which I had to ask her to repeat.

“What made you decide to get your eyebrow piercing?” She pointed to her own eyebrow, which had a fancier piece of jewelry than mine. Hers had what appeared to be diamonds on the ends. She had a few stray eyebrow hairs growing in over the delicate tattoo, but it was still the most adorable body art I'd ever seen.

“Spite,” I said. “My best friend Courtney, well, my former best friend, has this new girlfriend, Britain, who wanted an eyebrow piercing, and she chickened out.”

Sunshine's top lip curled up in disgust. “Britain's a real piece of work. She went to my school.”

“No kidding. So you know her.”

“Unfortunately. I stuck pretty close to Marc at the art show so I wouldn't have to talk to her.”

“The enemy of my enemy is my friend,” I said.

Sunshine ran her hand over her bleached, nearly-white hair and laughed. “I wouldn't say Britain's my enemy. I feel sorry for her, with the whole eating disorder thing.” Sunshine then told me all about Britain's reputation in high school, from her giving hand jobs to any guy who asked, to her disappearing for months at a time to go to various treatment centers for her anorexia and bulimia.

My scrambled eggs had lost their appeal, so I put down my utensils and pushed my plate to the side. “Great, now I have to feel sorry for Britain,” I said. “You've humanized her. How can I hate her?”

“You can feel how you want,” Sunshine said. “I thought I was a bad person for disliking her, but the truth is, even if someone has a mental illness, they can still be a massive douche on top of it. I practice compassion, but I'm not a doormat. My advice is to avoid her, but for you, that's not easy, since Courtney's your friend.”

I put my face in my hands. “Nothing's easy.”

“Nothing worth doing,” she said.

“And other meaningless platitudes.”

She raised her coffee cup, nodding for me to do the same. “To meaningless platitudes,” she repeated, clinking my cup.

Nigel cleared away the plates and brought us the bill, which Sunshine insisted on paying for.

“Sunshine, how did you get my phone number?”

Her eyes twinkled with mischief and secrets. “You don't remember, do you?”

Nigel walked past us with an omelet that smelled like hot garbage—the feta cheese and olive special. 

I confessed it all, saying, “It's probably no secret I like your brother, but I like Marc too.”

“They're both great guys,” she said.

I winced. “You're not mad? I mean, are you and Marc still a thing?”

“We're done. I'm seeing my songwriting partner now, and we have a real connection, on so many levels. He's amazing. You'd love him.”

In a deadpan voice, I rolled my eyes and said, “I probably would.” Then I waved my hand and said, “Kidding, kidding! I don't even look at guys who already have girlfriends. It's just … well, this is a bit awkward. You know, me and you.”

“Life is awkward,” she said. “Beats boring.”

“I love your eyebrow tattoo.”

She got a big, goofy grin, and I saw the family resemblance between her and her easygoing brother. “Thanks. That's really sweet.” She picked up her wallet and keys from the table, which caused some subtle excitement in the people standing in line by the door waiting for a table.

“No rush, just let me know what you decide,” she said.

Surprised she was being so cavalier about my decision to date either her brother or her ex-boyfriend, I stammered for a moment.

She clarified with, “About getting my songs to your mother. I don't mind if you say no.”

I stood and pulled the layers of crinoline away from the backs of my sweaty legs, feeling ridiculous in my semi-punk outfit.

Sunshine waved her hand up and down, pointing at my clothing. “I love this, by the way.”

Flattered, I thanked her.

“You're an original,” she said.

On my walk home after eating at The Whistle with Sunshine, I wondered how many of her compliments she'd truly meant and how much of her niceness was an act to butter me up about sending her songs to my mother, the amazing rock star who everyone thinks is so awesome, despite her tendency to ditch her family for months at a time.

Back home, I changed my clothes, drank some of the pink stuff Andrew had left behind for me, and crawled into bed. I didn't wake up until my room was dark. My clock read 8:15, but in my confused state, I didn't know if it was still night, or if I'd slept through to the morning.

I went downstairs and found my father at his computer.

“Where's Garnet?” I asked. “The house is freakishly quiet without him here.”

“I dropped him off at your Uncle Jeff's in New West, since Uncle Jeff has had his license suspended and can't drive.”

“Poor Garnet. How long is his punishment, uh, intervention?”

“He can come home tomorrow, Sunday night, if he says the magic words.”

“Are those words
Uncle Jeff is trying to convert me to Scientology?
”

“The words are
I'll never touch drugs again, Dad, I'm so sorry.
”

Being a little hungover had lowered my self-restraint and dialed up my guilt. “Dad, I took one of your ADD pills once.”

He turned off his computer monitor and turned his office chair slowly to face me. “I know.”

“You knew?” I leaned back on his filing cabinet, my legs shaking.

“The pharmacy is really tight with the controls, and they suggested I keep track of them by counting, because I have teenagers in the house. It was just the one, so I let it go as normal curiosity.”

“Did you know you're the best dad in the universe?”

“Yes, because I have the mug.”

I jumped up on the filing cabinet and watched him for a few minutes as he turned his monitor on again and pulled up his email program. The last three emails from my mother were in bold, showing they hadn't been opened.

“You didn't read Mom's emails,” I said.

He minimized the window and frowned at his desktop photo, which was of the four of us in sunny Mexico.

“Dad, you kind of ignore problems, hoping they'll go away, don't you?”

He snapped back, “I dealt with your brother, didn't I?”

I did not point out that the punishment had been my idea and he'd sorta left dealing with it to Uncle Jeff.

I said, “The thing with your missing pill. Did you really think what I did was okay, or did you just not want to deal with it? Did you ignore the problem, hoping it would go away?”

Tersely, he said, “I'm not having this conversation with you.”

“Haylee and I were drinking in my room last night.”

“Wonderful,” he said.

“If you want Mom to come home, you have to talk to her.”

He got up from his chair and walked into the kitchen, pacing back and forth, but not doing or getting anything.

Seeing him that upset made me upset.

I followed him into the kitchen and put on the kettle for tea, because my mother makes him tea when he's upset.

“The next month will go by even faster,” I said.

“That's the problem,” he said, pulling out the little sugar dish and the carton of milk from the fridge. He disappeared into his office and returned with his
Best Dad in the Universe
mug, which he cleaned with the scrub brush.

I was still mulling over what he'd said when he explained, “I don't miss your mother. I don't miss her bad moods. I think I'm better off without her. Maybe we all are.”

My stomach turned into a bowling ball, and at the same time, my consciousness felt like it lifted up, out of my body, and jumped out the open kitchen window.

I stood still, my fingers wrapped around the handle of the kettle. It reached boiling point and whistled before clicking off automatically.

“Is this how it happens?” I asked my father, meaning divorce, but not saying the awful word.

“I don't know,” he said.

I thought of the previous day, when Marc had said
I don't know
to my question of him liking me or not.

People
not knowing
how they felt was quickly becoming my top pet peeve.

“Did you take your pills today?” I asked.

He snapped back. “Why? Are you going to take them?”

“I'll take that to mean you didn't. Listen, you're the adult, and I'm the kid, so do I really need to tell you to take your brain pills?”

He fidgeted with the dishes out on the counter, rearranging them into a grid, the way he plays with his food. “Are you going to pour that water or are we waiting for it to cool to room temperature?”

“Real mature, Dad.”

We stared at each other for several seconds before he broke into a slight smile. “I should pierce my eyebrow,” he said. “Then your mother will learn she can't leave the three of us alone.”

“You still love her.”

“Of course I do.” He rubbed his stomach. “I didn't have any lunch. You know I get bleak when I haven't eaten.”

“No kidding.” I quickly pulled a container of leftover soup from the fridge and dumped it into a bowl. I set the microwave for two minutes, pushed the button, and we both dashed out of the kitchen.

We waited on the other side of the wall for the microwave to beep.

My father has an irrational fear of the radiation from the microwave, and refuses to be in the same room when it's running. He knows it's a silly thing to be scared of, but once a fear takes hold in your brain, it's hard to get rid of. He has passed that fear on to both of his kids, because neither of us will stay in the kitchen during microwaving.

“We're a strange bunch,” he said to me.

I wondered how Garnet was enjoying his scared-straight intervention with Uncle Jeff.

“It's St. Patrick's Day,” I said.

“Woo hoo,” he said sarcastically.

“You're not meeting your friends? Aren't some of them Irish? Isn't it required by law that you go out and drink green beer?”

He shifted uneasily. “I'm getting too old for that shit.”

I'd never noticed before, but some of his hair, what he had left, was turning gray near his temples.

“Maybe next year,” I said.

When it was safe, after the microwave dinged, we returned to the kitchen and he hungrily slurped up his soup. I set his mug of tea by him and he thanked me.

Taking care of him had made me feel better.

That's my role in life.

I bring people food, and they go from whatever state they're in to being more pleasant. If everybody brought each other plates or bowls of food, what a happy place the world would be.