me. “Any thoughts about the future of your illustrious career?”
Cue big sigh and shrug from me. “Not sure.”
Chris leans forward, “Yeah, Love, what’s up with you and the voice? You were all over anything music-related and now…”
“And now I’m just not sure, okay?” I snap at him and he reels like I pushed him. Sorry. It’s just a confusing subject for me. I used to be so sure about wanting to do that, planning my life around it, and this past year it just kind of changed. Or shifted.”
“Hey, guys,” Haverford saunters back and slides in next to Chris in the back seat.
“Next time you’re heading to the smoky mountains, you can catch your own ride back,” Chili says to her brother. Haverford shrugs and stares vacantly out toward the water. “Let’s go, Love. I have to take my half-baked brother home.”
“Want some company?” Chris asks Chili. She nods. And in the rearview mirror I think — I can’t confirm, but I think — that I see Haverford smile.
“I wish you could come with me,” I say yet again.
“Believe me, so do I,” Arabella gathers the receipts from this morning’s café-take and puts them in the office. “But if Doug and Ula get here and find the place virtually unstaffed, we’re in big shit.”
“I know, I know.” Then I feel bad and guilty. “I should stay with you. Seriously.”
Arabella slips a fresh half-apron on and sits down for a sandwich. When you work the late morning to the afternoon, there’s not really time for lunch, so I usually eat a tuna sandwich at 10am and then by the time I’m done, lunch isn’t until four or so. She shoves the soy butter and jam into her mouth and talks at the same time, sounding like she’s got a mouthful of cotton balls.
“You know I don’t mind and if I did I’d tell you, right? Isn’t our friendship based on honesty?”
“Yeah,” I say and look away.
“What?” she prods. “What’s that look for?”
“Nothing,” I say and look away again.
“Oh my god, it’s like acting for the stage for people who suck at acting…”
“Fine,” I say. “If you’re going to interpret every single one of my actions then I’ll tell you. But I feel funny about it — and I’m worried you’ll be angry…”
“Enough of the disclaimers,” Arabella says and glugs some milk, clearing her mouth so her voice goes back to normal. “Just tell me. I probably already know, anyway.”
“Why? What do you think I’m going to say?” I ask and understand suddenly why my dad gets confused when he hears me talking to my friends. He says it’s like we’re discussing air with a passion — nothing, but something.
“I think it has to do with something — or someone — you want but something you perceive as off-limits.”
“Well, you’re right about that.” I sit next to her and eat her leftover crusts, my favorite part of sandwiches. It’s those little details about me that I think make me seem more alterna than I really am — or like I’m trying to be different. Not that I want to be a total chameleon but I also don’t need to stand out to feel special — I just like crusts.
“Spill it,” Arabella commands. She stands behind me and twists my hair up into various silly up-dos that I would never feel comfortable wearing. “You should wear it like this tonight…you know, mix it up a little.” She holds my hair in a complicated twist with the requisite amount of messiness so that it doesn’t look too done.
With her walking behind me to keep the hair in place, we go to the bathroom so I can check out the style for myself. “Very elegant,” I say.
“But not too prom, more like pouty model on the way back from a wedding cool.”
“I like it,” I say and then, when we’re both looking at my reflection in the mirror I add, “It’s about Henry.”
She looks shocked. “Really?”
I spin and face her. “Why? What’d you think I was going to say?”
She shakes me off. “Nothing.”
“No, tell
Cue big sigh and shrug from me. “Not sure.”
Chris leans forward, “Yeah, Love, what’s up with you and the voice? You were all over anything music-related and now…”
“And now I’m just not sure, okay?” I snap at him and he reels like I pushed him. Sorry. It’s just a confusing subject for me. I used to be so sure about wanting to do that, planning my life around it, and this past year it just kind of changed. Or shifted.”
“Hey, guys,” Haverford saunters back and slides in next to Chris in the back seat.
“Next time you’re heading to the smoky mountains, you can catch your own ride back,” Chili says to her brother. Haverford shrugs and stares vacantly out toward the water. “Let’s go, Love. I have to take my half-baked brother home.”
“Want some company?” Chris asks Chili. She nods. And in the rearview mirror I think — I can’t confirm, but I think — that I see Haverford smile.
“I wish you could come with me,” I say yet again.
“Believe me, so do I,” Arabella gathers the receipts from this morning’s café-take and puts them in the office. “But if Doug and Ula get here and find the place virtually unstaffed, we’re in big shit.”
“I know, I know.” Then I feel bad and guilty. “I should stay with you. Seriously.”
Arabella slips a fresh half-apron on and sits down for a sandwich. When you work the late morning to the afternoon, there’s not really time for lunch, so I usually eat a tuna sandwich at 10am and then by the time I’m done, lunch isn’t until four or so. She shoves the soy butter and jam into her mouth and talks at the same time, sounding like she’s got a mouthful of cotton balls.
“You know I don’t mind and if I did I’d tell you, right? Isn’t our friendship based on honesty?”
“Yeah,” I say and look away.
“What?” she prods. “What’s that look for?”
“Nothing,” I say and look away again.
“Oh my god, it’s like acting for the stage for people who suck at acting…”
“Fine,” I say. “If you’re going to interpret every single one of my actions then I’ll tell you. But I feel funny about it — and I’m worried you’ll be angry…”
“Enough of the disclaimers,” Arabella says and glugs some milk, clearing her mouth so her voice goes back to normal. “Just tell me. I probably already know, anyway.”
“Why? What do you think I’m going to say?” I ask and understand suddenly why my dad gets confused when he hears me talking to my friends. He says it’s like we’re discussing air with a passion — nothing, but something.
“I think it has to do with something — or someone — you want but something you perceive as off-limits.”
“Well, you’re right about that.” I sit next to her and eat her leftover crusts, my favorite part of sandwiches. It’s those little details about me that I think make me seem more alterna than I really am — or like I’m trying to be different. Not that I want to be a total chameleon but I also don’t need to stand out to feel special — I just like crusts.
“Spill it,” Arabella commands. She stands behind me and twists my hair up into various silly up-dos that I would never feel comfortable wearing. “You should wear it like this tonight…you know, mix it up a little.” She holds my hair in a complicated twist with the requisite amount of messiness so that it doesn’t look too done.
With her walking behind me to keep the hair in place, we go to the bathroom so I can check out the style for myself. “Very elegant,” I say.
“But not too prom, more like pouty model on the way back from a wedding cool.”
“I like it,” I say and then, when we’re both looking at my reflection in the mirror I add, “It’s about Henry.”
She looks shocked. “Really?”
I spin and face her. “Why? What’d you think I was going to say?”
She shakes me off. “Nothing.”
“No, tell
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