Heidi glared at Paul from across the dining room, over the heads of customers who actually had food and beverages in front of them. She hadn’t found anyone to take Fay’s job clearing tables, so she had to do it herself. She was grouchy about it, yet single-minded in her devotion to the task. Paul’s plate had disappeared the moment he lifted his last fry off of it, before he could even dip it in the ketchup.
He had nursed the last dregs of his tea for an hour. There was one sip left. He couldn’t help but smile at her as he raised his glass. The moment the straw sucked up air, she marched over and snatched the glass from his hand.
He managed to keep from laughing, but just barely. “What, no refill?” He asked her quickly retreating form. When she returned a moment later with a damp rag and wordlessly lifted his arm off the table to wipe beneath it, he did laugh. She leaned back, and this time her glare was accompanied by crossed arms, so he decided to get the heck out of there.
With one more glance at Celia, who was delivering several plates of fries to a table full of pre-teens, he left through the front door and walked around back. He sat on the gravel and leaned against the side of the building, breathing through his mouth so as not to die via dumpster stench.
Something about Heidi made him happy. He’d have liked to have a grandma like her. Just this morning, Malcolm’s mom told him he had a heart for strong women.
He’d had breakfast at Malcolm’s before work. He was trying to turn over a new leaf, and be on time for once, and his reward was waffles and bacon. No wonder Malcolm got up early.
When he arrived, Malcolm and Marigold were in the middle of a discussion about whether or not he could go see Fay next weekend. They were kind and thoughtful with their words, as always, but that rare tension between them made Paul feel jumpy, so he put the spotlight on himself and mentioned that he had spent some time with Celia the night before.
“A date?” Marigold asked, clasping her hands to her chest, her eyes glowing. She knew all about his feelings for Celia, since way back. You couldn’t hide feelings from Marigold. She was like a drug-sniffing K9, exposing feelings instead of drugs.
“Not a date. Not yet, anyway.”
“Tell me more about that,” Marigold said, a wrinkle between her eyes knitting up with concern, a twin of Malcolm’s.
Paul’s mind traveled over what he knew about Celia. He was learning that she didn’t trust easily, and she seemed confused when people were kind to her. It had to be those two things that held her back. “She says she doesn’t want a boyfriend right now. Until she changes her mind, I’ll be her friend.”
Malcolm opened his mouth to say something, then shut it again. He took a huge swig of milk to wash down his waffles. “I don’t know, man.”
“Say it.” Malcolm and Paul did not have the kind of friendship where they said what the other wanted to hear. Paul might have leaned that way, but in Malcolm’s family that’s not how it went. They were used to saying the hard things to each other, and Paul was considered family.
Malcolm examined Paul’s face a moment before he spoke. “Are you being honest with yourself?”
Paul knew he’d say that. “You have milk all over your lip.”
Malcolm wiped it off with the napkin his mom handed him, and grinned. It was nice to see him grinning. Familiar. Paul tapped his fork against his plate, thinking. “I’m being totally upfront with her. I have no doubt she knows how I feel about her. But if being her friend is what I can have, I want it. And anyway, it’s not about whether or not she wants me for a boyfriend, it’s about if she wants a boyfriend at all. If she were going to have one, she’d pick me.”
Malcolm laughed. “Fair point.” He went to the sink and ran the water until it got hot, then poured dish soap under the stream. Scrubbing the frying pan, his back to Paul, he said, “But I didn’t ask if you were being upfront with her, I asked if you were being honest with yourself. You’re always going to hope she’ll change her mind. But if she decides she really doesn’t want a boyfriend and you keep pushing it, you’ll end up hurt and she’ll end up mad. With good reason.”
Paul bowed his head, and stared at a puddle of syrup on the table. There was a tiny rainbow floating on top of it, thrown from the prism hanging in the window. “Well, then I won’t keep pushing it. I’m just going to be her friend. I figure she’ll let me know if she changes her mind.”
Marigold reached out and put her hand on his, to still the tapping of his fork. “Paul, you are an intuitive man with a heart for strong women. I suspect you are right about her.” She smiled at him. “I’d like to know Celia better. You should bring her by for dinner.”
“Maybe.” It would be hard to convince her to come. She’d wonder why the Dearings wanted her over here. Or she’d be sure something would go wrong. The thing about Celia was, she’d been let down too many times. The good stuff had to sneak up on her.
Marigold took that opportunity to change the subject, and asked how his mom was doing. She did that periodically, never pushing, but always making sure Paul knew she had an inkling of what was going on, and that the Dearings would be there if he needed them. Paul was careful not to look her in the eye as he told her that everything was fine, and he was glad when Malcolm said it was time they got to work.
Malcolm hadn’t brought up Celia again. They’d just worked, and Paul knew he was thinking more about his own problems than Paul’s. At the end of the day, Malcolm had gone home for dinner, and Paul had come here to the restaurant.
He stretched his legs out before him, gravel dust making a cloud by his feet. Ugh, that dumpster smelled like it held the entirety of Juniper’s road kill. He checked the time on his phone. Twenty more minutes until her shift was over. He leaned back against the side of the building, and settled in to wait. It felt good to rest. He was tired from staying out late with Celia and getting up early for work, but mostly because he’d also been up in the night with his mom.
She had come into his room just after two and sat down on the edge of his bed, shaking him awake with a light hand. “Paul? I don’t want to take a pill, but I think I need one. Maybe if you sit with me, I won’t take one. Do you think?”
He’d gotten up and made some microwave popcorn. She didn’t want to eat, but he convinced her it would help. He was too tired to talk to her, so he turned on an old western, and they watched that until she dropped off to sleep and he snuck back to bed. When he left in the morning, she had still been asleep on the couch. He wondered if she made it to work. He let his head fall to the side, and tried to relax.
“Paul? What are you doing back here? Wait, is he sleeping?”
Startled awake, Paul looked around, and scrubbed his hands across his face to try and get his bearings.
Celia stared down at him, and then nudged the bottom of his shoe. Esta stood beside her, a look of amusement on her face.
Esta gave them a little wave. “Well, have fun, kids. I’ve suddenly decided to take my break inside.”
Once she retreated back through the doorway, Paul shoved his hands in his pockets and tried to look at Celia. It seemed sort of hard to meet her eyes. The things Malcolm and Marigold said this morning swirled around his mind. He didn’t want to screw this up, and that talk had made him worry that any direction he took could be a mistake.
“I’ll walk you home.”
“It’s too late and too early to go home.”
“Whoa, a riddle.”
Her lips curved in a small smile. “It’s too late for my parents to expect me home for dinner, but too early for me to want to be there.”
“I get it.” He noticed she hadn’t taken one step toward leaving the parking lot. “Let’s get away from this dumpster, at least.”
Still she didn’t move. “Where are we going?”
What was between them was as fragile as a bubble, and he didn’t want to breathe too hard and pop it. “How about ice cream? Just a friendly ice-cream-getting-thing. Friendly ice cream, no pressure. And I have money this time, so I’ll buy. I owe you ice cream. You bought mine the day Fay left, which I’m still sorry about. These days I always carry enough extra for ice cream, should the occasion arise. Sorry I mentioned Fay. I know you miss her. I’m going to stop talking now.”
The tiniest of laughs escaped from her lips. He looked down at them, painted red and parted slightly. He forced himself to lift his eyes quickly back to hers, but he knew from her expression that she saw him see her mouth. He was getting this all wrong.
She looked up at him for a minute longer, her eyes revealing nothing. Finally, she uncrossed her arms and took a few steps in the direction of the Dream Cone, looking back to make sure he followed.
He sighed, right on her heel. He was forever saying too much and she was forever not saying enough. Once they hit the sidewalk, he took his hands out of his pockets and caught up to walk next to her—but not too close. He tried to picture how he walked down the sidewalk with Malcolm. His forearm brushed against hers, and he felt dizzy. “Sorry. Juniper needs wider sidewalks.”
“It’s fine, Paul.” After a silent couple of blocks, they rounded the corner and Dream Cone was up ahead. It was crowded, as usual.
“Oh, look,” Celia pointed to the side of the building. “Those people are leaving. I’ll snag the table while you order?”
Paul rubbed his palms together, relieved she was going to let him pay her back. “So what’ll it be? Banana split? Hot fudge sundae?”
“A small vanilla cone, please.”
“But that’s a dollar. The banana split you bought me was four dollars.”
“It’s what I want.”
“Okay then, I’ll just have to buy you three more, on three different nights.”
Celia shook her head as she slid onto the bench at the empty table, smiling faintly.
Paul headed over to wait in the massive line, hoping she didn’t bolt while he was away. She always seemed fine when they were together, but any time apart lost them any ground they had gained. He couldn’t keep himself from looking over at her every three seconds, then looking away before she noticed. Eventually he gave up the pretense and watched her blatantly.
Most people, when they sat alone, occupied themselves with their phones, but Celia didn’t have a phone. She was a people-watcher. A small scowl played across her face as she listened to the kids at the table beside her. Paul had to chuckle, wondering what they were talking about.
Eventually it was his turn, and he got their ice cream and carried it over. “One tiny cone for the lady, and one massive hot fudge parfait for the growing lad.” He sat on the bench across from her.
She reached for her cone, and it wobbled this way and that as they both struggled not to touch fingers during the transfer. “Surely you’re done growing. You’re probably six feet already.”
He swallowed the huge bite he had just shoveled in. “Yeah, I am, but I haven’t caught Malcolm yet. I won’t rest until I have surpassed that bastard. Mom says my dad was really tall, and I can see from the pictures he was a big guy, so maybe I won’t always be so skinny.”
“I don’t think you’re skinny.”
“I’m kind of skinny.”
“You only think so because you hang around Malcolm. He’s the abnormal one.”
“It’s the weight room. They make all the players lift.”
She wiped her mouth with her napkin, and didn’t look at Paul as she said, “Well, I like the size you are.”
“Yeah?”
She smirked. “Any bigger and your head would look way too small.”
His laughter drew the attention of the people nearby. He ignored them and leaned in, trying to be quieter. “Oh man, now you’re getting vicious.”
From the corner of his eye, he saw Ronan and another guy on the sidewalk, approaching the Dream Cone. Contempt twisted him in knots. Paul’s sensible side hoped Ronan would just walk on by and ignore them, but his dark side wanted to be provoked. The anger built as Ronan got closer. It balled up in his arms and hands, and he hid his fists under the table.
Ronan walked to the edge of the patio, and stopped with his arms crossed over his puffed out chest. “Hi there, Babe.” Babe. Damn, Paul hated his smug, arrogant voice.
Celia angled her head away from him, letting her hair hide her face, and stared at the sticky surface of the table. Paul sat up taller and glared at Ronan.
Even though Celia hadn’t acknowledged him, Ronan continued talking. “Out with this douche, I see. Didn’t take you long to move on. But don’t worry, I’m not mad. I wouldn’t expect any different from a slut like you.”
A sharp gasp escaped from Celia. Paul shut his eyes tight, concentrating on the red behind his eyelids so he wouldn’t do something reckless. He took a steadying breath and opened his eyes to look at the anxious girl before him. He needed something to ground him, to link him to her feelings instead of Ronan’s. It was risky, but he unclenched one fist and brought it to her hand, the one that wasn’t holding her dripping ice cream cone. He brushed his fingertips across the back of her hand.
“Celia, do you want me to go punch him in the throat?” He wanted her to say yes, was also scared she’d say yes. He’d never hit anyone before. He’d never wanted to hit anyone before. He didn’t like the feeling.
She laughed. A deep, true, belly laugh. He hadn’t heard a laugh like that from her, and it invaded him, pushing the anger out, crowding out the worry, and replacing it with something new.
“No, Paul, don’t go punch him in the throat.” She paused to laugh again. “It’s nice of you to offer, but I’ve had my fill of violence. I kind of figured you for a guy who was more into peace.” She looked out into the evening, behind the building and past all the people. “It’s one thing I really like about you.”
Paul swallowed, wondering if he should confess to her all the anger that had just visited him. He decided against it, but moved his hand away from hers. It didn’t seem right that he touch her when she didn’t know what he was capable of thinking. He looked over to where Ronan and his friend had stood, to see that they were gone. Celia had banished them with her laughter.