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“Yep.” I smile at her, not entirely sure why we’re talking about this. I haven’t told her a word about Sage. I was actually trying to strike up a conversation about the weather. Trish leaves the darkened room to yell at our manager-slash-diner-owner, Travis, and I immediately fish out my phone, texting my best friend. The one I left hanging.
Me: Let’s talk tonight?
He answers after less than five seconds.
Sage: Sure. Pick you up from work at eleven?
Me: Trish is giving me a ride back. She wants to talk about colleges bc her son is applying. I’ll see you at home?
Sage: K. Chilling at Barnie’s with the guys, but I’ll be there on time. Everything good?
Me: Yeah. I just think I owe you an apology for freaking out on you yesterday like that.
Sage: Honestly, the only thing I’m worried about is how it’s going to affect my relationship with your pussy, AKA my fiancée.
Me: So funny.
Sage: Also: so true.
Sage: But seriously, I don’t know what happened yesterday. Whatever it was, I want to get it fixed. You’re a part of my blood. I can’t change my DNA, but I sure as hell can change everything else to keep you close. Yeah?
This man. This. Man. Maybe Chelsea is right. Maybe I’m not seeing what’s so obviously clear to everyone else. Maybe Sage does like me in the same way that I like him.
Me: I hope you mean it.
Sage: I hope you know it. Speak soon x
The shift passes by in a blur. I don’t think I’ve ever made such great tips, even though I pretty much work on autopilot. I don’t feel tired or stressed or anxious. I’m just excited to see Sage at the end of my shift. Or maybe things go smoothly because business is so slow. Five hours into my shift, Travis saunters across the checkered black and white linoleum floors, braces one forearm over a red-hot booth, and slaps Trish’s ass with a loud smack. “Trish, Jol, take the rest of the night off. Split the tips in the jar. This place is deader than my old man. And he’s dead, all right. Has been dead for twenty years now.”
Insert: awkward giggle.
We nearly jump up and down with excitement and jog our way to Trish’s piece-of-trash car (her words, not mine). She calls her old puke-green Ford Aerostar Bob after the asshole who ran away from her when she was eight months pregnant with his kid. Luckily, Bob’s son is now seventeen and applying to colleges. A very different guy from his deadbeat dad.
“Where to?” Trish asks me when she gets behind the wheel, immediately lighting up a cigarette. She fluffs her hair, staring at the rearview mirror, and between us is an ashtray with enough cigarette butts to fill a bucket. I start giving her my address before realizing that Sage is not going to be there yet. So I give her the address for Barnie’s, a converted barn turned into a sleazy bar all the jocks frequently hang out in.
“Aw, Barnie’s. I have so many memories from that place. Most of them consisting of broken condoms, but still.” Trish sighs, starts her car, and we’re on a roll.
All the way to Barnie’s, I’m answering questions about college when really, I’m an emotional, anxious mess. The idea that I might’ve pushed the one guy I wanted more than life itself away sits heavy in the back of my head and slowly opens a well of dark thoughts. Then I remember how sweet he was when we texted and take a deep breath.
By the time Trish’s car comes to a stop in front of the old red barn with the Arctic Monkey’s “I Bet You Look Good on the Dancefloor” leaking from between the door and windows, I’m a sweaty mess.
“Go ahead. I have a phone call to make. I’ll wait for you in case he’s already left.” She cranes her neck, as if she’s trying to see Sage through the windows. Okay, weird, but also totally appreciated. I haven’t even mentioned I was meeting a guy here, though Trish is that kind of woman. One who can smell men from miles away.
“Thanks, Trish. You’re the best.” I squeeze her into a hug and hop out of the car. My knees are shaking as I make my way to the door. No one gets carded at Barnie’s, because the place is in the middle of nowhere. It’s almost underground. I could walk in there with a newborn and no one would bat an eye. No one would also try to rub themselves all over me, so maybe I should consider walking in with a baby if I ever feel like a drink but not like swatting off horny college boys.
“Jolie!” I spot Sage’s teammates in the corner of the bar. Michael is the one who perks up the most, removing his arms from the counter he was plastered over and waves for me to come close. “Over here, pretty lady.”
