He eyes it with hunger, then says, “No, I’m on a keto diet. No carbs.”
“More for me,” I mutter.
His gaze shoots to the bathroom again. Man, he’s really taking Bryn’s insult to his looks hard.
“What are you going to do?” I ask.
“I just want to freshen up,” he says, smoothing a hand over his hair.
“I mean here. What are you going to do here? I'm pretty sure Bryn’s not going to want to hang out with you again. When she says something like that she means it.”
“Oh,” he says sadly, then brightens up. “My friends are having a reunion this weekend. I’m crashing on Greg the Wall’s floor. They call him that because—”
“I’m gonna interrupt you right there with anI don’t care,” I say, because honestly, it’s pretty apparent he came here for Greg the Wall. He probably saw crashing our birthday dinner as an added bonus. I’m suddenly feeling very weary, down to the bones, about all of it. Auggie’s shitty surprise. Bryn’s shitty almost engagement. Even Cole, sitting at the bar, as appealing as a piece of princess cake until he opens his mouth.
Auggie takes his phone out and glances down at it, his eyebrows winging up. “Actually,” he says, “I’d better go. We’re all meeting at Ziggy’s in twenty minutes.”
Ziggy’s is Cole’s brewery, but he’s clearly left his second-in-command in charge for the night.
“Wait,” I say. “Let me get this straight. You figured you’d only spend twenty minutes with us?”
He tucks his phone back in his pocket. He looks so confused I almost feel bad for him. “Do people normally take more than twenty minutes to eat dessert?”
God Bless.
“Why don’t you go off and do your thing, Auggie? Maybe we can grab coffee sometime this weekend.”
He perks up a little. “How about Sunday morning?”
He really won’t be winning any Dad Olympics, this guy.
“Sure, sounds good.”
The waiter returns with a box and a whispered apology, which I nod away, and I hand him my credit card. I immediately start boxing up the cake, leaving the princess in the middle just because. Cake secured, I look at Auggie and say, “Well, have fun with Greg the Tall.”
“Greg the Wall,” he says. “It’s a pretty funny story actually.”
“I’m sure it’s hilarious,” I say. “But something tells me it’s ayou had to be therekind of thing, so if you told me now, we really wouldn’t be doing it justice.”
“You’re right. I’d have to start at the beginning, and that’d be a much longer story.”
Good God. I have all weekend to think of another topic of conversation for Sunday, so I say, “I can’t wait to hear all about it on Sunday.”
The waiter comes back, and I sign the check.
I stand and grab the cake box. “I’d say this was fun,” I tell Auggie, “but it’s Thursday night, and I only lie on weekends. See you later.”
He gives me an awkward hug and then runs off to the bathroom to fix his face.
And that, ladies and gentlemen, is the first time I’ve seen my father since I wore my hair in braids.
A few minutes ago, all I wanted to do was go home and eat, like, the whole cake, preferably with a chaser of more wine. Which is why I’m confused that my feet bring me somewhere different—to the annoying asshole who’s sitting at the bar and has watched all of this go down.
