Page 44 of I Saw You First

Lisa delivers her margarita. She flicks her tongue against the rim for a tiny bit of salt, and I nearly choke. Do not go there.

“I didn’t invite anyone else.”

“Oh.” She takes a sizable drink.

“You handled your first eval really well.” I tap my fingertips on the bar, a rich, golden wood painted with a colorful, intricate floral design and then shellacked to a high gloss. I’ve got so much excess energy, so much adrenaline, that I don’t know what to do with myself. I glance up at the game on TV. I should go to the batting cage later and burn some of it off.

I’m surprised when she swivels on the stool to face me and her knees knock against my legs. Without thinking, I place a hand on her thigh to steady her. She’s warm and solid and—what are you doing, Wil? I yank my hand back.

“Thanks,” she says, “but it was a team effort. We all worked hard the last couple of weeks to get ready for the eval. So why don’t I see anyone else from the team?”

That’s a good question, considering we’re not supposed to be socializing. We’re not supposed to be friends, I’m not supposed to have a crush on my employee, and we’re not supposed to go out for drinks after an eval, not without the rest of the team.

Things have been a little awkward since the Ruh-Roh show. Every morning when I see Abbey walking across the parking lot, I think about how she could have been crushed by all those obnoxious Ruh-Roh fans. I think about how good and warm she felt in my arms, how I kept her safe, how I was so relieved that she wasn’t hurt, I almost, almost pressed my lips to her hair.

I know she’s gone out of her way to avoid me at work—not always, but enough that I’ve noticed—and I don’t like it. Some days, when I’m the manager on duty, I watch her move through the department stocking CDs or helping fans. Sometimes, she sings along to whatever song is playing overhead. When the department’s empty, she shimmies along to “Lovefool” by The Cardigans or “No Diggity” by Blackstreet. Once, she awkwardly chugged down the aisle to “C’mon N’ Ride It (The Train) by Quad City DJs. I almost laugh now, remembering how serious she looked while she chugged, and then, how embarrassed. So adorable.

I’m not sure how to explain why I invited only her tonight. I can’t even explain it to myself, but I give it a try. “Typically, it’s only Felix here for an eval, not an entire corporate department. I wasn’t expecting… all that. I thought maybe you’d appreciate a quieter night after dealing with so many people.”

She turns back, and I miss the feeling of her knees against my thigh. “It wasn’t the best surprise, but I survived.”

“I’m sorry about Kelsey.”

She scoffs. “Why in the world would you apologize for your sister’s behavior?”

I shrug. “She was particularly awful today.”

“Well, she definitely gets that from your dad. No offense. Why does he treat you so disrespectfully? If you don’t mind me asking.”

So we’re back to Dad. I take a long drink, and then, for some reason—maybe because sitting next to Abbey Rhodes at La Cuchara feels like the most natural thing, the most comfortable I’ve been in such a long time, like we’re supposed to be here, together—I say, “If you ask him, it’s not disrespect. It’s expressing his disappointment.”

“In what?”

“That I don’t meet his expectations. It’s supposed to inspire me, encourage me to do better.”

“Is it working?”

“I guess?” It’s all I know.

“Well, that’s bullshit.” She takes another sip.

“Maybe. I suppose because he learned it from his father, who learned it from his.”

“What about you? Are you learning that, too?”

I shake my head. “I’m learning the opposite—that everyone is worthy of respect, even when they screw up. At least I hope so.”

“I can think of a few people who don’t deserve my respect.”

I wait for her to elaborate, but Lisa comes over to take our orders—the number eleven combo for me, as usual, but tonight, Abbey orders two a la carte bean tacos.

The least expensive thing on the menu.

I want to buy her a full meal. Taquitos and tortilla soup and a chimichanga and churros. And queso—always queso. I want to hunt down those people she doesn’t respect—for good reasons, I’m sure—and teach them a lesson, especially if they hurt her. Which is counterintuitive, I know. I want to show her every day how worthy of respect she is.

Abbey Rhodes has turned me inside out.

“I’m lucky,” she says. “I have an amazing role model. My parents are great, don’t get me wrong, but it’s Glamma who I look up to most.”