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“Oh,” says the crestfallen Lowe’s employee. “Wow. You look exactly like her.”
“I hear that a lot, too.” Allie’s smile is paper-thin.
The cashier takes my credit card and swipes it without looking at me or the machine. She hands it back the same way, her gaze glued to Allie.
“Did you hear about that Oscar thing, though?” she asks as Allie’s shoulders crawl to her ears. “I can’t believe what she did to Millie.” She smacks her gum some more. “That poor woman. I love Millie Duncan. She’s a national treasure. And she invited Nina over to her house for the first time ever. And by the way, good for Xavier for dumping her. I bet he’s sooooo embarrassed that his girlfriend, I mean ex-girlfriend”—she cups her mouth to say—“used him to snag an invitation to Millie’s and then rip her off.”
“Is that everything?” I interrupt. “We’re running late for lunch.” She snaps a surprised-slash-angry glare at me before putting on her for-work face and remembering that her job is to push that button right there so that I can sign the screen in front of me.
Transaction complete, Allie and I carry our paint cans to the exit as the cashier calls over, “I like your dress.”
Allie practically sprints out the double doors when they swish open. I load the paint into the back of my truck, watching as she seems to try to make herself smaller by curling her shoulders down and keeping her head low.
“You okay?”
She nods.
“Does that happen often?”
“Only everywhere I go. I should’ve worn the wig. But it’s too hot.”
“Who cares if they recognize you?” I unlock the truck. Allie clambers into the passenger side before I can open the door for her. Just as well. It’s not like this is a date.
“I care. Did you hear her? She thinks I’m horrible.”
“No. She thinks Nina is horrible. You’re not Nina.” I slant a glance at Allie, who’s clearly taking the girl’s comments hard. “If you would’ve said you were Nina you’d be posing for a selfie and signing an autograph right now. Next time own it. People are too polite in the Midwest to be cruel to your face.”
“It’s not the same in L.A.”
“Which is exactly why you’re not in L.A.” Our gazes clash across the seat in the truck, the heat stifling as I turn over the engine. I look away first, to adjust the A/C and position the vents.
“I should’ve kept in touch with more friends around here. I have no one.”
“Thanks a lot.”
She jabs a finger into my arm. “You know what I mean.”
“Where do you want to go to lunch?” I ask, because I do know what she means. It’s not hard to guess that the rest of her friends she left behind in college felt a lot like I did. That she moved to California and replaced us with a newer, shinier set.
“I can’t go to lunch unless it’s a drive-thru,” she says, pushing a button the radio.
“Why not?” The Allie I remember never backed down from a challenge. She’s completely comfortable being looked at, adored, and admired. You don’t become a celebrity by behaving like a shy wallflower. Her skin should be rhino-tough after a decade in the L.A. fishbowl.
“Were you not just in there?” she snaps.
“Are you hungry or not? I’ll take you somewhere under the radar.”
“I am hungry…”
Done. I reverse out of the parking space and drive to a restaurant that is way, way under the radar. But it was recently remodeled, so at least it’s decent inside.
—
“Order number three-oh-one.” A young guy with red hair and a zillion freckles on his face and forearms slides two trays filled with food onto the waiting counter.
“I’ve never seen anyone order this much Taco Bell,” I tell Allie as I sweep both trays. Her eyes are wide with excitement and her hands are filled with hot sauce packets.
“I never eat here. Not ever. I figured I’d better order everything I wanted and then I can have a bite of each.”
