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“I did see a place a little way back that looked like they do great pasta. It smelled good.”
“Great,” I say, maybe too quickly. I’m too hungry to really care where we go. I need something before I keel over and die. “Let’s go?”
I sigh with visible relief when she agrees. “Let me get a photo first, though. You look awesome in those shades.”
Pouting, I strike a pose. Undoubtedly, awesome is the last thing I look, but it’s worth it for the joy it’s bringing her. She whips out her phone and smashes the shutter a bunch of times. It’s like she wants to extend my misery, so I place the shades back on the shelf and make my very saddest face at her so she feels bad for me.
“Okay, let’s go,” she sighs, either because I succeeded or because she’s hungry too. I’m choosing to believe the former.
We make our way out of the store, and I set a fast pace towards the restaurant. I’m pretty sure I know which one she’s talking about — it had a delicious garlic smell drifting out of its doors, and I’m pretty sure I got hints of freshly baked bread too. I could really go for a pizza right about now.
It doesn’t help that Candice looks sweet enough to eat in that dress too. The blue brings out her eyes.
Fortunately, the restaurant isn’t busy, so we get seated right away, a tiny table with a wonky leg, nestled right in a corner and lit by the dubiously yellow fluorescent above. It’s not quite the candlelit dinner I’d imagined, but she’s here willingly and she’s smiling in that way that makes my heart stop. Right now, that’s all I can ask for. More than anything, I want her company.
The waitress hands us each a menu, cheap paper laminated badly enough that water has managed to make the ink run, smudging the pictures of pasta into red blobs. If I couldn’t smell the food, I’d be seriously tempted to get up and leave. Family dives can be great even if they’re a bit rough around the edges, but — and call me snobby for it — I prefer my food delivered on a plate I one hundred percent trust is clean.
My stomach growls painfully again to tell me to stop worrying.
“What you getting?” I ask, hoping Candice will pick something we can share so I don’t have to do any thinking.
She hums thoughtfully, chewing on her thumbnail as she considers the options. “How does pizza sound? But I’ll only share if you like normal toppings.”
“What’s anormal topping?” I ask, intrigued. As long as she doesn’t say something gross like olives or anchovies, I could not care less what gets melted into the cheese. Unless she tries to tell me she doesn’t like cheese. Maybe that’s a total dealbreaker, actually.
I’m being ridiculous. Why would she suggest pizza if she didn’t like cheese?
She purses her lips, then gives me her list. “Extra cheese. Eggplant and broccoli and mushrooms for vegetarian, or sausage and pepperoni for meaty.”
I grin in relief. “Anything but anchovies, right?”
She sticks her tongue out in disgust. “Who in their right mind would put a fish on a pizza?”
“My thoughts exactly. Go with whatever you feel like; I’m easy.”
Her eyes sparkling, she flags down the waiter and orders her vegetarian option. Probably a good idea — I don’t remember the last time I had anything healthy and my body won’t thank me for keeping up that trend.
“So this has been fun,” I say. “Today, I mean. This afternoon, you and me.”
I’m expecting her to come back with a noncommittal response again, but to my surprise, she doesn’t. “Yes. I’ve enjoyed it, actually.”
She’s been blowing so hot and cold with me that it’s hard to tell what she really thinks, but I’ve started to realize what honesty looks like on her, and either she’s a way better liar than I’ve been giving her credit for, or she’s telling me the hard truth. “Good. This is what I wanted out of this weekend. Just you and me.”
“I hated you, you know,” she says, giving me whiplash with the change of direction. My mouth drops open, unable to form any words in reply. “For years,” she continues, a faraway look entering her eyes like this is a monologue she’s had prepared for a long time. “I really, reallyhatedyou.”
“Why?” I manage. It’s like the wind’s been knocked out of me, like she’s hit me and I’ve landed flat on my back.
Candice presses her lips together like she’s considering how to word what she wants to say. “I meant what I said earlier. You’ve always had it so easy.” She holds up a finger to stop me interrupting in protest. “I know your parents weren’t great, and that sucks for any kid, but you never had to struggle for every single success, to claw your way to the top and not care how much you bled to get there. You were always fed and given whatever you wanted. Did you evenworkgrowing up? For money that you needed?”
I shake my head, too ashamed to say anything. I get it now, her rage. I always thought she envied my life, but it’s not that at all. She’s angry that I refuse to understand her.
“Exactly. I’ve always had to work and work, for everything. And I’m not complaining — I wouldn’t change anything I’ve done to get to where I am. I’m proud of it. But it doesn’t help to see you parading around like you’ve got it so hard when the Aiden I knew eight years ago wasn’t real and the job I was busting my ass for didn’t even exist.”
“I’m sorry,” I breathe. “I’m sorry I never truly realized why you always fought so much.”
She nods, mulling over my apology. What else does she need to hear me say? I want to tell her that she can ask me to say anything, to promise anything and I’d do it. The more time I spend with her, the less I want to let her go. This wasn’t meant to be a weekend where we exorcised our demons and went our separate ways, content with the past being laid to rest.
Maybe I’m a romantic, but I wanted this weekend to be about falling in love.
