Getting Over Garrett Delaney(31)
Author: Abby McDonald

“I can decline the call,” LuAnn suggests.

“No!” Aiko objects. “Remember, she’s trying to be friends with him. Normal.”

“Right.” LuAnn nods, passing me the phone. “Answer it. But keep it quick!” she adds.

“Breezy,” Aiko agrees.

“Like you don’t have time to talk right now.”

“I don’t!” I tell them, rolling my eyes, but inside, I’m captive to a whole host of butterflies. “Hello?” I answer casually.

“Hey, Sadie, what’s going on?” Garrett sounds calm — certainly not like he’s just spent minutes debating picking up the phone.

“Nothing much,” I reply, keeping my voice even. “Work, you know. . . .”

LuAnn and Aiko give me a thumbs-up. I angle away for some privacy, but they just scoot around the counter to stay in my face.

“Put it on speaker!” LuAnn whispers. I roll my eyes, but click SPEAKER so that they can hear everything, too.

“That’s cool,” Garrett is saying. “Listen, I need some advice. Can you help me out?”

“That depends,” I say, trying to sound natural, and not like two overhyped women are hanging on our every word.

Garrett laughs. “It’s for Rhiannon, actually. Our anniversary is coming up. This Saturday, it will be two weeks since we met.”

LuAnn’s mouth drops open. “Is he kidding?” she hisses, and I have to cover the mouthpiece to mask the sound. “Seriously?”

“Shhh!” I order her.

“So I want to do something to celebrate,” Garrett continues, oblivious. “Maybe a special picnic or a gift or something, but I don’t want to come on too strong. Do you have any ideas?”

I pause. This is when I usually tell him everything that I would want. The date of my dreams. But it’s clear from Aiko’s face that this isn’t an option now, she shakes her head so fast her pigtails whip back and forth.

I take a deep breath. “I, um, I think that’s something you need to figure out for yourself,” I tell him, my voice quivering. “I mean, I don’t know her. And . . . this is personal stuff. Between the two of you.”

LuAnn holds up her hand and gives me a silent high five.

“Oh, OK.” Garrett sounds thrown. “But can’t you think of anything? I mean, usually you’re so good at this stuff, and —”

“Sorry.” I cut him off. “Look, I have to go. I have customers. We’ll talk later. Good luck!”

And with that, I hang up.

“Way to go!” LuAnn cheers. Aiko whoops in agreement. I look back and forth between them, suddenly exhilarated.

“I did it!” I exclaim.

“Sure, you did.” LuAnn laughs.

“No, you don’t understand,” I tell them. “I can never say no to him! I want to, but then he begs for help and does this thing with his eyes, and I crumble. I always wind up listening to him go on about his relationships and plans and how much in love he is.” I catch my breath. “But this time, I did it. I said no.”

Progress. Finally.

“You did great,” LuAnn agrees. “That can even be one of your rules or steps or whatever: no relationship talk. He has to find someone else to talk to about girls.” She grins. “Look at you, kid. Movin’ and shakin’ — soon you’ll be all growed up. I’m so proud.”

“That makes one of us.” Dominique emerges from the back room, shooting us an icy look. “I thought she was done here.”

“Hush, you,” LuAnn scolds her. “One of our brethren needs help. It’s our duty to assist!”

Dominique just rolls her eyes. “Don’t you mean sisterhood?”

LuAnn gasps and presses a hand to her forehead in a mock swoon. “You mean . . . Glory be! You know the meaning of that word!”

“Ugh.” Dominique gives us all withering stares and takes up her position behind the register. “Just keep her away from me. I don’t want anything spilled on my shirt.”

A busload of enthusiastic German tourists keeps us busy for the rest of the morning, leaving us with a sinkful of dirty dishes, zero tips, and a serious shortage of salami.

“I hate it when national stereotypes are true,” LuAnn grumbles, clearing the tables with me. “See? Two quarters. Are they kidding me?”

“Maybe they don’t realize they’re supposed to tip,” I argue. She’s not impressed.

“Read a guidebook! Twenty percent, baby, all the way.”

The door dings! and I look up to see Carlos sauntering in. He’s wearing scruffy jeans and a Pixies tour shirt, with dark sunglasses and three-day stubble on his face. He doesn’t look happy.

“Uh-oh,” LuAnn breathes as he slouches over to the counter, takes off the shades, and squints at the bright light. “Don’t take any of his crap,” LuAnn tells me as she gathers her tray.

“What do you mean?” I feel a flash of panic, but she’s already waltzed away, leaving me alone in the glare of Carlos’s hungover gaze.

He points at me, then heads to the back office.

I gulp.

I knew it was too much to hope for, that clean slate LuAnn promised. Never mind needing money for that distant dream of a car. I’ll never make it without Garrett if I don’t have a job — and LuAnn and Aiko — to distract me through the long, lonely days of summer.

I hurry back and find Carlos slumped behind the desk, rubbing his temples.

“I’ve had some complaints, about Friday. . . .”

“I’m sorry!” I cry, “I really am. It won’t happen again.”

“I hate it when customers complain,” Carlos continues as if he hasn’t heard me. He pulls a bottle of aspirin out of the desk drawer and gulps back four of them in one go. At least, I think they’re aspirin.

“They call me up, and whine away, and expect me to actually care that you messed up the lattes with the cappuccinos,” he grumbles, “or put peanut butter on their PBJ when it gives them a fatal allergic reaction.”

“I really am sorry,” I apologize again. “Please, just give me a second chance. I promise, I’ll be the best employee ever, and —”

“I’m sorry, kid. We’re done,” he cuts me off, still clutching his head. “I can’t deal with the drama. This is why I don’t hire teenagers. You’re always having some crisis over something.”