Her dad is thin and brown. His hair is long. He smells like nicotine. He looks like he has been living outside.
He says, “Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you!”
“What are you doing?” She is glad of the counter between them.
“Kevin told me you might be here.”
Kevin? she thinks, because he is a hypocrite! He tells her dad where she might be, but he doesn’t tell her anything. “When did you see him?”
“I should have called you first. I just wanted to talk to you in person.”
She looks at the door, half-afraid, half-hoping someone will walk in. “Dad, I’m working.”
“No problem,” he tells her, and he reaches in his back pocket and pulls out a ratty roll of dollars. He counts out four and she’s embarrassed, even though nobody is there except for Robbie, smoking out the back door.
Mitchell buys two slices of plain pizza and she heats them up while he fills a large cup with orange soda from the machine. It’s the lunch special—two plain pieces, and the drink is free. “What are you reading?” he asks, like they are two people being friendly.
“It’s just for summer school.” She closes her book, Dynamic Earth.
“I missed you.” He is probably hoping she will say I missed you too, but she does not. He says, “I’m starting a new job,” but new customers come in. A mom pushing a double stroller with two little kids, one sleeping, one crying.
Mitchell sits down to eat while Sam waits on them. She brings out hot slices on white paper plates, and she avoids looking at her dad, because it hurts to see him eating there alone.
She wants more customers to fill the place. She wants to start rushing—but no new people come after the lady leaves with her two kids. Mitchell holds the door for the stroller, and Sam braces herself to hear about his job—but he surprises her. He throws away his plate and cup and says, “I know you’ve got a lot of work, so I’ll head out and we’ll talk soon.”
She almost thanks him, because she is so glad that he is leaving—and then she thinks how obvious it is she doesn’t want to see him. She thinks how she used to jump into his arms. Pennies rained down from her pockets—and now she’s hurt him. But he made her! He made her do it. You can’t go away for ten months and find your kid just the way you left them.
Nobody else comes in, but she can’t study anymore. She can’t do anything but stand behind the counter. At last she gets off work and steps into the heat. She takes the bus home and her phone lights up with messages. At first, she thinks it’s Mitchell, but then she sees it’s Corey. She had forgotten he was coming home from camp.
“What?” she says, calling Corey back.
“Can I see you?” Corey asks all in a rush. When she doesn’t answer immediately, he says, “Can I just come over?”
“I’m on the bus.”
“Can I meet you?”
“Why?” The whole thing is weird; she is so distracted, and Corey hasn’t texted her in weeks. “To say you’re sorry?”
There is a long pause, like How did you know? And she didn’t know until that moment. She hadn’t thought of it at all, but now she knows exactly what he wants to do.
“Sam?” He sounds shaky. Maybe he thinks she can read his mind—even though it’s not like that at all. She can’t read anybody, and she doesn’t want to. He says, “Can I meet you at the church?”
“Okay.” She is staring out the bus window.
So, they stand behind St. Mary’s, and he hugs her and then he looks at her and says, “I think you’re an amazing person.” And she thinks, You memorized this. He probably memorized a whole speech on his way back from Vermont. “The thing is something happened.” He is talking fast, and she is translating silently. Something happened means he hooked up with someone else. “We’ve been apart so long.”
She says, “It’s true.”
“I just think…”
“Me too.”
“Really?”
She says, “Yeah, we should break up.”
He is shocked because she’s jumped ahead of him. Confused and relieved, he says, “I always want to be your friend.”
She nods, even though she knows they won’t be. They won’t hang out in his dad’s basement with their clothes on. That’s not how their friendship worked. She says, “Yeah, definitely.”
He looks like he wants to hug her again, but she steps back. “That’s okay.” She doesn’t know exactly what she means by that. It’s okay, you don’t have to keep hugging me? Or it’s okay, I don’t mind you slept with someone else? It’s more like it’s okay, you didn’t break my heart. Try knives. Try torches. My dad is a professional.