Page 20 of A Night to Remember

“Emma Snyder is away at college, but she might be persuaded to come back for a weekend. Ithinkshe’s single right now. Otherwise there’s Sage Mitchell—she’s a senior in high school, but maybe if you just went as friends?—”

“Christ, Lucy, there are women outside the fifteen families.” She furrows her brow slightly, as if I’ve said something absurd. Adam chuckles knowingly.

“Gabe’s got a thing for Kayla Johnson.”

“KaylaJohnson?” Lucy actually wrinkles her nose. “Really? I know she was a hotshot in high school, but have you seen her lately? She’s really let herself go. No, she’d stick out like a sore thumb at Hungry Hearts. I’ll text Emma’s mom, see what we can do. C’mon, kids, let’s get you a snack.” And she and the two younger kids disappear into the house.

10

Kayla

“Who’s the third meal for?”Meg asks me with a raised eyebrow. I’m packing take-out containers into a paper bag. Sometimes, after a long shift, I’m too tired to cook, and instead bring home Mom and me the healthiest things I can find on the menu.

“Nobody,” I lie. “Hey!”

She snatches the ticket out of my hand.

“Give it back!” I shout like a child, but she dodges my attempts to steal it back.

“Let’s see—a tuna melt, that’s for you. Cobb salad, that must be for your mom. And a burger, done rare…?”

“I might want a snack later.”

“Kayla Johnson, the only time I have seen you eat red meat is after a 5K. Come clean.” She folds her arms and gives me her toughest girlboss/mother-of-two stare. At this point I wish I were a better liar. I write fiction, don’t I? Shouldn’t it come with the territory? But I can’t lie to Meg. Meg, who hand-picked mefrom among the diner staff to help serve at her earliest catering gigs, who allows me all the time off I need to help my mom, who is more convinced than I am that this current setback is only temporary and that I will go on to have a fulfilling life and career. Her family is not much better off than mine, and yet here she is. She’s an inspiration. And only the tiniest bit scary.

“GabeWilson,” I mumble finally.

“Who?!” she says, clutching the counter with obvious delight. “The boy you supposedlydidn’t date?”

“I didn’t!”

“But now?”

“No!” I swear she smiles even more broadly at every denial. I struggle to set her straight. “He’s just been helping me go through some of our financial stuff!” I haven’t told anyone about the possible foreclosure yet, and I’m sure my vague reference to “financial stuff” is not helping my case here. “It’s nothing personal. I haven’t talked to him since high school. I happened to run into him and we were talking and it came up and… we’re not even friends. He just knows more about this stuff than I do. That’s all.” I’m talking far too fast, I realize. She lets me ramble on, eyebrows raised, mouth slightly open.

“And he’s helping you because…?”

“Because he’s nice? Because it’s an elaborate long con, and he’s somehow going to use this opportunity to screw me?” I turn beet red at my poor choice of words. “Screw mefinancially, I mean, like steal my identity to open overseas bank accounts to launder money from a secret riverboat gambling enterprise?”

“Uh-huh. And so you’re bringing him a burger because…?”

“Because he might be hungry?” I don’t actually know why I feel the need to feed him. Maybe it’s because he’s given me enormously helpful information that could save my house, and I’m grateful. Maybe it’s because I’m uncomfortable being so hugely in his debt. Maybe it’s because his new melancholyexpression screamstake care of meto the squishiest part of my heart.

“Or maybe,” Meg says, as if she’s read my mind, “you’re doing it because you think he’s hot.”

“No, no, it’s not that! I don’t think he’s hot! He’s not—okay, yeah, I guess, objectively, he is, I mean some people would think he is, but not me, and that’s not why?—”

She folds her arms and looks at me with a huge smirk across her face. “Then why.”

I stare down at my shoes. “He’s coming over straight after work and I doubt he’ll have time to eat beforehand. Mom and I will be hungry, and I didn’t want to eat in front of him. That’s all.”

She smiles more kindly at me now. “Still, it seems like things have changed since you yelled at him over the counter a few days ago.” I shrug helplessly and look away. Meg laughs and squeezes my shoulder affectionately, clearly done giving me a hard time.

“Have fun tonight,” she says sincerely. “I hope he enjoys the burger.”

Okay,so I’m bringing Gabe dinner, so what? I just want to be polite. Also… well, also, Meg is kind of right. Thingshavechanged since I shouted him down in the café. I am still hurt and confused by what happened eight years ago. But after he left last night, and I recovered from the smell of wood smoke and the sight of forearms, I was able to appreciate the nonjudgmental way he took in all the most embarrassing parts of my life. The fact that he could enter my shabby house, walk over my peeling linoleum, look at the horror of our debt while still treating me with deference and respect… either he’s a psychopath, or hereally is the boy I thought he was before that awful night. I still keep telling myself not to trust him, but I also did some Googling, and everything he told me about our situation seems to check out.

When I open the front door, I’m greeted by a loud banging sound that seems to be coming from upstairs. Mom rushes up to me, moving more quickly than she has in years.

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