Page 8 of The Sweet Spot

On first glance, you’d think they were opposites. He’s so tall he practically has to duck when he comes in the door, his skin so dark it gleams like mahogany. Mom’s petite—I certainly didn’t inherit her size—and pale, her freckled, peachy skin prone to burning.

But they both love good wine and old jazz, farmers’ markets, and daytrips along the coast. He’s grounded and she’s flighty and they just work.

“So, how’s it going down at the boardwalk?” he asks, sipping the wine he brought for dinner.

“It’s cool.” I shrug, pushing the last of my food around my plate. “Easy money, I guess.”

“Lily tells me you open most days.” He leans back, flipping his long locs over one shoulder. “I used to prefer opening. Meant I had a couple of daylight hours to myself at the end of the day, something I can’t do lately.”

“Yeah, exactly.” This is true; if I have to work a job like the Sweet Spot, at least I can get it over and done with as soon as possible every day. “Although, Holy Basil’s not exactly slumming it.”

He chuckles, nodding. Darius is head chef at one of the most popular—and expensive—boutique restaurants in Santa Cruz. He and his innovative fare have been featured in local and regional magazines alike. “No, not exactly. We all gotta pay our dues, though.”

His gentle chastisement rings true, and as he and Mom share a gentle smile, I feel the knot of frustration in my chest dissolve. “You’re right.”

“You’ll be all right,” he adds. “Think of these as character building days, okay?”

* * *

On Friday, I’m wiping down the now operational Icee machine during the afternoon shift when a familiar, husky voice calls my name.

I turn to find a grinning Saira standing on the other side of the counter. “You’re not supposed to be back!” I cry, dropping my rag.

“Guess I better leave again, then,” she teases, sticking out her tongue. She got it pierced last spring break, so she’s always doing that now. Her mother would kill her if she found out.

Laughing, I pull her closer. I can’t believe she’s here. “Seriously, what’re you doing here?”

She grins, cocking her head. “I missed you, obviously.”

Checking to make sure the coast is clear, I quickly duck out the back of the Sweet Spot and snatch my best friend into a hug. She gives me a hardcore squeeze, nearly lifting me off the ground. Saira’s strong as hell, thanks to over a decade of softball.

“You have no idea how glad I am to see you.” I swallow the melodramatic lump in my throat. “When did you guys get back?”

“Late last night.” She pushes her long, glossy black braid back over her shoulder. “And it’s just me. Janya’s still in Encinitas.”

“Did something happen?”

“Not really.” She cocks her hip, sticking her hand onto it. Some of my earliest memories are of Saira Mangal, standing just like this on the playground at school…usually telling someone off. “I suggested we skip the whole coastal tour thing since you were stuck here. I was like, ‘let’s do it over spring break,’ and she was like, ‘totally’ and then she hooked up with some white boy she met on the beach. Justin or Jason or something.”

“For real?”

She rolls her eyes. “You know my parents will freak when they find out.”

“I still can’t believe you cut things short.” I’m so glad she did, though. I’m seconds from weeping tears of gratitude. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“It just wasn’t the same without you.” She squeezes my hand. “Anyway, it all works out. Daddy’s personal secretary had to go for emergency surgery, so he needs someone to take calls down at the car lot. I’ll be riding into the office every morning with Anik.”

“You, work?”

“You know Daddy; he thinks it’s high time I learn the family business,” she says. “He says I need marketable skills.”

The Mangal family owns a luxury car dealership over on auto row. Saira’s older brother Anik has been working there since he graduated from college and will take over one day. Janya’s in pre-med at Berkeley and Saira’s the little princess of the family. I never thought I’d see her actually working a summer job.

“He thinks you’re a great example, by the way,” she adds.

“Selling churros and ice cream?” I ask flatly.

“No!” She pokes my stomach. “Working hard, saving, and helping your family. He’s so proud of you it’s ridiculous.”

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