Page 14 of Lotus

He squints his eyes through the dusky haze, the sun having just set behind the horizon. He is silent for a beat before muttering, “Her hair is blue.”

Oliver says it with such a straight face, with such an air of whimsical confusion, I can’t help but laugh. He looks back to me, startled, appearing as if I should be sharing in his perplexity. “It is blue. Sometimes. Hair color has evolved a bit since the nineties,” I tell him gently, my grin still touching my lips. “Mine was pink last summer.”

He blinks, then scans my hair, like he’s trying to picture such a thing.

“Syd, come on!”

A groan escapes as I adjust my purse strap. “Sorry, but I should get going. Do you, um…” I peer down at the grass, nibbling my cheek. “Do you want me to stop by tomorrow? Maybe we can talk, or watch TV or something? You know… hang out?”

Cool. Like we’re freakin’ six-years-old. I flash back to knocking on his front door, asking Mrs. Lynch if he could “play”.

Oliver’s brow creases as he contemplates my offer. The golden glints in his eyes swirl and spin, echoing his racing thoughts. Then he says, simply: “No.”

Oh.

Okay, then.

Slowly nodding, my teeth grind together to hold back a wave of emotion that feels an awful lot like rejection. I try not to take it personally. I try not to feel a total sense of loss over the baby steps I thought we’d been making. “Yeah… no problem. Maybe another time.” I back away, forcing a strained smile, noting a puzzled, searching look in his eyes that I’m not quite sure how to decipher.

I don’t dare to. I turn around fully, joining my sister on the walkway, and we hop into my Jeep.

It’s a busy Saturday night as spring break week begins and people flock to the bars in droves to celebrate. I glide back and forth behind the counter with syrup stuck to my fingers and a rag over my shoulder, collecting orders and putting drinks together in record time.

“Looking fine tonight, Neville.”

I don’t bother to glance up at the voice I immediately recognize. Casper—an embarrassing one-night stand and serious lapse in judgment.

My co-worker, Brant, slides over to me and nudges my shoulder with his own. He’s all too familiar with Casper. “I got these guys. Go take care of the Sanderson sisters at three o’clock.”

I glance to my right, almost losing it when I spot a woman with buck teeth and red hair, snickering with her blonde and brunette friend.

“I wasn’t lying,” Brant teases, reaching for the bottle of Smirnoff and spinning it with expert ease, shooting a wink my way.

My eyes rove over the dance floor that’s pulsing with techno-infused pop songs and strobe lights. I can see my sister dancing amongst a group of complete strangers, looking sexy and confident, like she isn’t a thirty-two-year-old newly single mom.Goals.

I’m putting together a round of Lemon Drop shots when Casper makes his way to my end of the bar, leaning forward on his arms. My eye roll is so enthusiastic, I almost give myself an aneurism. “Not interested,” I say with indifference, his presence not distracting me from my task.

“That’s not the impression I got last summer.”

I set the shots in front of a group of college kids, smiling my thanks when they hand me a generous tip. My eyes flick to Casper. “I was going through some stuff last summer. Someone said something mean to me on Facebook. My cat meowed weird—it could have been serious. Oh, and I think that’s the day I ran out ofSchitt’s Creekepisodes, and I didn’t know what to do with my life.”

“Funny.”

I offer him a shoulder shrug, mixing another drink. Throwing it together swiftly, I pop some extra cherries through the toothpick and add one of those cute paper umbrellas. I set it in front of Casper, propping myself up on my hands with a sweet smile. “On the house.”

He glares at the concoction. “What is this girly shit? I didn’t order this.”

“It’s a Rum Runner.” I blink at him, coyly. Then I wiggle my fingers in his face, like a send-off. “Runalong.”

Casper just stares at me.

“I’mrunningout of patience?” I try, cocking my head to the side.

He grumbles then, shaking his head, but he remains rooted to his bar stool.

“You’rerunningon borrowed time before I wave down Brutus the Bouncer and have you escorted out of here.”

“Yeah, right. On what grounds?”

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