Page 61 of Instant Karma

He does look legitimately sorry.

He inhales and goes on, “You know the other night when they were having karaoke here?”

I nod. I’ve barely thought about karaoke these past few days, but now the memories come surging back. The first powerful chords of “Instant Karma!” The way the restaurant faded away as I sang. All except Quint, for that one moment, his eyes glued to me, his half-astonished smile…

I look down at the table, suddenly flustered, and… oh good heavens, I’mblushing.

What the heck?

“I was watching some of those people get up to sing,” says Quint, and I snap my attention back to him. “And I thought, I literally cannot imagine anything more painful than to sing in front of a crowd like that. I would rather have a root canal.” He gives an exaggerated shudder. “So, I get it. In a way. Stage fright, or whatever. And you’re right. I should have been there. You did ask me to.” He pauses. “I’m really sorry.”

We sit in silence for a while, tourists and beachgoers passing by on the sidewalk. Birds squawking nearby, hoping we’ll leave behind some crumbs of food.

“I have a trick,” I say quietly.

Quint’s eyebrows go up.

“When I have to perform in front of people, I tell myself, this is only five minutes of my life. Or ten, or twenty, or whatever it is. In the grand scheme of things, five minutes is nothing, right? And that’s all I have to get through, and then it will be over.”

His mouth quirks. “If I ever decide to do karaoke, which is highly unlikely, I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Most songs are under four minutes long.”

He nods, and now he’s smiling. His smile is familiar, but it’s not very often that I’ve been the recipient of it.

I swallow.

“Look, Prudence. I don’t want this summer to be as miserable as biology class was all year. Do you think maybe we can try something different?”

I don’t look away as the threat of tears starts to fade. “Well,” I say, “that does seem better than the alternative.”

NINETEEN

The waiter arrives, swapping out the empty appetizer plate with a giant platter of nachos, piled high with roasted pork, gooey cheese, and all the fixings. Quint thanks him, and as soon as the waiter walks away, Quint nudges the plate toward me, pushing it on top of some of my papers. “You can have some if you want.”

“Thanks,” I mutter. “Given that you did eat my food.”

He smirks. He knows as well as I do that if I were going to finish the tostones, they would have been long gone before he arrived.

I huff and take a chip.

Quint groans in approval as he takes his first bite, and washes it down with a swig of his soda. “So much better than rice and beans.”

“Rice and beans? That’s a weird comparison.”

He chuckles. “There are only, like, three things on this menu that Morgan can eat. She pretty much just comes here for the tostones, and they are amazing, but a guy sometimes needs a bit more. So we had rice and beans, but the Puerto Rican kind? What’s it called?”

“Pigeon pea rice.”

He snaps his fingers. “Right. Except even that is usually made with ham or bacon or something, so she ordered the vegetarian option. It wasn’t bad, but this?” He sweeps his hand toward the nachos. “Oh my god. So good.”

“She’s vegetarian?”

“Vegan. And, I mean, she alwayssaysthat she’s fine with people eating meat and dairy in front of her, but…” He gives me a knowing look. “Believe me, she is judging. She is judging hard. So I’ve found it’s easier to just get whatever she gets.”

“Huh. I guess that explains the billboard,” I say, picturing the cows in their green pasture, and the big X drawn over their happy thoughts. It still doesn’t make what she did okay, but if she’s opposed to meat, then of course she’s opposed to the local burger joint.

“What billboard?”

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