Page 8 of Can't Kiss the Chef

“Why do you care? I thought you guys were just friends.”

I think that’s a lie we have all told once or twice before. After our communication dwindled this summer I didn’t know what to tell my friends when they asked how things were going with us. How could I tell them what was going on when I had no clue myself.

“I would care if any of my friends started hanging out with someone whose motives are always selfish.” I make sure I’m not looking any of them in the eye when I say that.

Suddenly it feels like all of the oxygen has been sucked out of the room. I remind myself to breathe and that this is probably just another one of Dalton’s ploys to get under my skin.

“Well, he was in Philly this summer,” Marcus says cautiously with his eyes focused on his slice of pizza.

It all clicks. They must have met when Lola was home this summer. Suddenly it feels like a pizza cutter has been rolled through my heart.

3

Byron

By the time Saturday comes around I’m two days into myWelcome Back To Schoolbender. Dragging myself home while barely being able to see straight. Both nights, I came home alone, which was not the plan.

My head is pulsing as I wait for the Advil to kick in and help elevate the headache that’s come with my hangover. The only light in the den comes from College Game Day. It’s the perfect background noise. My eyes are glued to my phone where I’m watching countless videos I’ve been sent from last night. Each one is worse than the last. It’s pretty clear why I struck out last night.

I’m slurring my words and unable to walk in a straight line. Looking more like newborn deer than a top college athlete. Marcus and Aaron dragged me out of the party even though I put up quite the protest. Luckily they knew better than to listen to a Byron that was twelve beers deep.

I planned on sitting in this dark room nursing myself back to full strength with Gatoraid and greasy food until our party tonight. I want to have a nice, easy-going night, then wake up tomorrow without a hangover so I can spend Sunday getting ready for the first day of classes.

That was until I was told we need to get the living room ready for our party tonight. With the Advil doing its job I pull out the vacuum while Mia is sleeping in my bedroom.

I flip the switch at the same time I hear the squeak that only comes from my bedroom door.

“Don’t let Mia….”

Before I can turn off the vacuum, Mia–my dog and, honestly, the only girl I’ll ever love—darts down the stairs and attacks the vacuum like it did something to her personally.

Mia came into my life last year, when I found her walking home from the bar drunk. When I got home, Jalen and Ivy were watching Mama Mia in the den, and when the future vet confirmed it was a girl, we decided to name her after the movie they were watching.

I hastily turn the vacuum off and scoop my girl off the ground. She licks at my face not caring that I’m a sweaty, hungover mess. I laugh before setting her down. She quickly moves to the kitchen to see what droppings she can find. After tucking the vacuum next to the couch, I decide to postpone vacuuming and set up the table for the makeshift bar instead.

Just the sight of the cheap liquor bottles makes me queasy. I’m lining up the plastic cups when I feel my phone vibrate in my pocket.

Marcus:

Just use my car to get the keg.

He and Indy have been in his room for the last hour and I can only assume that he can’t be bothered to put pants on to go to the liquor store himself.

I slip on my sneakers and make a last-second decision to grab Mia’s leash and clip it on her collar. I roll all the windows down– sunroof included– in his Ford F-150, wanting to soak in the last days of summer before New York turns into the frozen tundra.

Mia enjoys the car ride with her head out the window to enjoy the fresh-air she didn’t get while we were back in Brooklyn this summer. When the liquor store comes into view she starts to bark knowing we are headed to one of her favorite places.

“Well, if it isn’t our favorite customers!” Miss Jane gushes. She pops the lid on the canister of dog treats that she leaves next to the register. Her liquor store is a safe haven for all the dogs in Westvale.

“Hey, Miss Jane, we are here to pick up the kegs Marcus ordered.”

Her fingers work at lightning speed over the keyboard before looking back up.

“Three kegs of light beer?” she asks, looking for confirmation. When I nod, she grabs a large dolly before disappearing into the back of the store.

I walk around the store, looking at the new, very expensive liquors she has stocked throughout the store.

“Here you go,” she says with a smile. “Marcus already paid for them, and you can leave the dolly by the front door when you’re done.”

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