Page 27 of Sea La Vie
“Throat.Throat!” Tate manages to point to it while Sid’s still performing the Heimlich from behind. “Can’t breathe!”He’s still throwing his hands around and manages to swipe his hand across the counter. It just manages to catch Sam’s milkshake, and before anyone can register what’s happening, the milkshakeis flying through the air and heading straight toward me. Globs of sticky ice cream are plastered to my face and dripping from my hair in seconds.
Somehow, he manages to pry Sid off him then runs to Lucille. “Allergic,” he whispers. “Help.”
“What do you expect me to do?!” Lucille asks. “I’m not a doctor.”
“You’re a nurse! And you’re married to the doctor! Shouldn’t he be back from the bathroom by now?!” Henry’s eyes dart around the dining room in panic.
“Sam’s EpiPen!” Huck says and digs around under the register until he pulls it out. He jabs it in Tate’s thigh, and within a minute, Tate’s face begins to relax the slightest bit.
“Are you allergic to shrimp?” I ask, ice cream dripping down my face.
“Maybe?” he says sheepishly, obviously still recovering from his near-death experience.
“You’ve never had shrimp?” Huck asks. ‘You lived here every summer for God knows how many years, and you’ve never had shrimp?”
“My family wasn’t big on seafood,” he explains. He reaches a thumb out and swipes it along my cheek dripping with ice cream before popping it into his mouth. He grins boyishly, both cheeks rosy red with embarrassment. My face flames, despite the chill of the ice cream.
“You have no idea how good that feels on my throat,” he mutters.
Henry’s watching us, head tilted, mouth open, no doubt curious as to what he’s just seen. Because was that, like, super freaking hot? I feel like it was. When I turn to Henry, he snaps his mouth closed and says, “Let me, um, let me go get a wet rag.” He disappears in the back, dad scurrying behind him, and I’mleft standing there with Tate who’s eyeballing me like I’m dessert and he’s starving. Probably because, metaphorically, I am.
Finally, Dave walks out from the bathroom. “Okay, what did I miss?” he asks, surveying the overturned glass, the milkshake running down my body, and the open EpiPen on the counter.
“Everything. You missedeverything,”I mutter. Tate gives him a quick recap and Dave finally decides that Tate is indeed allergic to shellfish. I’m no doctor, but I could’ve diagnosed that one.
“He’s going to need someone to watch after him this evening to make sure his reaction goes away completely since that was a child’s EpiPen,” Dave says. “I’d say some Benadryl will do the trick. Lucille and I would offer, but we’re headed out of town for her sister's cat's funeral.”
“Thank God,” I hear Tate mutter under his breath right at the same time I hear Huck also mutter, “What?”
“Looks like you’re the girl for the job, Lainey,” Dave says with a smack to my back. I sputter out a cough and he pulls his hand away, frowning at the sticky concoction covering it. “She’ll take good care of you, won’t you?” Before I can protest, he’s already changed the subject to the town’s upcoming Founder’s Day celebration, and Sid jumps right into the conversation. Tate gracefully slides away at the first opportunity, leaving Sid and Dave debating who will win the best dressed pirate.
“You don’t need to take care of me tonight, really. I’m okay. I’m sorry about everything.”
I give Tate a good once over and catalog his red, puffy eyes, swollen lips, and gravelly tone.
“Tate, you look kind of rough,” I tell him. His shoulders drop, and he touches a finger to a puffy lip.
“That bad, huh?” He picks up the stainless steel napkin container in the counter and peers into it. “Oh wow,” he mutters, his face scrunching up into a grimace.
“Aunt Lainey! We didn’t get to go to your garden!” Sam cries. Henry and I share a look before he tosses Sam over his shoulder. “Let’s get you in the bath, kid.”
“Come on,” I say with a sigh and motion for Tate to follow me. “I have some Benadryl back at my place.”
“This is some good stuff,” Tate slurs and slams his bottle down. The bendy straw in his bottle of Benadryl threatens to fly out.
“Woah there,” I say, grabbing his bicep to steady him. I can’t help but notice how rock solid it is. When I was in the shower washing off the milkshake, Tate must’ve helped himself to the entire bottle I sat out on the counter for him.
“Let’s get you settled in for the night.” I wasn’t planning on hosting Tate tonight, but there’s no way he’s making it back to Lucille and Dave’s like this, let alone surviving on his own in this condition.
“Your couch is so pretty,” he muses, running his hand over the faded blue fabric. “Just like you.” He grins up at me and reaches out to tuck a strand of wet hair behind my ear.
My face flames under his touch, even though he just compared me to my ancient Facebook Marketplace couch.
“Hey Lainey?”
“Hmm?”
“Where’s your garden?”
