Page 41 of It's in the Contract
“You interested?” The gray-haired woman asks.
“No, but thank you.”
We keep walking, Zeke’s eyes drinking in all the sites. “I think I could come here every weekend,” he says.
I smile. “I’m glad you like it.”
“Callie, why won’t your mom let you eat cheese? Why does she get to decide?”
We pass the guitarist, a black guy in a fedora. He’s now singing an acoustic version of “Don’t Stop Believin’’’ by Journey. I pull my wallet from my purse and toss a few bills into his guitar case. The guy nods and gives me a smile.
“I mean, I eat cheese,” I say as we continue walking. “It’s just never in our house or incorporated into the meals my parents make. According to my mom, dairy has too much fat. Fitness is practically a religion for her. She measures her body fat percentage and muscle mass every week.”
“Huh,” Zeke says. “Cool?”
“Yeah, I guess.” We come to the fish stand, with butchers behind the counter in bright orange aprons and a long glass display case full of freshly caught crabs and lobsters on ice. A row of silver-scaled salmon look at us with dead, glassy eyes. I grab Zeke’s arm. “Look, these guys are the coolest. If you buy fish from them, they’ll throw it to you.”
Zeke gives me a funny look. “Why would they do that?”
“It’s awesome!” I say, but I flush. The fish throw was always something special I wanted to watch with my Dad when we came here to buy seafood, but now it sounds silly.
Zeke’s smile only widens. “Let’s buy some.”
Zeke glances over the many kinds of fish, and I can only watch him with a smile. He turns to me with a confused look. “What’s your favorite kind of fish?”
“Salmon.”
Zeke orders two pounds, and the fish people do their thing. I’m taken back to my childhood. There’s so much energy in the way they shout and hurl their fish to each other. The butcher raises his eyebrows at Zeke, and Zeke readies himself. The butcher shouts and tosses the salmon, and I hold my breath, whipping out my phone and hitting record.
Zeke catches the fish with the dexterity of a football player, and I cheer. The small crowd gathered around us joins in, clapping and whooping.
“Well done!” I laugh.
Zeke grins at me, holding his prize aloft. He carefully chucks it back to the butchers, who cheer and clap. They begin bagging it up.
“My mama will love this,” Zeke says. “Fresh seafood is her favorite.”
Zeke washes his hands at a little sink nearby for that purpose and grabs our package of fish. While he’s doing that, I post the video to Instagram and check how my other posts are doing. Myheart soars. People are liking the content! I don’t know if that is translating into actual votes, but it’s a great start.
I drag Zeke across the street to the stall for Elenos yogurt. “This is the best yogurt you will ever taste, I promise.”
Zeke looks skeptical. He shifts the bag of fish into the other hand, and I reach out and take the paper bag of crackers and cheese from him. “Is it frozen yogurt?”
“No.” I shake my head, and we get in line. “Just regular yogurt. But it’s so. Freaking. Good.”
“Okay, Callie,” Zeke says. “I trust you.”
We reach the front of the line, and I sample nearly every yogurt—passionfruit, guava, orange creamsicle, and dark chocolate—before getting what I always get. Lemon curd. Zeke gets the same.
We walk the short distance to the pier and choose a spot on the grass overlooking the Puget Sound. The gulls cry overhead, and the crystalline water laps softly against the pier. A pair of young boys throw a frisbee back and forth on the lawn. The sun has peeked through the clouds, and the sky is a stunning aquamarine. I shuck off my jacket and stretch out my legs on the grass.
“This is why people live here,” I say.
“This yogurt?” Zeke asks.
“No.” I nudge his foot with mine and pull out our crackers and cheese lunch. “These rare, sunshiny days.”
“It is beautiful.” His eyes find their way to me, and I hurry and look away, not wanting to ever assume that he could be talking about me.
