Page 30 of Tell Me When It's Over

I lick my lips and feel the sting rise in my chest over the new information. Nothing she told me indicated I was invited along, and I’ve learned not to ask. Most times, I don’t want to be with her when she’s meeting up with people. Especially not a guy. “Uh, Mom asked me, but I figured I’d stay in tonight because of school tomorrow.”

The silence I’m met with lasts too long. I think he swears, but I’m not sure. It sounds like the phone is pulled away from his mouth when he does it. “Tell me your address.”

My eyes widen. “What? Why?”

He sighs. “We’re grabbing dinner. I’ll pick up Mia on the way. We know a place that’s off the beaten path. Nobody will bother us there. Sound good?”

For a moment, I wonder how he knew I was lying. I’ve never been great at it, but he hardly knows me enough to tell. That’s when I realize that Kyler Bishop is a wallflower like me.

He sees everything.

The restaurant, if that’s what you can call it, is more than off the beaten path. According to Mia, it’s invite only. Few people know about it, which makes it peaceful. It’s tucked away on the outskirts of the city, taking up an entire ground floor of what looks like an old warehouse.

I almost pass out when the older, bulkier man at the door stares me down when he sees me tucked between Kyler and Mia. Both vouch for me, the man stares a little longer, and then lets us in after a head nod.

Everything looks industrial and clean and it smells like grease and onion rings, making my stomach growl. Mia says I need to try their special burger and homemade malt, but only if I dip the fries into it because apparently that’s the best way to eat the meal.

We’re seated in the back within minutes, giving me a chance to look around. There’s barely anybody here, so it’s quiet. Dull conversation from a few people across the room but you can’t hear what they say, giving a sense of privacy. I can see why they like it here.

“How did you find this place?” I ask, adjusting in the black booth. The fabric is slightly torn, so I trace the tear with my fingertip to distract myself from how close Kyler is sitting beside me.

“Dominick,” they say at the same time. The name means nothing to me though, so Mia explains. “A friend of the family. He’s like our uncle, but we’re not really related. Him and his brother opened this place years ago for people like us to escape to for a decent meal without being bothered. It’s named after him. Dominick’s.”

Huh. My eyes go to the long counter where a bunch of stools are lined up. There’s a window that peeks into the back and two men are walking around what I assume is the kitchen. “I bet you guys come here a lot.”

They share a look.

“Not really,” Kyler answers cautiously. “I think the last time we ate here was last year. Right, M?”

She nods.

“Why has it been so long?”

The pause makes me wish I hadn’t asked, but they don’t leave the question unanswered. “It is tradition to come here to celebrate,” Mia says slowly, eyeing her brother with a soft look in her eyes.

I turn to him the same moment he looks down at me. The side of his lips slowly rise. “We only come here when it means something worthwhile happened in our lives.”

My throat thickens with a strong sense of emotion clogging my airways. Looking down at my lap where my hands are twisted, I force myself to inhale and fight off the sting of tears burning the back of my eyes.

I startle when a much larger hand peels mine away from each other and drops it onto the table between us. “So, littlest Bishop,” Kyler begins, squeezing my hand. “Tell us about yourself.”

Chapter Ten

Leighton / Present Day

The state of calmness that I feel as I settle into my new routine at Delmar’s Café, despite Kyler’s protests, makes me nearly forget about the things that led me here. Almost. It’s during my final fifteen minute break of the day when I’m sitting alone in the employee breakroom that I remember why I’m back in California, serving people who barely give me a second look after I call their order for pickup.

Mom.

I’m not sure what subconscious thought loosens the old memories, but suddenly I’m flooded with the image of her Mercedes reduced to nothing but scraps of bent debris. The newspaper that reported the accident slapped it on the front page. Slow news day, someone had said. I still can’t wrap my head around why they’d make something so tragic a frontpage story even without more tantalizing news to report on. If you looked closely, which I had, you could see the body still twisted in the driver’s seat.

Maybe that’s why I decided against studying journalism like I’d considered in the past. To spite the people who decided against any form of morality. I know better than to believe reporters live by some moral code, but I thought there were rules—like how you have to pick and choose which battles to face, they’d have to decide when to let their morals win or not as the story calls for it. Posting a picture that shows something so horrible for an entire city to see seems heartless. Maybe they didn’t care because I’m the only family left who would give a crap. The article made the point crystal clear that Mom’s recklessness left her only child an orphan, and that’s another reminder that she was in the spotlight long before her death. Everything chasing us back to Phoenix trailed close behind, waiting for her to mess up again.

And when it did…

My throat gets tight from emotion.

Thumbnail snapping under the pressure of my teeth, I wince at the ache radiating up my finger and frown when I see the uneven nail that Mia would scold me for like she did when I was younger. It’s a habit I’ve mostly broken, but there are times like this when I’m trapped in my head and end up punishing my nails.

---