Page 23 of Wasted On Us

“She dislikesyoualmost as much as I do.”

“You’re not funny,” I insist, opening the door and gesturing for her to enter before me. As much as I want her to vanish from the face of the earth, I still have standards as a gentleman. “And I’m not playing. Eden is not a toy.”

She shoots me a glare as she passes in front of me, taking one loud slurp from her empty cup before tossing it in the trash can by the door. “Right. I’m sure you’re suddenly ready to stop playing the field and settle down.”

“I didn’t say that. And my personal life is none of your business.” Shaking my head, I start to head toward my office.

I put as much distance between Lucy and myself as I can, stopping her from replying to my barb. I don’t have the energy or desire to let this turn into an elaborate back-and-forth bickering session so early in the day. Especially since I still haven’t figured out what happened to Eden. My office is dark, the lights still out from when I left last night, and I can’t find it in myself to turn them back on, choosing instead to sit at my desk and lay my head in my hands.

I’m almost on my way to Dreamland when someone rudely snaps on the lights. There’s only one person at the dealership who would barge into my office without knocking, and he’s not someone I want to see right now.

“Hi, Dad,” I mumble, wiping at the corners of my mouth, just in case any drool slipped out. “What’s up?”

Tentatively, he sits in the chair opposite mine. He looks at my computer, noting the screensaver on display, and then at the empty surface of my desk. “Oh, you know, just thought I’d see what you have going on.”

“I’m working on finding financing for that couple who came in yesterday that picked up that Yukon. They decided to go ahead. I’m going to make it happen. The usual.” I pull open a desk drawer, rattling around for a bottle of acetaminophen and shaking two out into my palm. “I was waiting for one of the agents at the bank to call me back and got a wicked migraine. Hence the lack of lights.”

“That’s nice.” He nods, giving me a once-over. He doesn’t believe me, not even for a second, but in all my time working here, I’ve never once gotten behind on my work. So, he’ll let the occasional indiscretion or moment to myself slide. Reaching across the top of my desk, he makes a show of straightening the pens in my cup, as if this visit is casual. The gesture tells me it’s anything but. “Now, what’s going on with the temp they sent over for the front desk? I didn’t get her name since I let Monica handle all of that, but the agency told me she said she couldn’t work here. Some kind of personal issue. A ‘conflict of interest,’ I think they called it.”

If he arched his eyebrow any higher, it would leave his face and enter into earth’s atmosphere. It reminds me of being a kid and trying to sneak a bad report card to Abuelita behind his back.

“Nothing,” I blurt, trying to sound nonchalant, turning to scroll through a spreadsheet on my computer. “I mean nothing that I know of.”

“Nothing…” Tapping his fingers against the desk, he pauses. “Or nothing to worry about?”

Excellent. Now my father thinks I’m the cause of Eden telling the agency she can’t work at García and Son. And he’s probably right. If I had known that fooling around with Lucy would alter his opinion of me forever, I never would’ve touched her.

“The second one.”

He looks at me over the top of his glasses, as if staring at me long enough will reveal the secrets of the universe. Something in my face must satisfy him. After standing and walking toward the door, he stops for a moment with his hand on the door handle, the other toying with his wedding ring, rotating it around his finger with his thumb.

“I hope not. I can’t lose this dealership over some kind of human resources nightmare. This. You. Abuelita. It’s all I have left. But you seem to be forgetting that.”

As soon as he closes the door, the guilt of his words shoves me forward into my work. I know from years of watching him do the same thing that it isn’t the healthiest coping mechanism. But I understand the appeal. The hours pass quickly, in a haze of APRs and VIN numbers, spreadsheets, and short walks to the lot.

Before I can think once about his disappointment in me, or Lucy’s venom this morning, it’s five o’clock and time for me to head out. I didn’t even ruminate over Eden’s mysterious disappearance either until I see her abandoned hair tie sitting in my driver’s seat. Against all my better judgment, I find myself choosing her number in my phone. After the first three rings, I consider hanging up, but she picks up her end before my thumb finds the button.

“Hey… you.” I had hoped to sound smoother, but the fact that she even answered at all is enough to throw me off my game.

“Hey, yourself.” Her voice echoes in the background like she’s in a large building with a lot of hard surfaces, and I can hardly hear her over the barking of dogs. Wherever she ended up instead today, the temp agency certainly put her to work.

“So,” I venture, realizing that she isn’t going to make much of an attempt to make conversation. I want very badly to ask her why she turned the job down today, but I’m not sure the answer to that question will be something I want to hear. “How was your day?”

“I had a nice day.”

She isn’t giving me much to work with, but she hasn’t hung up on me, either. It’s a little victory, and I’ll take it. “What did you like best about it?”

“I guess…” She’s drowned out again by more barking, and she muffles the phone with her hand, telling someone named Mister Friskies to get himself under control. “Not being in the fishbowl.”

“I missed seeing you.” I remember the way she was so open with me at the bar and at the restaurant. Food seems to be the key to relaxing her enough to open up, to be the Eden that I found so captivating to begin with. I decide to go out on a limb, figuring that I can’t make things any stranger between us than they already are. “What if we go out to dinner tonight to celebrate your new job?”

“I’m about to move out of my apartment. I think I just want to stay in tonight.” She finishes her sentence with a yawn so loud it makesmetired.

“I can bring take-out if you want.” I pause, waiting to see if she shoots the idea down entirely. When she doesn’t, I continue. “There’s a Vietnamese place I really like between here and your apartment… if that’s okay?”

“Yeah. That’s okay, I guess.” She laughs quietly, as if she’s made some kind of joke that only she herself can hear. “I’ll see you soon.”

I don’t realize until after she’s already ended the call that I never asked her what she wants to eat. Running through our dinner together, I can’t recall a single thing she turned down or mentioned being allergic or averse to. So, I grab an assortment of my favorite things—grilled pork bún, combination bahn mi, ample shrimp spring rolls, lemongrass tofu, and two large iced coffees. Struggling to balance it all in my arms as I try to page her apartment has me wondering if I ordered too much, but the smile on her face when she sees it makes the ordeal worth my while.

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