Page 16 of Overdue

“Oh, he must be researching the new landscaping for the square.”

“Huh? I didn’t know they were planning on redoing the square. It’s about time.” I look the menu over. It doesn’t appear to have changed in all the years I’ve been coming here. You would think the town would have changed at least a little while I was gone.

“You know, I don’t think I knew Reed worked as a landscaper. I should have put it together from the logo on his T-shirt,” I add, placing my menu back on the table.

“He got the job right after he got Jennie home from the hospital. Maybe if you start using your words to communicate with him instead of your hand, you’ll learn more.” Eliot smirks as my mouth drops open.

“You heard about that?”

“Sweetie, the entire town heard about it. They could probably hear the smack it made. You know nothing is private in a small town.”

The waitress delivers our drinks and takes our orders. I settle on a salad, hoping Mom was inspired to make a pie at some point this afternoon.

“Brontë even called me this afternoon to see what’s going on,” Eliot continues. “She said she heard through the grapevine that the sparks between you and Reed were already flying again.”

“Oh, good grief.”

“Hey, neither one of us has any love life to speak of. We have to live vicariously through yours.” Eliot smiles and takes a sip of her tea.

“Reed and I do not have a love life,” I sputter. Has Eliot lost her ever-loving mind? Is that what everyone thinks? “What would ever give you that idea?”

“Please.” Eliot rolls her eyes. It’s a skill she’s perfected by this point. “You two have been dancing around each other since we were kids. It’s only a matter of time before you stumble onto his dick.”

“Eliot!”

“Austen!” she smirks. “Deny all you want. Brontë and I know the score.”

I just stare at my sister in disbelief. How could Eliot be so delusional to think I would ever sleep with Reed? I open my mouth to argue, but quickly close it. What’s the use? I would be lying if I said I never thought about it. The thought is never far from my mind, especially when he looks and smells as good as he did tonight. He even attempted to act like an adult.

“At least do me a favor, Austen.”

“What’s that?”

“I know he can be a real tool around you. But he’s trying. It’s not easy for him to keep his head above water while being slowly crushed under the pressure of taking care of his grandmother. Just have some patience. I know he wants for the two of you to learn to get along. Can you do that…for me?” Eliot asks.

“I can try.” I really would like to figure out how to coexist in this world with Reed. “He did ask me who I was hoping to lay in the middle of the library earlier, though. It’s why I slapped him. Delayed reaction.”

“He was probably hoping you would answer that you wanted to lay him.” I can’t help but laugh. That’s twice today I’ve heard that.

Eliot and Reed had become good friends early in high school. They often walked home together. She told me years ago that he never tried to be more than friends with her.

But then, Eliot never broke his nose, threw a pie at him, or was dragged out of a party by him, either. He also never gave her a nickname, half-assed asked her to prom, or held her hair back while she threw up under the school bleachers.

* * *

Jill has finally managed to pilfer a pack of cigarettes out of her mother’s stash.

I know all of the best writers smoked. Oscar Wilde, Dylan Thomas, John Steinbeck. Even Rudyard Kipling and Ayn Rand, for heaven’s sake. It’s just a matter of time before life dictates that I will be among the sophisticated literary world.

Fine, all of those writers are dead now, but I’m positive I’ll find a like-minded group eventually.

Slipping behind the bleachers, I meet a nervous Jill pacing back and forth.

“We can’t get caught, Austen. My mother will kill me if I get detention,” she says, wringing her hands.

“Who’s around to catch us?” I ask with a shrug. My best friend passes the pack of cigarettes to me. I tap out two sticks, handing one to Jill.

Using the lighter I found in the kitchen junk drawer, I hold the cigarette just like I’ve seen Hollywood stars do in the movies. I hold the flame to the end and take in a deep drag. Then I try to expel a lung the hard way. Jill, out of concern, no doubt, starts whacking on my back.

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