The reboot, p.8
The Reboot, page 8
Our time. My heart does a little flip-flop at that. He’s always saying things that make me a little weak-kneed, and he doesn’t even seem to realize it. I think that’s why it works, instead of triggering my corny reflex. He really would rather sit around bored for half an hour than miss out on fifteen minutes with me. How adorable is that? And why did it take me so long to fall for him?
When my stomach growls, I stifle a groan. Dinner just keeps coming around every single day, like a sneaky assassin that wants me to look unprepared and dimwitted. “What did you want to do for dinner?”
“Beth’s moving in tonight?” Will asks. “Is that right?”
“She brought her three suitcases over last night,” I say. “I think that’s all she’s got.”
Will frowns. “Are you kidding?”
I shrug. “She said they packed the rest to take with them. Patrick apparently told her she’s not going to last two weeks, and she’ll thank them for taking her other stuff to Washington.”
“Well.” His nostrils flare. “I’d be lying if I said I’ll miss that guy. Hope that doesn’t offend you.”
I laugh.
“Dinner with Beth, then?” he asks.
“Sure.”
He takes my bag that doubles as a briefcase for any files I bring home, and we head for the door. His phone bings three times before we reach it.
“Just Mom,” he says. “Inviting us to dinner. I’ll tell her we’ve got plans.”
I think about her rolls and start to salivate. I grab his arm and yank before he can make that huge mistake. “Why would you do that?”
He meets my eyes. “You want to go back? We went like three days ago.”
I shrug. “Will there be bread?”
He laughs. “Probably, but lemme ask.”
Another bing, and he swivels his screen around. His mother responded with a photo. Be still my greedy little heart. Beautiful, shamrock-shaped rolls, all golden and soft.
“Italian food,” he says. “She made lasagna, apparently.”
“Yes,” I say. “But make sure Beth can come, if she wants to.” It would really suck for me if we can’t get those rolls, but I need to stay loyal. I mean, I really should stay loyal on her first official night eating dinner, right?
But the rolls. I can’t help sighing at my own goodness.
“Mom knows she’s moving in. I’m sure she’s more than welcome.”
Will knows his mother, and I know Beth. The second she sets eyes on the image of the rolls, she’s nodding her head vigorously. “Oh, yes, let’s go there for dinner.”
“She’s as good a cook as Abby,” I say. “Only, we get invited a lot more often.”
“Suh-weet,” Beth says, as though the word has two syllables. Teenagers are a little obnoxious, but their exuberance is also charming. I’m trying to focus on the good things.
“Did you get your room set up?” I ask. She’s taking the room that was supposed to double as both a guest room and my office. Since I’ve been doing most of my after-hours work while sitting on my bed, and I haven’t had any guests, I’m guessing I’ll survive just fine without it. Thankfully Will set up the bed last night, and then he dragged the chest of drawers out of the storage closet and into her room.
“Those drawers are all full of table cloths and stuff.” Beth shrugs. “I wasn’t sure what to do with them.”
Moths and dust bunnies are probably keeping them company. I’d toss the lot of them, but they’re from my mom. “I forgot about that. I’ll clean those out tomorrow.”
“No rush by me. I got the sheets you left on the bed, so I have somewhere to sleep.”
So far, parenting someone else’s teen has been a breeze, but that feels a little bit too much like famous last words, so I retract them in my head before they can come back to bite me.
I’ve also been expecting some kind of fallout from Patrick and Amelia, but they just kind of shrugged it off. Clearly my brother doesn’t think Beth will stay. Or, the scarier thought is that he doesn’t care whether she does. Could he be relieved? Surely he’s not that selfish.
I’m choosing not to think that badly of my brother.
When we arrive at Will’s parents’, the smell of garlic and onions hits me like an olfactory wall. I pause for a moment to enjoy it. My mom used to cook, when she was feeling up to it, but it was never really very good. She made spaghetti in a crock pot, for instance. It turned into a gelatinous mass of goo we ladled out with a big spoon, and it was made with the cheapest can of spaghetti sauce we could buy at the store, and the cheapest noodles. She’d just dump it into the crock pot with a few cups of water and let it run.
I had no idea how gross it was until I left home. The first time I tried to make spaghetti that way, my roommates were horrified.
I’m loving the idea of having a mother and father who are both happy to see me, and who actively make meals and invite me to come over and eat them. It’s inspiring to see someone being the kind of mother I hope I’ll be to Aiden one day. Although, if I want to do that, I’ll need to take lessons on cooking from Abby or Will’s mom.
The kinds of meals Charlie demanded were not practical: braised Cornish game hens with a cherry sauce, crab-meat-garnished eggs benedict with a fresh hollandaise sauce, or paté-crusted quail on a bed of mushroom risotto.
I can make those, thanks to terrifying grilling by a chef at the Culinary Lab Cooking school who taught private classes—that was my Christmas present one year, so I could make presentable dinners and pretend I made them all the time—but I hated making and eating that kind of pretentious junk. When no one was coming over, I usually ate whatever I made for Aiden, so a lot of mac and cheese, peanut butter sandwiches, and hotdogs.
“Welcome, Beth,” Mrs. Earl says. “I’m so happy you could come, too.”
“Actually,” Mr. Earl says, “that’s why we invited these two goofballs back. We heard there was a new family member who would be around and wanted to say hello.”
Beth’s a little shy at first, but by the time Mrs. Earl passes around the rolls and salad, she’s smiling and chatting comfortably. They have a natural way of connecting with people that I love.
“I can’t believe that ranch is going to be sold,” Mrs. Earl says as she’s collecting the empty plates after dinner. “It has belonged to the Ellingsons for as long as I can remember.”
“But with Patrick leaving, there’s no one from our family to run it,” I say. “It really is the end of an era.”
“You don’t think Aiden might want it?” Mr. Earl asks.
I snort. “He’s a kid. He wants everything. That doesn’t mean he gets everything.”
“But later on, when he’s an adult, do you think he’ll be disappointed?”
I can’t imagine my nerdy little guy running a ranch, even as an adult. Although, he did get his hands pretty dirty helping Will with that car. Who knows? I shrug. “It’s happening when he’s so young, I think he’ll just accept it.”
“Would you consider buying it yourself?” Mr. Earl asks. “Will could help you run it—”
I can’t help it. I start laughing. “I’m utterly unfit to run a ranch,” I say. “And beyond that, I have no interest in it.”
“Leave her alone, Bob,” Mrs. Earl says. “I had no interest either in being involved with yours, and I’ve done just fine with my hotel.”
“And now we have two businesses with no one to take over running them,” Mr. Earl says.
“It’s a good problem to have,” Will says. “And you know I’ll take over the ranch when you’re truly ready to be done.”
It’s good for Will to have a plan in place.
“Won’t your sister take over the hotel?” I ask. “She’s off at college, but—”
Will sighs. “She’s positive she won’t. She’s fallen in love with stage design and wants to work on plays and movies. Not much of that around here.”
“How’s your job going?” Beth asks me. “It must be cool working for a billionaire.”
“Mr. Park’s demanding,” I say. “And I don’t like driving all the way over to Dutch John every day, but the job’s challenging in the best way and I’ve learned a lot.”
“It’s neat you were able to find it just as your brother cut you out of the school gig,” Will says. “Sometimes the timing in life works out perfectly.” He takes my hand under the table. He could totally do it out in the open, but it feels more fun this way, somehow. Like it’s our secret. It makes me feel like giggling.
“How’s the retreat going over there?” Mr. Earl asks. “Lots of guests starting to arrive?”
“So far, so good,” I say. “We’re not far from most everything being done. Or at least, all the big stuff. The soft launch has gone well, and we have a hard and fast launch in about six weeks.” I stand up, reluctantly, and start helping Mrs. Earl gather up the dishes. I feel like I need to be doing something, now that I’m thinking about my impending unemployment.
“You’re the assistant project manager?” Mrs. Earl asks. “Is that what Will tells me?”
I nod. “Yep.”
“What happens when it’s all finished?” she asks.
My future mother-in-law’s smarter than I am, apparently. For some reason, I didn’t see the obvious. “Um, well.” I drop the fork I was holding.
“I’m sure they’ll have something for her to do over there,” Will says. “She’s been indispensable to Mr. Park.”
I wince. “He did say he could find me a job—in California.”
Will stiffens.
“But also, he’s made an offer on your dad’s ranch, or so he says.” I look at Beth. “If he buys it, he wants me to kind of start a new project there.” I hope I’m not telling her something I shouldn’t disclose. Patrick would hate the idea of people poking around on his ranch, learning about cows and the country life.
“A project?” Will still looks stunned.
“He thought I could run it,” I say. “Since I know a little about ranches and cowboys and whatnot.”
Will laughs.
Beth shifts in her chair.
“Wait,” Will says. “Are you serious? You’re going to give tours to city people who come into town? Like, get paid so they can laugh at us?”
“It won’t be like that,” I say. “A lot of people are curious, and that doesn’t mean they’ll be laughing—”
“Like we’re zoo animals?” Mr. Earl asks.
“No,” I say. “Nothing like that.”
“If your work is ending, you should come work for me,” Mrs. Earl says. “I’m always short-staffed—”
“I don’t want to make beds and mop floors,” I snap. “I may not have a college degree, but I almost do. I want to use my brain.”
Mrs. Earl frowns. It may be the first time she’s ever frowned at me. “Are you saying I don’t use my brain, running a hotel?”
“No,” I say. “I’m not saying that at all, but your position is filled. You already run it. What would I do? I’d have to clean rooms, right? I mean, it’s either that, or do what you’re already doing.”
“You could take over for me, so that I could work part time.”
But splitting one job between two people. . .means we’d both be part time. Plus, I’d essentially be taking over her life, just like Will’s essentially been stuck taking over for his father. Patrick’s words come back to me then, as if he’s standing right here, mocking me.
I just wish she liked me, instead of wanting me to turn into her dad.
Does Will want me to turn into his mother? Does his father want Will to become just like he is? They’re happy, it’s true, and I like them a lot, but I need to live my own life, and so does Will.
“Thank you so much for dinner,” I say abruptly. “But I have a long way to drive in the morning, and I better get to bed so I’m not too tired to do it. After all. I may only have a few weeks left. I should do my best work while I still have a job.”
8
Amanda
Mandy isn’t talking to me, other than terse answers to work things, but it might have been worth it. So far, this date with the hot doctor is really panning out.
I might end up with someone just as smart as Abigail. Who knows?
“So, I had them draw four vials of blood, right?” His eyes are practically sparkling.
“Okay,” I say.
“And then it turns out, we didn’t need all four tests. We only needed three.”
“Okay,” I say again like a dope.
“But when I go back into the room, the patient’s looking at the last vial. It’s still sitting on the counter.”
“Yeah.” Look at me. Spicing my side of this convo up with a yeah. So maybe the date isn’t going as well from my end. I bite my lip so at least he might think about wanting to kiss me.
“Anyhow, the patient points at the blood we didn’t use. ‘What about that one?’ she asks. And then I explain that we don’t need it. It’s extra. And she looks horrified. Like, stands up, throws up an index finger and starts berating me.”
“People are pretty crazy,” I say.
“Oh, that’s not even the good part yet.”
I blink.
“The second I go to leave the room, she hops up and runs to the counter. Before I can stop her, she pops the top off that vial and drinks it. I say, ‘Whoa, what are you doing?’ and she says, ‘I didn’t want to waste it.’” He laughs then, and it’s carefree, unselfconscious, and contagious.
His story was weirdly funny, in a medical way, but it’s his manner and the way he tells it that really makes me laugh.
“And people think those werewolf movies are harmless.” He shakes his head. “Some people can’t tell reality from fiction.”
“Vampire,” I say.
“Huh?”
“They’re vampire movies, the ones where people drink blood.” I smile a little bit, enjoying correcting him just a bit too much. But then, it’s nice when the super smart person you’re talking to screws up a few little things. Makes them seem more human. That’s actually my biggest problem with Abby. Girlfriend never makes a single mistake. Not ever. Or at least, not one I’m smart enough to catch. It’s exhausting, always feeling less-than around her.
“You’d think a doctor would know that,” someone at the table next to us says.
And then, almost in slow motion, like I’m on a romantic comedy set in Hollywood, filming a movie or something, I turn toward the sound.
A gorgeous face, a famous face, a face I know quite well is smirking at me. “Fancy seeing you here,” Eddy says.
I’m going to kill Mandy. It’s the only way he could possibly have known that I’m here. Green River may not be huge, but there’s no way Eddy coincidentally ended up at the taqueria closest to the hospital where Dr. Travis Harkey works.
No. Way.
“Don’t let me interrupt,” Eddy says. “Just overheard part of your conversation and found it funny that the physician didn’t know it was vampires who suck blood, not werewolves.”
“Maybe work a little harder not to interrupt other people,” I say. “It’s rude.”
“Isn’t that—” My date cuts off and turns to face me. “Is he your boyfriend. . . or not?”
“Yes,” Eddy says.
At the same time as I say, “Not.”
“A stalker, then?” Travis asks. “Because I may have taken an oath to do no harm, but I don’t count keeping women safe as doing harm.” He flexes his pecs, and I wonder whether it was on purpose or some kind of masculine reflex.
Eddy starts laughing. “I’m real scared, doc. Let me tell you how terrified I am.”
“You should be,” Travis says. “Because in school, they taught me where all the organs in your body are, and I’m pretty sure I could rupture most of them using just this fork.”
“Okay.” I stand up. “I think we were essentially done, and I know you said you only had half an hour.” Which is the only reason I agreed to meet him for lunch. “You’d better head back in, doc.”
“Are you sure I should?” He glares at Eddy.
“Move along, eager beaver.” Eddy waves. “Lives to save and all that do-gooderly stuff. Meanwhile, I can take any day off for lunch, because we vets mostly put the broken things down.” He arches one eyebrow and glares full-on.
Travis stands up, throws a handful of bills on the table, glances at me for confirmation, and walks away, not taking Eddy’s juvenile bait at all. It makes me like him more, to be honest.
Meanwhile, Eddy’s muttering to himself like a mental patient. “Yeah, that’s right. Walk away, loser. You’ve got blood pressure medicine to prescribe and werewolves to deal with.”
I roll my eyes, but I walk the three feet over to his table and sit down. “What do you think you’re doing here?”
“You know, Steve drove all the way out here under the pretense of buying zip ties, and then he and Abby started dating after that.”
“Eddy.”
“Why are you dating that loser?”
“By loser, do you mean the physician who just saved a patient’s life, moments before buying me lunch?”
Eddy’s eye roll would make any sorority girl at UCLA jealous.
“How in the world did you think that crashing my date was going to help us?”
“Help? You think I thought I was helping something?” Eddy stands up, and even though as far as I can tell he’s only had chips and salsa, he tosses a big wad of cash on the table. “When I went by your place, and Mandy told me you were here, on a date with one of her doctors, I stopped thinking. I just started driving. It was that, or start drinking.”
“That’s really great.” I stand up, too. “You’re definitely winning me over with this ‘I’m an inch away from losing it’ spiel.”
“I don’t want to win you over.” His eyes are haunted. “I just want you to want me like I want you again.”
“Well, I don’t.” My words are hasty, cruel, and apparently effective.
Eddy’s shoulders droop. His eyes flutter. And then he turns and starts to walk away.
I should let him go. I clearly can’t handle anything he makes me feel. But in that moment, my heart feels shredded and flambéed. I know I did the damage, but it feels like I was also the victim.
