Emergency Contact(49)

“Wait. Hold on,” she blurted.

Penny pulled out her lipstick.

“Oh, honey,” said Celeste. “I knew you’d love it.”





SAM.


House on the weekends was a different scene—a bizarro brunch world of chatty local families with young kids instead of the regular college students in their free Wi-Fi k-holes. Sam was hunched over the counter. The morning felt like forever ago. Or as if it happened to someone else. There was no accounting for why he unlatched his neck and disgorged his ugliest stories on Penny at once. He’d called her under the guise of being some knight in shining armor, and then, yeah, he’d barfed on her.

He thumbed through an old Austin Chronicle. He flipped to the classifieds, the usual mix of penis enlargement ads and moonlighting masseurs.

Sam wanted to tell Penny everything. He wanted a record of his thoughts and feelings and stories to exist with her. Like a time capsule for this strange period of his life. With her, he felt less lonely. He hadn’t even realized he was lonely. He hadn’t let himself.

“Sam!”

It was Jude. Hearing his sunnily disposed niece call his name filled Sam with a rush of guilt. Had they made plans? Behind her was a flashy Asian woman and . . . Penny. Penny. Actual Penny. He’d remembered her hair accurately. How wild it was, as if you could root around in it for treasure.

He ran his fingers through his own hair. It was greasy. He took off his old-man glasses that he’d bought off a drugstore carousel. They magnified his eyes in the dorkiest way.

“Hey,” he said. Sam concentrated on staring right at Jude and partially at the other lady and not at all at Penny. He didn’t want to openly ogle her. Jude bounded over and hugged him.

“You remember my roommate, right?” she said, gesturing to Penny.

“Uh, yeah.” He couldn’t avoid it any longer. He looked. Absorbed her. The visuals were coming at him fast. The angle of her cheekbones. The tilt of her chin. The flash of gray fingernails. There was a wiggly strand of hair that fell over her left eye. Her eye that was looking at him. He stored the details as quickly as he could. She was wearing the same bright red lipstick she’d worn last time.

“Hey, Penny.” He smiled. Wide. Stupidly. “You okay?”

“Oh, fantastic,” she said. The voice was so good. Deep like on the phone. Maybe deeper. As if her text bubbles had spent a late night in a speakeasy. Penny tucked her hair behind her ear and blushed hard.

“And this is Penny’s mom, Celeste.”

Before Sam knew it, Celeste came in for a perfumed hug. She smelled of singed cotton candy and flowers.

“Whoa,” he said reflexively, jolting back when he felt the heave of her bust on his chest.

Celeste laughed. “I guess you’re about as into physical contact as my kid is,” she said.

Sam watched Penny tense up at the mention of “kid” and felt a pang of sympathy. Knowing her as well as he did at this point, she’d want to be struck by lightning right about now.

He cleared his throat. Sam wanted to text her, partly to make fun of her and partly to say this was going way better than it had any right to.

“Jude tells me you’ve got the best iced coffee and the most delicious pastries.” Celeste peered into the display case. “I read a write-up on this place.”

“Well,” said Sam, “we do our baking on the premises and . . .”

“Wonderful,” Celeste cooed.

“Actually, Sam’s being modest,” said Jude. “He does the baking. I keep telling him he should go to school for it and become the next Julia Child.”

Sam ran his fingers through his hair again before wiping his hands on the back of his jeans.

“Just a regular Guy Fieri,” Penny mumbled. Sam smiled.

“Um,” he said. “I wish I’d known you guys were coming. I would have made something . . .”

He busied himself with surveying the remaining muffins and cookies.

“The cookies are pretty good, and the last remaining lemon bar is worth digging into.” Sam grabbed a piece of tissue and pulled it out.

“Penny loves lemon bars, don’t you, baby,” said Celeste.

“Sure,” she said. Sam could hear the eye roll in her voice.

“Lemon bars are pie-adjacent,” he said, quietly stealing a glance at her. A slight grimace played on her lips. “I wish I’d thought to make a sheet cake.”

He was rewarded with a smile then. A real one.

“It probably depends on the crust you’re using,” said Celeste. “I have a great recipe that uses vodka. You know, so you can get your sugar high with a little kick.” She laughed at her own joke. A forced monosyllabic “ha.” Like a cymbal.

Sam smiled politely. The type of person who couldn’t let a drinking reference pass them by was a very specific sort of person.

“You seem tired,” Jude told him.

“I’m fine,” he said. “Listen, I’m sorry I’ve been flaky about dinner.”

“Oh, Uncle Sam, don’t fret.” Jude leaned over and rubbed his shoulder. “At least the coffee’s free and plentiful.”

“So, it’s an iced coffee for you and for you . . . Celeste, was it?”

“An iced coffee for me too, and for Penny. With almond milk if you have it. She’s lactose intolerant.”