The Distance Between Us(29)

“Oh,” Skye says. “Look at my weekly find.” She thrusts her fist forward and the hanging chain of the bracelet on her wrist sways with the movement. “Ten dollars.”

Everyone leans forward.

Mason runs a finger across a blue stone. “You wasted ten bucks on that? It doesn’t look edible to me. We could’ve filled our fridge with that money. Right, Henry?”

“Amen, brother,” Henry says. “I think we have a pack of mustard in there right now.”

“Nope. I ate it yesterday,” Mason says, and we laugh.

“You ate a pack of mustard?” Xander asks. “By itself?”

“I was hungry.” We all laugh again.

“I once ate a bowl of mayonnaise when I was hungry,” Henry says.

“Once my dad didn’t shop for three weeks,” Skye says, “and I ate some shriveled-up carrots from the bottom of the veggie drawer.”

Mason kicks my foot. “You have dirt smeared across your forehead.”

Xander laughs and I wipe at it. “Yeah, we were out at the graveyard today digging.”

Skye lets out a little yelp. “Oh. I forgot you were doing that today. How’d it go?”

Xander clenches and unclenches his bandaged hand. “It was interesting.”

Skye gives me a knowing smile.

Mason seems a bit confused but then asks me, “How’s your mom doing?”

“She’s good.”

The room is completely silent for several beats until Xander’s phone rings. I jump. He steps away from the group and answers it using the hard voice he seems to save just for his father.

“How do you know that guy?” Mason says.

“He’s the grandson of a customer.”

“A rich customer,” Skye adds.

Mason moves to his knees. “What are we all eating? Foo-foo crap?”

“It’s good,” Skye says. “Rich-people food. You should try it.”

Xander walks back over while hanging up the phone. “Caymen, I have to run.”

“Okay.”

“Good to meet everyone.” When he’s almost to the door, his gaze lingering on me, I realize I’m being rude and jump up to follow him. Once outside I stop in front of his car.

“You have some interesting friends,” he says. The practiced smile from back at the restaurant is on his face and I don’t like it.

“Yeah, they’re fun.” I point to his pocket. “Who was on the phone?”

“My dad. Hotel emergency.”

“What does a hotel emergency consist of?”

“This time some idiot burned a hole in a customer’s dress shirt while ironing it. My order is to find a replacement shirt, hopefully in town.” He’s taken on his business voice: serious and matter-of-fact like he’s talking to a colleague and not me.

“Hopefully in town?”

“Well, it depends on the brand. We might not have the retailer in this sprawling metropolis of ours. If we don’t, I’ll have to head up to San Fran or somewhere. I’ll call around first.”

“So why are you guys responsible for some idiot getting a hole burned in his shirt?”

His hand is in his pocket and he’s bouncing his keys up and down. Is he hinting that he wants to leave? “Because the idiot that did the burning is one of our employees. Well, was. I’m sure he’s been fired.”

“Fired?”

It takes Xander a moment to register why that would shock me. “He just cost the company an important customer.”

The wind has blown a strand of hair across my face, and when Xander reaches out to brush it away, I move it myself and take a few steps back. “Have fun with your emergency.”

He looks down at the new space I created between us then shakes his head and says in a hard voice, “He’s met your mom?”

“What? Who?”

“Lip-ring guy.”

“Mason. Yeah, he has.” Just once, in passing, but right now I don’t care if Xander thinks more. I’m irritated. I thought Xander was different but tonight has proved to me that he isn’t. I wanted him to be different.

“Your mom approves of him and you’re worried she wouldn’t approve of me?”

“Mason’s friends have never called me a stray. So is that so hard to believe?”

“What?”

“I heard what your friend called me.”

He gives a single, bitter laugh. “That’s why you left? You should’ve eavesdropped a little longer because he was referring to my shirt. He calls flannel the ‘dog-catcher fabric.’”

My chest tightens and I think about saying sorry, but that’s not the only thing that bothered me tonight. “Well, thank goodness you’ll never have to wear it again.”

He pulls his keys out of his pocket. “Bye, Caymen.”

“Bye.” I don’t look back over my shoulder even though I want to so badly. I want him to stop me from walking away. And I’m angry with myself for wanting that.

He doesn’t stop me.

Back in the stockroom Henry is packing away his guitar and Skye is wrapping a scarf around her neck.

I don’t want to be left alone. My stomach hurts. “Where is everyone going?”