Don't Let Go(88)

Just kill me. “How about that booth right by the counter,” I said, pointing. “Compromise.”
“Deal,” she said.
“What is with you tonight?” I asked, studying her as we sat. “You’re all, like, sparkly and stuff.”
“And what do you have against sparkly?” she asked.
“Nothing,” I said. “Except I’m gonna check behind your ears for alien cloning when we get home. Somebody sucked the smart-ass out of you.”
Becca laughed. “Nah, it’s still there, I’m just learning to channel it.”
“Oh, that’s so much better,” I said, sitting back in the seat. “Good to know you’re still in there.”
“Ha ha,” she said with her customary eye flutter.
A waitress I didn’t know walked up, which was weird enough. Her nudging Becca with a grin upped the oddness. Her tag said Chloe, and she was easily twenty-five, so not a friend from school. And then I reminded myself that I didn’t need to know everything and to back off the crazy train.
In honor of the night, I ordered something completely different. Becca’s favorite, the shrimp po’boy. With onion rings. And fried okra. And a Coke.
Her look of utter astonishment was so worth the saturated fat I was going to ingest.
“I’ll have the same, with sweet potato fries,” she said.
“Amen,” I said.
“Cool, I’ll put your discount in,” Chloe said, walking away.
There was that word again. “What discount?” I asked.
Johnny Mack came out from the kitchen and pulled some plates from the hot tray, barking orders to Chloe and another girl I didn’t know.
Becca bit back a grin, and then laughed. “I got a job.”
Didn’t see that one coming.
“You did what?” I asked.
“Got a job,” she said, sitting up proudly. “I start next week, on the night shift, and when summer comes I’ll maybe get moved to days.”
“You—” My head tried to put the words together. Not the job part. The working at the diner part. “Here?” I said. “Like, here here?”
“This very shift,” she said.
I felt my face grimace. “Needed a challenge, did you?” I glanced over at Johnny Mack, who did a double take on me, and then winked—winked—at Becca before griping about a plate that was wrong to someone behind him.
Becca snickered as I gasped.
“What the f*ck was that?” I said, the sentence falling out of my mouth before I could remember who was sitting with me. I clapped a hand over my mouth.
“Mom!” she said, full-out laughing. “Such language.”
“Explain,” I mumbled behind my hand.
She shrugged, although her pleased expression was priceless. “We’ve been talking.”
“You’ve been—talking,” I repeated, before the crazy bubbled up. Tired laughter worked its way out and I leaned my face into my hands. “Wow.” To be a fly on that wall.
“Is it okay? Me working here?” she said. “I didn’t tell you because I wanted it to be a surprise.”
Success. It was a surprise.
“Yes—yes, baby, it’s fine,” I said, chuckling and squeezing her hand. “I’m just—taken by surprise, is all.” I looked over at Johnny Mack again with skepticism. “Especially on his end.”
“He’s all right,” she said, rearranging the sweetener packets. “He’s more noise than anything else.”
I licked my lips, so many responses waiting to fly out, but I swallowed them back. My past with him didn’t matter. She had her own path to make, and she didn’t need my funk messing it up. Besides, maybe it was his way of moving forward, mending fences and all that. And if she could handle him—
“I’m proud of you, Bec,” I said. “Of who you are—who you’re becoming. The world’s a crazy, mad place, and I think you’re gonna be okay in it.”
She smiled. “Thanks, Mom.” Then lightbulbs went off in her eyes. “That can be my tattoo!”
I blinked. “Say what?”
“My tattoo!” she reiterated. “There’s a line in Alice In Wonderland that the Mad Hatter says, ‘We’re all mad here . . .’” she said, holding up her wrist. “That would look awesome on my wrist.”
Well, I had a few short seconds, anyway.
“So, have you thought any more about college?” I said, phrasing my words carefully. Didn’t want to come across as controlling, or planning her life, or rule-enforcing, or any of the other various crimes I’d been labeled with.
Her eyebrows came together as she looked down at her silverware, studying them as if they held an answer to my question.
“Compromise?” she said, looking up.
Cute, I thought, playing on my words. But her eyes were serious for once, not defensive as they usually were on the subject. Steeling myself, I smiled.
“I’m listening.”
She took a deep breath and let it out slowly, which did nothing to reassure me.
“What if I wait a year?” she said. “And then decide.”
The old reflexes and irritability over disarray and laziness started boiling under my skin. Wait for what, Becca? Why? So you can be a waitress? Ask Linny how much she enjoys a lifetime career of that.
That was just the kick-start of the comebacks tickling my tongue. There were more. And as I looked around to see where my Coke was so I could drown them, I found myself looking up at Noah.



Chapter 23