Not Today, But Someday(44)

“It’s not all fish, either. It’s decided. We’re having sushi.”

“Naaate,” she whines. “What if I hate it?”

“If you hate it, I’ll...”

“Go try the bacon cheeseburger?” she suggests.

“No, I can’t do that. Plus, it would probably make me very sick,” I tell her. “Although I don’t think you’ll hate it. I’ll help you find something good.”

“Does any of it have bacon?”

“No,” I tell her, chuckling.

“Will you stop smoking?”

I look over at her sideways. “As a consequence?”

“Yeah, if I hate sushi.”

I consider this option, again realizing it’s probably unnecessary. On the off chance that she hates it– or stubbornly states she hates it even when she doesn’t, which kind of sounds like something she’d do– quitting smoking would be a healthier choice than eating red meat and pork. “Sure. If you hate it, I’ll try to quit smoking.”

“You have to really try,” she says.

“As long as you really try to like sushi,” I tell her. “Let me help you order. I don’t want you ordering octopus and eel just so you can hate it.”

“They have octopus and eel?” she asks warily.

“Yes.”

“Is it good?”

“Vegetarian,” I remind her in a slow whisper.

“Right,” she says. “So it could be wonderful! Maybe I’ll try it.”

“Mmmm,” I hedge, “again, let me help you find something that’s not so out there.”

“Alright, alright,” she finally agrees. I start planning her menu as I drive to the restaurant, determined to convince her to like something at my favorite restaurant.





CHAPTER 15 - EMI





“Can I join you two?”

Startled, I look up to see Nate standing at the edge of our table. I’ve never seen him eat lunch in the cafeteria before. He looks tired.

“Have a seat,” I say, moving my bag off of the stool next to me and onto the floor. “Where’s your lunch?” I ask him.

“I don’t typically eat lunch here,” he mumbles as he slumps into the seat. He puts his elbows on the table, and then holds his head in his hands.

“Why not?”

“I don’t trust the way they prepare food here,” he admits, “and my mom was never one to pack a lunch.”

“What, you can’t make your own lunch?” I tease him.

“I value my sleep too much,” he says, gripping at his hair.

“It looks like you’re dying over there,” Chris says to Nate.

“Massive headache,” he says, glaring at me.

“Ohhh,” I say, catching on. “Nate has to quit smoking.”

“This is bullshit,” he says with a slight laugh.

“What’s going on?” my brother asked.

“Remember I said we had sushi last night?”

“Yeah,” he starts, then turns his focus to Nate, “I can’t believe you got her to eat that!”

“Chris,” I start, trying to get him to shut up.

“I’m actually anxious to try some of it.”

“Chris!” I say louder.

“Wait a minute,” Nate interrupts. “Did she say she liked it?”

“Most of it,” Chris says.

“I told you I liked some of it,” I explain to Nate. “But I hated some of it, too.”

He shakes his head at me. “How did I lose this fight?” he asks.

“Because, you said you’d try to quit smoking if I hated it.”

“But you didn’t.”

“I hated some of it!” I repeat.

“Ugh, that wasn’t the deal,” he says. He knows there’s no point in arguing. We’d done it the whole way home from the restaurant. “I feel like you’re taking advantage of me,” he says, sounding utterly pitiful.

“It’s for your own good,” I tell him, patting him on the back. “Want some aspirin?”

“You have some?” I nod, digging the bottle out of my purse and handing it to him. “Here.” I push my soda toward him, too.

He swallows the pills, giving my drink back to me. Chris looks at me, astonished when I take a drink out of the can. I never drink after people. He narrows his eyes at me, then glances back and forth at me and Nate. I subtly shake my head.

“You had to order the octopus,” Nate says with a sigh. “I was never going to win.”

“No,” I tell him. “But you’ll thank me someday.”

“I doubt it. I’m not sure you’ll live until that day,” he says as he shoves me gently and laughs. “I don’t like you very much today, Emi Hennigan.”

I smile, a little bit proud.

“I have those days, too,” my brother says.

“They pass,” I explain cheerily, taking a bite of the sandwich I’d ordered.

“I hope you’re enjoying your mechanically separated chicken. They scrape off every last piece of flesh from the bones of chickens and make a paste out of it–”