Rayne & Delilah's Midnite Matinee(19)
“No, sir, those sound like good rules.”
My dad sits back down, a look of serene magnanimity on his face, like some merciful potentate who just forgave a villager for killing one of his royal stags. “All right. What are your plans?”
“We’re going to get something to eat,” I say.
“Good idea, because she is in a mood. Y’all have fun,” Alexis mutters.
I fold my arms and give her an acid glare that says, At least I’m not sitting at home on a Friday night.
I can’t lie—there was a part of me that hoped my dad would scare him off. Leaving the house for a free meal and to kill boredom might not end up being worth sitting through an hour or two of excruciating small talk with someone with whom I have absolutely nothing in common.
Outside, Lawson opens the passenger door for me, and I hop up into his truck. He has one of those Black Ice air fresheners with a winged skull printed on it. It smells like cologne you’d buy in a comically huge jug, the kind that’s meant not to make someone smell good but to overwhelm your nose with something different from what the wearer would ordinarily smell like. It makes his truck smell exactly like I’d expect an MMA guy’s truck to smell like.
Lawson starts his truck and plugs the aux cable into his phone. The musical equivalent of a Realtree-camo Yeti cooler blares.
I shake my head and cover my ears. “Oh, nope. No. Can’t.”
“Not a Florida Georgia Line fan? Hang on, I’ll find something else.” He fiddles with his phone. Thomas Rhett starts playing.
“Nope.”
“Okay.” He cues up Sam Hunt.
“Strike three.” I unplug his phone and start to plug in mine to cue up some Florence and the Machine, but a text interrupts me.
Delia: Literally sobbing on the toilet.
Me: Oh DeeDee. Hugs.
Delia: I maybe found my dad.
Me: OMG.
Delia: Yep.
Me: Where?
Delia: Florida.
Me: Of course Florida. You ok? Wanna talk?
“So where do you want to go?” Lawson asks.
I hold up a finger. “Sorry, hang on a sec. Delia’s having an issue.”
Delia: I’m processing. Maybe in a while? What are you doing?
Me: You won’t believe who I’m with now.
Delia: GTFO.
Me: Oh yes.
Delia: The Idiot Twins’ friend?
Me: Oh yes.
Delia: I TOLD YOU.
Me: Wanna hear something adorable?
Delia: Always.
Me: He thought we were sisters.
Delia: Haha, everyone thinks that.
Me: Seriously. Anyway, he wanted to buy me dinner and I’m hungry and wanna get out of the house, so <shrug>.
Delia: Have fun.
Me: I’ll try. I think I’ll mess with him a little.
Delia: Solid plan. Report back. Love u, JoJo.
Me: Love u, DeeDee.
I lay my phone in my lap. “Okay. Sorry.”
“No worries. Where are you in the mood to go?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never been to a restaurant before.”
Lawson looks at me, searching my face for some sign I’m joking. I summon my best acting abilities and play it totally straight, staring forward serenely.
“Seriously, though.”
“I am. Never been to a restaurant. I’m excited to try one. Heard good things.”
“You have never been to a restaurant?”
“Haven’t gotten around to it yet.”
“Are you for real?”
“Completely.”
“Come on.”
“Swear.”
He stares. “You’re—Wow. I’m responsible for taking you to your very first restaurant?”
“I’ve heard you don’t have to cook your own food and someone brings it to your table?”
“Never? How can that be?”
I shrug.
“Is it like a religious thing?”
I nod solemnly.
“But your religion lets you dress like a vampire and be on TV?”
I nod solemnly.
Lawson turns and looks forward, shaking his head slightly, incredulously. “Man,” he murmurs. He turns back to me. “I don’t want to make you go against your religion.”
I fold completely. I can’t do it anymore. Peals of laughter. “I’m sorry. Sorry. Yeah, I’ve been to a restaurant. I don’t care where we go. No fish.”
A smile slowly spreads across Lawson’s face like spilled syrup. “You’re very convincing.”
“I try.”
“Applebee’s?”
“Come on, now. Applebee’s is the country music of restaurants.”
“What?”
“I mean, it sounds like it was named after some racist Southern governor. Like H. Barton Applebee or something.”
“Olive Garden?”
“Also has a dumb name. Garden full of olives. Ridiculous. I’m pretty sure olives grow on trees.”
“I kinda wish you really hadn’t ever been to a restaurant before.”
I think it would probably help head off questions if I looked pale and sickly upon coming out of the bathroom. As I wash off what’s left of my vampire makeup after crying, I see this presents no problem.