Miranda, Wendy, and I decided to go out to eat later that day after I had taken the flowers back to the house. Sherry had swooned over the lavish selection of canary yellow lilies and pink roses, expressing her jealousy. When she asked who they were from, I sneaked the card from its holder and claimed that I was unsure who the sender was.
Part of me regretted not changing my clothes before we all climbed into Wendy’s car, but I would feel out of place if I chose to wear my usual pairs of sweatpants and t-shirts to a restaurant compared to their fashionable outfits. Wendy offered to pay, as she put it, ‘given the circumstances’. Reluctantly, I accepted her offer due to the lack of money in my bank account. I had earned a fair amount from my summer job at a different diner in my hometown, but I knew I needed to make it last since I would be out of work for a while.
Wendy willingly informed me that we would dine at any restaurant of my choosing, so I chose a quaint Italian eatery called Take It Cheesy, whose cheesy name is befitting. I always had a great love for Italian food despite having no roots to connect me to Italian culture. Cooking at home with my father was never a skill of mine except for the pasta recipes I learned to master through watching shows on television. The main concept I learned was that you could never have enough oregano to garnish and garlic bread to have alongside your dish.
The white SUV swerved into an open parking space and Miranda hopped out of the back passenger side with ease. She steadied my crutches for me as I carefully lowered myself onto the pavement, my jacket nearly catching on the seatbelt. I placed them under my arms and followed Wendy towards the front door of the large building decorated in hues of orange and red to resemble marinara. A giant tomato was displayed at the end of the sign labeled with the name of the restaurant over our heads, and the pillars under the porch area near the entrance seemed to be freshly painted as if they had just been remodeled.
Wendy held the front glass door open for me and her daughter and we stepped through into the main seating area near the host stand. A freckled young woman with fiery red hair in loose waves grinned at us warmly and stepped to the side to reveal her slightly shorter stature in a black uniform. We told her our request for a table of three people and she beckoned for us to follow her.
She placed us at a booth near the front door and Wendy slid into the seat across the table from me and Miranda. The hostess generously offered to hold my crutches behind the host stand so no one would trip over them, so I smiled and said thank you before she took them away. Before we had time to blink, a waiter pranced towards our table and introduced himself as Luke before asking what we would like to drink. His features were similar to James with dark hair and tan complexion, but the waiter was slightly shorter. I told him my drink order, a mountain dew, and he took the others’ orders before hurriedly retreating to enter them into the system towards the back of the restaurant.
The thought lingered in my mind of James. I longed to know more about him, what made him tick. I could see him through my mind’s eye, as vividly as if he was standing directly in front of me. The way his dark hair slightly swept over his forehead and the glistening of his blue eyes every time he smiled. Smiled at me. I couldn’t help but wonder where he was right now and whether he was thinking about me as well.
“What are you getting to eat?” Miranda called to me and the idea of James fizzled like a raging fire inside me doused in a bucket of water.
My mind snapped to the dark-haired girl at my side and I realized that I hadn't even taken the menu that the waiter had set down for us on the table. Wendy and Miranda were already scanning over their menus ravenously and debating options. I used my fingertips to scoot one towards me and took it in my grasp before considering what may sound appealing to my palette.
“They have a chicken fettuccine alfredo,” Wendy announced and set her menu down on the table to point at it with an index finger. It came out as more of a statement rather than a question of whether we would order it for ourselves. She always struck me as the kind to prefer alfredo over marinara.
I caught Miranda as she turned her nose up discreetly and she ignored her mom. Her eyes remained fixated on her own menu and I reached over to point out the regular spaghetti at the end of the long list of intricate entrees. Her eyes widened and her face drew closer to the page to read. Such a picky eater.
“I think I’m going to pick the stuffed shells,” I replied to Wendy when my eyes returned to my own menu in my hands.
I saw Wendy’s shoulders lower as she huffed out a breath. As if on cue, the waiter returned with our drinks on his tray and he handed them to each of us accordingly. It seemed to have been such a long time since I had soda and I quickly tore through my straw wrapper before placing the straw in the translucent glass. He turned to face us, his notepad and pen ready in hand, and he took our food order while scribbling it down.
The waiter disappeared amongst the aisles and half-empty tables and Wendy placed her interlocked hands under her chin. “So how is school?” Miranda turned towards me as if she was prepared to ask the question herself.
I took another sip of my drink and set it on the napkin in front of me to prevent a condensation ring on the wooden table. “It’s okay. Although, it’s strange having people stare at me constantly because of the crutches.”
Miranda nodded her head and also returned her drink to the table. “I know what you mean. Remember when I sprained my ankle during cheer practice freshman year? It was so embarrassing.” She rolled her eyes and crossed her legs, her ankle swiveling in circles as if to demonstrate how her ankle was healed.
“Yeah.” I simply uttered. I traced my fingertip along the cool surface of the glass containing my lemon-lime drink.
“Have you made any friends?” Wendy continued.
My eyes created a path to Miranda, wondering if she would feel replaced if I mentioned Natalie, but she just toyed with the straw that she hadn’t opened yet in her hands.
I shrugged. “Not really. I met a girl named Natalie and she helps me carry my books. She has a bunch of classes with me, but I don’t know if we’re considered friends. I’ve only been there two days in total.”
Wendy leaned back in her seat across from us, pushing up the frames on her nose that needed to be replaced. “Well, at least she’s nice and helps you out.”
“She definitely told off the girl whose boots I covered in my food when I tripped in the cafeteria,” I muttered with a hint of a smile.
“What?” they both said in unison and their eyes snapped towards me in surprise.
I chuckled. “I was trying to carry my lunch tray while using my crutches and I tripped in the cafeteria. It splattered all over this girl and I thought she was going to beat my ass. Then, Natalie stepped in and told her off and helped me up.” The memory of Hailey’s face replayed in my mind and I chuckled again. “You should have seen that girl’s face.”
“Maybe I should beat her ass,” Miranda suggested and Wendy scolded her for cursing. Miranda smiled and flipped her hair behind her shoulder with a grin plastered on her perfect face. “Oh, don’t defend her,” she responded to her mom.
“I’m not defending her,” Wendy retorted and Miranda rolled her eyes playfully at her.
Miranda continued to joke about the endless possibilities of what she could do to Hailey and before we knew it, the waiter approached with our food. He set Miranda’s spaghetti in front of her, absent of meatballs, and then provided Wendy and me with our entrees. He asked us if we had any other requests, so we declined and thanked him gracefully.
As the waiter disappeared again, I thought about a question that had been taunting my brain for the last day.
“Can I ask you a question?” The question was directed towards Wendy, but Miranda tilted her head at me to listen.
Wendy nodded while taking the first bite of her fettuccine alfredo and swallowing. “Of course,” she answered warmly and looked at me, her eyebrows lifted in curiosity.
“Do you know if my dad ever did drugs?”
The question was taut like a bungee cord about to snap in two separate pieces, as was the tension that illuminated the atmosphere.
Wendy’s face fell and she knitted her eyebrows together. “Why would you think that?” she tutted, almost insulted by the question.
Miranda’s eyes were wide and her skin grew pale against her tan skin. “Why is that even a question?” she added.
I shrugged. “I overheard a conversation between Sherry and Mark on Monday in the kitchen,” was all I said before I shoveled a bite of my stuffed pasta shells into my mouth. I savored the mixture of cheese and marinara that coated my mouth.
“And what did they say?” Miranda questioned further. I saw her knuckles whiten as she gripped her fork harshly and I swallowed my food.
“I heard Mark talking to her about the toxicology report.” My information was cryptic, but I struggled to utter the words that were like the taste of venom compared to my meal.
Wendy dropped her fork on her plate and displayed her palms facing upward over the table. “It’s too soon to receive it. What do you mean?”
I kept my face calm, yet serious. “Mark seems to think there is a possibility that my dad was under the influence when the wreck happened. Sherry didn’t believe him at first, but now I think she’s considering it.”
Wendy now rolled her eyes and slapped her napkin on the table. “That’s ridiculous. He would never.”
“You guys hung out a lot with other parents. You’ve never seen him -?”
“Absolutely not,” she interrupted. She shook her head and I could see a muscle tighten in her jaw as she gritted her teeth together.
Miranda jumped in. “Respectfully, Kristen, I know they’re related to you, but that is the most idiotic assumption that I have ever heard.”
Wendy did not scold her for the insult, but instead, she nodded in agreement. “He left your mother for that reason. That wouldn’t make sense for him to do the same.”
“They seem to think she left him and he became depressed.” My entire life, I had been told that he left my mom because he was no longer going to expose his only child to that life any longer.
“He left her,” Wendy confirmed. I knew she and my dad talked on more than one occasion. Perhaps he had told her more, considering I was too young to understand.
Wendy paused to eat another bite of her dinner, so I turned to Miranda. “I’ve never seen him resort to what she did. Never even witnessed him consider it.”
“Because your aunt knows nothing about him. I mean, come on,” Miranda scoffed. “I didn’t get a good vibe from her at the funeral. It’s like she’s trying to put on a front for everyone around her. Talking about how close they were as kids? Really? Now, all of a sudden, she jumps back into your life years later with this god complex acting like a savior for you in a time of need. It’s like she’s just wanting an award from all her friends. To say, ‘Look what I did’,” she finished in a sing-song voice.
My eyes lowered at her theory, but she said what I believed every one of us at this table was thinking. Her intentions were never for the right reasons. She wanted her actions to be glorified and praised. She wanted sympathy for her absent brother’s death.
“Not to mention, they already revealed that the other driver was most likely drunk. Problem is, they haven’t gotten his toxicology report either.” I pressed my fingers to my right temple to subdue a headache that was beginning to emerge. “So that’s also up for speculation, as well.”
“Well, they had no reason to believe that your dad was on anything. If they said the other driver was likely under the influence, then Sherry can question it all she wants. The report won’t lie.”
Wendy and I exchanged glances before stabbing a bit of our meals again. I brought the bite to my mouth, but I paused with it in front of my lips. “Do you know where my mom is?”
Her eyes peeked over her glasses. “I hope you’re not thinking of getting in contact with her again.”
Miranda resumed eating next to me and uncrossed her legs, being careful to not kick my cast. I shook my head. “No,” I replied. “I don’t want to talk to her, but I can’t help the curiosity and not knowing if she was informed that her daughter’s father is gone.”
Dead silence.
They had not heard me speak so dryly of his death until this moment, and I surprised myself.
Wendy chewed her food, seemingly ignoring the question. “She couldn’t even be bothered to come to his funeral, or at least pay for a portion.”
I watched her throat bob when she swallowed. “She probably used all of her money on her addiction.”
“Or she’s in rehab,” Miranda suggested. Wendy’s dismissal of the question irritated me slightly.
So I pressed on. “Do you know where she is?”
“Who cares?” she shrugged. “Rachel never did anything for you. She doesn’t care where you are, clearly. She gave up her rights in court.”
“Maybe my dad didn’t want her to find me.”
Miranda tilted her head and gave me a pointed look, but Wendy spoke. “While that is true, that wasn’t the reason. She just didn’t have any right to see you because of her unfit parental ability.”
I recognized that I wouldn't receive the answers that I was looking for, so I dropped the conversation. Even after I pulled the discussion into a topic of the daily events occurring at my old school, Miranda’s school, I found myself uninterested in the drama and gossip and James crept into my mind again. I wanted to interrupt and swerve onto a topic about the man I met at the park, but I stupidly scolded myself and decided that it was a topic for another day. Until then, it was one of the many thoughts I kept withheld in the depths of my own head.
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