555-3466: This is Finn. I need to talk to you.
555-3466: Please text back. I don’t want Kara to ruin this.
555-3466: I’ll make you talk to me. Random fact about me…I hate balloons. Who wants a piece of plastic filled with someone’s spit???
“Well, who is it Tess?” Tommie asks from the front seat.
I very calmly push the button to roll down the window and toss out my phone and Finn.
“Holy shit,” Scarlett yells.
“What?” I ask, shrugging my shoulders. “Everyone I need to talk to is in this truck and typically shoved so far up my ass that I don’t need a phone.”
I shoot Scarlett a death glare, and my message is very well received from the look on her face. I know exactly where Finn got my number, and she’ll pay for it and for the new phone when I leave at the end of summer.
“Sorry,” she whispers. “I just thought after learning more that…”
“Don’t,” I blurt out.
Will slows the truck down pulling into New Moon café. It’s only the best breakfast place on earth and with its perfect blend of grease and spice. I may be able to beat this hangover. Stepping out of the truck, I realize I’m still wearing Tommie’s shorts from last night and for the first time in years, I don’t give a fuck. I exposed myself days ago to Finn in the closet and had another layer ripped off me last night in the same bar. I’m sure the whole town knows by now that I have a fake leg, and something in me doesn’t even care anymore.
“Booth or table?” Tommie asks, as we enter the front door.
“Booth,” Scarlett and I both reply.
Taking in the aroma of New Moon, I’m immediately slammed in the face with that voice and group of laughter once again. Kara, her group and upon closer inspection, Finn. He just can’t seem to stay away from her.
Pretending as if I didn’t hear or am currently boiling with anger on the inside, I follow Will’s lead as he guides us to a booth. I instantly jump in the side with my back to the famous crowd of hypocrites. Kara doesn’t bother to quiet down when we sit, nor does her table all laughing hysterically at something. I know assuming is the worst thing to do in moments like these, but it’s the only thread I have left to grasp. And it’s safe to assume they are all laughing at me.
“What can I get you all to drink?” A voice asks.
“I’m ready to order,” I pipe up, hoping to hurry along this pain.
“Alright, what can I get you?”
“I’ll take a side of sausage links and an extra large order of hash browns.”
A little trick I learned in high school, grease and ketchup the instant hangover cure. The rest of the table orders and I don’t catch one thing they say. They could have ordered grilled alien with a side of cactus and I just smiled and nodded. Will tries to make small talk about the size of his boat engine and who he’s going to drag around first on the tube. His words are just a jumble and Tommie’s face, nodding in agreement, is just a missing piece to the puzzle.
“Okay, sausage and hash browns.”
“Here,” I say, signaling with my hand.
“And our famous cinnamon roll?”
We all look at each other in question.
“Nobody ordered that,” Will finally speaks up.
“Oh, that’s right. Finn ordered it for a Tess.”
Holding my hand out automatically, then mentally kicking myself realizing it was at the mention of the name Finn that made me hold my hand out. Grabbing the plate, I mentally note the paper on the bottom of the plate, trying not to give up my poker face.
“Shit, I totally forgot about the cinnamon rolls,” Will vocally scolds himself.
“We can share,” I playfully tease, trying to distract the table from my actions of burying the note in my lap.
Finn. The fucker isn’t giving up. It takes everything inside of me not to open the paper and read it. Every five seconds, I have to remind myself not to look.