“I did,” Willow says and takes a step out of my arms. The arm wrapped around her waist falls to my side.
“That’s amazing,” Chelsea says. “Let’s grab that booth.” She points at a booth in the back that was just vacated by six teenagers.
Chelsea slips her hand in Mayson’s as they walk to the booth. “If you want to go.”
“I’m good,” she says, smiling, and turns to follow Chelsea. Her head dips just a bit as she tries not to make eye contact with anyone.
She slips into the booth in front of Chelsea, and I slip in beside her in front of Mayson. I see her eyes roaming all over the place as she takes it all in. “Are those jukeboxes?” she asks, pointing at a couple who are still here in some of the booths.
“Yes,” I tell her. “And they have songs from the eighties.”
Her eyes light up, and her mouth opens. “That is pretty cool,” she says, and then I hand her a menu. “I’m not hungry,” she says, ignoring my eyes. “I’ll have water.”
My heart speeds up, and I’m not the only one. “You will not,” Mayson says, looking at her, and then at Chelsea, who looks at him like he hangs the moon.
“I don’t really want anything,” Willow says, and I can see her finger tap the table, which means she’s worried about something.
“The burgers are where it’s at,” Chelsea says, looking at her. “But it’s a bit too much for me, so you want to split it?” I wait to see what she is going to say. Knowing full well it isn’t too much for Chelsea because she always finishes her burger.
The waitress comes over, and I order a double burger for myself with fries and rings with two root beer floats. Chelsea looks at me and orders the same thing. Mayson orders two of whatever I ordered, and he looks at the table. “I haven’t eaten all day.”
Chelsea starts talking about her week at the new clinic where she’s working, and when the root beer floats come, I put one in front of Willow, who just looks at me.
“What is this?” she asks, confused as to what the brown bubbly liquid is with the scoop of ice cream floating on top.
“This,” I say, handing her the long spoon and a straw, “is a root beer with a scoop of ice cream.”
“It’s to die for,” Chelsea says of her own now. “Try it.”
She puts the straw in and takes a sip. “That is a little weird,” she says and takes another sip, this time coughing. “The bubbles came out of my nose.”
I shake my head and watch her work her way through it until the burgers arrive. I look at Mayson, who takes one of his burger trays and hands it to Willow. “Here, I’m not hungry anymore.” I look at him, knowing he is lying, and then I look at Chelsea, who looks at me and then down, hiding a smile. “If you don’t eat it, it’s going to go to waste.”
“Dig in,” I say as she just looks down at the burger and then up again. “Eat.” Her eyes just look at me, and I can tell that her head is spinning, so I lean in and whisper in her ear, “You can pay me back when you cash your check.”
She tries to hide her smile as she looks down and grabs the burger in her hand and takes a bite. We eat in silence, and when I look over, she has polished the whole burger and almost all the fries. “Was it good?” I ask, and she nods her head at me and hides a smile.
I get up and hold my hand out for Willow, who slides out of the booth. “We didn’t pay the bill,” she says, looking around, and we all laugh.
“Oh, we never pay the bill,” Chelsea says. “They put it on the tab, and our parents pay it.”
“Wait?” Willow says. “What?”
“They started doing this when we were in high school, and even when we want to pay, they ignore us,” Chelsea says, sliding out of the booth and taking Mayson’s hand.
We walk out of the restaurant, and the sun is setting. “We are going to head home,” Chelsea says. “See you on Sunday.” She hugs Willow, who just looks at me, and I know she has questions.
When we pull up to the house, I get out, and she is out of the truck by the time I walk around. “Do you want to watch the sun set?” I ask. She smiles and nods.
I slip my hand in hers as though it’s a normal thing to do, and she lets me. Her small cold hand sits in my big warm one. We walk around the house as I close the gate behind us, the soft breeze blowing her hair. “It’s not hot,” she says as we walk up the step toward the swing.