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Chapter NINETEEN

"I wish you'd tell me more, though." A weird swell of emotion burns in my throat. "Lately I just keep wanting to know more about her. Like why did she leave her family and never really talk to them anymore? Why did she leave my dad?"

"Why did she leave you?"

I close my eyes, but hot tears burn right out anyway. In a whisper, I say, "Yes."

Being Henry, he doesn't try to make it all better with some pat phrase. He just sits at the end of the phone and listens to me breathe hard and pretend I'm not crying.

"How can I still miss her so much?"

"I do, too."

"I know you do." I take a deep breath and glance at the stove clock. "Shit. I have to go this minute. I love you, Henry. You know that, right?"

"I love you, too, Jess, baby. Just as you are."

I hang up the phone, hollow with questions I can't answer. Fifteen minutes later I'm walking into the Musical Spoon. My hair is still unbraided and I forgot to put any makeup on, so of course the first person I run into is Lena, shoveling ice into a bucket. She's wearing a short, filmy dress that shows off her legs. Her feet are in a pair of lace-up ankle boots that give the dress just the right weight. "Cute outfit," I say.

Her cat-lined eyes swoop over me with disdain. She doesn't say anything.

I roll my eyes and shove my stuff in the locker, then go into the bathroom to braid my hair. My eyes are still kind of red from crying, but I splash cold water on them, wishing I had some mascara in my purse. Next to Lena's elegant look, I'm a plain piece of bread. Wonder bread, too white and too ordinary.

But when I come out there's Tyler, lining up celery and heads of garlic on the work table. When he catches sight of me, his face does that amazing thing, flooding with light, and his eyes go a brighter blue, and his lips turn up just slightly on one side. My heart skitters to a stop, and it doesn't matter if I'm white bread or that my ex is nuts or that I need answers my mom never bothered to leave me.

In the way the light comes on in Tyler's eyes, I see the love he's feeling. This is big and crazy and fast.

It's also real. I touch my index finger to my lips and hold it out. He holds out his index finger, too, and I can almost see the streak of energy arc through the empty kitchen and crackle when it meets my flesh.

I'm not going to let Lena get under my skin. Simple as that.

* * *

I'm still training, but I have tables of my own today. Mollie is on hand to keep me from screwing up too much and remind me which abbreviations mean what in the computer, although most of them are in a list on the wall. It feels good to be learning a new menu, working in an environment I really like. The customers are friendly for the most part, and the menu itself isn't complicated. The only aggravation is Lena, who takes three times longer to get my drinks than anyone else's. All cold drinks come through the bar, too, so unless my tables order tea or coffee, I have to deal with her.

Around 12:30 it's very busy, and I know the other two servers are taking up the slack for me and my mini-station of four tables. A table of middle-aged women come in, dressed casually in khaki shorts and expensive t-shirts and walking sandals. Two of them are vegan, one is vegetarian, so she orders the soup and bread with butter. The others both need to make substitutions I'm not sure how to write down for the computer. "Bear with me," I say, "this is only my second day." I write out guacamole instead of cheese, mustard instead of mayo, dressing on the side. "I'll double check to be sure nothing else has dairy, too."