The Space Between Us. Megan Hart
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place,” I told him with just the barest sourness in my tone, “has really become, like, this hotbed of prurience.”
“Whose fault is that?” Darek asked, with a lift of his chin toward Meredith’s table.
“Pffft. You can’t blame her for everything. You’re the one grilling me on my sex life! I already told Meredith—”
“Yeah?” Again, he seemed too interested, all lolling tongue and wide eyes.
I put one fist to my mouth, the other at my cheek, and made a cranking motion. “Roll up your tongue. It wasn’t about girl-girl action.”
Darek appeared only faintly disappointed before perking up again. “Then what was it about?”
I wasn’t going to tell him about the Murphys. Dredging up that past stuff had already wreaked a bit of havoc on my brain. “None of your business. God, do I grill you about your sex life?”
“You could,” he said. “So … I’m just curious, Tesla, that’s all.”
“About my lesbian history?” I had to laugh at him, so typical male. “I had one serious girlfriend. We dated for about four months before she dumped me for a guitar player in a folk rock band who wore wife-beaters all year round and had a tattoo of the feminine symbol on her twat.”
His look said it all.
“Yeah,” I said. “That’s what I thought, too.”
Darek made a face. “That’s it? That’s all you got?”
“Look,” I said, suddenly disgruntled. “What did you think I had? Some long and lurid inventory of lesbian dalliances I’d trot out for you like a laundry list, complete with descriptions? A ‘Desperate But Not Serious’ sort of thing going on? Who with and how many times?”
He totally failed on the Adam Ant reference. “Huh?”
I sighed. “Never mind.”
“Sorry.” Darek frowned. “I just, you know. Thought maybe it was more exciting than that.”
I sighed again, this time in exasperation. “Why?”
“Because you just seem like you’ve had an exciting life, Tesla, that’s all. Jesus. I’m sorry!”
Wild child. I touched my throat, felt the pendant in the shape of a rainbow with a star on the end. Today I wore a black shirt with a picture of the cover of the Rolling Stones’ Sticky Fingers on the front—some dude’s crotch. Black leggings with rainbow leg warmers. Black ballet flats. I had glitter in my hair, but so what? Unconventional, maybe, but not that exciting.
“Well,” I said, “I’m really not.”
Darek looked over the front counter to the group of laughing customers. “Maybe you should tell her that.”
“Tell her what?” I frowned and wished for someone to come and order something, or for Joy to pop out of the back to yell at us. Anything to keep this conversation from continuing. “Oh, that. Well. It’s just a crush. It’s not like I haven’t had them before. They go away, Darek.”
“I wouldn’t know.”
“You’ve never had a crush?” I rolled my eyes. “Please. I see how you look at that girl who comes in here, the one with the red hair.”
“Yeah, she’s hot. But it’s not a crush.”
“Whatever.” I waved a hand. “You gonna tell her you like her? Ask her out, maybe?”
“She has a boyfriend.”
“So you get it,” I told him. “It’s better just to crush in silence.”
He didn’t look happy about that, but he didn’t argue with me, either. Then finally one of Meredith’s admirers broke off from the group long enough to come up and order a slice of pie and another latte, so both of us had something to do and we didn’t have to talk anymore.
The rush helped, too, leaving both of us so busy we didn’t have time for deep and soul-searching conversations about the sad state of our love lives. By the time we’d gone through that, I figured Meredith would’ve left, but when I took a break to make the rounds of the shop, clearing away crumpled napkins and left-behind mugs, she was still sitting in her spot.
The sun had moved, and she was alone. She was still beautiful. Something pensive in her face as she tapped away at her keyboard made me pause. She’d pushed her hair behind her ears, in which she wore simple and elegant pearls I knew had to be real despite the size. Not Jangle Bangles, either. She might sell that stuff, but she didn’t wear it. She had faint lines at the corners of her eyes and mouth, but they didn’t take anything away from her beauty.
She caught me staring. “Hey.”
“Oh. Hey. You’re still here. Can’t get enough of the caramel crunch, huh?” I gestured toward the row of self-serve carafes.
“I’m fully caffeinated.” She showed me her empty mug. “But I got my money’s worth today, I’ll tell you that.”
“Joy’s going to charge you rent,” I said with a glance over my shoulder to the counter. Joy was serving Eric, actually giving him a bit of a flirtatious smile. “Jeez, that guy can make even Joy tingly.”
Meredith closed her laptop. “It’s all in the smile. I think he makes everyone a little tingly.”
“Yeah,” I said fondly, watching Eric take his plate and mug to his favorite table and lay out his paper.
“You missed some good stories today.” Meredith leaned back in her seat. “The things people get up to, you’d never believe it.”
“I’m sure I would. Want me to take that for you?” I pointed to her empty mug and the plate beside it. “How was the apple crumb?”
“Tesla,” she murmured.
I stopped with my hand halfway to the table, caught like the Tin Man with his ax up. “Hmm?”
“We should do something.”
I forced myself to take the dishes, though they rattled when I lifted them. “Like what?”
“Something fun. Out of this place.” She twitched her fingers in Joy’s direction. “Without your boss hovering over us.”
“Sure. That sounds great.” I picked up her napkin, too, faintly imprinted with her lipstick. It crumpled in my fingers. I didn’t want to throw it away.
“What time do you get off tomorrow?”
“I work early, so three.”
“How about we grab some dinner or something? Maybe hit a club?” She paused. “It’s a Friday night. You don’t have a date or anything, do you?”
“Me? Oh. No.” I laughed.
“Good,” Meredith said, as though everything had been settled. “You do now.”
Chapter 8
“You look pretty.” Simone watched me carefully as I applied eyeliner and shadow. “Can I have some?”
“You want some pretty?” I turned from the mirror to look at the kid. With her blond hair and big blue eyes, there was no question who she belonged to: Elaine all the way. But she had something of her dad in the set of her mouth when she wanted something. I held up the square box of eye shadows in one hand, my angled brush in the other. “Green or blue?”
“I like the sparkly.”
I eyed the tube of liquid glitter eyeliner. “That might be a little too much for you, kiddo. It’s messy and …”
Her baby brother could really put on the waterworks, but Simone wasn’t much of a tantrum thrower. She could throw a mean pout, though,