“Hey, Sadie,” Josh calls from the kitchen. I poke my head around the corner and find him balancing four different plates on the tiny countertop, his hat askew. “Can you do me a huge favor?”
“That depends. . . .”
“Grab the trash for me? Pretty please? I’m nearing a disaster of epic proportions.”
I look at the bins, piled high with gross remains. “What’re the magic words?”
“Cinnamon rolls.” Josh grins at me. I laugh; his rolls are legendary. He bakes them from scratch, only on Mondays, and by nine a.m. every last one is sold out.
“OK, OK.” I wrinkle my nose and reach for a garbage bag. “But I want two. Fresh from the oven!”
“Yes, ma’am.” He salutes me with a pair of tongs.
I grab the rest of the bags and push out through the back door into the alley behind the building: a charming, narrow passage of trash cans and empty cardboard boxes. There’s a whiff of rotting food in the air and a smattering of cigarette butts in the corner, courtesy of Denton and Jules, who are always ducking out here to puff away. I grimace, edging farther down the alley toward the street to find space for the bags.
“I was thinking maybe we could get away this weekend.” I hear a male voice ahead, and then Dominique’s unmistakable French accent. I stop. I didn’t know she was in today.
“I told you, I have a test. I have to study.”
“So study with me.” The guy’s voice is low, intimate.
“Sure, and then get an F.” She laughs.
Dominique. Laughing. With a guy?
I edge forward. She’s not dating anyone, not as far as I know, but Dominique is nothing if not secretive. So has she been carrying on some illicit affair all this time, sneaking out for romantic rendezvous?
I look around at the day-old coffee grounds and sandwich remainders. OK, so making out in broad daylight in the dirty back alley is hardly romantic. But the million-dollar question is, who’s the guy?
I creep closer, spurred on by the prospect of genuine grade-A gossip, until I can see them both, nestled between two stacks of old boxes. I can’t see his face yet, but he must be something special for her to risk staining her perfect khaki pants in this mess.
“Come on,” he urges, nuzzling her neck, his back still to me. “I promise I’ll quiz you for your test.”
“I can’t. You know I want to, but . . .” She pulls him closer and kisses him softly. “Next time — I promise.”
“I’ll hold you to that.” The guy kisses her again, turning slightly, and suddenly I see who it is.
Carlos!
I gasp, dropping the trash bags. Dominique springs back and sees me.
Silence.
For a split second, we stare at each other across the rotting remains — of lunch and their attempts at privacy. Then Carlos turns around, too.
“Um, sorry!” I cry quickly. “Just . . . putting the trash out. Carry on with . . . whatever!” I back away and scurry inside, slamming the door behind me.
Carlos! My mind reels at the impossibility of what I’ve just witnessed. But he’s, like, ancient. Thirty-five, or something like that. And sure, Dominique is twenty-two, but that’s still a whole person in age between them. Plus, she hates him! Loathes and despises him — anyone can see. When she’s not bitching at him, he’s threatening to fire her. Just last week they had an epic fight, so loud that LuAnn had to lock them in the office to keep them from scaring the customers.
At least, that’s what we thought they were doing back there.
I hurry back to the table, where Aiko and LuAnn are still lounging. “What’s up?” LuAnn asks, looking over. “You’re all flushed.”
I open my mouth to spill the gossip, but something makes the words fade on my lips. Dominique looked so panicked when she saw me, as if this is a secret that really matters to her.
“Nothing,” I lie, sliding into a seat. I don’t know why I should protect her, but some instinct makes me want to. “I guess it’s just hot out.”
LuAnn turns back to her task at hand, upending her purse to spill bottles and packets all over the table. “I’ve got Advil, aspirin, Tylenol . . .” she tells Aiko.
“And a serious problem?” I laugh, picking up one of the painkiller packages. “Is there something you want to tell us?”
“Not me.” LuAnn giggles. “Her.”
Aiko sighs. “Mama’s got a headache.”
“And you just happened to knock over a CVS?” I ask.
“Nope, I just stay prepared. I get the worst cramps,” LuAnn explains.
“Cramps! Eww!” Jules joins us in time to hear that last part. He drags over a chair and sits on it backward. “Can’t you keep your lady talk down? You’ll freak out the customers.”
We girls all roll our eyes in unison.
“It’s called the wonder of the female body,” LuAnn tells him. “Deal with it.”
“We have body hair, too,” Aiko adds. “And we burp, and fart, and —”
“La, la, la, not listening!” Jules covers his ears. “Help me, man!”
I turn. Josh has emerged from the kitchen. He stretches, yawning. “Don’t look at me. I have three sisters. Our bathroom is overflowing with tampons.”
“Traitor.”
“See? We’re harmless.” LuAnn waves Josh over. “Come. Sit.”
“You do that a lot.” I press my fingertips onto the now-empty plate to claim the last few crumbs. “Order us around, like we’re dogs.”
“Ruff!” she barks.
Josh falls into the chair next to LuAnn as if he would curl up on the floor if there were nowhere else to sit. He reaches back to massage his shoulder, and without a word, LuAnn positions her chair behind him and begins giving him a neck rub.
“Me next!” Jules cries. Aiko elbows him.
“No, me, me!” The others clamor for the next spot in line, but I watch, curious. Josh has his eyes shut, blissed out, and suddenly, I wonder if there’s something going on between them. If they’re more than just friends. LuAnn is affectionate with everyone — even forcing hugs on Dominique — but she seems so relaxed with Josh. . . .
But we all are. There’s something about him that puts me at ease. Josh is goofy, sure, but with this relaxed pace about him. We can be going crazy in the café, with orders stacked up, but he just works through them without a glimmer of panic. I like that.