Nuts
Page 11
19. The hair was the color of tabbouleh.
20. His eyes were the color of . . .
21. Pickles?
22. Green beans?
23. No. Broccoli that had been steamed for exactly sixty seconds. Vibrant. Piercing.
24. I stood—and slipped on the snap peas.
25. At his feet, I stared up at him.
26. One corner of his mouth lifted for the tiniest moment.
27. He looked at my nearly transparent wet T-shirt for the tiniest moment before decency dictated that he not do that.
28. He set down his basket of nuts and extended a hand to me. Callused. Rough. Both corners of his mouth now lifted.
29. I took his hand to stand. Slipped again on a snap. Worlds collided when my skin met his. Heads collided when my forehead conked his.
30. One of my pea pods wedged under his boot
31. He fell down too.
32. His nuts went everywhere.
33. Our legs tangled.
34. His head fell into my . . . lap.
35. Sugar snap peas were my new favorite vegetable.
The guy with the nuts was named Leo. I know this because when my mom came around the corner and caught him facedown in her daughter, she cried out, “Leo!” and rushed to help him up. Him. She never could resist a good-looking man. And once the man was extricated from between my legs . . . mercy . . . he reached down once more to try to help me up.
“For goodness’ sake, Roxie, what’re you doing on the floor?” my mother interrupted, lifting me up underneath both arms and plopping me back on my feet like a flour sack.
“I . . . uh . . . well . . .”
“I think I surprised her, Ms. Callahan,” this Leo said, his voice smooth and rough at the same time. How is that possible? “You okay?”
“I . . . uh . . . well . . .” Where was this coming from? I don’t stammer.
He grinned, a look of curious amusement spreading across his entire face.
“She’s totally fine, aren’t you— Oh dear, it looks like the turkey’s done; you might want to cover up,” my mother said, looking at a very specific part of my chest.
I looked down, remembered that I was on full transparent display here, and quickly crossed my arms over my wet chest. Where my nipples had popped like Butterball turkey timers. My mother, ladies and gentlemen.
“Roxie, go get a fresh apron, and then come sit with Leo here and have a cup of coffee. You’ve got time for coffee, don’t you, Leo? It’s the least we can offer you after you ended up on our floor!”
Coffee suddenly sounded like the best idea in the history of best ideas. Coffee? Yes. Lay on top of me again? If you must.
“Sorry Mrs. C, can’t stay for coffee today. I’ve got a truck full of deliveries to make before five. Rain check?” he asked, unleashing the grin of the ages on my mother, and then turned his grin on me. “You sure you’re okay?”
Absolutely okay. I didn’t get weak in the knees anymore just because a cute guy looked at me, even if my turkeys were done.
I looked up at him through lowered lashes, cocked my head to the side, and let loose my own grin. “Sorry about your nuts.” Then I slowly walked toward the walk-in fridge, putting a tiny extra sway in my hips.
Inside the walk-in I allowed myself ten seconds of teenage cute-boy-freak-out, getting caught in a fist pump when my mother poked her head inside to see if I was okay.
“If you’re done in here, there’s a bunch of snap peas on the floor that aren’t going to clean themselves up,” she said with a knowing grin.
Face flaming, I left the walk-in.
But spending the summer back home just got a little more interesting.
Chapter 4
After the lunch rush was over, I sat in the corner booth to take a break. Leo. Who was named Leo these days? And why was he carrying all those nuts?
“He brings me nuts every week, dear. I’m on his route.”
“Pardon me?” I asked, swiveling in my seat.
“You asked why he was carrying all those nuts. I assume you mean Leo, the young man you wrestled to the floor this morning.”
“I said that out loud?”
“You did. It’s either sleep deprivation from the drive, or your trip to the floor knocked something loose, but you’re out here talking to the vinyl seats.”
She came to sit with me, now that the doors were locked and the staff sent home. Monday through Thursday the diner closed after lunch; it was only open for dinner Friday through Sunday. Afternoons at the diner were one of my favorite memories from childhood. It was quiet and peaceful, I could build towns out of the napkin dispensers while my mom worked on her orders and invoices, and I’d get to eat as much pie as I could sneak.
We had this quiet time together almost every day when I was young—my elementary school was just a few blocks up the road and it was a quick walk after the bell. Me and my homework, her and her workwork, and an afternoon in the late-day sunshine. Somewhere between 4:30 and 5:30 we’d pack up and head for home, since whichever “uncle” my mother was currently dating would be arriving home soon, hungry for dinner. So in the evenings, I’d lose her a bit. In the same way any child has to share her mother with a dad or other kids or PTA or whatever else take up her time.
She dated nice guys, cool guys, so there’s no need for the Afterschool Special music. But they never stuck around for very long. She’d loved my father, I knew. His picture was on the mantle as long as I could remember, no matter what uncle happened to be circling at the time. He died when I wasn’t even a year old, and she was forever chasing that heartbreak with another one.
Anyways, though, afternoons in the diner had always been nice.
20. His eyes were the color of . . .
21. Pickles?
22. Green beans?
23. No. Broccoli that had been steamed for exactly sixty seconds. Vibrant. Piercing.
24. I stood—and slipped on the snap peas.
25. At his feet, I stared up at him.
26. One corner of his mouth lifted for the tiniest moment.
27. He looked at my nearly transparent wet T-shirt for the tiniest moment before decency dictated that he not do that.
28. He set down his basket of nuts and extended a hand to me. Callused. Rough. Both corners of his mouth now lifted.
29. I took his hand to stand. Slipped again on a snap. Worlds collided when my skin met his. Heads collided when my forehead conked his.
30. One of my pea pods wedged under his boot
31. He fell down too.
32. His nuts went everywhere.
33. Our legs tangled.
34. His head fell into my . . . lap.
35. Sugar snap peas were my new favorite vegetable.
The guy with the nuts was named Leo. I know this because when my mom came around the corner and caught him facedown in her daughter, she cried out, “Leo!” and rushed to help him up. Him. She never could resist a good-looking man. And once the man was extricated from between my legs . . . mercy . . . he reached down once more to try to help me up.
“For goodness’ sake, Roxie, what’re you doing on the floor?” my mother interrupted, lifting me up underneath both arms and plopping me back on my feet like a flour sack.
“I . . . uh . . . well . . .”
“I think I surprised her, Ms. Callahan,” this Leo said, his voice smooth and rough at the same time. How is that possible? “You okay?”
“I . . . uh . . . well . . .” Where was this coming from? I don’t stammer.
He grinned, a look of curious amusement spreading across his entire face.
“She’s totally fine, aren’t you— Oh dear, it looks like the turkey’s done; you might want to cover up,” my mother said, looking at a very specific part of my chest.
I looked down, remembered that I was on full transparent display here, and quickly crossed my arms over my wet chest. Where my nipples had popped like Butterball turkey timers. My mother, ladies and gentlemen.
“Roxie, go get a fresh apron, and then come sit with Leo here and have a cup of coffee. You’ve got time for coffee, don’t you, Leo? It’s the least we can offer you after you ended up on our floor!”
Coffee suddenly sounded like the best idea in the history of best ideas. Coffee? Yes. Lay on top of me again? If you must.
“Sorry Mrs. C, can’t stay for coffee today. I’ve got a truck full of deliveries to make before five. Rain check?” he asked, unleashing the grin of the ages on my mother, and then turned his grin on me. “You sure you’re okay?”
Absolutely okay. I didn’t get weak in the knees anymore just because a cute guy looked at me, even if my turkeys were done.
I looked up at him through lowered lashes, cocked my head to the side, and let loose my own grin. “Sorry about your nuts.” Then I slowly walked toward the walk-in fridge, putting a tiny extra sway in my hips.
Inside the walk-in I allowed myself ten seconds of teenage cute-boy-freak-out, getting caught in a fist pump when my mother poked her head inside to see if I was okay.
“If you’re done in here, there’s a bunch of snap peas on the floor that aren’t going to clean themselves up,” she said with a knowing grin.
Face flaming, I left the walk-in.
But spending the summer back home just got a little more interesting.
Chapter 4
After the lunch rush was over, I sat in the corner booth to take a break. Leo. Who was named Leo these days? And why was he carrying all those nuts?
“He brings me nuts every week, dear. I’m on his route.”
“Pardon me?” I asked, swiveling in my seat.
“You asked why he was carrying all those nuts. I assume you mean Leo, the young man you wrestled to the floor this morning.”
“I said that out loud?”
“You did. It’s either sleep deprivation from the drive, or your trip to the floor knocked something loose, but you’re out here talking to the vinyl seats.”
She came to sit with me, now that the doors were locked and the staff sent home. Monday through Thursday the diner closed after lunch; it was only open for dinner Friday through Sunday. Afternoons at the diner were one of my favorite memories from childhood. It was quiet and peaceful, I could build towns out of the napkin dispensers while my mom worked on her orders and invoices, and I’d get to eat as much pie as I could sneak.
We had this quiet time together almost every day when I was young—my elementary school was just a few blocks up the road and it was a quick walk after the bell. Me and my homework, her and her workwork, and an afternoon in the late-day sunshine. Somewhere between 4:30 and 5:30 we’d pack up and head for home, since whichever “uncle” my mother was currently dating would be arriving home soon, hungry for dinner. So in the evenings, I’d lose her a bit. In the same way any child has to share her mother with a dad or other kids or PTA or whatever else take up her time.
She dated nice guys, cool guys, so there’s no need for the Afterschool Special music. But they never stuck around for very long. She’d loved my father, I knew. His picture was on the mantle as long as I could remember, no matter what uncle happened to be circling at the time. He died when I wasn’t even a year old, and she was forever chasing that heartbreak with another one.
Anyways, though, afternoons in the diner had always been nice.
