“Come on, Pipes. What are you doing? Don’t you think this has gone on long enough?”
For a second all I can do is shake my head. When I finally find my voice, I give it to him as directly as I can. “Just leave it, okay? Gunnar and I are done. Say hi to Candy for me.”
Despite my very clear cue that I don’t want to continue this conversation, he lingers for another tense moment before he finally shakes his head and leaves. I do my best to pull myself together and shake off the dull ache of wounds that I wish were better scabbed over. The apology I was forming in my mind for Scott vanishes when his hand brushes my knee.
“You okay?”
“Yeah,” I say, sounding brittle. “Of course. Absolutely. Should we get out of here?” Fueled by the desire to escape, I twist off the stool and head for the door. I know he follows me because outside, I hear the locks on his truck disengage, which lets me slide onto the seat.
Once he’s beside me, the silence is awful. I’m about to launch into some topic, any topic, to fill the void when softly, he says, “Hey.” That single word comforts and disquiets me in equal measure. I hate that he’s so together, that he brims with confidence and self-reliance, while I so plainly do not. Too bad I’m not his type. Or even his equal. Too bad I’m such a mess. Maybe in another lifetime, I could have been someone to him.
“Hey, look at me,” he soothes, and when I finally find it in me to meet his eyes, they’re not full of pity like I was expecting, but understanding. “I’m going to go out on a limb and say your ex wasn’t just a random, ordinary ex.”
“Yeah, you could say that.”
“Well, if it makes you feel any better, you don’t have the market cornered on those. At least you don’t have a kid with him . . . right?”
I give him a wry, half-smile. “No, I don’t have any kids.”
“Then you can make a clean break. You don’t ever have to see him again if that’s what you want.”
I take a deep, fortifying breath. “You’re right. I just wish I didn’t miss them so much.”
He frowns, obviously confused, which makes two of us.
“Don’t listen to me,” I say. “Gunnar was a terrible boyfriend. I do miss Candy though.”
“You can’t still be friends with her?”
I shake my head. “You have your questionable friends and I have . . . had mine. I’m trying to keep myself out of trouble these days and Candy definitely wouldn’t help with that.”
“Ah, say no more,” he says like he really does understand. “But did that guy really call her Candy Cane? What kind of name is that?”
The change of subject mutes some of the unwanted emotion swirling inside of me and even brings a small smile to my face. “A made up one, just like Piper. We were quite the pair.”
“Honestly, they sound like stripper names.”
I try to smother my rising amusement with an exasperated glare, but I can feel my lips twitching anyway.
Laughing at my expression, he starts the truck. “Do you have any plans for tonight?”
I shake my head.
“Me neither. You got Mario Kart on your Switch?”
A real smile comes over me. “Yeah. You want to come over?”
“Yeah, but we’re going to need caffeine or I’ll fall asleep.”
So that’s what we do. On the way home, we stop for supplies. Two large coffees and a giant bag of potato chips for him, and a jumbo pack of Twizzlers for me.
While we’re settling in on either side of the couch, waiting for the Switch to boot up, he asks me, “So who came up with the name Piper?”
“Oh, I did. I started ninth grade at a new school and I figured it was the perfect opportunity to lose the old, nerdy me. Piper was the coolest name I could come up with.”
“So your stripping career started earlier than I thought. You must be really good.”
I throw a half-eaten Twizzler at him. “Would you stop? We both know Piper would only qualify as a mediocre stage name. If I’d wanted to be a professional, I’d have gone with Diamond, or Ruby, or maybe Sapphire.”
He chuckles. “I’m sensing a pattern.”
I waggle my eyebrows at him, making him laugh harder.
“I think,” he says when he’s settled down a bit, “that I’ve got the perfect stripper name for you, way better than Piper.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“Yeah. Opal.”
“Opal?” I scoff. “I can’t believe you said that with a straight face.”
“No, no, it’s perfect. My grandmother has an opal necklace. It’s white and shiny, just like you.”
I pull the cushion from behind my back and chuck it at him, both of us laughing like it’s the funniest thing we’ve ever heard, especially when he enters my name into the game as Opal.
“Nice to see you again,” I say cheerfully, handing the customer his change, which he promptly drops in the tip jar.
From a few feet away, where she’s adding some late addition scones to the display case, Vanessa eyes me with suspicion. Sidling up, she proceeds to click her long nails on the counter. “You’re going to tell me what’s going on sooner or later. Why not cut to the chase already?”
With complete innocence, I say, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Yes, you do. What have you done with cranky-pants Ellie?” Her face screws up into a frown. “You’re not high, are you?”
“What?” I sputter. “No, I’m not high.”
I say it a bit too loudly and Jake, who’s making the drinks down the bar, begins to crack up.
“Well, you’re high on life then, and I want to know why.”
Ha, Vanessa doesn’t know anything. I’m not high on life. I’m high on Scott McCarthy. For the past four days, I’ve been walking on air. I had so much fun on Friday night. I’m also absurdly proud of myself, because the fun didn’t include even a smidgeon of booze, drugs, or sex. Scott is still in the friend zone where he belongs, and my self-respect is soaring. I couldn’t be happier.
“Does this have to do with the fifty bucks I loaned you?” Vanessa asks. “It’s not for a dealer, is it? Do you need an intervention?”
“Would you relax?” I tell her. “I’m not on drugs. I’m in a good mood. That’s all.”
“Okay, fine, but why is the reason a secret?”
“There’s no secret. I’m just happy that my shift is over. It’s one o’clock.”
The bell over the door rings, announcing the next customer, forcing Vanessa to shift her attention so I’m able to slip away with only a parting wave.
In the breakroom, I grab my phone from the back pocket of my jeans and stare at the screen. On Friday, I insisted that we exchange numbers, my excuse being that I didn’t like owing people money. That wasn’t a lie, but my reasoning had more to do with the helplessness I’d felt at the idea of not being able to contact him. Now, with his cash in hand, the urge to text him is overwhelming.
No pain, no gain, right?
Ellie: Hey, it’s me, Opal (ha, ha). I have the $ I O U.