I glanced at my untouched food, my silverware, the melting candle. Then at Tiffany. She was right. The friendship was weird, and I didn’t want her thinking too hard about that. “My sister died,” I said.
Tiffany stopped chewing. “What?”
“I had a little sister. I can’t . . . talk about it. I don’t want to. But that’s why I get so protective of Lake. I don’t ever want you or your family to go through what mine did.”
“Oh, God,” she whispered, letting her fork clatter onto the plate. “I’m so sorry. I had no idea. When you mentioned your sister, I thought . . . I thought—”
“It’s okay.” I needed her to stop talking. “It’s been years, so.”
“What was her name?”
I swallowed. I didn’t talk about Maddy. I would never say her name to a stranger, and that was how most people had felt to me since it’d happened. “Can’t.”
She took my hand. “Was she sick?”
My head began to swim. I nodded just to end the conversation, even if it was with a lie.
“Manning?” Tiffany stood up and came to me.
I tried to stop her. “You really don’t need to—”
She moved the table, actually pushed it back a foot, so she could sit on my lap.
“Tiff,” I said, but I put my arms around her. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
She touched my cheek, running her thumb over the corner of my mouth. “I’m sorry.”
I wasn’t sure how to feel. I didn’t want to talk about it, period. But it felt nice to be touched. It was something I hadn’t had in a long time, the soothing touch of a woman who cared. “Thanks.”
She ran her long fingernails over my hairline, and my eyes drooped shut. “That’s why you’re so protective.”
“Part of it.”
She took my face in both hands and kissed my forehead. “I can’t imagine if that happened to Lake. I’d die.”
My throat thickened. Thinking that could happen to Lake, but also that Tiffany cared way more about her sister than she let on. I wished I could promise Tiffany it would never happen, but that was the thing about Maddy’s death. I hadn’t fathomed it was even a possibility until it’d already happened. If I had, I would’ve done anything to prevent it.
I patted Tiffany’s ass. “Come on. Let’s not ruin the date. It’s going well.”
She pulled back and looked me in the face. There was no minty breath, no cigarette reek stuck to her. Just the earthy tomato sauce and wood cabin. She got up and went back to her side of the table. “Will you finally eat something?”
I picked up my fork and took a bite. “You should know,” I said, “that I eat a lot.” I shoved noodles in my mouth, and my words came out muffled. “A lot.”
“Yuck.” Tiffany giggled. “That’s disgusting.”
I washed down my bite with water. “You should see me with lasagna. Fucking massacre.”
She laughed harder. Tiffany took a forkful, pursed her lips, and slurped up a noodle. Tomato sauce splattered over her mouth, and instead of wiping it off right away, she just smiled and chewed. She was all right when she dropped the show. Her attitude could even be cute. The highlights, pink nail polish, low-cut tops—they didn’t attract me. Not more than any girl I might meet in a bar. This side of her, I could spend time with.
Dessert was store-bought chocolate cake with raspberry drizzle. Tiffany took two bites and slid her plate away. “I’m on a diet.”
“You don’t need to be on a diet.”
“That’s because I’m on one.” She waggled her eyebrows as if she’d bested me. “If I weren’t, I wouldn’t look this good.”
I wouldn’t argue with that. She did look good, and I liked that she knew it. That was one difference between Tiffany and a lot of the girls I’d met over the last few years. I ate half her cake in one bite and swallowed. “You think I should go on a diet?”
She smiled. “No. You’re a guy, and a big one. You can eat as much as you want. You work out, too. Don’t you?”
“Construction kind of requires it.”
She looked at her plate, which had become mine, and frowned. “I’ve been meaning to say . . . I’m sorry if my dad made you feel bad about what you do.”
“I get it. He wants you to be taken care of.” I liked construction but not that my next job was always up in the air. I saved every dime I could just in case. I didn’t ever want to end up with nothing to offer. In that way, I understood Tiffany’s dad. When the time came, nobody’d ever be able to accuse me of not taking care of my family.
“Well, it doesn’t matter to me. Money’s not important.”
“You say that because you have it. Living without it sounds glamorous to you.”