Ignoring that she’d used my name thanks to Della giving it away, I opened the menu in front of me, unable to read most of the words but glancing at the pictures in record time. I wanted this woman gone. Now. “We’ll have two burgers and anything else suitable for a birthday party.”
“Oh, it’s your birthday, sweetie?” She clapped her hands at Della. “How old are you turning?”
Della bounced on the vinyl. “It’s me and Ren. We’re fifteen.”
The waitress laughed. “Wow, you look really good for fifteen. Bet when you’re fifty you’ll still look like an eighteen-year-old.”
Della scowled. “I’m not fifty. I’m fifteen.”
The woman laughed harder. “Okay, okay. Fifteen. Well, I better make sure the chef puts fifteen candles on your cake, huh?”
“Cake? There’s cake?” Della’s smile split her face. Her fear was gone. Her trepidation over new things vanished.
“Sweetie, there is always cake. Give me ten minutes and I’ll have your bellies round as barrels.”
I should thank this woman for making Della’s first diner experience so easy on her.
I should smile at least for making my first diner experience more tolerable.
But all I could manage was a cool nod as she gave us one last grin and turned toward the kitchens with our order.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
REN
* * * * * *
2005
THE BIRTHDAY LUNCH cost me thirty-four dollars and ninety-one cents.
But it was worth a million, thanks to Della’s happy squeals when the waitress brought out three iced-pink cupcakes all squished together with fifteen candles stabbed into them.
The cheery flames flickered all over Della’s cute face as she stared, hypnotized.
Her sheer amazement made me forget we sat in public, and I grinned, loving her happiness.
It was the only time I dropped my guard. The entire meal, I’d watched, just like I did in the forest and at the farm, suspecting everything and everyone, making sure nothing could take me by surprise and hurt Della.
A little while ago, a family walked in with a girl about my age. She caught my eye and flipped her long black hair over her shoulder in a way that made my stomach clench. Not being around people meant I didn’t have the worries of another version of my mother trying to sell me or another Mclary trying to buy me, but it also meant I didn’t meet girls like her.
Like the dark-haired one who never took her gaze off me the entire time I sat steadfast beside Della.
She unnerved me—not because she stared and licked her lips full of invitation just like the dirty magazine showed, but because I didn’t like my body’s reaction to her.
I had no control over the hardening and tight discomfort in my shorts.
I hated that I had to push Della away with no explanation apart from a strict grunt not to come anywhere near my lap.
I missed simplicity when touching Della didn’t make me feel dirty or wrong. When a hug was just a hug and not a moral struggle full of fear in case things happened outside of my control.
Glowering at the dark-haired girl, I did my best to ignore her. She made me feel as if I betrayed Della in some way, and nobody, under any circumstances, would make me break any promises I’d made to my blonde-haired best friend beside me.
I didn’t know how long it took us to eat, but it had been longer than I wanted. Not through fault of the staff or food but because Della and I weren’t used to being served. We flinched when our main course arrived. We jolted when Cokes and milkshakes appeared. And we froze in a mixture of disbelief and awe as the first mouthful delivered an explosion of different flavours instead of just one.
The waitress had been true to her word and went out of her way to make Della happy.
She brought placemats for her to colour in with bright rainbow crayons.
She laughed as Della tasted her first salty fry and promptly stuffed a fistful in her face.
And she kept her distance so I didn’t feel trapped but remained attentive, never letting us run out of sauces or drinks.
This outing was for Della, but as I took my first bite of beef and cheese wrapped up in a buttery bun, I’d groaned with sheer pleasure.
Innocent pleasure.
Pleasure I was allowed to show and share with my tiny ribbon beside me.
And now, with bellies so full they hurt, Della crawled transfixed over the table to reach the glowing candles.
I grabbed her around the middle, holding her back from setting herself on fire.
The waitress beamed, waiting…for something.
When Della continued to gawk at the candles and I grew impatient with her squirming to get closer, the waitress said, “So have you made a wish? You need to make a wish, sweetie, and then blow out the candles.”
Della scrunched up her face. “A wish? What’s that?”