Page 51 of Try Me

“Be right back,” I told my mom, sliding from the booth after Chet dropped off our pancakes.

I walked through the main dining room and down the hallway toward the bathrooms. At the end was a swinging door to the kitchen. It didn’t take long for Chet to come zipping through it.

“I didn’t know you worked here,” I said, when he slowed to a stop in front of me. He seemed harried, but he rested one shoulder against the wall like he had hours.

“I didn’t know it mattered either way. I take your order and deliver food to your table. Is there some reason you should avoid a restaurant just because I happen to work in it, or am I missing something?”

“Jesus,” I muttered. “It never stops.”

“Plenty of stamina.” His mouth quirked up on one side, and I had to fight a smile of my own.

“I just meant I didn’t want you to think I purposely came here seeking you out.”

“You mean like the last time you wanted me to follow you off the dance floor so you could blow me?” He leaned in close. “Don’t worry, I’m actually smart enough to know the difference, but I’m a little worried you’re not.”

I scowled. “Somehow, out of fifty fraternity brothers and an entire university, you’re the most arrogant asshole I know.”

“That’s a huge compliment coming from you.”

Right. Why was I back here again? Oh yeah, because my libido had taken the wheel and was a really shitty driver.

I started to go, but Chet caught me by the shoulder, preventing me from running into a woman with a tray full of dishes. When he didn’t let go immediately, I aimed a pointed glance at his fingers.

“Is your mom okay?”

I searched his face for any sign that he was looking for something to use against me and found nothing but sincerity. “She’s having a shitty week.”

He nodded. “I wondered. You can see it in her shoulders. And in the way she looks at you.”

Silence stretched a couple of beats, and then he let go of me, jerking his thumb toward the kitchen. “I’ve got food waiting.”

“Yeah. Okay. By the way, I’ve got those slides done for our case. I’ll email them tonight.”

Once we finished our pancakes, and Mom asked for the check, Chet reappeared with both it and a strawberry shortcake.

He set it down between us along with a couple of spoons. “I remember you used to make this for us all the time. You used to say it was your favorite. This one probably isn’t as good as yours, honestly.”

Mom smiled. “You asked for it every single time you came over.”

“I thought maybe you’d forgotten. Clearly your age is not doing me any favors today.” To his credit, he seemed shocked that he’d said it aloud.

“And you’ve still got a smart mouth.”

“I’m sorry to say it’s terminal,” Chet replied, and I caught her smile even when she tried to hide it behind her napkin.

Once he left, we ate in silence. Mostly I ate, and Mom was silent. She angled toward me when I set my fork down.

“Chet was at our house the night his dad was arrested.”

It wasn’t a question. The certainty on her face was plain to read. I swallowed against the icy lump in my throat. “Yeah. He needed…a friend, I guess. Someone familiar. Something familiar, I mean. I felt bad for him.” God, that sounded lame. As far as I’d been able to tell, my mom’s friendship with Lila Pynchon had been the surface-level friendliness of women with a transient mutual interest. Once Chet’s dad had struck out on his own, my mom rarely mentioned her.

She nodded, smoothing a hair back from her face. “I saw him leave the next morning.”

I was afraid to ask if she’d told my dad, afraid what it might imply if I asked. Afraid to know the answer. But she’d always been good at reading me. “I never told your father. He wouldn’t have liked it. Still probably wouldn’t.” She eyed me for a couple of beats, and when I didn’t respond, gave me another soft smile. “Now tell me more about your internship.”

17

Chet