At Wits' End - Kenzie Reed Page 0,38
his music sheets. He’s wearing board shorts and a tropical print shirt, and a hangdog expression.
“What are you doing here?” I demand with annoyance.
“I came to, like, apologize, for, you know, screwing everything up.” He shoves his hands in his pockets, looking unhappy. “Mia wanted to say sorry too. She was going to tell you in person but she thinks everyone’s mad at her.”
“You think?” I scoff.
Sienna waves at one of the folding tables. “Sit,” she says. “I’ll pour you some coffee.” She’s so open with her hospitality, welcoming everyone, always feeding people.
She pours him coffee and stirs in milk and sugar for him. She somehow knows how he likes his coffee, just like she knew how I like mine, which makes me sulk a little.
“You could take it to go,” I say snarkily.
“Oh, let him sit and relax a minute.” She smiles at Jonathon. “Tell Mia we’re not that mad at her. I mean, it was a really stupid move on her part, but everything ended up okay.”
Just okay? Wow.
She hands him a muffin, then serves herself up some eggs and bacon. She looks at me, and I shake my head. I’m hungry, but I’m also sulky. And I’m still punishing myself for enjoying that decadent steak dinner a couple of days ago.
“You’re still talking to her?” she says to Jonathon.
He ducks his head shyly. “Well, she called to apologize.”
“You like her?”
“I do.” He looks surprised as he says it. “She’s fun and kind of wild and she doesn’t make me feel dumb when she talks to me. Also she’s totally into surfing. I mean, not like I could date her now or anything.”
“Why not?”
He takes a bite of muffin. “You wouldn’t be mad?”
“Jonathon!” she laughs. “You and I weren’t exactly a love match.”
He purses his lips, frowning in thought. “My mom’s furious at her. She’d lose her shit if I dated Mia.”
Sienna shrugs. “You’re leaving for California, right?
Now that his plans are upended, Jonathon’s going to go back to his job as a salesman for the Witlocke winery, travelling around the California region, where his surfer-dude personality fits in perfectly.
“Yeah…”
“Maybe Mia would like to travel with you for a little while. Her dad would hold her job for her. She wouldn’t have to tell anyone she’s going with you. That way, she’d be out of town, there’d be time for gossip to die down a little, and if things work out with you guys, frankly, the heck with what your mom thinks. You’re the one who gets to choose who you date. It’s your future happiness we’re talking about.”
His face lights up. “Dude!” Sienna twitches at the word. “You’re right. Thanks, Sienna! You’re kind of smart, you know that?” He stands up and hugs her, which makes me feel mildly homicidal, drains the rest of his coffee in one long gulp, and grabs the muffin. “I’m going to go call her right now.”
When he leaves, I turn to Sienna, puzzled. “Why were you nice to him?” I ask. “He royally screwed up your plans, and furthermore, when we were in grade school, he pranked you just as often as I did.”
She puts the dishes in the sink as she’s talking to me. “Honestly, Donovan, this is Jonathon we’re talking about. He’s a flirt, a party boy, and a good-natured idiot. We were expecting too much of him at the wedding. And as for the pranks, he was never that good at them, and I didn’t care enough about him for any of them to hurt.”
She stalks off to the bedroom, leaving me staring after her with my jaw hanging open. She just admitted two things that make my knees go weak.
She did care about me, she always cared.
And I hurt her.
I’m sitting there trying to formulate a response, something that will smooth over decades of stupid feuds and instantly make everything better, when another car pulls in. Grand Central Station, that’s us. I look through the window to see her mother climbing out of her car. Linda pauses to check her reflection in the car’s side-view mirror, fussing with her hair.
“Your maternal unit is here!” I yell at the bedroom door.
Aceto hisses from the top of his cat tower, just to remind me that he’s there, he hates me, and the mere act of my breathing makes him homicidal. Or maybe he hates Linda.
“Is it Linda?” I ask him in a low voice. “It is, isn’t it? She’s the worst, right?”
He regards me through slitted eyes and lets