“Nope.”
When she was gone, Andrew launched into a three-minute rant about how sweet and salty food groups shouldn’t overlap, which turned into a disagreement. I pointed out that salt actually brings out the natural sweetness in desserts. He said that made no sense because sweets are supposed to be sweet. We were in such a heated debate, the restaurant could have caught on fire and we wouldn’t have noticed. That was why the man standing next to our table had to clear his throat times before our gazes swung over to him.
Andrew’s face spilt open in a grin. “Brad!” He ambled out of the booth and wrapped this presumed Brad in a manly half handshake half hug. “It’s so good to see you.”
“You too, dude! It’s been too long. What have you been up to?”
“Oh you know this and that.” Andrew said nonchalantly. “Did I hear correctly you got engaged to Becky?”
Brad’s meaty head bobbled up and down. “I had to. She was practically on her knees begging.”
Due to my couples of weeks working at Rogue, I had a pretty good read on men and could tell Brad was a frat boy who’d never mentally left college. Those were his golden years. You could tell by the way he peppered his sentences with ‘dude’ and made it seem as if his fiancée had roped him into marriage. The question was how did Andrew know him? Brad’s eyes lit up with interest as slid me a look. “This must be Camilla!”
Andrew coughed violently. Handing him a glass of water, I stood and plastered a smile on my face. “I’m Haven, actually. It’s nice to meet you.”
“Oh, my bad.” Brad let out an awkward chuckle. “This guy never updates his Facebook page.”
What did that mean? Was Andrew still listed as engaged on Facebook? It was weird I hadn’t considered googling Andrew. Normally by the time I’d met a guy for drinks his interests were checked and memorized. That way, there were no lulls in the conversation—like for instance, right now.
Brad rubbed his neck as his gaze fell to the checkered black and white tile.
I steered the conversation to neutral ground. “How did you and Andrew meet?”
“We were in the same frat,” Brad said. “I was his big brother.”
Today was full of insightful information about Andrew. Although, the frat thing did make sense. It was the classic tale of a nerd using his newfound hotness to indulge in everything he missed in high school, like parties and women.
“What frat?” I asked as if I had any clue about the Greek system.
Andrew regained his voice. “Phi Delta Gamma.”
Brad fisted his left hand, showing off a ring on his middle finger. The gold band flashed underneath the florescent lights. A black stone was in the middle with an engraved crest. My inner street kid itched to lift the expensive ring and resell it. I could probably get enough to cover the cost of my road trip.
“I haven’t taken it off since we got them.” Brad boasted. “How bout you, man? Do you still have yours?”
“Yeah, but it’s at my mom’s house. I didn’t want to lose it while I was traveling through Europe.”
“Makes sense.” Brad checked his watch and sighed. “I have to get going. Don’t be a stranger.”
The bell hanging above the front door jingled, announcing his exit. Andrew sat back down in the booth while I followed suit.
He cradled his chin in his hands. “That guy exhausted the hell out of me. Throughout those three years in college, I took more naps than was deemed normal. I blamed it on all the partying and pot use, but Brad is like a teapot on the verge of boiling.”
I chuckled at the accurate description of his friend. “He wasn’t that bad.” Andrew gave me a pointed look. “Ok fine, you’re right. Poor Becky.”
“His fiancée was a cheerleader for the football team. She can out-ra-ra him any day.”
“Sounds like they are a good match. Although, please don’t invite them for dinner if I’m around.”
“I wouldn’t subject you to that.”
Andrew ate his apple pie that had arrived while we were talking to Brad. Puddles of ice cream melted on top of the crust. Chewing the side of my cheek, I mulled over how to approach the topic about his Facebook status and decided to dance around it.
“Why is a man who doesn’t text on Facebook?” I asked
Andrew sought the perfect apple slice, moving the unsatisfactory ones to the side of his plate. “My sister said I needed to build a brand for myself. She set up all my social media accounts.”
“When was the last time you logged on?”
Andrew caught on to my true question. “I’ll change my status if it bothers you.”
“Of course it bothers me! Why wouldn’t it?”
“Because social media isn’t a reflection of how I feel. Camilla doesn’t have my heart. You do.”
“I get that, but the next time we run into one of your friends, I don’t want to be mistaken for Camilla.” My eyes widened as a horrifying thought occurred. “Your parents know that you broke up? Right? Because….”
“Of course they do!” Andrew reassured.
“Were they happy or sad about the news?”
Pushing me over, Andrew slid into my side of the booth and swung his arms around my shoulders. I couldn’t think, let alone breathe when he was this close.
Andrew rested his chin on the top of my head. “My parents will you love you.”
“I’m not a traveling yoga teacher with world experience under my belt.”
“No, you are Haven. Smart, sweet, sexy Haven. They would be fools if they didn’t love you.”
Sumiko had contradicted herself back in the hospital. She said she was happy I was opening my heart, but then went on to say you can’t trust anybody. Those two were mutually exclusive. Giving away your vital organ to a random stranger on a street corner would be dumb and illegal.
An inner battle of faith played out the week leading up to meeting Andrew’s parents. He had changed his Facebook status but a gnawing feeling I couldn’t put my finger on wouldn’t go away. In a certain sense it didn’t matter, heartbreak was inevitable. If Andrew and I parted ways, my heart would have to be duct taped and glued back together and even then it wouldn’t be the same. I wouldn’t be the same. Andrew had changed me for the better.
Forgiveness was creeping its way into my past and changing my outlook. My mom wouldn’t win any mother of the year awards but she provided a roof over my head and food on the table. She also taught me how to be a fighter who didn’t take bullshit from anyone. The bad moments overwhelmingly beat out the good; however, I couldn’t focus only on the bad. Some memories brought a smile to my face. Like, the time my mom had once brought home my favorite candy bar just because, or when she allowed me to borrow her makeup. It was the little things that showed she cared. Trust went against my nature, yet I wanted to try my hardest for Andrew’s sake. He deserved nothing less.
“Is the heater on high enough for you?” Andrew adjusted the vents. “I can also turn on the seat warmers.”
On our drive to Ann Arbor, the golden hued trees held my attention captive. In Detroit, you didn’t get this kind of natural beauty.
“I’m actually a little too warm. Do you mind turning it down?”
I shed my light blue cardigan that was borrowed from Monica. She shockingly had a ton of clothes that were ‘meeting the parents’ appropriate. Mine, while classy, showed a tad more skin than deemed appropriate. Monica had lent me three dresses, two blouses, and a pair of heels for the next two days. As I looked out the window, snowflakes drifted from the clouds above and I wished I’d brought along a heavier coat.
Andrew fiddled with the heat some more and I swatted his hand away. “Concentrate on driving. I’ll do this.”
“Sorry, I’m a little nervous.”
While I appreciated his honesty, my own nerves didn’t benefit. I wanted to jump into the snow-dusted grass and sprint toward the city lights of Detroit. Older people, especially wealthy older people intimidated me. They were a rare breed of animal I had only gotten a glimpse at through their insulated bubble. At eighteen, I had a brief gig as a catering waitress until a tray of caviar covered crackers spilled on the Mayor. He wasn’t happy.