“Not that. The other thing. Were you not planning on comin’ home this summer?”
“I … I wasn’t meaning …” I start to laugh uncomfortably. Why am I laughing uncomfortably? I never laugh uncomfortably. “I was just … my dad, uh …” I stretch an arm underneath the counter.
“Did you have other plans? Do your parents need you?”
I rise up so fast, I bonk my head. “Ouch!No.” I emerge with three dusty spoons wormed between my fingers, rubbing the back of my head with my other hand. “They don’t need me. I’m a big boy, y’know? I can do … I can do what I want with my summer. It’smysummer, after all. Didn’t I earn a summer? They’re just fine. Business is all fine. Dad’s fine. Mom’s fine. I’m totally fucking fine.”
Billy stares back at me unblinkingly. Did I just do that thing where I talk at the speed of light and my voice cracks eight times?
Oh. I just cussed. At Billy.
“It was a road trip thing,” I confess, my voice losing all speed, losing all trace of defensiveness, barricades collapsing. “I planned a month-and-a-half-long trip with my bestie on campus. And he … kinda went without me. Sorta. To pursue a girl. It’s complicated.”
“That sounds crummy for a so-called bestie to do to you.”
“Oh, he’s still a good guy, I don’t blame him.” I realize my grip on the spoons tightened. I set them down on the pile of others to avoid strangling them to death. They did nothing wrong, after all. “It was his chance to get his girl, y’know? How could I get in the way of true love … with my selfish desire to explore some caves …? Or see Zombie Marilyn Monroe? Or …” I shrug the rest of it away and smile at Billy. “I’m happy to be home. It was meant to be.”
Billy scratches the side of his nose with one finger, then drops his hand and shakes his head. “Still sorry that happened, Teej. It sounds to me like you were on your way to having one exciting time ‘til this bestie of yours went and tossed it in the trash.”
I fight an instinct, yet again, to defend AJ. Then I just smile at Billy instead. “I can have an exciting summer here in Spruce, too.”
He nods back, still appearing in thought. “You’re right.” After collecting the pile of teeny spoons, he takes them to the trash and dumps them before returning to behind the counter. “And y’know what else?” he asks, facing the back wall where he runs a finger over the calendar. “Ever notice how people who run away from Spruce always come to miss it?”
I’m left staring at that trash bin, still thinking of his analogy about AJ throwing my plans away. “Ever notice how people who stay here never get out?” I quietly mumble back.
Billy turns away from the calendar. “Sorry, what was that?”
“Nothing.” I smile. “Still got my spare apron in the back? My mom cleaned out my room and … I couldn’t seem to locate it.”
“I’ve got you,” he insists, then frowns, “assuming my husband didn’t stuff it in a box someplace when he stopped in to help last week. He means well, but sometimes when he ‘helps’, everything gets put someplace else, and I can’t find my foot under my own leg.” After half a breath, his face collapses into a smile. “God, I love that man.” He chuckles. “Anyway, I’ll get you that apron one way or another.” Then he heads into the office, flicking on the light.
I get my apron. A sign is flipped.
Customers start entering. Slow at first. Then I’m scooping ice cream one after the other. Smiling at familiar faces. Greeting my old history teacher and sharing a story from campus. High-fiving two pals I grew up with who stuck around and now work (together) at the Strong ranch. I’m graced by Mr. Lemon, general manager at Spruce Cinema 5, who’s come early for his late-night treat since he won’t have time to get it later. Local barber Cale orders chocolate muffins and says I look due for a trim. Martha Huntington and her friend Ms. Hubert tell me how much I’ve grown since last year, though I swear they just saw me over winter break. Frankie and Tamika—who are totally, seriously not dating—come by together to sit at the booth by the window and share a Football Sundae, which I heard was taken off the menu for a minute, but is now proudly back on and served with pride (and extra cherries when Billy’s not looking, even though he totally knows, apparently).
Billy thanks me a truckload of times, since he was planning on opening the store by himself until his afternoon help came in but didn’t anticipate such a rush. By the time his said afternoon help arrives, I’m halfway through serving six church ladies their “post-book-club sweet treats”, one of whom is sneakily trying toset me up with her granddaughter, and am relieved from my duties.
It’s only then I check the time—and realize I lost track of it. “I gotta go,” I quickly tell Billy, barely having time to listen to him thank me (again) before I’m out the door and hurrying down the block back to my car. It’s only a few hours since I drove in, and the town has come to life. I dodge a noisy trio of children on bikes (where the heck’s their parents?) and gotta stop at the crosswalk for what looks like some off-brand moving-company truck (who’s moving in or out? I’ll have to ask around) before I finally reach my car. I notice a familiar truck parked next to it, and just as I reach for my door handle, out pops Bobby Parker’s head. “Hi there, TJ! Just heard from Billy you’re back in town!”
I wonder for a split second when Billy had time to text Bobby. Or why. Then I remind myself both of them are married to Strong boys—Tanner and Jimmy—and like to commiserate over that fact every chance they get. The Strong family are handfuls, every last one of them, and it’s likely all thanks to their wild-haired cannon of a matriarch Nadine, who as it so happens is also Mayor. But judging from their respective husbands, their joy is worth every second of their mayhem. I grew up attending dang near every one of their parties on their ranch and can attest to how addictive and wonderful their whirlwind can be at times. So trust me, I get it. If I hadn’t been spending my falls and springs outside of Spruce, I’d probably be with a Strong myself if they had some secret younger brother no one knows about who also happens to be into guys.
“Hate to trouble you,” Bobby goes on, “but if you’re not busy and Billy hasn’t sent you on some errand, could I get your advice on something? Jimmy’s stuck on one of his whack-a-doo ideas and I’m trying to talk him out of it.”
I’m hallucinating the ticking of clocks.
My mother’s harsh eyes when I finally come home.
My dad’s soft yet soul-eviscerating sigh of disappointment.
“Yeah, I got a minute,” I say, because my other middle name isdude-who-never-says-no, and I come around to hear Bobby out.
I hear him out for over forty minutes.
Then I’m helping him lug surprisingly heavy boxes of labels, stickers, flyers, and other printed merchandise onto his truck.
Then I’m by his side at the Strong Fitness Zone to check out a new machine they got. Four new machines. And I poke my head into a hip-hop dance class Bobby’s husband Jimmy is in the middle of instructing (he doesn’t see me and I don’t make myself known, not wanting to interrupt). And then at Bobby’s insistence, I try out a new water-bottle-filling station they put in, only to succeed in drenching my shirt, which causes us to double over in laughter—afterBobby explodes into apologies first, of course.
My stomach sinks when I leave the gym to find the sun nearly on the other side of town. I don’t even look at my phone. No calls or texts anyway. I can’t bear to know how late I am now, only that there’s no use rushing home; we’re well into the evening now.