It sounds less like a question and more like a firm, but gentle order from a friend who knows what I need.
“What you’re suggesting sounds like a date.”
His lips curve just a little. “That’s exactly what I’m suggesting.”
TWENTY-TWO
Scarlett
“What do you feel like eating?” Brendan sneaks a look at me as we head into Sully’s Beach in his SUV. “French cuisine, Italian, or the biggest steak in this town?”
“I don’t want anything fancy tonight,” I say, looking out the window. “I want to eat my feelings.”
He bursts out laughing. “And what would that be?”
“Basically, I want slutty food.”
Brendan’s mouth quirks. “Excuse me?”
“You know, everything that’s terrible for me, but tastes like happiness wrapped in a fried shell.”
I’m being ridiculous, but I don’t care. After looking at photos of my dad when he was healthy, when cancer wasn’t stealing him little by little, I deserve some deep-fried therapy.
“Then I know just the spot,” he announces as we round the curve. Over the treetops, white lights outline a Ferris wheel glowing against the darkening sky.
“Wait.” I sit up straighter. “The carnival opened for the season?”
“Yep.” His mouth curves. “You know they have the sluttiest food in all the Carolinas.”
The carnival closes down for winter but reopens every springfor the tourist season, bringing colorful lights, rides that blink and spin against the night sky, and enough questionable food choices for a whole week of regret.
Brendan parks and we head toward the lit-up carnival entrance. The smell hits me first: sugar and grease that sends a wave of nostalgia over me.
We immediately take a right turn toward “Junk Food Alley,” and my stomach rumbles at all the options—funnel cakes, fried pickles, warm kettle corn, barbecue ribs, and even deep-fried butter.
“So what are you in the mood for?” he asks, checking out an endless row of options.
“Everything.” I’m only half joking. “I think I’ll start with a corn dog and then move to the deep-fried Oreos. After that, maybe a bloomin’ onion and then we’ll ride the Tilt-A-Whirl.”
Brendan looks at me, one eyebrow raised. “You’re kidding, right?”
“Of course I’m kidding.” I bump his shoulder with mine. “If we go on any rides, it’ll have to be something that doesn’t spin. I wouldn’t want to redecorate the carnival with my dinner.”
Brendan pays for our meal before grabbing an elephant ear for dessert, which is basically a ginormous fried doughnut dusted with enough cinnamon sugar to put someone into a diabetic coma.
We take another turn through the carnival game booths.
“What would Grandma Rosa say right now if she could see us?” I peel off a piece of the bloomin’ onion.
“Listen, she might be my grandmother, but she’d be stupid to turn down a deep-fried Oreo.” He takes a bite, eyes closing for a second. “Man, these things are delicious.”
“You started with dessert first.”
“That’s because you’re holding the corn dogs and fried onion.” He sneaks a handful of onions next. “I got stuck with all the desserts.”
“What a shame.” I take a bite of my corn dog smothered inmustard, and it’s exactly what I need. Terribly unhealthy, but tasting like childhood summers.
We walk through the carnival, weaving between families and teenagers, the dancing lights and carnival music a good distraction. For the first time all day, the weight in my chest unknots just a little.