I scrubbed the milk, sugar, and chocolate syrup from my hands and fingernails, and then I lathered the soap over everywhere else before standing under the hot stream of water just long enough to rinse away the soap.
My cell phone buzzed on the bathroom counter as I brushed my teeth. The message was from Weston, wondering if I had plans for dinner.
I responded with a yes, explaining that my parents and I were going out.
He didn’t reply.
I combed the tangles from my hair and then slipped on a green sundress and white wedges, forgoing makeup and leaving my hair damp in the interest of time.
When I made it back to the kitchen, Sam and Julianne were chatting, looking incredibly happy and in love, still in the same clothes they’d had on earlier.
“You look lovely,” Sam said.
“Thank you. Do you think, if Weston texts me back, he could join us for dinner? I think he was hoping to make plans.”
“Sure, honey,” Julianne said, picking up her purse from the counter. “Just tell him to meet us there.”
I followed them to Sam’s car. Once I settled into the backseat and buckled my seat belt, I sent Weston another text.
We arrived at the restaurant, and we were seated almost immediately. We walked past the full tables of people from our tiny town. They stared at us until we sat down, still curious about our new family.
The tiny triangles hanging from strings on the ceiling were trembling from the air-conditioning blowing from the ducts.
“Has Weston said anything?” Julianne asked.
I looked down at my phone. Nothing. I shook my head.
“He’s probably helping his dad,” Sam said, looking at the menu.
“Why are you reading that?” Julianne teased. “You order the same thing every time.”
“I do not,” Sam said.
Julianne raised an eyebrow. A waiter approached the table, setting down a basket of homemade chips and a bowl of salsa.
“Waters, Señor Alderman?” the waiter said.
We all nodded.
“One large queso?” the waiter asked.
Julianne winked at me.
Sam nodded.
“Pollo loco, no beans?” the waiter asked.
Sam pretended to look over the menu while we patiently waited, and then he nodded. “Yes, Carlos, thanks.”
Julianne snickered, and I tried to keep from smiling.
“Do they have a Los Potros in Stillwater?” Sam asked.
“I don’t think so, Señor,” the waiter said. “No.”
Sam looked at me, very serious. “You can’t go to OSU.”
“Oh, stop!” Julianne said, cackling.
Carlos waited.
“We’ll have the same,” Julianne said.
The waiter nodded, knowing us well enough that we ordered the same matching meals every time.
My cell phone chimed.
No, thanks.
“Is Weston on his way?” Julianne asked. “Maybe we should have waited to order until he got here?”
I shook my head.
“He’s with his dad,” Sam said.
I turned my phone to show them his message, and they traded glances.
Sam shrugged. “I’m sure Peter is keeping him busy.”
The waiter returned with the waters and a bowl that looked like a mini witch’s cauldron full of melted white cheese.
Sam dipped a chip into the queso and hummed as he chewed. “Why? Why is it so good?”
“It’s made with love,” Carlos said with a grin.
After the waiter walked away, Julianne frowned. “Am I the only one who feels that text isn’t like Weston?”
“Julianne…” Sam warned.
“Oh, c’mon, Sam. He’s insanely head over heels for our daughter and asks her about her dinner plans. When she asks him to join us, he says, ‘No, thanks.’ No. Something is wrong.”
“Honey…” Sam said, this time more firm.
Julianne pulled out her phone and tapped out a text.
“You’re not texting Weston…are you?” I asked, wary.
Her nose wrinkled. “No. I’m texting Veronica.”
Sam snapped his wife’s phone from her palm and buried it in his lap with an awkward smile.
Julianne’s jaw hung open.
“Why don’t we let Erin figure it out, darling?” Sam used the tone he saved for when he was aggravated but was trying to be nice.
“Figure what out?” I asked, my eyes dancing between my parents.
Julianne sat back in her seat, deflated. “I’m helping too much again, aren’t I?”
Sam leaned over and kissed his wife’s cheek. “It’s one of the many things I adore about you…but yes.”
He relinquished her phone, and she put it away.
“Do you know something about Weston that I don’t?” I asked.
Julianne shook her head. “No, but you might have noticed that I’m a fixer. Your dad has asked that I work on that.”
Sam patted her on the shoulder, proud.
I looked down, wondering what on earth was going on with Weston. I hadn’t thought too much about it, but Julianne was right. The text wasn’t like him. There were probably things to fix, and I wasn’t sure I had any more words to fix them.
I shot off a reply.
We’re at Los Potros. If you’re hungry, you should come.
Weston didn’t answer, so I sent another.
Are you upset?
Still, there was no reply.
Are you just busy? Can you at least let me know you’re all right?
I’m all right.
I slammed my phone next to me in the booth.
Sam and Julianne were surprised by my reaction. Sam seemed a bit overwhelmed as he stroked Julianne’s shoulder, and then he reached across the table to pat my hand. Our nice family dinner had quickly gone downhill.
I forced a grin and lifted my chin. “I’ll figure it out later. I’m okay. Weston is probably okay. We should enjoy our dinner. We don’t have many left.”
Julianne’s eyes filled with tears, and her bottom lip began to tremble.
“Oh no. No, no,” I said, holding out my hands. “That’s not what I meant.”
“Honey, please,” Sam said.
Those around us who weren’t staring before certainly were now.
I covered my eyes with my hand and looked down.
Sam chuckled once, and Julianne and I both shot him a look.