Page 3 of When We Had Forever
“I don’t know, maybe because it’s five thousand miles away?”
“Six thousand, actually. If you count from here.”
My best friend gives methe look. The Katelyn Archer special. Those ridiculous sunglasses hide half her face, but I can visualize her enormous brown eyes crinkling, the upward hitch of each brow, and feel her ice-cold stink eye.
She thinks I’ve lost my mind.
I drag my flip-flop over a crack in the sidewalk. Second to my mother’s inevitable horror, this is the biggest downside to moving to a country I’ve only seen in pictures—the fact that my best friend feels betrayed by it. In high school, Kate and I promised we’d get an apartment in a glittering city someday and spend our nights in too-loud clubs, teasing boys and getting drunk enough to take taxis home. We’d stay up until 3:00 a.m. on work nights, eat whatever we wanted, and throw impromptu dance parties with nothing but the two of us and a giant bowl of kettle corn. We wouldn’t just live together, we’dlive. Together.
At least that’s how I envisioned it. Maybe Kate planned on persuading me to color-code my wardrobe—Why wouldn’t you? It takes all the guesswork out—and sedately watching the nightly news while enjoying a single Ferrero Rocher chocolate for dessert.
But we would’ve worked it out. We still can. It’s not like I’m leaving forever.
“At least explain how you picked freaking Greece.” Kate adjusts her sunglasses. “And donotsay you threw a dart at a map.”
I mask my chuckle by pretending the funnel cake went down wrong, but in reality, that’sexactlyhow I settled on Athens—in the most clichéd and illogical way I could think of.
It felt so wrong that it felt right.
Saying that would only piss Kate off, though, and I’d rather keep her happy, partly because I love her, and partly because I’m a selfish jerk who still needs to beg for a ride to Seattle tomorrow—a six-hour round trip I’m sure she has no interest in making.
I don’t exactly have a choice, though. My car conveniently picked today to die in a gush of black smoke and metallic screeching, and in less than twenty-four hours, I have to meet with Rosalie’s grandson. The month-long job of selling off my great-aunt’s estate will earn me the last twenty-five hundred dollars I need for my plane ticket.
I can’t, under any circumstances, screw that up.
Kate eyes my theatrical coughing with skepticism. “You know I’m only grumpy ’cause I’m gonna miss you, right?”
“I’ll miss you, too,” I say honestly. “And please don’t hate me, but is there any way you could take me to Seattle tomorrow? I have to meet my cousin Patrick at eleven, but my car died.”
Kate sighs and tosses her remaining cake into a nearby trash barrel, then dusts her hands as if offended by the residual calories clinging to her skin. “Can’t one of your parents take you?”
“It’s Monday. They’re working.”
“Okay. So not only are you ditching me, you want me to aid and abide you, too?”
I pause. “Aid and abet?”
“Whatever. I’m not the writer. You know what I mean.”
“I can pay you.” I don’t hide my pleading tone. I’ll have to recalibrate my budget, but only a catastrophe of the highest magnitude could stop me from showing up for that job tomorrow. “Gas money, plus enough for your time. And some extra, just because I feel like crap for having to ask. Really, really desperate crap.”
Kate props her hands on her hips. “Mina. Come on. I don’t want your money. I know how hard you worked to save it. Can’t you just...I don’t know. Cheer me up. Make me laugh. Hit that guy in the face, actually, and I’ll do it.”
My brow knits. I have no idea what she’s talking about until she points to a guy in a nearby booth. Pie crust and creamy goo slather his face and sage-green button-up.
Like everyone else, he’s staring. Unlike everyone else, it’s not at Kate. He’s looking at me.
Something sparks inside my chest. Which is ridiculous, because I can’t even tell what this person looks like. I can only say that his saturated hair resembles dark straw, and his eyes are a color I’ve never seen before. I don’t know what to call them, but they remind me of the ocean. Not here, where the water is broody and sullen, but somewhere tropical. Someplace where coconuts thud into welcoming white sand.
And he has a body to die for. Even the layers of whipped cream can’t disguise the fact that he probably spends a lot of time picking up weights and putting them back down again.
“I’ll definitely hit that guy in the face,” I murmur. “I think I’d hit him in all kinds of places.”
“Ew.” Kate doesn’t bother to lower her voice. “He’s probably a troll, underneath all that.”
The guy grins, and I think,I didn’t know trolls came equipped with such perfect smiles.
Someone says my name. I glance around to find Darlene, my former supervisor from the shelter, standing behind a table that offers an array of whipped-cream pies.
