Page 36 of Winter Break

“You’re the one who said I need to get a job.”

Austin rested his head on my shoulder, whining, and I wrapped an arm around him.

“I said you need to take a break from counting fish in Alaska to sit on a lifeguard chair next summer. I never said anything about reading books to babies during the few weeks that I get to see you each year.”

“I miss you too, dude, but the work in Alaska was really interesting. My professor wants me to go to South America this summer!”

“No! You’re leaving me again? But summer at the beach!” my best friend complained.

“I know, dude. But at least we get to have Christmas at the beach!”

Austin snuck a peek over my shoulder. “I have a feeling you’re not going to be spending more of your time with me now either,” he whined some more before lying his head back down. I nudged his head with my shoulder.

“Shut up,” I said softly.

“Both of you shut up and eat these chicken tenders. I should have just given you the kids menu since this is what you were going to order.”

“Thanks, Pres.” We chatted with Preston for a little bit, or I tried to even though all I could really focus on was the chatter behind me. I perked up and tuned out of our conversation every time Turner spoke. Eventually, I heard the meeting break up behind us, and there was that feeling again, my heart pounding like an eighteen-year-old seeking the bravery to kiss his crush.

“Uh-oh,” Austin teased. “Looks like Dalton has to go to work.”

“Fuck off!” I whispered.

I assumed that Turner would walk over and say hello, and for some reason I was too nervous to turn around to watch him come. When Martin showed up behind the bar and welcomed me home, I did turn around, to find the restaurant empty except for the older couple still eating their lunch.

Oh. He hadn’t come over. I hadn’t seen him in months and months, and he hadn’t come over to greet me.

Even though I hadn’t heard a notification, just to make sure, I checked my phone. No response from Turner. Stupidly, I swung around in my chair, ignoring Martin.

“Good meeting,” Martin enthused.

He definitely wasn’t there. I looked at my phone, at the message I’d just sent, scrolling up to the coffee pot before putting my phone down. I’d spent an entire semester excited to be texting with Turner, but I guess Turner was once again just putting up with his best friend’s little brother. Sitting on a bar stool in the Three B’s, surrounded by Martin, Austin, and Preston, I fought back tears. Stupid crush.

“We had like two hundred more people at the tree lighting this year than last year! We invited a bunch of different schools and church choirs to come and sing. It was a little disorganized, but we’ll get it together in time for next year. Turner said maybe not everyone needs to perform from the stage. Right? The audience is standing, so, like, they can just turn around, and the middle school chorus can be standing on the boardwalk. Wouldn’t that be neat?”

“It better not be twelve degrees again next year, Mart, or the middle school chorus is going to call in sick.”

“Come on, your kids were fine, hanging out in here until it was their turn.” To us, Martin joked, “Leave it to Preston to bring his kids to a school event at a bar!”

“I did not … It was not … I hope Turner’s plan for next year includes an indoor venue and heating!”

“We’re lighting the boardwalk Christmas tree, Pres. We need to do that on the boardwalk.”

Preston refilled our sodas and headed to the kitchen, mumbling, “Maybe we can light it in September.”

I chatted politely with my best friend and his dad for a few minutes, the waves that were crashing outside nothing compared to the incessant beating of my heart, my body tense with the effort to fight back tears. Stupid, stupid crush.

Finally, I excused myself.

The weather had warmed from the night of the tree lighting, but it was still freezing on the boardwalk. I’d let my hair get long even though that meant the ends were a sun-kissed shade or four lighter than the top. I’d taken to pulling it back in a bun but didn’t have a tie with me that day.

With my head down, my hands shoved in my jacket pockets, and my hair angrily whipping around, I followed the boardwalk south until I was standing in front of Breakwater Toys and Gifts. Through the window, I saw Anita behind the register, smiling at a customer, kids playing at the train table and on the riser and the story-time chair. A high-school-aged kid in a shirt with a logo was helping a customer. It was a tableau I loved seeing and loved being a part of. It was Turner’s tableau, or it should have been. Yet he was nowhere to be seen. I heaved a heavy sign and needlessly checked my phone again.

The Christmas tree stood in one window, multicolored lights flashing, ornaments with price tags fighting for attention. A Santa hat topped it all off.

I entered the store and approached the register.

“Dalton’s home!” Anita reached out both hands until I leaned over the counter for a kiss.