Nate
Friday, July 10
Thursday was my night off from the country club, and I spent it with my not-missing girlfriend. It was the best night I’ve had in a while, and it more than makes up for the fact that today…today, I’m probably going to be fired.
Gavin was fast on Wednesday, but not fast enough. A lot of people saw me lunge for Jake, and after the showdown we had at his Ramona house, I wouldn’t be surprised if Jake uses that to get rid of me. Just because he can.
So when I show up at the bar, the first thing I do is scan the half-full barstools warily, expecting to see Jake’s smug, expectant grin. Instead, I spot Vanessa, a tall glass in front of her, topped with a maraschino cherry speared by a toothpick. “Don’t worry,” she calls, biting into the cherry. “He’s not allowed to come here anymore.”
Some of the tension flows out of me as I step behind the bar and wave at Stephanie, the bartender who’s working tonight instead of Gavin. I’m not about to let Vanessa know I was worried about Jake, though, so I say, “Who?”
She rolls her eyes. “You know who. A bunch of women complained that they don’t feel safe with Jake at the club. Also, a few of them said he threatened you.”
I blink at her as I start pulling glasses out of the dishwasher behind me. “Really?” I ask. He did, sort of, but there’s no way anyone except me could have heard. “Who said that?”
“I don’t know their names, but…” Vanessa points her toothpick at the corner where the margarita moms always sit. “They have your back.”
Suddenly, this shift is going a lot better than expected. And Vanessa Merriman, of all people, is the bearer of good tidings. In fact, it’s almost like she was waiting here to tell me. I fold my arms across my chest, lean against one of the pillars that anchors each end of the bar, and say, “What’s your deal, Vanessa?”
“Oh, is it question time?” she asks, sipping her drink. “Fun. Here’s one for you. Why are you so rude?”
“Come on. You’re always here, and you’re always on your own. That’s not the Vanessa Merriman I remember from Bayview High.”
She arches her brows. “I hope you’re not implying that I’m here for you.”
“I’m not,” I say. And it’s true. Vanessa’s default setting is flirt, but in all the time she’s hung around here, I’ve never gotten the sense that she means it. “Are you here for Gavin?”
She furrows her brow and asks, “Who?” Which: ouch. Poor Gavin. I regard her steadily, weighing how to word my next question, until she snaps, “What? Just come out with whatever judgey little thing you’re about to say, Nate.”
Well, she asked for it. “It crossed my mind that you might be here for Jake.”
Vanessa scowls. “Seriously? Yeah, I love assholes who abuse their girlfriends and help disturbed boys ruin lives. Totally my type. God, Nate, I can’t believe you said that.”
She looks genuinely upset. “Sorry,” I say. “I didn’t know you felt that way.” And then I feel compelled to add, “I don’t think Addy does either.”
Vanessa pokes her straw into the bottom of her drink. “She knows I’m sorry about everything that happened senior year.”
“You told her?”
“No, but of course I am. I’m not a monster.”
“That’s not how apologies work.”
“Uggggghhh,” Vanessa mutters, poking harder. “I know, okay? I’m working up to it. I was going to say something at your party, but I drank too much too fast and couldn’t do it. But trust me, I was as horrified to see Jake the other day as you were. I never thought he’d be allowed to hang out here. I’ve only been coming for…his mom.”
That shouldn’t surprise me as much as it does, considering that Vanessa was practically stalking Ms. Riordan the last time she was here. But if there’s no Jake connection, I don’t understand what Vanessa is after. “Why?” I ask.
“Because she used to be a huge deal at Conrad and Olsen.” Seeing my blank look, she adds, “The biggest ad agency in San Diego. They have offices everywhere—London, Paris, Sydney, you name it. I wanted to intern there so badly this summer, but they never even called me for an interview. I think they’re still mad at my dad.”
“Your dad?” I ask, squinting at the glasses in front of me. The dishwasher sucks, so most of them are still kind of wet. I grab a towel and start drying them, adding, “For what?”
“His company hired them for an ad campaign a few years ago, but he ended up hating the creative and wouldn’t pay them. It was a whole thing.” She stabs her straw again. “He was right, incidentally. The creative was terrible. They need my help, desperately. Anyway, Ms. Riordan used to be the comanaging director, and I thought maybe she could put in a good word for me. She said she would, but…I don’t know. It doesn’t sound like she keeps up with them much anymore. They had a big restructuring after the other managing director died. She wouldn’t come out and say it, but I have the feeling that she basically got pushed out.”
“That’s too bad,” I say, and I mean it. Ms. Riordan has always seemed like she has way too much time on her hands, and wishes she didn’t.
“Yeah, no nepotism for me,” Vanessa says moodily. “Although maybe it’s for the best, now that Conrad and Olsen is getting so much bad press.”
“They are? How come?”
“Because they manage the Clarendon Street billboard. You know, the one that got hacked?”
“Really?” I ask, pausing my drying. Maeve keeps looking for a connection between that billboard and what happened to Phoebe, but she hasn’t found one yet. Jake seems like a dead end, since his sunroom wallpaper doesn’t match what Phoebe remembers. It’s interesting, though, that his mother used to work at that agency.
What does Maeve always say about coincidences? Don’t trust them.
“Yeah. They lost a bunch of accounts over that,” Vanessa says. “I mean, the lack of security alone is a massive red flag. Maybe I dodged a bullet.”
“Okay, so if Ms. Riordan can’t help you out, and you’re not into Gavin—”
“Seriously, who is that?” Vanessa interrupts.
The next time I see Gavin, I’m going to have to tell him to set his sights somewhere else. “Why do you keep coming here?” I finish.
I mean it as a joke, kind of, but Vanessa flushes and stares at the counter. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, Nate, but everyone I graduated with hates me.”
“Not everyone,” I say, and she gives me a wry smile.
“Am I growing on you? Like mold?”
“You’re not the worst person who’s ever come here.”
She snorts. “Thanks for your support.”
“Look, I just think…if you wanna have a conversation about what happened in high school, I’m not the person you should be having it with,” I say. “You might’ve given me a hard time occasionally, but I gave it right back. I said stuff to you that I wouldn’t say today, no matter how mad I was, and you know what? I’m sorry about that. I’m sorry I talked shit about your sex life in the cafeteria after Cooper was outed.”
Vanessa blinks, startled. “Are you apologizing for standing up for Cooper?” she asks. “Because I was out of line that day.”
“I’m apologizing for how I did it. I shouldn’t have gone there.”
“I…okay.” Vanessa bites her thumb, and now her whole neck is a splotchy red, like she’s got anxiety-related hives. “I see what you’re doing. But like you said, you and I were equal-opportunity assholes. You’re not the one who basically kicked a couple of golden retriever puppies while they were down. Plus, do you have any idea how hard it is to apologize to people who don’t want you anywhere near them? Who assume you’re going to say the worst thing possible as soon as you open your mouth?”
I do, actually. I also know what it’s like when people start giving you a chance. And I can’t believe I’m about to say this, but…
“You want to come to a one-third birthday party next week, Vanessa?”
I’m at your house, Bronwyn texts just as I get off from work at nine o’clock. With your dad. I send back a question mark, and she adds, I stopped by his place to apologize for missing dinner the other day, and we decided we’d make you something to eat tonight.
I’m pretty sure there was no we about it. My father wouldn’t think of that on his own, but he’d cheerfully walk through a burning house if Bronwyn asked him to do it. We have that in common. Sounds great, I text back, although I’m a little apprehensive about how long it might take the two of them to come up with something that resembles dinner.
I shouldn’t have worried, though, because when I get there, my roommate Crystal has gotten in on the act. Crystal is almost as good a cook as Luis, and her specialty is making meals out of ingredients that don’t seem like they should go together. “Fruit salad with mint and maple syrup,” she calls out as I enter the kitchen, handing me a bowl.
“Really?” I ask, dropping a kiss on the top of Bronwyn’s head before sitting down beside her at the white table that Jiahao got at a discount when he worked at IKEA.
Bronwyn beams at me. “It’s so good.” Then she reaches over and taps my father’s arm. “Would you rather have regular salad, Patrick?”
My father has barely touched his bowl, but now he scoops up a mouthful. “Oh, no, this is great,” he says after he swallows. “I’m just not very hungry.”
“You’ll want to save room for the coconut-milk omelet,” Crystal says. She cracks a couple of eggs into a bowl, then looks over her shoulder as she starts whisking them and asks, “Nate, have you talked to Reggie lately?”
“No.” I try a forkful of fruit salad and—yeah, it’s weirdly good. “Why?”
“Well, he didn’t come home last night,” Crystal says. “Which isn’t unusual, I know, but he and Deacon had big plans to play in some video game tournament, and Reggie never gave a heads-up that he was going to miss it. And then, you know how Reggie works at the Apple Store with Deacon’s friend Ariana? She said he didn’t show up for work today. So I’ve been texting him to check in, but I haven’t heard anything back.”
I pause with my fork halfway to my mouth and exchange glances with Bronwyn. Reggie almost never bothers telling any of us his plans, but even so, this sounds too much like what happened to Phoebe for comfort.
“I saw him Wednesday night, but not since then,” I say. “What about you?”
“Same,” Crystal says. “Oh, no, wait—I saw him yesterday morning before I left for work. So it hasn’t been all that long, but—”
“But it’s been more than twenty-four hours,” Bronwyn breaks in. “And he’s blown off two things without notice. Reggie’s not the most considerate person around, but he worships video games and Apple products. Have you talked to his parents?”
“I don’t know them,” Crystal says. “Do you?”
“A little,” Bronwyn says. “I used to tutor Reggie in high school, so I’ve met them, but I don’t know their phone numbers. I wonder if…”
“What?” I ask when she trails off.
Her worried gray eyes bore into mine. “I know this probably sounds paranoid, but…should we check the equipment shed?” she asks. “Just in case?”
“It doesn’t sound paranoid at all,” I say.
“Wouldn’t it be taped off because of what happened to Phoebe?” Dad asks.
“I doubt it,” I snort. “The Bayview Police aren’t that efficient.”
“Even if it is, we can probably get around it,” Bronwyn says, putting her fork down with a clatter. “I hate to eat and run, Crystal, but I’d feel a lot better if we checked it out.”
My dad speaks before I can answer, pushing his nearly untouched salad bowl away. “Then we should go,” he says.
