"Okay, I'm officially going to commit homicide." Kristy growled, instinctively reaching towards the knife next to her. Without even having to look up from my pile of nicely peeled potatoes, I gently eased the knife out of her hand and set it down opposite from me.
"Don't do that. You really don't want to spend time in jail. Orange is not your color." I teased, wiping my hands on my apron and moving on.
"Whatever." She grumbled.
"Oh, snappy comeback. Dorothy Parker know about you?" I asked playfully. Kristy laughed, slapping my butt playfully with her dishtowel. I elbowed her and she tried to poke me. Our fights of uncontrollable giggles erupted.
"Girls, honestly." Delia laughed, trying to sound stern but utterly too amused. We settled down and got back to work but I found myself smiling an awful lot.
"Macy honey, would you mind serving? I don't know if I want Kristy around people while she's in the whole, Tom Cruise jumping on Oprah's couch slash Farrah on Letterman mode." Delia teased, hitching the baby to her hip.
"No problem." I smiled, washing my hands.
"You look pretty today honey. Got a hot date?" Delia asked devilishly. I rolled my eyes, feeling the blood creep up to color my face.
I glanced down at myself. My black slacks, a white dress shirt and a black vest. Oh yes, my Wish apron tied around my waist probably added to the devil may care look.
"Definitely. And if you keep me late, I'm going to go medieval on your ass." I teased her, taking a tray of stuffed mushrooms into the living room.
"Pulp fiction, nice. Great movie." Delia nodded seriously.
"Kristy has had too much an influence on me." I told them truthfully.
I made two circuits around the room, chatting politely with the incredibly awkward crowd of elderly men in fancy suits smoking cigars and a group of plush and rosy pearl-strand wives.
Once my platter was empty, I decided to make a quick loop of the room and found Wes working the bar. I leaned up along the counter since he was cleaning out a glass.
"Shirley Temple, please." I asked in a cheerful voice. He looked up startled, but his face relaxed when he saw me. He said nothing, just started working out the cherry juice and Sprite. "If you really like me, you'd spike it."
"As much as I would enjoy seeing you wearing a lampshade. . ." He began to say with a grin, but slide the glass over to me. "Extra cherries."
"Oh, my favorite kind of man." I swooned. He reached across the counter and grasped my fingers with hers. I yawned loudly.
"You okay Mace?" he asked, pulling my fingers up to kiss my fingers. Even after months of being with him, his gentlemen ways never got old.
"I was up late last night." I told him as another yawn engulfed me.
"Oh no. Was another Petticoat Junction marathon on?" he teased.
"No, I was writing my admissions essays and got carried away. But then I released that I switched my angle and re-wrote it twice." I admitted. He snorted.
"Sounds like a party." He said lightly.
"I know. I can hear the men with the mustaches laughing at me now." I moaned delicately, drumming my fingers along the top of the counter.
"Oh don't worry honey. They won't laugh when your there." He assured me.
"Thanks. They will probably just crumple it up and toss it out the window. But I'm not sure if crap essays bio-degrades." I complained.
"Mace, you could get into any school without even trying. Which school is too fancy-schmancy to let in they all famous Macy Queen? You are smarter than Doogie Houser M.D." I blushed as he complimented me, but then snorted at his analogy.
"I'm not going to be a doctor." I reminded him. A few weeks ago I decided to major in journalism and minor in pre-law.
"So what school are you so freaked out about?" Wes asked, ignoring me. His voice sounded casual, like he was discussing the weather or talking about the newest E! News true Hollywood special.
"Yale." I breathed, suddenly nervous. Part of me wondered idly about the reaction that had flashed across Wes's face. He looked caught somewhere between horror, pride, and worry. This frightened the hell out of me.
"That's great Macy." He mumbled lightly, pulling away to re-organize the already incredibly neat stacked bottles.
"That man just hit on me." Kristy complained, flying up next to me against the counter. She grabbed my glass and chugged it, probably wishing it had liquor in it. She even swallowed my extra cherries.
"Oh nice one." I said lightly, my voice a tad shaky from my encounter with Wes. I eyed him curiously but he seemed suddenly interested in the labeling on a Scotch. "He looks loaded. Nice job Anna Nicole."
"Shut up. I hate you very much Macy." Kristy growled.
"Not true. Never true." I told her, smiling warmly.
Bert shuffled us back into the kitchen to get another plate. My stomach seemed to be in odd butterflies, unable to sit still.
What was wrong with Wes? Did I do something wrong? Why did he suddenly start to act so weird when I told him I was applying to Yale? Yale is an Ivy League school. Yale is the second most prestigious school in the country and my guidance counselor thinks it would do wonders for me. Yale is an hour and a half away from Lakeview. This is perfect!
"I like that view, but I think you'll have to buy me dinner first." I told him easily. Wes was bent over, putting something away in a bottom drawer of a cart in the Wish truck. His jeaned butt was wiggling around in the air.
He blushed and chuckle lightly to himself as I hopped up onto the top of cart. He shuffled around the back of the truck, adjusting things and organizing.
"What's on your mind, Wes Baker?" I asked in a gentle voice, after moments of watching him walk back and forth. He sighed heavily and then came to stand in front of me, resting his hands on my knees.
"I'm just sad." He admitted, looking at my hands as I twined them with his.
"Why is that? Did Bert eat the last cookie again?" I asked, just desperate to see his smile.
He shot me a look, telling me I wasn't amusing him. My heart sank a little. I used our connected hands to brushed his cheek.
"It just makes me sad to think about you going to Yale." He said. I looked at him with a quizzical expression.
"I didn't get in." I reminded him, narrowing my eyes. I couldn't find his angle in this conversation. It confused me utterly.
"Yet." He breathed lightly. I waited for him to continue. "It's just that . . . you're so smart Macy. And the fact that you could even get into Yale makes me proud. You have such great things ahead in your future. You have so much to give to this world."
"I don't understand. . . ." I muttered.
"You'll go to Yale or some fancy school with discussions about global politics and Russian literature and advanced sociology, whatever the hell that is, and you'll be living this ideal college life, and you'll start thinking about us. I know it. You won't want to be tied down by some college drop-out arrestee who is almost twenty and works as a struggling artist and lives with his brother who is obsessed with the end of the world." His words about himself broke my heart. I opened my mouth to protest, but he seemed to be on a role.
"And I understand that completely and I know that it's only December of your senior year and you have time, but in my head I keep thinking about how this will end. And you'll start realizing I'm not good enough for you, and you'll meet some rich, future Nobel Prize winner who wears polo's and drinks tea and enjoys talking about Japanese fiction and you'll move on."
"Wes. Stop it." I growled, grabbing his face in both of my hands. He tried to ignore my eyes, but I angled his face exactly in front of mine, faces inches apart.
"How could you think that? Think that I would choose someone else over you? No matter where I go to school, I'll still be me. I will never ever feel that you're not good enough for me." I smeared at the words. They made me sick. "That is so stupid, don't you ever think like that. No matter where I go, or what I do, it will all involve you. Wes, you are my future."
"But in a few months. . . ." he started to protest.
"I will still feel the same way." I interrupted. "And quit thinking of yourself like that you knucklehead." I told him, playing with the top button on his white dress shirt. "You aren't just some lame artist who lives with his brother. You are going places too, Wes. Stop it."
"Macy." He breathed my name once.
"Wes, really. I hate that you're worrying about this. I'm the one who's not good enough for you. You're beautiful and funny. You're the most loving person I know and you're an incredible friend and artist. You're smart, even if you don't want to admit it. I don't care about your past because all I care about is that you're in my future."
His arms encircled me, bringing me tight against his chest. My legs wrapped around him, since my sitting at a height almost as tall as him made this hug a tad awkward. I rested my cheek along his warm neck, feeling his pulse point there, thumping against my skin.
"I love you." He whispered suddenly. It was freezing inside the catering truck with the open door leading to the frozen snow and zero degree weather outside. Even though I could see my breath in the air, I felt completely warm.
I pulled away to look at him, opening my mouth to comment to his admission, but he cut me off before I could say anything.
"Look, Macy, I know that we both have had a rough past with losing people and we both came out of ridiculous relationships, but these last five months have really just been amazing. I mean it. I'll even make it part of our truth game. Because I just want you to know that I'm expecting you to say it back but . . ."
"Wes." I cut him off with a frustrated laugh. He was so chatty tonight. "I love you too."
He barely gave me time to form the words before his lips were on mine. His breath was hot in my mouth and warmed my freezing body. His fingers latched themselves in my hair and my hands were on his back, desperately pressing himself closer to me.
A cleared throat made us unlatch.
Monica stood on the ramp into the truck, holding a bundle of utensils.
"Donneven." She said in a low voice, shaking her head. We stayed in the position we were in as she walked into the truck without a word, not even looking at us as she put the supplies away and left with a grumble.
"She seems to be in a good mood." Wes said cheerfully.
"Oh yeah, it's the yoga she's been doing." I joked, bring his face back to mine.