Natasha's P.O.V.
I looked out through the doily design of the window curtain and saw the silver, thick clouds rolling in--as usual. The puffs of gloom were welcomed routinely as I drew the thin curtains back and tied them into a knot. The overcast and early morning day lit my way through the kitchen in search of something to eat before heading off to work.
And almost as predictable as my conventional practice I paced anxiously around the house, waiting for Melanie to arrive on time for once. I had no clue as to why she always pulled into my gravel driveway minutes later than she should. She only lived a few cabin houses down, give or take a dozen residences in between.
It wasn't like she had to do much but to watch over my mother while I was gone at work. I could only expect for her to lounge across the living room sofa, magazine or tv remote in hand. Anything else filled in the monotonous gaps, like rummaging through boxes of leftovers from the restaurant that I had already organized neatly in the refrigerator for food. All she had to do in order to receive her undemanding pay was to make sure that one of those white pills made its way into my mom's hands. Preferably, and more specifically, into her mouth.
The coiling cord of my old-fashioned telephone stretched far while I took the phone with me to the corner of the kitchen, the habitual phone number already dialed on the difficult sticking buttons. I thumbed through numerous envelopes of bills on the counter.
"Hey-a!" Melanie's perky--and ironic--voice greeted me once the five or six rings had passed and reached her voicemail. "Don't bother leaving a name and number because that's what Caller ID is for! Oh, but leave a message, though. If you want."
I sighed and placed the phone back into its base cradle to hang up. Maybe she's driving and on the way here. I suppressed another frustrated exhale when I caught sight of the loudly ticking clock hanging off the wall across the kitchen. Convincing myself was easier said than done.
"Phil," I heard a low moan filled with agony echo through the house. "Don't go, please. Don't leave me."
"Mom?" I called anxiously. Naturally, I was drawn to the distressing sound that came from my mom's room. The misery being voiced increased in volume which only set me into a wide state of panic once I stepped through the closed bedroom door.
My mother writhed underneath her quilt restlessly, fine lines on her face traced with emotional pain. Wetness lined her eyelids and dripped down her temples in steady currents, seeping through her thin, black hair and staining her pillow. I grabbed her hand and tried to make her believe whoever she pleaded to was there in her dreams. But it only made her weep harder.
After trying to pull her covers back over her quivering body, I reached for the phone beside the bed and one-handedly dialed Melanie a second time. A part of me expected for the call to go straight to voicemail and warned me not to get my hopes of her answering, but I held on to that last shred of anticipation until that sprightly greeting came around again.
Ding dong.
Her timing was impeccable; I didn't feel too heated now that I knew she was here and I could head to work. Reluctantly, I released my mother's troubled grip and answered the door.
"Hey," Melanie said, her flat voice completely different than that of on her voicemail. Even her face portrayed the amount of interest she possessed at the thought of spending another day taking care of my mother. "Sorry I'm late," she sighed as she stepped in the house with measured strides.
"It's fine," I lied, leading the way. I prepared for my departure by slipping on my hoodie, slinging on my purse, and grabbing for my keys. Before I did take my leave, I couldn't go without knowing if my mom had returned into a deep sleep. "Um, Mel? Did you remember to give my mom her medicine last night?" I half glanced over my shoulder before I reached into the kitchen cupboard.
"Yeah. After dinner, just like you said."
"And you made sure she drank it?" I wondered as I inspected the correct amount of pills that remained in the plastic bottle. I was suddenly reminded of the dwindling number on my mother's medication.
"I handed it to her," Melanie specified.
"But did you see her drink it?" I asked, turning to face her.
Melanie's dark brown eyes narrowed at me, unappreciative of the presumption. "Yes, Natasha," she replied slowly. "I saw her put it into her mouth. She drank it with the glass of water I gave her after she took her shower." She went into particulars in a edgy tone that was unnecessary; she knew I would be this concerned.
Especially since I knew how much my mom despised taking her medicine. I stalked my way toward the bathroom and found the glass of water sitting on the edge of the sink. I picked it up and noticed a faint white fog dissolved in the water, lingering at the bottom of the glass. I sighed, teeming with exasperation, and showed her the cup. "She spit the pill back out, Mel. God, couldn't you have made sure she drank it?" My head was shaking while I poured down the fruitless medication. "I can't afford to waste her medicine like this. I haven't gotten my paycheck yet and I still have to order another bottle somehow."
"Sorry," she murmured quietly with a hint of guilt.
"Just…" I sputtered in frustration before brushing by her and headed into the kitchen to retrieve the pill bottle. I handed it to her. "Right after breakfast," I directed her. "Make sure-"
"Yes, I know, I know," she interrupted with a nod. "I'll be on watch this time."
I tried to conceal my look of disappointment, disapproval, and aggravation, but wasn't the least bit successful every lasting second until I fast-walked out the front door.
A thought crossed my mind when I recalled the hollow clink in the pill bottle.
How many were left? Three, two?
…Not enough.
Shane's P.O.V.
"Shane," Jason called. His voice seemed to be very distant. "Dude. Earth to Shane. You there?" And as much as I hoped that he wasn't within five meters and far across the room, he wasn't. To my dismay, I barely remembered him sitting right beside me until he waved his hand in front of my face, almost too close to catch my attention. "Blink once if you can hear me. Blink twice if you're choosing to ignore me."
I made it clear and firmly shut my eyes twice.
Nate sighed across the table. "Can we go now? It's obvious Mitchie's not coming here for lunch, Shane." He glanced at his watch with an expectant stare. "1:30," he pointed out. "It's 1:30 and we've already ordered our food, eaten it, and paid the bill. And she's still not here yet."
"Maybe she sleeps in late," I said before taking a long, loud sip of my generic lemon iced tea just to annoy him. I easily sunk into pleasant thoughts of Mitchie sound asleep with her silky hair lining her pillow, not a strand out of place. Perfect--just like she was.
Nate groaned. He slumped into a hunch and held his face in his hands. "Can me and Jason go, at least?"
"We can't," Jason answered. "Think about how bad that'll look if we leave Shane behind at a restaurant while we head out. The last thing we need is more rumors about the band breaking up for the sixteenth time." Jason mindlessly squeaked his index finger over the rim of glass.
I smirked inwardly. Jason was right. We had to think several steps ahead before we took action; a slip-up on their part or mine and handling the bad P.R. we--or my brothers, depending on the perspective--tried so hard to alleviate would charge back ten-fold. Then my sneer lessened with the thought of having to be detained in that horrible camp again.
I refused to let this town's humid air ruin my hair for another time around. The one and only exception would be if Mitchie was around. But it was clear that she wasn't. She wasn't even around for lunch.
I sighed discreetly, keeping both my defeat and disappointment under my breath. "Yeah, okay. Let's go." I slid squeakily along the red leather seating while Jason and Nate exited the other end.
"Thank you," Jason said, announcing our departure to our waitress.
"Have a good afternoon." I could hear the dialed-down enthusiasm in her solemn voice over my shoulder. She sounded like that all day.
Whatever. Who cares? Nate or Jason is probably going to leave her a big enough tip to get her smiling again.
We took the long way around the restaurant, routing around the side of the restaurant rather than straight down the crowded middle section. Along the way I nodded my head and grinned a few times to the girls I heard flippantly giggling and gasping for air. It honestly sounded like they were desperate for oxygen and that they were hyperventilating.
And why wouldn't they? I'm Shane Grey, for God's sake. So I rewarded those incredulous girls with a wave of my hand. I could only laugh at how effortless it was to cause an uproar of cries and restrained screams.
But then someone rudely blocked my path toward the exit. Someone made me look like a stumbling fool in front of everyone in the restaurant. I turned my head with a look of annoyance reflexively fixed on my face.
Jason.
"Dude," I hissed lowly, "what was that? Keep moving." I smoothed out my shirt and patted out any creases that looked like wrinkles. And Jason still hadn't moved a step after my minute to recompose. "Jason," I repeated, but he remained oddly silent. I rolled my eyes and walked around him, only to find Nate overcrowding the aisle as well. "Guys, you want to get out of my way? If you want me to lead the way, I'll be more than glad to, but you're going to have to…" I gestured with my hands for them to reposition themselves to the side before flanking behind me.
"Actually," Jason started, turning back around and walking in the opposite direction, dragging me with him, "I forgot I wanted to try their lunch omelet. I heard it was good."
"Jason, what are you-" I struggled to walk backwards at the oddly fast pace he was setting. I tried to swat his hands away. "Could you not touch me? And what exactly are you doing?"
"We might as well take a seat again if Jason wants to sample the food," Nate agreed suspiciously. He began to help Jason direct me back towards our booth. "It's not like we have anything to do today anyway."
"What is with you two?" I asked, confused by their sudden change of hearts. Finally, I embedded my feet into the carpet and attempted to halt my being dragged. It only resulted in shoving me into another person. And to make matters worse, it looked I had been the one who caused the mess that was just made.
I gritted my teeth and glared at my brothers for framing me, making me look like a clumsy idiot in front of an eating audience. "Entrée-with-Comedy" was not, and never will be, a lunch special while I was the main attraction. That was one deal I'd back out of without hesitation.
I glanced over my shoulder and saw our waitress staring at the floor, at the pool of green pea soup that probably wasn't pureed enough; I could see the gritty texture of the soup, or at least what was left of it in the saucer. Mahogany Cork needed to hire a better chef.
I whirled back around to continue my glare at Nate and Jason. "Look what you did. Making me look stupid," I grumbled on the way back to the booth and taking my seat. My brothers followed suit, still acting completely bizarre. They seemed far more eager to sit back down than they were a few minutes ago when they were just begging to get out of here.
Nate finally looked back at me from his wide scan of the area. He leaned back in his seat, instantly acting casual. "What?" he asked, failing at concealing his weird behavior. My little brother was weirder than on average.
"Is someone going to tell me what's going on?" I said with obvious irritation--which I need to tone down--and looked at Jason when Nate ignored me due to his sudden interest in his watch's position on his wrist. Jason had a blank stare on his face angled out towards the center of the restaurant. I couldn't quite see or understand what he was gawking at, but I didn't care much to find out. For all I knew, he was watching glue dry underneath the still-peeling red wallpaper.
I sighed and sank into my seat as well. Oh well. At least I'd get to wait around longer for Mitchie. She's probably brushing back her golden brown hair in the midst of the sunlight. Or she could be applying that delicious looking chapstick that I'd bet would taste like cherr-
"Oh," the waitress said, confused. "You're…back. Is there a problem?" The grief tainted and decreased the volume of her voice despite the clear perplexity she felt.
"Huh?" Jason snapped out of his trance. "Oh, no. No, not at all. I just wanted to taste the chocolate cake I remembered was on the menu."
"The Dark Fudge?" she needlessly clarified as she was already jotting down the order. "Of course, Mr. Grey. I'll just add that to your bill and I'll be right back with your dessert. Did you want something also, Mr. Grey?" She vaguely shifted her footing to face Nate. He shook his head thoughtlessly, completely focused on his watch. "Okay, then," she said before woodenly facing me. "And you, Mr. Grey?"
"No," I simply answered.
An empty smile and a nod, then she took her leave. What was with her?
"Why didn't you guys order something?" Jason asked.
"I thought you wanted to eat that omelet, egg thing?" I leaned forward onto my forearms, eyeing him disbelievingly.
"Did I say that?" Jason craned his neck back and scoffed, playing it off. "I don't think I did. No, of course not. I wanted cake. Yeah."
Before I could interrogate him any further, the waitress came back around in less than a minute. "Here's your Dark Fudge, Mr. Grey. Enjoy," she said with less than an ounce of gusto. She slid the sliver of cake over in front of Jason, but he paid no attention. He had returned to his blank stare, off into space and toward the restaurant. Nate was rolling the cuffs of his shirt and staring off in the same general direction. "Um, are they alright?" she asked. It took me a moment to realize she was asking me.
"I don't know," I murmured, sulking over Mitchie's lack of attendance.
The waitress kept in place, attempting to do what I didn't give any effort to do and scanned for what they were gaping at. "Uh huh," she huffed, seeming somewhat expectant. "They've been regulars for a while," she mentioned. "The one on the right likes strawberries and the one sitting on the far left likes the cheesecake."
I rose an eyebrow at her. However, my brothers reacted in another way.
"Really? She does?" Jason said curiously. "Strawberries, huh? Do you think you could…uh…"
"Me too!" Nate straightened up in his seat. "Could you send over a cheesecake on my behalf?"
I watched as the waitress nodded her head with a small, more fuller smile, as she wrote down the order. "I'll add it on the bill. Should I say who it's from?"
"Nate Grey."
"And Jason!"
A quick and light spin on her feet and the waitress disappeared behind the swinging doors. Two minutes later, she held a silver platter in one hand, balancing the two dishes while she dodged fidgeting chairs from guests that were leaving so abruptly. We would've been gone as well, but no. My brothers had to be anything but normal and stay here when it was evident that Mitchie was not going to-
Mitchie!
Our waitress had delivered the dessert trays to two girls that sat at the same table as Mitchie. One I faintly remembered as the female deejay or something, and the other was the one who had won the contest. What are their names again?
My mind went blank when the waitress pointed in my direction--or my brothers' direction--and our eyes met from across the restaurant. Quickly, she looked away and she might've blushed if I knew her well enough. The girls beside her were smiling uncontrollably and glanced over at the table. In the corner of my eye, Nate and Jason were waving.
"You guys knew she was here?" I whispered loudly, practically hissing.
"Who is?" Jason said, continuously waving and paying no mind to who was talking to him.
"You couldn't have told me Mitchie was here?"
"Mitchie's here?" Nate said. "Oh yeah. I see her now. She's next to Caitlyn." Caitlyn. That's what her name was.
"Whatever her name is," I voiced my thoughts. "I'm going to talk to Mitchie and ask her if she wants to eat with us."
"You ate already," Jason pointed out.
"There's always dessert," I said as I started to slide back out the booth. But before I could even get to my feet, the waitress came around.
"The girls thank you boys. They seem very happy, though they've yet to eat." Why is she talking so formally? Has she always spoke in that way? "May I suggest the three-cheese ravioli and the broiled salmon? They have seemed to enjoy those dishes before."
"Yeah, yeah," Jason agreed instantly. "On our tab, of course."
"Of course, Mr. Grey," she agreed.
"What does she like?" I asked bluntly.
"Who?"
"Mitchie."
"The one with the bangs?" she asked monotonously. She seemed bored. "She likes many things on the menu; she's tried almost every dish. But she's specifically told me to tell you not to buy her anything." Of course. I can't prove myself with the help of money. That's what the old Shane Grey would have done.
Ah, crap. What's the new Shane Grey supposed to do now? Mitchie's not materialistic, so I can't buy her things.
"Told you," Jason muttered bizarrely as if he was answering my thoughts.
--
Half an hour went by, both too slow and too fast. It seemed like those girls were eating at a snail's pace while the minutes ticked by like seconds. I sat in the booth helplessly and stumped while Nate and Jason freely bought Caitlyn and Peggy--I remembered her name--whatever they liked from a distance. The waitress was helping them out, probably in high hopes of receiving a large tip for all the advice. I was dying over at my end of the booth, trying to figure out what in the world I could do without the use of money.
…Money makes the world go round. What am I talking about?
I groaned and flattened my forehead onto the table.
"…Peggy is excited to record with you, as I've heard when I walked by their table," the waitress mentioned after serving another booth beside ours.
"Really?" Jason's voice cracked. That was funny. "What are you laughing at?"
I was laughing. But I didn't know whether I was laughing at him or how pathetic I was without the help of money. "Nothing," I simply replied. "Just because."
"Because Mitchie is dropping no hints whatsoever?" Nate assumed. "She making you think, Shane?"
"Shut up," I muttered. "What exactly can I do? She won't let me buy her lunch. She probably won't accept that bracelet I got her. I can't even make a move without my old self take the spotlight." Oh how I loved that spotlight. But the new Shane didn't. Well, not as much. I couldn't believe it had to come to this. "Guys, what do I do?" I had dropped to the level of actually asking my brothers for girl advice.
"How should I know? Natasha's doing all the research for me." Jason shrugged.
"Same here. You haven't exactly tutored me on how to pick up a girl, Shane," Nate said. "I learned to avoid those lessons. And now is a pretty good example why."
"Natasha?" I asked. "Who's that?"
"Me," the waitress said, coming around to our table. "I'm Natasha, Mr. Grey."
"Oh." They should really put name tags on. "Hey." I gulped before I added, "Sorry, I forgot your name." I cringed inwardly when the tone of my voice still had an arrogant edge.
"It' no problem, Mr. Grey." Natasha shrugged her shoulders before she dipped into her apron and pulled out a pen with a half smile. "I've only served your table two or three times now."
"You have, haven't you." I guess I wasn't very observant.
"Hey, Natasha," Nate whispered. "Has Caitlyn said anything about me?"
"Non-stop. She's been asking me her friends what she thinks of you. All comments were very good."
Nate sighed with relief. "Thanks Natasha. You've been a big help."
"Yeah," Jason said in agreement.
"It's no problem, really," she said. Another brief smile and began to walk away. Perhaps my own middle man was walking from me. Natasha could be of help to me also. She seemed to be doing well helping my brothers, so why couldn't she help me?
"Hey," I called.
She turned back around and slowly made her way back over. "Yes, Mr. Grey?"
Before I could ask Natasha for help, my eyes caught some guy standing behind Mitchie. He had a hand on her shoulder, a place that he shouldn't be touching. Or any other part of her body, for that matter. "Who's that?" He looked familiar.
"Boyfriend?" she assumed. She had better be wrong.
"Isn't he from camp?" Nate said. "Something Rickshaw."
"Brad?" Jason guessed. "Bill? Barry? Something with a 'B.'"
"No, I think you were right the first time. Brad Rickshaw sounds about right." Nate nodded thoughtfully.
The name Brad Rickshaw appeared in red letters in my mind when I saw him tickle a giggle out of Mitchie. She was slapping for him to stop--I hoped she hit hard--but she clutched onto his shirt when he stopped, keeping him near. She pulled him into a hug that didn't look very friendly. It was more than friendly.
"Brad," I grumbled. "She likes Brad?"
"Seems like it," Natasha murmured under her breath. She was about to walk away again.
"Hold on," I said, upholding my glare at Brad. "Do you think you could help me?"
"I don't know if there's much I can do, Mr. Grey," Natasha said. "Mitchie keeps quiet whenever I pass by."
Oh, I knew that Mitchie wasn't going to make it very easy for me. But did she really have to demonstrate for me an example of what kind of guy she liked? I didn't know she was such a tease.
Well, two can play at that game.
"That's not what I meant," I told Natasha, giving a few more seconds for my glowering to last before I faced the waitress. "I need your help. Go out on a date with me," I demanded.
Natasha's P.O.V.
"Excuse me?" I rose my brow, craning back my neck a little.
"Go on a date with me," Shane repeated. He made no sense.
He suddenly started to give me a once-over and I began to step back a little. "I'm sorry, but what?"
"I'm serious. It's not like I'm asking you to go out on a real date." He breathed a scoff that I found offensive. "It's only to prove a point to someone."
"Mitchie?" I guessed. And every single one of my guesses have been right so far.
"Yeah, so can you do it?"
"Um, no," I answered too quickly and frankly. "I mean, I'm afraid I can't do that, Mr. Grey."
"Why not? I'll pay you."
"Because-" I cut myself off when his words finally registered in my head. "Excuse me?"
"How much do you want?"
I exhaled an incredulous breath. "You want me to date you. For money?"
"It'll probably twice, maybe three times more than what you get a month. Am I right?" Shane was already reaching for his wallet in his pocket.
I would not date you if you were last being on the planet, you moronic jerk. But I kept my cool. "I'm sorry, Mr. Grey. I will not."
I marched off before he could get another idiotic word in. Charlie was lounging at the bar on a stool, talking to her new buddy, Chase, who was preparing a fancy drink in a shaker.
"Rough day?" Charlie asked. I couldn't imagine what she could see on my face.
"You know that jerk I was telling you about?" I said as I climbed onto my own stool.
"That popstar dude?" Chase clarified. Funny. That was one of the words Mitchie had described Shane to be. Okay, so I lied to the guy. I should've felt horrible, but after what he had just asked me--more like demanded me--to do for him, he deserved it.
"Yeah, him." My voice was acidic. I didn't even want to spit his name out. "He asked me to go out on a date with him."
"Oh really?" Chase seemed amused by this.
Charlie gasped. "The lead singer of Connect 3 asked you out? Oh my god!" she squealed.
"Lead singer? Yeah, sure." I easily brushed off that irrelevant fact. "But he was going to pay me."
"Pay you?" Both Charlie and Chase asked in unison.
"Yeah, pay me. He basically wants me to be his stupid tool, like I'm not a human being or something." The scoffs just kept on coming. "Can you believe him?"
"Well, what did you say?" Charlie pressed.
"I wanted to say 'Hell, no,' but that wouldn't be proper for us waitresses." I sighed. "I said no and walked away."
"Why would you say no?" Charlie surprised me with her reaction. Chase and I just stared at her. "Well, you said you've been having money problems."
"Charlie, shh!" I hissed, flickering my eyes at Chase, who was looked taken aback.
She only continued. "And you need the money for your mom's medication."
"Shut up, Charlie!"
"Whoa, Natasha. You're having money problems?"
I hoped Charlie felt a burn boring through her with my glare now that Chase was filled on things I didn't want him or anyone else to know.
"Forget what she said, Chase. Ignore her. It's easy." I slapped Charlie's knee with the back of my hand.
"Ow!" She turned her hips in the stool, avoiding another hit. "Come on, Shay. Just think of it as another job on the side of waiting tables. It'll be another paycheck."
Another job. Another paycheck. And he did practically offer me a blank check. I could demand as much as I needed and I wouldn't have to pay him back. He would have to owe me.
I could buy more medicine. I could pay off some of the bills that have been collecting dust on the kitchen counter. I could afford to give my mother the medical attention she desperately needed. I wouldn't have to worry about relying on Melanie to monitor my mom. I could get to work on time without losing my breath. And that could mean more and better tips. More money to purchase the necessities.
…Oh, you've got to be kidding me.
Shane's P.O.V.
"Dude," Jason said as he punched my arm.
I punched back. But Nate hit me from the other side. "Shane, are you stupid? Did you even hear yourself?"
"What did I say?" I ducked my head.
"You offered a girl money to go out with you," Jason openly explained. "First of all, that makes you look and sound pathetic, not to mention desperate. Second of all, you just insulted our waitress."
"I did?"
My brothers rolled their eyes simultaneously. "Yes, Shane. You spoke before you thought once again," Nate reminded me.
Dang it. I guess I did. Stupid mouth.
"Ah, they'll just replace her with another waiter," I said. I raked my hands through my hair, using all of my will power to not stand up and take Mitchie across the country. I was definitely more of a man than that Brad guy could ever be. But my egotistical attitude was overshadowing that and Mitchie couldn't see that. How else was I to prove to her that I was a different man? I thought my plan would work, not fail. But I guess I could see how unwise that idea was.
Ugh. What now?
"Shh, shh," Jason hissed. "She's coming back."
My head hung from my shoulders. Not out of shame, but to prepare myself for the outburst I was going to hear.
"Fine," Natasha surprisingly said. "I'll do it. But under certain circumstances."
I looked up at her. She had her hands dug into her apron, fisting loose change and small bills.
Ah. She meant money.
"Name your price."
(A/N: Gosh. I've been TOO busy. School's killing me. This next month and a half is going to go by so slow as I wait for Spring Break to come around. I'm so sorry for the delay of my writing. I've wanted to write this chapter for the longest time. And I want so badly to update Video Girl this weekend. I hope I'll have some time to, but I can't guarantee anything.
I hope you like how this story's turning out. Please review.)