The Meeting Point by Olivia Lara
Forty-Two
It’s past nine at night. We’re still putting out orders every few minutes when Ethan walks in, with a sly smile on his face. He struts around like a peacock.
Celine, who’s usually a ball of energy, seems exhausted, and while I am too, I’m making an effort to be the one who lifts up her spirit.
“What are you so happy about?” she asks Ethan when he comes behind the counter. She’s not snappy per se, but there’s a hint of crankiness in her voice.
“Just had a good afternoon, that’s all,” he says. “Need help?” he asks.
“What do you think?” she asks.
“It looks like you’re doing great.” He snickers, pushing her down on a chair next to the coffee machine in the corner. “There, sit for a moment. You look like you’re about to faint.”
She doesn’t fight back, which confirms she is beyond tired.
Ethan snaps into action mode. “Any more food orders?” he asks, looking at his sister.
Celine shakes her head. “All done, just drinks. Tables 3, 8, 9, 12.”
He starts making the drinks and I hear him mumble, “Who drinks coffee at ten at night?”
Our interaction is silent. No words are being exchanged between us. He puts each order, together with the printed receipt, on a tray, I take them to the table and again and again.
“I’m so hungry,” says Celine a couple of hours later, “and we have nothing in the fridge. I should’ve prepared something earlier, when I still had the energy.”
“I can go grab something,” I offer.
“Pasticcio is open late. We can have dinner there when we’re done,” says Ethan.
“Are you crazy? You can’t get a table at Pasticcio tonight. Let’s do Taquitos on Ocean. Eliza will find us something. She owes me for the Porsche.”
I give her a questioning look. “I fixed her car a few months ago for a fraction of what everyone else asked and in half the time. Of course she didn’t tell her dad it was me, because he would’ve had the Porsche checked and double-checked to make sure I didn’t break anything.”
So she does fix cars; it’s not just a distant dream. She just does it off the record in a way. She just can’t get herself to commit to it, just like I can’t with my writing. And she lacks confidence in her skills, in herself, just like me. Who would’ve thought?
Ethan raises an eyebrow. “Taquitos is loud and suffocating, but if you insist—”
“I do. We’d waste time with your fancy Italian place and end up eating fast food.”
He shrugs.
It’s past midnight when we finally close Café Azure and walk the three streets that separate us from the Mexican restaurant.
As much as I don’t like to admit it, Ethan was right about the restaurant. The music is loud, and with over seventy or eighty people in one room, the constant noise of chatter and forks hitting the plates is mind-numbing.
We order, and the food takes forever to arrive. We all get margaritas, which are 99.9 percent water and lime juice, and 0.1 percent tequila and orange liqueur. I feel I would’ve needed the exact opposite proportions after today. It’s been a long day.
There’s an awkward silence, which I wasn’t expecting. Celine seems too tired to be her usual self and compensate for me staring at my glass and Ethan is zoning out. I don’t know why it’s so hard to talk to him. It’s like I feel awkward because I admitted interest in his work. And he’s not saying anything either. Does he think I’m some sort of groupie?
Celine takes another sip of her margarita. “My God, we should’ve brought our own tequila bottle,” she says and starts laughing.
“I was thinking the same,” I say. “A bit more would’ve been nice.”
Ethan looks up from his glass. “Tough day?” he asks her.
“Kind of. My meeting in San Francisco was pretty unpleasant.”
I look at her and realize what a crappy person I am. That’s why she was in such a bad mood, and I didn’t even ask her about it.
“I’m sorry,” he says. “Do you want me to talk to him?”
“I doubt it would help,” she says, taking yet another sip from her drink.
“What’s going on?” I ask.
“Remember I told you about my divorce?” she asks.
I nod.
“Well, my ex is suing me for alimony.”
“Alimony? Do you have kids?”
She shakes her head.
“Then how can he ask for alimony?”
“Apparently, he can. I heard his lawyer is excellent at impossible claims, so—”
“I’ll make some phone calls. We’ll fix this,” Ethan says and puts his hand on hers.
The side of Ethan that’s capable of such feelings is not something I can easily imagine. However, he does write love stories for a living. Come think of it, I’m not sure that’s relevant; thriller writers are not murderers in real life. The truth is, Ethan is a bit of an unknown to me.
“I might have just the thing to take your mind off it. Earlier today I was sent two tickets for a show tomorrow morning. In the city,” he says to Celine. “An off-Broadway premiere.”
“An obligation,” she says and stares at him.
“Yes, sort of, but it might be fun.”
“Appreciate the thought, but musicals are not my thing. Anyway, I have to work, Ethan.”
“I can hold the fort at Café Azure,” I offer. “I think you’d enjoy it. I went to a few, back in New York, and they were pretty good,” I say.
“Why don’t you go then, Maya? You’ll probably appreciate it much more than I would. And truth be told, the thing that’s keeping my mind off things is work.”
“Oh, no. I didn’t mean—”
Ethan looks at me. “That’s a great idea and you’d be doing me a huge favor. It was a last-minute thing that I have to go to, and I don’t know if I’d survive it alone.”
I’d be doing him a favor. That means he will owe me. Oh my, how the tables have turned.
“It’ll be painless. And I can be quiet all the way there.”
I raise an eyebrow.
“Or talk all the time. Whatever you wish.”
Celine starts laughing. “That’s how he talks me into all sorts of things. Remember when we ran from home because you wanted to learn how to ride a horse?”
He chuckles. “And wasn’t it fun?”
“It was. Until we got caught.”
“I didn’t know there were shows in the morning. Except for kids’ stuff,” I say to him.
“Me neither,” he says. “It’s a closed-door, early premiere for a small group. I think.”
“Do I need to wear anything fancy?”
He smiled. “As long as it’s not flip-flops, you’re good.”
“Converse it is,” I say and laugh.