Sisterhood Everlasting - Ann Brashares [9]
Jones finished whatever he was doing at the computer and came over to her and kissed her shoulder. “Put on something gorgeous, gorgeous. I’m taking you out.”
“Where?”
“Minetta Tavern.”
“No way.” She loved that place. Damn. How could she not eat?
She started thinking her way through her large closet. The new Gucci? The pink Stella McCartney from last year? She wouldn’t need to spend much time on her hair and makeup, having already spent most of the day on it. Maybe the little Catherine Malandrino dress that Jones loved? She’d definitely end up having sex tonight if she wore that one. “What’s the occasion?” she asked.
He kissed her ear. “I’ve got a gorgeous woman, who’s going to be my bride.”
She laughed. “You have that every night.”
“That’s why I want to celebrate.”
“I guess turkey would be good.”
Lena leaned her elbows on the counter and watched Drew’s back as he sliced the turkey, slowly transforming the edge of poultry-blob into a fringed and delicate pile. He kept going until the pile was absurdly tall and then flipped it onto a piece of whole wheat bread. One of the good things you could say about his job was that he got free sandwiches.
“Lettuce, tomato, peppers, mustard, no mayo,” he recited, turning his head to check with her.
“Yes, please.” She considered his brown shirt with the hood. It seemed like everything he wore had a hood. Sometimes he had on as many as three hoods, when he wore a hooded shirt with a hooded sweatshirt and his hooded parka.
He expertly cut her sandwich in two, placed it on a deli paper plate with a ruffled edge, and put it on the counter in front of her. He added half a pickle.
“Thanks,” she said.
She stood and ate at the counter to keep him company, as she usually did. She was used to their conversations being punctuated by customers ordering sandwiches and she didn’t mind. If anything, it facilitated them.
She watched him as he made a complicated wrap involving some kind of cheese she’d never heard of. She watched him and chewed her sandwich and wondered whether he was the sort of person—or even the actual person—she might marry. Maybe it was because of Tibby, whom she had not seen in almost two years, and the mysterious thing coming in the mail, which got her thinking about time and the changes it brought or was supposed to bring. She would be thirty years old on her next birthday. All four of them would turn thirty in and around next September. Somehow the fact of their doing it together made her feel less accountable to it.
Though Carmen claimed she was engaged (maybe it was Lena’s wishful self, but she didn’t totally believe it), none of them was married. When Lena had mentioned this fact to her mother’s friend Maria Cantos, Maria had said, “Well, who are you waiting for?”
Thinking about it after, Lena wasn’t sure whether Maria meant were they waiting for the guy to come along? Or were the four of them waiting for one another?
Drew was growing a beard. Lena could tell it was important to him by how often he touched it. It was kind of patchy, and fairer than the light brown hair on his head, so that even the parts that did grow blended into his face. He’d been growing it since the beginning of the semester and hadn’t made much progress. It seemed hopeless to her, but she tried not to judge. She’d grown up mostly among Greek men who could grow a full beard by bedtime but never did—who in fact shaved twice a day.
“Do you want to watch something after you close up here?” she asked between bites.
“Sure.” He wiped the counter down.
“A movie? Or an episode of The Wire?”
“Either one.” He wasn’t just saying that; he meant it. He was possibly the only person in her life who wasn’t opinionated or stubborn.
“Maybe The Wire,” she said.
He liked her to pick, because he said he could never tell, even while they were watching, which ones she hated and which ones she loved. And it was true she experienced