Page 26 of I Saw You First

I want to believe that I would have.

“Thanks,” she says. “Tell Bergren it’ll be a few minutes before I’m ready to leave. I can’t go to Cesar’s illicit fraternization event smelling like this.”

Shit. I forgot about Cesar’s birthday party.

The decor at La Cuchara is a relentless assault on the senses: bright, colorful, loud. Every wall is covered with Mexican artwork, photographs, blankets, sombreros. The food here is good, and you can’t go wrong with a Modelo Negra after a long day, especially one that ended with that bullshit from Tyrell.

Cesar and a few others are already here: Aurora, Crystal and her boyfriend Travis—the merch manager from the Dinkytown store—and Darius, who used to work at Woodlake before he got promoted to Mankato, about an hour south of here. One big, happy Hometown family. From the looks of it—empty margarita glasses, mostly empty baskets of chips, salsa spills on the table—they’ve been here a while.

“Look what the cat dragged in,” Cesar says. “How kind of you to join us, your Highness.”

“Anything for you, Cesar,” I say dryly, “especially on the joyous celebration of your birth.”

“Now, listen, everyone,” Cesar says in a mock whisper, “just because the heir to the throne is here, don’t feel the need to censor yourself. He’s assured me numerous times that La Cuchara is a vault, isn’t that right, Prince Wilshire?”

“Oh, leave him alone,” Crystal grumbles. My eyebrows shoot up in surprise, and she shrugs. “I’d argue that he’s more the spare than the heir.”

Ah, her usual bitchy self. I know she’s only here because Cesar invited Travis and Travis told him he wouldn’t come if he couldn’t bring her.

My stomach growls as I stare blankly at the menu, even though I already know that I’ll order the same thing I always order. I like what I like.

“What can I get for you, Señor Wil? The usual?” Fernando, our server, stands with his pen poised over the order pad and an enormous grin on his round face, his gold front tooth gleaming.

“Yeah, Modelo Negra and the number eleven.” As Fernando nods and turns away from the table, I say, “Can you throw in two house margaritas on the rocks?”

“Is one of those for me?” Cesar crows. “This really is the best day of my life! But who’s the other one for, Wil? Are you going to drink a margarita? How plebeian of you!”

It’s not for me. It’s for Abbey. Because she worked hard tonight, and she shouldn’t have to put up with Tyrell’s garbage. Every time someone walks into our section, I glance up to see if it’s her. I’m starting to worry that she isn’t coming. Fernando returns with the drinks. I tell him to give one of the margaritas to Cesar, who whoops, and then I slide the second one in front of the empty seat next to me.

Abbey arrives a few minutes later, her hair in an only slightly more controlled bun. She doesn’t look as overheated, but she’s still wearing her dirty khakis, now with a baggy black Def Leppard T-shirt.

She surveys the table and points at the margarita. “Is someone sitting there? Should I pull up another chair?”

“Sit there!” Cesar cries. “What took you so long?”

“Truck,” she grumbles. “Hey, Cesar, have you ever had to unload a truck?”

“And ruin these delicate hands? Absolutely not!”

“That’s what I thought.” She smiles at me as she sits down. “Whose drink is this? Did I take someone’s spot?”

“Wasn’t it sweet of Wil to join us for my birthday celebration?” Cesar winks dramatically. “He is our manager, after all. And he ordered us both margaritas! Isn’t he the best?”

Aurora makes a little huff sound. She and I aren’t exactly on speaking terms this week after another big blowup over cycle. “The best what?” she mutters. “And why didn’t you order the rest of us drinks? Playing favorites again, Wil?”

“Aurora!” Cesar chides. “Be nice! It’s my birthday!”

Aurora narrows her eyes at Cesar and takes a cigarette out of the box on the table. “You think every day is your birthday.”

“Why shouldn’t I? Admit it, you’re going to miss me when Amir makes an honest woman out of you, and you move to Los Angeles or Dallas or wherever.”

“As if,” Darius says. “She’ll never leave the Twin Cities.”

Aurora and her fiancé have been engaged for almost two years. She grew up in a “European cottage” on Lake Minnetonka, and Amir was the boy in the mansion next door. His parents, both doctors, are originally from Pakistan. Amir’s in med school to become a pediatrician, and his brother’s a radiologist. Apparently neither set of parents is thrilled with Aurora’s decision to pursue a career in retail management.

“Wait and see,” she says. “Amir graduates next May, and then we’re out of this awful state. I can’t take another winter.” She inhales deeply and blows the smoke over her shoulder.

“That phrase,” Abbey says. “Make an honest woman out of her? It’s so archaic and misogynistic. Why is it okay for men to have sex outside of marriage but not women? What if I don’t want to get married? The patriarchy and some outdated idea about a woman’s virtue dictate whether I can have a sexual relationship with someone? Such bullshit.” She takes a long drink of her margarita.