Page 38 of I Hope This Finds You Well

I need to be chill.

Besides, this might be my last chance to convince Cliff I am normal, and worthy of this job, and incapable of any of the awful things Caitlin will undoubtably accuse me of tomorrow.

But once I get myself into a doom spiral, there’s no easy way out. It’s going to be an Evening of Angst, and I will need booze to survive.

I lean my cheek against the window. After tomorrow, if Caitlin’s testimony doesn’t get me fired immediately, at the very best Cliff will have to stop this carpooling agreement and I’ll be back on the bus. A shame, because this was a pretty nice arrangement, however short-lived. I take a deep breath and soak in the tree-lined streets and small businesses: little cafés and restaurants, boutiques, and a bookstore.

I can sense that Cliff’s eyes are still on me, so I think of something to say. “Oh, that’s a cool-looking store.” I point to a building that’s painted bright purple with rainbow accents and an ice-cream-cone-shaped door. It’s like a beam of sunshine between the other redbrick storefronts.

“Yeah, Angels,” Cliff says as we stop at the intersection beside the building.

A couple of beats of silence tick by, and then Cliff suddenly slaps the steering wheel with his palm. I look at him abruptly.

“Wait.” Cliff raises a brow suspiciously, and my heart stops. What the hell? Have I said the exact combo of words for him to know I’m a liar who read his private emails? “You aren’t shitting me, are you?”

“What do you mean?” I croak, every cell in my body tense.

“You’ve never been to Angels?Neverhad one of their shakes?”

Relief floods through me. I almost melt into a puddle in his cushy car seat, but I try to pass it off as a shrug. “I don’t drink things unless they’ll alter my mood.”

“This will alter any mood. If you’re telling me you’ve never tried one, that’s unacceptable.”

I shake my head. I should’ve kept my mouth shut.

“The fucking pillar of this city. The best milkshakes in history. You, Jolene Smith, have never been?”

Honestly, I’ve never been to most places. But that’s not normal, so I mutter, “I didn’t grow up here. I’m sure they lure most of their customers young.”

“Technically, I grew up in the neighborhood just behind there, but the first time I went was as an adult. I never would’ve gone as a child.”

His shoulders tense, and it’s the way he says “never”that feels like something more lives behind it. The neighborhood he grew up in is the one my bus drives through: lots of run-down duplexes for former military housing—paint chipped, siding missing. Something swells inside me.

“It’s been way too long since I’ve had a milkshake from Angels,” he says wistfully. “We should fix this immediately. What are you doing this evening and can you do ice cream instead?”

I try to picture myself walking into a place like that—bright and sugar scented, music playing in the background, lots of people crowding around tables. I try to picture myself sitting at one of those tables with another human, then with Cliff specifically. “I don’t, uh, I don’tdo... things,” I blurt out, my words turning into confusing garble against my will.

He lowers his chin, bashful. “Oh, sure, no worries.” And I instantly regret my words. It’s the softness in his voice that grates me, like he thinks he’s the one who overstepped.

Great. That could’ve been my only opportunity to neutralize the meeting tomorrow.

So I plaster on a fake smile and dial up the charm. “That was a joke. If you, a grown-ass man, would like a milkshake, then I think that’s a wonderful idea.”

Except I can’t charm for shit.

Still, he chuckles, and there’s a softness in his gaze that lightens something inside me. “Wonderfully put.”

“But I’m paying.”

Cliff parks and we make our way inside. The place is a retro wonder, with metal-rimmed tables, a real jukebox, and a checkered floor. As we walk up to the counter to order, Cliff pulls a well-stamped Frequent Shaker card out of his wallet with his head held high.

At the register, Cliff cheats his way into paying by insisting it’s because he’s a member. I roll my eyes and go to grab a booth while we wait. It all feels so normal—I’mbeing so normal. But then I take a breath, and the scent of fake cherry mixed with deep fryer hits my nostrils in such a specific way that it bowls me over.

And just like that, I’m back in middle school. Ellie’s holding a mint chocolate chip cone and telling me we have a whole weekend ahead where we don’t have to see anyone from school, and we can watchBuffyand stay in our own little bubble withMario Kart.

It’s so strange, being caught in a memory like this: I want so badly to go back there and stay, but also to run away. Because I know what happens to those girls. My skin tightens with unease, and I’m sure I’m the worst person to ever sit in this booth.

“Hey,” Cliff says as he slides into the booth across from me. I blink, and I’m back in the present, hands clenched around the edge of the table like I’m trying to shatter it. “I know it’s a weird vibe, but I swear, the ice cream is worth it.”