That Weekend by Kara Thomas

Author:Kara Thomas [Thomas, Kara]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 9781524718381
Google: W3QDEAAAQBAJ
Amazon: 152471836X
Publisher: Random House Children's Books
Published: 2021-06-28T23:00:00+00:00

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Serg called me while I was still studying for finals to ask if I’d be interested in working over my break, and I don’t think I’ve ever said yes to anything so quickly in my life. I can tell my parents are disappointed I have to work Christmas Eve until I come home with a crisp hundred dollar bill in tips for covering waitress duties.

Tonight is New Year’s Eve, one of the only nights we’re busy enough to open up the dining room on the second floor. The bar gets so backed up that I’m pulled away from the hostess stand to run drinks upstairs.

I scan the room for the crusty old dude and the woman who is too young for him one of the waitresses instructed me to deliver two old-fashioneds to. My flats snag on the carpet and I almost swan-dive with a full tray of drinks because the woman in question is Ben fucking Filipoff’s mother, Pam, and sure enough, Ben is sitting right next to her, across from said crusty old dude.

The man—slicked-back silver hair, clearly Brookport Old Money—flags me down. “Over here, sweetheart.”

Ben’s face turns the shade of a beet as I place one of the old-fashioneds in front of the man. Pam Filipoff looks up from her chicken marsala and squeaks, “Claire! We didn’t know you worked here!”

Kill me. I offer a full-teethed smile. “Happy New Year, everyone.”

Mrs. Filipoff, nose and cheeks champagne pink, is not about to let me get away. She introduces me to Old-Fashioned, whose name is Frank and who is clearly unimpressed with having to make small talk with the help.

Ben bumps his hand against mine as I’m clearing the empty glasses on the table. “Where’s the bathroom here?” he asks.

He knows it’s downstairs; maybe he wants an excuse to talk to me or get away from Old-Fashioned, who is now whispering into his mother’s ear.

“I’ll show you,” I say, balancing one end of the drink tray on my hip. Ben steps aside when we get to the stairs so I can head down first.

“You look good,” he says, and I wish he wasn’t behind me so I can see his face and determine if he means it.

“You too,” I say. “Your mom’s new boyfriend seems nice.”

“He’s a dick.”

We’re at the bottom of the stairs; the bathroom is to the right, the bar is to the left. Here is where we should part ways, but Ben blurts, “What are you doing later?”

My cheeks flush, because he asked, but also because the answer is embarrassing. My parents are at a party at their friends’ house in Nassau County and won’t be back until after midnight; I was planning on taking home meatball soup in a bread bowl and falling asleep before the ball drops.

“Nothing,” I say.

“Same. My mom is going to Frank’s tonight.” Ben holds my gaze. “You know where to find me if you’re bored.”

I replay the invitation over in my head a dozen times over the next two hours.

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