Free Laugh by Mary Ann Rivers Page B

menus.”
    “He’s on my hand list for the rest of the season.”
    “He wants to. He likes it. He’s under a lot of stress opening that clinic and trying to make some neighborhood partnerships.”
    “With a farmer?”
    “With Paz Farms. We have three community lots on the southside. And you know—vegetables. Healthy living. Health clinic.”
    “He’s really hot.” Tay leaned forward and put her chin in her hand. “Like a young Robert Redford.”
    “Knows it, too.”
    “Isn’t that kind of your thing?”
    Nina closed her eyes. “Kind of.”
    “But you’ve hung out with him twice. You’re sending his sister business. You’ve made plans that will keep putting him in your path.” Tay said all this slowly, like she was trying to figure it out. It made Nina nervous.
    “Kind of.”
    “I think this is good, for the record.”
    “For the record, there is no
this.
”
    Tay wrinkled her red nose. “Why are you lying to me?”
    “I’m not lying, I’m—”
    “But you are lying. You like him, I can tell. You can call it what you want, a professional partnership or whatever, but you’re getting yourself involved with him, so that you’ll see him more. I’m not an idiot.”
    Nina pressed a hand over her belly, looking at Tay, feeling like total shit.
    She was lying, but not exactly to Tay.
    She needed to lie to herself just a little bit more, for just a little while longer.
    She shouldn’t have to, and she almost did it, started with some measure of honesty about who she was and where she was traveling from, but instead of telling Sam that he scared her with that raw way he held her, touched her, told her things, she told him to call her “Boss” and got his sister a job.
    “You’re not an idiot, Tay. I’m sorry.”
    Tay’s eyes were bright, shiny, and Nina pressed her hand to her stomach tighter. “I know I’m not,” Tay said. “I know you’re kind of fucked up, too. It’s okay, Neens. That’s the thing. It’s
okay.
Just say, ‘I’m fucked up and don’t know what I’m doing.’ It’s me. Lie to someone else. Lie to yourself. But you can tell me anything.”
    Nina covered her face then, pushed her fingers into her eyes.
    Then she felt Tay’s hands over hers, pulling her hands away. “Come on.”
    Nina looked right at Tay. “I’m fucked up and don’t know what I’m doing.”
    “There you go, baby.”
    The back door beeped as someone came in and silenced the alarm.
    “You still here, Nina?” Rachel called out from the back.
    “Tay and I are up front.” Nina scrubbed away the tears she hadn’t managed to press in at the onslaught of Tay’s relentless love.
    Rachel came up to their table, right out of the hottest part of the day, her skin shining, not sweaty, her sundress perfect and unwrinkled, her short Afro so pretty and cool with her glasses, six feet of unruffled perfection.
    Nina sometimes daydreamed of a café space with one of those glassed-in kitchen areas where the patrons could watch their meals being made, and she bet every table would be full, every minute they were open, to watch Rachel Delassixe cook.
    “What’s this?” Rachel gestured between Tay’s and Nina’s faces, disapproving.
    “You know, Monday afternoon tears is all,” said Tay.
    Rachel made an irritated sound. “Y’all just need to eat. You just come in from the farm, Tay?”
    “Yeah.”
    “Hmm.” Rachel shook her head. “And you.” She looked at Nina. “You’re still here messin’ with your numbers? You probably did rounds on all your lots this morning, too, just to ‘check on’ the volunteers?”
    “Is this lecture leading to you making us something to eat?” Tay needn’t look so hopeful, Nina thought, because Rachel never resisted a chance to feed her people.
    “That depends.”
    “On what?”
    “If you’re tellin’ me why everyone’s cryin’ on a Monday afternoon. Particularly with all the numbers stuff out. You know how I get with numbers.”
    “Nervous,” Nina