Heat Wave(27)

The whole table went silent. What she said was never news to me. There’d always been talk about me trying to measure up to Juliet, to become just like her. But this was the first she’d mentioned it on such a personal level and in front of everyone, including Logan.

I busied myself with the wine while I thought of what to say. Something light to throw the whole conversation away. “Well, we can’t all be Juliet.” I even gave my sister a wink, to let her know I didn’t mean any harm by it.

And Juliet laughed. “No, you certainly can’t,” she said and she looked to my mother with a look of wry disbelief. “Mom, you know Veronica is going to end up one of those crazy cat ladies when she grows up. She has zero time for men.”

That startled me. “Cat lady? I don’t even like cats.”

“Oh relax,” Juliet said with a wicked laugh. “You’re always overreacting to everything I say. You should learn to take a joke. Maybe you won’t have a bunch of cats, but if you keep going at this rate, it’s just going to be you surrounded by plates of food. I’m all for taking your career seriously, but after a while you should probably start exploring your options.”

“See, that’s what I mean,” my mother said, jumping in. “You need to smile more. Become more diplomatic. More open. You won’t ever attract a man, the right man, if you don’t try and make yourself a little…nicer.”

“We care about you,” Juliet quickly added. “We don’t want to see you unhappy and alone.”

I was stunned in real life and I was as stunned in the dream. I still didn’t have a good comeback. I just stared up at the ceiling which turned into clouds, snow falling into my eyes.

“I don’t think Veronica has anything to worry about,” Logan said, speaking up, wiping the falling snow from his arms. I looked at him in surprise. He rarely said anything in these situations, often letting my mother and Juliet dominate. He gave me a light, quick smile, even though his eyes were burning with something more grave. It was hidden just beneath the surface, like he was angered by all of this. “In a few years she’ll have her own damn cooking show. I mean look at her. She’d be perfect for it. I know I’d tune in.”

Then he scooped mashed potatoes into his mouth, averting his eyes away from mine.

Damn. Logan had just gone to bat for me.

Silence fell over the table again. Finally, my father spoke up, “That’s not a bad idea, Logan. Ronnie, there’s a new goal for you. You could be the next Nigella Lawson or, what’s that woman’s name? The skinnier version of her? Either way, it’s better than working as an ordinary cook.”

And just like that, the conversation was dropped. I know my mother wanted to point out that if anyone should be on TV, it should be Juliet, but she didn’t. I’m also sure that was the first moment that really cemented in my mother’s mind that Logan was the enemy.

And he was marrying her precious daughter.

Then the dream melded into other dreams. Colorful flying chickens swooping down mountainsides, plates of ahi tuna, swimming in a pool full of floating luggage. Everything drifting off into blissful nonsense.

Dreams upon dreams upon dreams.





“What the hell are you doing, beach bum?”

My eyes spring open at the sound of the Australian accent, my heart quick to start hammering away in my chest.

Logan is standing over me, arms crossed. The sun is at his back, his face filled with shadows.

Shit.

I sit up and look around, my head foggy, like it’s filled with water and sand. I'm still on the beach but the sun is in a lower position than it was earlier. “What time is it?” I manage to croak. Fragments of my dream come back to me, making me even more confused.

Logan just stares at me. I can feel his eyes burning into mine, even if they’re barely visible in the shadows of his face. “What time is it? Time for you to start work, beach bum.”

No way. Is it seriously four o' clock already? I blink and rub my eyes, trying to wake up.

“You know, I expected more from you,” he says gruffly, “but something tells me you're all talk.”

I can't help but glare at him as I quickly get to my feet, wiping off the sand angrily. “It was an accident. I fell asleep.”

He moves to the left and I can see his face more clearly. His eyes are narrowed, the line deep between his furrowed brows. He’s mad, and while I enjoy pissing him off, I don't like doing it when it comes to my job. “You know what we call people who fall asleep on the beach when they're supposed to be working?” he asks. It’s then that I notice he has a damn apron scrunched up in his hand.