“Pretty much what I thought it would be like,” Zane says after a moment. “I’ve made my way up the ranks a bit. I’m a specialist now, got my certification last year.”
“Making bank?” I grin at him.
Zane rolls his eyes. “Making more than I was making before,” he says. “But if it weren’t for accommodations on base and food at the mess hall, I’d be just about breaking even. What about you?”
“I’m making enough to stay afloat in Brooklyn, which is saying something,” I tell him with a grin. “But supposedly the publishing company I’m working for is underpaying me a bit for my skills.”
“What makes you say that?”
I shrug. “One of my friends who works for another publisher, doing mostly the same thing I’m doing, is making about three thousand a year more than me.”
“Oof, that sucks,” Zane says. “Any chance to talk them into bumping you up?”
I think about that. There’s a possibility that I might be able to talk the publisher I work for into upping my pay, but I’ll have to wait for that, at least for another couple of months. Once the big project is over, I’ll be in a position to ask for almost anything I want, as long as I do a good job at it.
“Maybe,” I tell him. “In the next couple of months, but not right now.”
We chat like that for a while, and it feels weird, but at the same time it actually kind of feels nice. I think about the different conversations that Zane and I have had over the years, before we parted ways, right in that same spot.
By the time I’m walking back to my house, yawning because it’s almost one in the morning, I think to myself that it was worth the little bit of grief I got at the office for asking for an entire week off.
I walk back to my room and turn down the sheets in my bed, exhausted. I know Mom and Dad will have me up early, helping the Lewises get ready for the first big party of their anniversary blowout.
As I drift off, I think to myself that my mom wasn’t all that wrong about Zane.
CHAPTER FOUR
ZANE LEWIS
As I get to the bottom of the stairs that morning, I can smell the eggs, bacon and coffee in the kitchen. I went to bed the night before after talking to Harper without even thinking about the leftover pot roast Mom had told me about, so I woke up starving.
Dad’s sitting at the table, and Mom’s taking something out of the oven as I walk into the kitchen.
“Just in time, as always,” Dad says with a smile.
“Never miss a meal,” I tell him.
He gets up and hugs me real quick before gesturing for me to take my usual seat at the table.
“We’ve got bacon, eggs, coffee, fruit salad and muffins,” Mom says. “If you can’t find something to eat, you’re not looking.”
She brings muffins to the table along with the bacon. The eggs and fruit salad are already there, and the three of us start eating.
“What’s on the agenda for today?” I shovel a forkful of eggs into my mouth and crunch some bacon with it. The mess hall on base is good, but there’s something about the way Mom does it.
“We need to finish getting the house ready,” Mom says.
“Your mother practically wants to renovate before tonight’s party,” Dad tells me.
“I do not!” Mom throws a muffin at him and Dad catches it and takes a bite. “Anyway, there’s just the decorating to do. Nadine and Harper are coming over to help in a little bit, too.”
That piques my interest a little bit, even though I was kind of expecting it.
“When does the party start?” I know Mom probably told me before, but I can’t remember. My parents have so much going on for their anniversary that it almost seems ridiculous.
“Starts at seven,” Dad says.
“I’ve got some stuff prepped for food, but I’ll need your help icing down the drinks and things, too,” Mom tells me.
“I can do that,” I say. I drink down some coffee, have some more eggs, bacon and another muffin. “What are we serving for food?”
“The usual stuff,” Mom replies. “That veggie plate everyone loves, your aunt is bringing her crab dip, Nadine agreed to make her salsa. Dad’s making his meatballs, and we’ll have some other odds and ends that people are bringing.”
“Your mom pre-made some kind of spinach pastry thing,” Dad adds.
“How many people are you expecting?” It sounded like a lot of food, but I knew by the end of the night it would probably be gone all the same, or at least there would only be enough leftovers for us to snack on the next day.
“Only about thirty-five for this one,” Mom says. “The bigger party, for the whole neighborhood, is in a few days.”