Chapter 7

SEVEN

MAEVE

“You screwed up.” Otto looked at me with a crease between his brows.

He’d been doing that for the better part of an hour, while I’d pretended not to notice. The two of us sat in the otherwise empty arcade behind the counter in oversized bean bag chairs.

“What did I screw up?” My eyes lingered on the page of my graphic novel. Otto couldn’t know what had happened with Elliot last night, so he couldn’t be talking about that screw-up.

“You flipped three pages instead of one.”

I shrugged. “Okay. How about you focus on your own book. You haven’t turned any pages in at least ten minutes.”

“You wouldn’t know that if you were actually reading.”

“Right back at ya, buddy.”

I kept staring at the page, but my brain refused to digest the content. The writing was fast-paced. The art was fantastic. If Locke & Key couldn’t keep me engaged, nothing would.

My mind was a million miles away. Okay, it was stuck half a day in the past, and not so far, distance-wise. It was entirely consumed with the memory of Elliot’s words and the other things Elliot did with his mouth.

His lips were like snake charmers if my lips were snakes, my brain was a snake, and my body was a snake whose only desire during his seductive song was to strip the both of us naked.

“We need to talk,” Otto said, ripping me back to the present.

That was an ominous opener if I ever heard one. Whatever had been bothering him, it was not good, and he was finally ready to share.

Was it his health? He’d had that biopsy on the spot from the top of his head not that long ago. Was it his wife’s health?

Suddenly snake charming lips seemed like a silly thing to be worrying about.

I closed my book and braced myself. “What’s going on?”

“I’ve been trying to figure out the best way to tell you this for a while now.” Otto abandoned his book to the floor and twisted his hands together in his lap.

My throat went tight. Don’t be dying. If you’re dying, I’m going to be so mad at you, Otto. I smiled what I hoped was an encouraging smile.

“I’ve decided to retire.”

“What?” Retire? “ You’re not even that old.”

“Maeve.” My name sounded like a balm of rationality when he said it like that. “I’m seventy-eight.”

“Yeah, with a good twenty more years ahead of you, minimum. Plus, with technological advances, eighty’s the new forty.”

He flat-out laughed at me.

“I’ll help you.” No way could I let him retire. This place was our everything. Both of us. Together. “You can chill on your bean bag and I’ll?—”

“Maeve. Sit back down, please.”

I hadn’t realized I’d stood. Now my book was abandoned on the floor. My fists were clenched at my sides, too.

To be fair, this was pretty much the worst thing that could happen to me, and that was really saying something. Still, I took a breath and I sat back down.

Otto cleared his throat. “I wanted to put you in charge, keep things going more or less as they’ve been….”

“Okay, sure, I’ll be in charge, and you can come hang out whenever you feel up to it, between drinking Negronis with your wife and doing…puzzles? What do you even expect to do with all of your time?”

He sighed. “I wanted to put you in charge, but I can’t keep this place going. It’s a money pit. Look around.”

I did. The arcade was awesome, always had been. I thought it always would be.

“Notice anything missing?” Otto asked.

“No.”

“Customers.”

Oh. That. “This place is perfect. But if we need more money, maybe we could try putting on an event.”

He shook his head.

“What about Bruce and Riley?” What about me? “What are they supposed to do without this place? They love it here. They need us.”

“They’ll be okay. So will you.”

No, I wouldn’t. I was happy here. This was my place in the world.

Where would I go? What would I do?

Without the arcade, who was I?

My phone rang in my pocket.

I flicked it to silence.

“I’m going to change your mind,” I said. “I’ll fix this.”

Otto gave me a pitying look. “I’ll keep the place going as long as I can. I’ll give you time to find something else.”

“What if I need thirty more years?”

“We’ll get through the holidays. Then I expect you to find another job.” Otto awkwardly rolled out of the beanbag and crawled down the hall.

I followed after him. “Let me help you.”

“I’m fine. I like crawling. It’s good for…checking the carpet’s cleanliness.”

I rolled my eyes. “Stubborn old man.”

Now all I had to do was bring in a ton of customers to convince him he was wrong.

Otto crawled into his office, spun around, and shut the door.

I cupped my hands to make sure he could hear me. “Holler when you want me to peel you off the floor.”

“Never,” he called back.

Getting him to change his mind about closing the arcade was going to take big-time convincing.

I pulled out my phone and saw the missed call was from Bradford. Since I’d been ignoring his texts, he’d been calling a lot with increased levels of panic. Good. I ignored his calls, too. Also, who cared about freaking Bradford Armstrong? The arcade was in trouble.

The first person I thought of, the one I wanted to go to for help, was Elliot.

That was ridiculous. I needed to find help elsewhere.

The second person I thought of was Viv. She was unreachable in a winter hellscape in the mountains, making her “enemy” miserable. I kind of hoped she realized she was secretly in love with him and they were making snow babies out there instead of ripping each other’s hair out. Either way I couldn’t reach her.

That left one option.

I sent a text to my sister Cara.

Me: Come to the arcade and spend lots of money

Cara: I don’t play video games?

Me: You do now

Cara: Uh….

I scrolled through my other contacts, and froze over my step-brother’s name. My family would support me if I asked, right?

Me: Hey, Amir! Hope the honeymoon was great

It had been enough time for that to be over, right?

Me: If you’re still away, ignore until you get home

Me: Then come to the arcade and bring everyone you know

And then I realized that by asking my family for anything meant they’d know that I was going to be out of a job. They’d know that everything they’d said about me was right.

I typed: Just joking, forget it.

The words lingered there on my screen, unsent.

If I was going to save the arcade, I needed all the help I could get. Plus, who cared if all of my loved ones thought I was a sorry excuse for a real adult? Not me. They already thought that, so same old, same old.

I deleted the text and got a bit of acid in my throat. Then I continued my tour of desperation right onto social media.

I typed in a quick message about how arcades are the best and everyone should come to the one where I worked. It sounded like a pathetic ad, and I posted it anyway.

Then I scrolled around.

Bradford’s trophies filled my feed, which was hilarious. There were also pictures from Amir’s wedding, which was not hilarious. But then I saw Tatianna’s name tagged on a comment on one of Bradford’s pics.

I clicked to her page and scrolled.

All the pictures I’d seen before of her and Bradford together were gone, as if he’d never existed.

Most of the remaining pictures were the kind of glamorous shots that belonged to an influencer, where she posed stunningly in a bubble bath or looking over a tropical beach. It looked like she had the perfect charmed and Bradford-free life.

Amir and Rachel were in some of the photos, and further back before Amir, more Rachel. Why was I doing this? Morbid curiosity? Searching for some secret flaw in her life that would make me feel like it wasn’t just me who was less than perfect? If that was it, that was dumb. Social media wasn’t reality.

And then I saw Elliot.

Around two years back, there were lots of pictures of Elliot.

Lots of pictures of Tatianna near or hanging onto Elliot.

I already knew they were friends, and the pictures were old. Why was I feeling this pressure in my chest?

I closed the app. I needed to focus on saving the arcade.

I knew someone who was perfect for helping me with this. Helping keep people in their homes was Elliot’s whole thing, right? It wasn’t too big of a stretch to think he could help a business, too.

But then I’d have to ask him for a favor.

And he hadn’t texted since I’d kissed him and run away.

So…what was I supposed to say now?

Before I could talk myself out of it, I texted.

Me: Hey

Dots flicked like he was writing back. They stopped. Then they started again…and stopped.

He didn’t know what to say to me after I’d acted like such an idiot. Was texting him a mistake?

Finally a message came through.

Elliot: Hi, Maeve

Me: How’s it going?

Smooth, real smooth.

Elliot: Enjoying Armstrong’s meltdown on SocialFace

Me: Me, too

Bradford was our safe topic. This was good. And it gave me an idea, one that would help me bridge into what I really needed to talk to Elliot about.

Me: Want to meet up tomorrow night?

Elliot: Yes

Me: We can do dinner

Why did I say dinner after dashing off before we even had a chance to order pizza last night? Was I trying to prove something?

Elliot: I’m in

A small pang of panic rose up in my system. Okay, this was happening. Dinner was happening. Seeing Elliot again was happening.

Me: We can take pics to post. Imagine Bradford’s already melting down when he sees his ex and his rival together. It’ll crush him even more

I could talk to Elliot about saving the arcade, hurt Bradford, and eat some good food. Sounded like a winning combination to me. Nothing scary.

Elliot: It’s a fake date

I wasn’t sure which word weighed heavier in my gut—the word date or the word fake. Either way, I was glad I’d thought to give myself a day to mentally prepare for seeing him again.