The day continued as normal, or at least the normal that Mayo allowed. It was like yesterday: she ignored my rules, I fixed them, she made vulgar comments about Miss Bean, and I ended up doing everything twice.

She draped herself over the bar, shouting. "Labor exploitation!"

I sighed, watching her out of the corner of my eye. Thinking about what had happened that morning, about how she’d stepped out of Nolan’s car. "Am I really being that bad of a girlfriend?" I thought, looking at my hands.

"You’ve been working here for two years, haven’t you, RyneRyne?"

"Yes," I confirmed, picking up a clean pitcher and starting to wipe it down.

"Then you know perfectly well who’s about to walk in."

"You could say that," I confirmed. "Always, half an hour after we open, Mr. Arrit comes in." I smiled. "It’s a tradition that makes no sense but works."

"What a character. So he gets here in fifteen minutes?"

"Yes, in fourteen minutes and fifty-eight seconds," I noted. "He takes three to five more if he runs into someone he likes, which isn’t very often."

She smiled, making herself more comfortable. "Then I can rest fifteen more minutes."

I set the pitcher in front of her, pointing to a pile of oranges. "Sundays are some of the most family-oriented days," I said with a smile. "So try squeezing a little orange juice — it’s very popular with the kids."

She looked at me, then at the pitcher, then back at me. "LABOR EXPLOITATION!"

Chapter 30: Defense Game I

"Ryne, I’m done," she announced, showing me the full pitcher while I kept arranging cups. "I’m allowed to have a glass — not giving me one would be a crime against my labor rights."

"Help yourself," said Nolan, coming out of the kitchen. "We’re closing up anyway."

I turned to look at him, puzzled. "Closing? On a Sunday morning?"

He nodded, hanging up his apron. "Don’t you remember, Ryne? Last Tuesday Mr. Arrit invited us to his grandson’s game." He pulled an invitation from his pocket. "It was that or a jar of jam, but I know you’ll enjoy this."

"But we can’t close," I said. "A lot of people come here for lunch or to study — especially around noon, which is when most couples show up."

He pointed at the door. "It’s already nine, and nobody’s come in." I looked at the clock — he was right, something unheard of in the neighbors’ routine. "Most of them are at their grandkids’ games, and the students are probably watching that new movie with the chainsaw boy and the explosive girl."

I smiled, imagining the incredible outing it could be. Just him and me, sitting under the only shaded spot in the stadium, drinking apple juice, eating chips while I scold him for putting too much chili on them. Resting my head on his shoulder, and just when we see Mr. Arrit’s grandson near the goal, jumping up at the same time and screaming GOOAAALL.

"It would be amazing," I said, hugging him, one leg bent.

"It will be, Boss," confirmed Mayo, joining my hug.

In that moment, my thoughts were erased along with my routine. "Mayo," I said, picturing every problem. Her arriving and shouting at everyone, claiming all the shade for herself, drinking beer instead of juice, loading up the chips with pork rinds.

"Yes, it’ll be great," she assured us. "I’m a huge football fan. Remember, Nolan?" She stepped back two paces, to somewhere with fewer tables in her way. "The Beavers are gonna win, the Leaflets are gonna lose, their feet are like bricks and they move like little dudes!"

"What was that?" I asked.

"In university I was a very passionate — and very hot — cheerleader." She jumped up onto a table. "Say it with me: B-E-A-V-E-R-S, if you’re not cheering with me then you don’t deserve us. B-E-A-V-E-R-S! AND WHAT DO THEY SAY?"

"BEAVERS!" shouted Nolan with a nostalgic enthusiasm I didn’t recognize as mine.

"THE VANCOUVER BEAVERS!" she cried one last time, spinning on the table. "Woo! Cheering like that always gets me fired up. That’s why I loved being a cheerleader."

I watched her for a moment from behind the bar.

Standing on the table, green apron swaying with the spin, Mayo was exactly what she had always been: too much for any space that tried to contain her.

Nolan was still laughing — that deep belly laugh I didn’t recognize as belonging to me.

"Get off the table," I said.

"The cheerleader doesn’t come down until the crowd demands it!" she declared, arms raised, swaying her hips and with them her skirt, provocatively.

"I AM THE CROWD!" I shouted.

"You’re not the crowd." She jumped to the floor in one move that nearly knocked the table off its marks. "You’re the employee of the month."

Nolan grabbed his backpack from the hook. "Lock up and take whatever you want," he said, heading to the bathroom. "I’ll change and wait for you in my car. We leave in about ten minutes."

Mayo looked at me with a smile after all the shouting, calmer and more thoughtful than usual.

"Were you really a cheerleader?" I asked, finishing the last of the cups. "I wouldn’t be surprised."

"Of course — from the day I started university," she confirmed, taking her glass of juice. "I got kicked off for a month because before an important game I slept with the starting player and left him completely exhausted, so the team ended up short three players."

I went still as I closed the windows. "Three?"

"Five," she clarified. "Counting the two substitutes." She smiled. "Another time I got kicked off was for messing up the cheer."

"What did you yell?"

"Instead of yelling Beavers —" she burst out laughing — "I yelled a clever rhyme. BEAVERS, BEAVERS, YEAH THEY’RE THE ACHIEVERS, BEAVERS, BEAVERS, THEY’RE THE—"

"I think that’s enough," I interrupted.

"They didn’t take it well either."

After locking the front door, we took off our aprons and hung them on the hook.

I closed my eyes for a second. When I turned to look at her:

"Pull your skirt down," I said. "You’re leaving nothing to the imagination."

"That’s the point," she said. "Let them enjoy it."

We left the café and got into Nolan’s car. "Don’t you have a car, Mayo?" I asked, not looking at her.

"I left it at the bar since Friday," she smiled. "I can’t be bothered to go get it — I’d rather wait until I have something worth celebrating."

Sunday midday traffic has its own logic, one that respects no prior calculation.

Nolan drove calmly, weaving between the reckless motorcycles the same way he moved between customers without spilling a drop of coffee. Mayo in the back seat was enjoying her orange juice and packet of cookies.

She really is capable of demanding things and consuming someone else’s effort.

Disgusting.

I was in the passenger seat, window half open, fixing my hair in the mirror. Somewhere between the second traffic light and the bridge, Nolan extended his hand over the gear shift and left it there, open, waiting.

I took it by instinct.

His fingers closed over mine with that familiar warmth, and for a moment the car, the traffic, and the sound of Mayo’s straw all lost their volume, leaving me to enjoy that moment.

"Let’s stop for something to drink," Mayo said, pointing at a supermarket. "Some cold ones." She smiled. "I’ll get the cooler and the beers. You two chip in for the ice."

"I don’t think that’s a great idea, Mayo," I said, feeling my warlock let go of my fingers.

"You’re absolutely right," Mayo agreed. "I’ll get cans — I know what a buzzkill you can be." She snapped her fingers. "Great idea, Ryne."

I turned to look at Nolan, who was already watching Mayo in the rearview mirror — I caught it in that moment, that same look he’d used when she asked for work. "Mayo’s right — what’s a game without beer?"

"But it’s a youth game," I said. "With eight or nine year olds."

Mayo shoved the back of my seat. "Don’t be such a bore, GrannyRyne," she answered. "You’ve got too much cleavage to be playing the good girl." She smiled. "Come on. Don’t be GrannyRyne — do it for Nolan at least."

"Ok," I said, arms in my lap, tugging my skirt down.

Mayo bumped my seat again. "That’s it," she said — and grabbed my chest from behind.

"Don’t touch me," I said, pulling her hands away and crossing my arms, my face red.

She burst out laughing, sprawling across the back three seats. "I got more padding than chest," she said. "Don’t be embarrassed." She sat back up, pointing at the supermarket. "Let’s go get some cold ones, babe."

"Let’s go," answered Nolan.

"UNTIL WE LOSE OUR SHOES!" she screamed, as Nolan hit the gas.