Nathan rolled his eyes and smiled at Rachel. “He said he’s going to spit in my food.” He gestured toward the man. “This is my friend Miguel. He owns this place.”
She relaxed. “It’s nice to meet you.”
Miguel glanced at Nathan. “？Tu novia?”
“I’m not his girlfriend,” Rachel interjected, with a quick scan of the parking lot.
Nathan leaned against the counter. “Don’t sound so offended.”
“I’m not offended. I just—” He stood there grinning while she fumbled. Her face warmed. “Forget it.”
“She’s my aunt,” Nathan said, with a different, less crooked smile. This one was broader, all teeth and flirty dimple. “Can’t you see the resemblance?”
She rolled her eyes. “Okay, ha ha, fuck you.”
“What’s your name, beautiful?” Miguel asked.
She hesitated. Nathan must have noticed because he moved to block her from Miguel’s view. “Princesa.”
Miguel shook his head. “Reina. Get it right.” He winked at her over Nathan’s shoulder. “I’m single, by the way. In case you really are his aunt.”
Nathan groaned. “The food, man, come on.”
“It’s coming. Two with everything?”
Nathan looked at her to confirm. She shook her head. “No onions.”
“No onions on either.”
Miguel nodded. “Give me ten minutes.”
They sat down at an iron-lattice table with unlabeled bottles of chili sauce in the center. Nathan grabbed two and set them to one side. “How hot?”
“Nuclear.”
He grabbed another dark red bottle. “Figured.”
“Did he really not recognize me?”
“Who, Miguel?” His eyes slid over her face. “You don’t really look like yourself right now.”
She caught her reflection in the silver napkin holder. Her hair had nearly escaped from her ponytail. Without eye makeup and lipstick, her features looked smaller—plainer. She should have put on eyeliner, at least. “I wasn’t planning on seeing anyone today.”
“That’s not how I meant it. You look good.” His eyes fell briefly to her shirt. “Just different.”
She wanted to press him for more details. Did she look single? Like a jilted wife? Between him and Miguel, this was the most open interest she’d received from men in years. She still wore her ring, but she didn’t hate the idea of being perceived as someone who had evolved beyond believing in wedding vows.
“At least I remembered to wear shoes this time.”
Nathan folded his arms on the table, displaying a phoenix drawn in swirls of red and gold from his elbow to his wrist. “I like that you went out that way. It told me a lot about you.”
“Such as?”
He paused and considered the question. “You’re not who everyone thinks you are. But it’s intentional. You prefer it.”
It was a little too close to being called fake than she was comfortable with, but that didn’t make it any less true. Hiding was safer. And was it really hiding when the world was watching? Wasn’t that more like self-preservation?
The worst part of being the woman standing beside a man that everyone adored was the constant pressure to prove that you deserved it.
“It makes things easier,” she said. It was also lonely, something she’d only realized last night when Nathan had given her his sweatshirt.
“Easier for who? You?”
“Yes,” she said, her voice sharpening. She hated when someone who would never have her problems thought they could fix them in five minutes. “You don’t have to understand.”
“I know,” he said sheepishly. “Sorry, but it seems miserable. You should be able to blow off steam and make mistakes like the rest of us.” He leaned closer. “Tell me about one. Something messed up, that deep down you really don’t give a shit about. Something juicy and formative.”
Rachel laughed. His thumb trailed lazily over his forearm as he waited for her to speak. Watching him made her skin tighten again. She averted her eyes. “I have an incomplete tattoo.”
He smiled. “I’m listening.”
The story was embarrassing in a way that most college freshman stories were. At that point in her life, she was still naive and insecure. The most dramatic thing she’d experienced was childbirth, and people like her friend Shauna were so dismissive of the concept of motherhood that Rachel had stopped mentioning her daughter in their presence. One night, Shauna had gotten drunk and called Rachel a white-girl prom queen pretending to be down. “It pissed me off,” Rachel said. “While yes, I pretended to be interested in her shitty performance art, I was never a fucking prom queen. And her family owned a house on Martha’s Vineyard!”