Red Lights

“What the hell is wrong with you? Do you have cancer? Are you demented? WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU?”

The older woman in line in front of us glanced back, her brow creased. I felt my cheeks get warm.
Dylan laughed next to me, still scanning the side shelves leading up to the register. He eyed the different wrapped candies and chocolates. I could see his mind working with his taste buds, trying to remember what flavors he liked best and what he was craving. I leaned against the cart under my elbow, watching him.

I reached out, my fingers folding over a corner of his baseball tee. I pulled gently, before letting go to instead wrap my hand just below his elbow. He looked up, eyebrows raised, a small smile playing at his lips.

“Really, though,” I said, and I was almost whining. I tried to be quieter as I spoke, but it just came out at a higher pitch than I wanted, the syllables running longer than they should have. “What’s going on with Stiles?”

He shook his head, finally tearing his gaze away from the shelf for good, stepping closer to me. His arm wound around my waist, fingertips bumping over my hip a few times as he glanced down at me.

‘Trust me, Liv. You don’t want to know.”

I pouted.

He was wrong. I really did want to know and even his wandering hands and puppy dog eyes could not kill that curiosity.

He chuckled, dimples filling his cheeks. He glanced forward, nudging the cart closer to the cashier as the woman who had been in front of us got out her credit card to pay.

“I mean it,” he said, pulling me closer for a moment, our hips bumping. “You don’t. It will all be worth it in the end. Just hold on and enjoy the ride.”

“You’re evil,” I groaned, disentangling myself from his grasp to start loading the conveyor belt with my groceries.

“Not me,” he said, reaching for the half gallon of milk sitting at the bottom of the cart. “But maybe Stiles is.”

“Nope,” I said to him after greeting the cashier. “You; you are the evil one, O’Brien.”

I couldn’t watch the show with him anymore. He didn’t answer my questions or give anything away about the season, which drove me crazy. All I was asking for was the inside scoop, which he had!

Dylan was stingy with it, though, saying it should be a surprise.

I hate surprises.

Instead I watched every new episode of Teen Wolf alone, wrapped in my bed, amazed and confused by the ever-changing and revealing plot and my boyfriend’s talent.

Then, every Monday, when it was over, I would send him a text message, usually filled with pages of key smashing or choice words. Like clockwork, he would call me moments later, his laugh filling my ear. I sunk lower in my bed, pressing the phone closer, as he vaguely answered my questions and listened to my theories and ignored my attempts of prying knowledge from him.

--

Now, it was Wednesday. And I was running late, unfortunately.

I walked in to the venue hesitantly, my mind and fingers preoccupied with tapping away at my phone screen. I’d lost track of time, which was very out of character for me, and ended up barely having time to shower before work. I hadn’t answered any of Dylan’s texts all day and I knew I should do it before work, not during, if I wanted to avoid the wrath of my family and coworkers. They would be more lenient on my tardiness than if I was preoccupied when I was supposed to be working, especially if that meant that I was texting my boyfriend.

“Watch out,” someone said, and I looked up. In the few seconds since I’d scanned the room before, it had turned from hard floors and white walls to a dark button up too close to my face.

I glanced up at the face just as my hands hit their chest, my legs not stopping fast enough.

Dylan placed his hands on my elbows, smiling at me.

“Who could be so important that you’re this distracted?”

I pursed my lips, moving my bangs. I exited out of messaging and locked my phone without looking away from him, glancing over his shoulder toward the person who had spoken a moment before. My brother. “My boyfriend, actually.”

He grinned. “Oh, you managed one of those?”

I snorted, rubbing my lips together, turning my eyes back to his. His hands moved over my arms, fingers spreading warmth against my skin. I tucked my phone into the small pocket of my purse.

“Don’t sound so surprised.”

“Well, I’m a little disappointed. I was coming over to talk to you actually, maybe get your number. But if you have a boyfriend I suppose I should refrain…Is he a scary dude? Is he like, a big guy or..?”
I bit down on my lip, shaking my head as I started walking over to where my brother was standing, grinning and laughing like an idiot behind the lobby desk.

“I wouldn’t be afraid or anything. He’s pretty tiny. Couldn’t hurt a fly.” To this, Dan exploded in another fit of laughter, much louder than before.

“Okay, that’s just really mean, Liv,” Dylan said. I turned back to him. He was quickly within arms reach. I pressed my palm to his chest, smoothing over the wrinkled line of buttons of his shirt.

“You asked for it. You literally asked for it.”

He just frowned.

“What are you doing here?” I asked, taking a single sheet of paper from Dan as he thrust it at me, bending my head to look over it. I only glanced up when he spoke.

“I’m working,” Dylan said, all grins. I felt my mouth drop, my brow contort in a crease.

“Says who?”

“Says me,” I turned around just as my grandmother walked in the room. She had on a light blue button-up, her thinning hair curled into little tufts of gray. She smiled at me, laying her hand on my forearm. “Is that alright, sweetie?”

I was astonished, honestly. Dylan was at my work – it wasn’t even the office, it was a venue. He was going to be working with me and apparently my grandmother was starting to get back into the swing of the business. I swear, I’d only lost time by returning books to the library downtown, not in freaking Boston, Massachusetts or somewhere that put me across the map, across the world in time. Where the hell was I when these decisions were made?

“John’s off tonight,” Dan said, falling into the seat behind him. “He hasn’t seen his folks in a while. Some of the other guys are out, too, and we’re underhanded – ”

“For a twelve year old’s birthday party?” I asked.

“I asked him to come.”

I rolled my eyes. I didn’t care, honestly, that Dylan was here, or that he was hanging out with my family, or even that he was going to be my coworker for the evening. I didn’t care. It was just something I would have liked to have been warned about.

“So we’re all good?”

“We are,” I told Dan. “Is he pairing with me, then? Or are you two trying to get all buddy-buddy or some shit? I’d really like to not be spending my days worrying about if my boyfriend is trading me in for my brother.”

He nodded, pointing a finger between the two of us. Taking this as my signal and chance to leave, I walked back around the desk, grabbed Dylan’s arms, and yanked it most likely a little too hard as I pulled him with me through the main venue doors.

--

“Can you please explain to me how this kid is so important,” Dylan whispered in my ear, his nose brushing across my skin as leaned down next to me. I snorted softly, watching the scene ahead of us. Absolute chaos. Well, as chaotic as a tea party for a bunch of pre-teenage girls could possible be. They’d been throwing glitter at one another for the past fifteen minutes, the air a permanent dust cloud of pink sparkles. I didn’t dare go near the tables.

All I could say is, thank god we weren’t the catering crew. Our jobs were easy compared to theirs.
“Her daddy is a big deal,” I said, my fingers wrapped around his wrist to pull him down to my height so I wouldn’t have to speak loudly. “She gets what she wants.”

Apparently, what she wants is a proper, delicate tea party with her closest friends. At least, that’s what she’s crying about to her mother currently, her face turning the same shade of pink as her tulle dress when one of the other girls tossed glitter straight into her face and eyes. I’d like to note that there were almost thirty other young girls attending her birthday tea.

Thirty hellions dressed in varying colors of dresses, their hair done up, being far too loud for a tea. They were driving catering, four college students and the company owner, absolutely crazy, running around with lemonades, teas and small sandwiches to hold them over before the actual meal.
Dylan’s hand twitched over mine, his fingers finding their way into my palm. His thumb brushed across my knuckles twice.

“Is this all you do?”

I finally looked at him, eyebrows shooting up past my bangs. His mouth fell open immediately, an attempt at words falling out.

“I-I didn’t mean that and you know it. I just… is there nothing else we can do right now? Catering is dying and all we’re doing is holding up the walls.”

He was right. The most we had done all night was move some chairs around after the girls pushed them around in their hurry to surround the birthday girl in a peppy circle of song to start the event. There was no point to security right now, we were just for show. These kind of gigs were the worst of all, like our jobs were a joke.

We do still get paid, however, so I can’t really complain.

I called over to my brother on my phone. Our headsets were unnecessary tonight, so this was my line of communication for now.

“We’re gonna check out catering,” I say, “nothing’s happening on the floor anyway. You got the kids covered?”

Dan’s response was typical. “I hate you. I do.”

“Whatever, Dan,” I say, rolling my eyes. He was on the other side of the kids, holding up the opposite wall. I only hoped he could see my eye roll from there.

“Steal me a sandwich, would you?”

I hang up on him. I nod to Dylan. He starts for the kitchens before I can even shove my phone back into my purse, dragging me with him by the hand.

If we thought the piles of young girls were chaos, then the inside of the kitchen was a full on war zone. I knew the final dish was supposed to be a light pasta dish, with just some vegetables and no meat. It was easy enough, until you multiplied the dish by thirty or forty.

There were shallow bowls covering the entirety of the center table, with barely any of the metal top showing. The counters were covered in bags and dishes, half cut vegetables. On the stove top, a large, deep pot full of boiling water and penne, sitting next to two other pots that were also simmering.

Another thing, it was hot. The back of my neck was instantly warm and clammy, as if I’d stepped into a sauna and not just another room in the venue. I rubbed at the nape of my neck under my ponytail, trying to size the situation. It took me a moment to grasp everything.

There was low rumbling everywhere, which together, made the room almost loud. Not in comparison to the events in the other room, but loud nonetheless. The boiling pots, the sound of hands moving ingredients from step to step, feet shuffling, and three out of the five catering employees all mumbling lowly to themselves and each other.

“Do you need help?” Dylan said next to me. I watched as three heads whipped around, six eyes planting themselves on him, then me. All of the employees were women, so upon hearing a male’s voice, they jumped, concerned, confused, anxious. Their brows were damp.

“Ummm,” the girl closest to us, hovering between the stove and the counter, a large spoon in hand, started, but stopped as she glanced at the other girls around her. They all stared back at one another uselessly. Then the door opened again, almost bumping into my back. Dylan stepped forward at the last second, his hand guiding me away from the door’s edge.

“What’s going on?” A woman said, and I turned, looking down at the shorter, rounder woman. She was the oldest of the bunch, with dark red hair brushed through with gray. I recognized her from somewhere, knowing well enough that she was the head woman of this operation.

“We were wondering if you would like any help,” Dylan said, his voice wafting slightly from above me. “We’re from security and we aren’t too busy, so we wanted to lend a hand. If you’d let us.”

I didn’t know this woman other than the fact that we’d worked events together before, so I couldn’t tell what she was feeling as her face slowly turned from slightly pink to a deep red. I glanced behind me at the young women surrounding the counters, trying to see what they knew – but there was nothing. When I looked back at the woman, she was exhaling, as if one deep breath pushed from her lungs would make the color in her face fade back to normal.

“Please,” she said, blinking slowly. “If you could refill drinks and bring back empty dishes while we finish the next course… that would be appreciated. The lemonade is on that counter behind Sandy – and if your pitcher runs low, we’ve brought a cooler with more. It’s in the next room, on the bake table.”

“Alright,” Dylan said loudly next to me, his voice cheerful. He clapped his hands together once, turning on his heel to grab the pitchers she was talking about. He handed me one, the perspiration on the glass made it slick and hard to hold. I pressed my palm to the bottom as well as holding the handle.

“Also, can you send Darla in – she’s the one with curly hair. We could really use her help in here.”

“Yes ma’am,” I said, just as the door shut behind us.

-

Picking up after the girls and refilling their drinks wasn’t as painful as I initially expected – not even when stacking plates turned into a stacked line of girls waiting to get their picture taken with Dylan.
It started out fine. We moved and refilled water glasses and lemonades, removing the small sandwich plates and sweeping crumbs from the tablecloths. The girls didn’t notice us – just as it always is in these sorts of businesses. We do our work so they can pay attention to their friends and the party, not so we can draw attention from them. Be seen, but not noticed.

But when you’re a television star for a show targeted toward the age group of the people we’re currently serving, someone was bound to notice just who Dylan was. The girl who first noticed – thin and wearing a lilac dress, her hair braided behind her ears – didn’t bat an eye when she thanked Dylan as he refilled her glass, instead calling him Stiles.
He chuckled, a grin spreading over his lips as he moved to fill her neighbor’s cup as well. When she spoke again, it was louder, as she turned in her seat to talk to her friend behind her. “Kiera, look! It’s Stiles. From Teen Wolf!”

Kiera’s eyes bugged out of her head.

Next thing I knew, I was holding one of the mom’s cameras and snapping photos of all the girls who wanted to pose with him.

Susan – the caterer – had come out a few minutes after this new chaos started, but didn’t complain or argue when I apologized for what was happening. She seemed relieved actually, as this gave them a chance to focus on something else than the slow service.

The line was dwindling now, only a few girls left in line wanting a hug or to offer a shy smile for a photo. I waved the next girl forward after the last scurried away.

“Hi,” she said, pushing against the nose of her dark glasses. She reached just above Dylan’s waist, one of the taller of the girls I had seen. “My name’s Melissa.”

“Hi, Melissa,” he said, smiling. This had been going on for twenty minutes and still he was smiling. I’d be puking by now, having to smile for a camera and pose so many times.

“I saw you in that Google movie. You look better with glasses.”

I pressed a hand to my mouth, suppressing a laugh as it threatened to fall from my lips. Dylan laughed next to the girl, wrapping an arm around her shoulder.

“I understand,” he said, as he turned them both toward me for the picture. “I think everyone looks better in glasses.” She laughed during her picture.

I was just taking the last picture when Susan and her four workers came out of the kitchen, all carrying six bowls with them, three on each arm. Soon all the girls were back in their seats, food in front of them, talking and eating, much calmer than before.

I hated the inactive down time that always happened at work, usually, but today I was thankful to go back to holding up the wall.

“I didn’t realize you were such a babe magnet,” I said, bumping my shoulder against his.

He smiled, just slightly, as he bumped me back. “Now you know,” the whole length of his arm bumped against mine, his knuckles grazing mine. “You better hold on tight or I might get snatched up.”

“Yeah,” I sighed. “Or, I can just let you go. Sell our story to the tabloids. Get enough cash to afford a new car, go to college… move out of my grandma’s house or something.”

“Man, you really know the way to a man’s heart, you know? Your comfort with our impending breakup really warms my soul.”

“You think you’re soooo funny,” I mumbled, pressing my fingers into his palm. “I hate to break it to you, but this whole wounded puppy thing doesn’t really work on me.”

“Even when the puppy is as cute as me?” He said, turning and bending his head, as his breath blew against my cheek.

“Nope,” I grinned, glancing at him. “It does help, though.”