“Then how did you know it was her?” Jane asks, voice flirty.
“I’ve been yelling ‘Celia’ every time I see a group of three girls. You’re the first set that’s turned around. I’m right, aren’t I?” Jude says, grinning.
“Right. Hi,” I finally say. Jude turns back to me and extends a hand. I let it hang awkwardly in the air for a moment before grimacing and shaking it. I stiffen as more memories hit me, this time details about his first love, his first kiss, the way the sunlight looked in her hair—
I release his palm. Way too much information in that memory…
“Sorry,” he says. “I just feel like, you know, at least shake the hand of the person who saved your life.”
“Sit down,” Anne says, pointing to the chair beside me. He obliges, sweeping the palm-tree hat off as he does so.
“It’s my uniform. No, seriously. My boss says that we sell more when we wear the palm-tree one.”
“This is your job?” Jane says. “I thought you were a musician.”
“Haven’t you heard the whole ‘starving artist’ thing?” Jude asks. Jane nods. “It’s true. Dr. Wacky’s pays the bills. Or at least some of the bills. The smaller ones, mostly.” He leans back and fans himself with the menu—I can see more of his tattoos now. Flowers and waves on his lower right arm open up into an image of a mermaid on his upper. She’s blue-skinned and blond, with a long, curled fishtail. She looks nothing like Naida, but it’s not the tail or hair that makes them different—it’s something to do with her mouth, her demure smile. It’s an expression I can’t imagine on Naida’s lips.
“So,” Jude says. “Sisters. Twins?” He motions to Anne and Jane.
“Triplets,” Anne corrects him, and points back at me. “I’m Anne.”
“Jane,” she introduces herself.
“Is there a trick to telling the two of you apart?”
“No,” Anne answers a little smugly.
“Damn,” he says. The fact that he has no problem telling me apart from Anne and Jane doesn’t bother me like it does with others.
We order cheap appetizers as our meal, all with silly beach-themed names like Krazy Kokonut Shrimp and Bahamarita Alligator Bites. It helps that there’s also a bottomless basket of hush puppies, which is a standard for every restaurant in town, even a Thai one. I jump every time Jane or Anne reaches for a hush puppy and it looks like they might touch Jude, try to read him. I already know so much about him; it isn’t fair that they get to know even more. They behave, though, and I start to relax and actually listen to what Jude is saying. It’s nothing I don’t already know, pretty much—where he’s from, no siblings, lived here for two years—but I pretend for a little while that this is all new information, like we’re normal people meeting and I don’t have to act like I couldn’t practically write an essay on his past.
I’m so relaxed, I guess, that I let my guard down by the end of the meal, which is exactly when Jane strikes. Reaching across the table for the last spring roll, she lets her hand brush Jude’s arm. It’s hardly anything, but it was enough, clearly, because I see Anne and Jane exchange glances. I sigh. What’s the point in trying?
Jane giggles quietly over whatever she saw. When Jude gets up to go pay at the register a few minutes later, she loses it, dissolving into a fit of laughter.
“Stop it,” I beg her, straight-faced. “Don’t mess with him like the others.”
“What did you see?” Anne asks excitedly.
“No! He’s nice. Don’t do this!”
“Oh, he may be nice,” Jane says, holding up her hands. “But just so you know, Celia, he was thinking about you naked when I touched him. He has… what’s it called, when you save someone and they fall for you?”
“Oh, I know this. Nightingale syndrome? Like Florence Nightingale? Or am I making that up? I hate history class,” Anne says, ignoring the fact that I’m blushing furiously. It’s not that I even care if Jude thought about me naked—okay, I care a little, but that’s not the point. I don’t think I’m the one he’s fallen for, if he’s fallen for anyone. He remembers Naida, not me. He’s just confused.
“Stop it! Both of you, stop!” I finally snap, though I’m talking to my subconscious as much as my sisters. Their eyes widen at my tone—I never talk to them this way. We never talk to one another this way. I’m instantly sorry, but not sorry enough to say so aloud. My sisters fall silent for a few heartbeats, giving Jude just enough time to return.
“So, where are you three headed now? And is it somewhere that a fine animal-shaped hat might be appreciated?” he asks. “Because I’ve got a stingray hat back at the cart that would look lovely on you, Anne. Or are you Jane?”
“Jane has to go get her hair cut after this,” Anne answers, irritation with me lacing her voice. “After that we’re just going home. I think we’re going out tonight.”
“All three of you?” Jude asks.
“I’m not,” I cut in. I can be just as bitter as you, Anne.
“Ah,” Jude says, becoming aware that he’s touched on something uncomfortable. He glances from Anne to me, then speaks slowly. “You know, Celia… you said to tell you if there was anything you could do to help me earn guitar-fund money. What if I were to call in that favor this afternoon? I mean, if you really don’t have any plans.”
“How will I get home?” I ask.
“I’ve got a car,” Jude says. “I’ll take you.”
I nod at Jude; Anne rolls her eyes at both of us. “Fine. Nice meeting you, Jude. We’ve got to get back. We’ll see you later tonight, Celia?”
“Sure,” I say through a sigh. Anne rises, drops her napkin on the table, and starts out. Jane follows suit, grinning at Jude before she hurries off.
Jude and I are silent for a moment. A long moment.
“So… did I just miss something?” he finally says, turning to me.
“Kind of,” I answer. “They don’t like it when I disagree with them. They really don’t like it when I’m vocal about it.”
“And did I hear one of them say I have Florence Nightingale syndrome?”