She snorted. “What does that even mean?”
“It means I wish I was a vegetarian, but I sorta don’t like vegetables. It makes being a vegetarian awfully hard.”
“What do you mean you don’t like vegetables? Like all of them?”
“Unfortunately, yes. My parents tried to force me to eat them when I was little. They’d tell me I couldn’t get up from the table until my plate was clean. They eventually gave up after I fell asleep at the table for like the hundredth time. Nothing like having green beans stuck to your face.”
I noticed when I mentioned my parents that Mac shifted gears and began talking about food again. It seemed anytime the subjects of family and friends came up, she would say as little as possible. Not that I would embarrass her by probing the matter further. I had a feeling that would be like adding gas to a fire.
We spent the rest of the drive talking about what other foods neither of us liked. At least she seemed to be having a good time and was completely relaxed when I pulled into a hole-in-the-wall Mexican restaurant I’d been going to all my life. I could tell she approved when she breathed in deeply the moment we stepped into the restaurant. I couldn’t blame her. The scent of spices and fresh tortillas hung heavily in the air.
“It smells like heaven on a stick in here,” she commented as the hostess led us to a table.
“That’s nothing. Wait till you try the food. I swear, everything they make here is delicious. The tortillas are the fucking bomb, though.”
“Señor Bentley, your mouth.” Ana approached our table with a frown on her face. Her accent was heavy, but easy to understand, especially after all the years I’d been coming here. “What would your poor momma say?”
“Ana, I was only expressing how delicious your homemade tortillas are. You can’t blame a guy for being enthusiastic about your cooking,” I crooned, turning on the charm. Ana and her husband, Pedro, were practically family after the amount of time my family and I had spent at their restaurant over the years. Never having children of their own, they’d showered my sister and me with attention while I was growing up. Between Ana and my mom, I had two women who regularly chastised me for my language. I tried to tell them both I was an adult now, but my argument never seemed to stick.
“Don’t think you can charm me with that smile of yours, mijo. I’ll tell your momma if I catch vulgar language on that tongue again. Comprende?”
“Yes, ma’am,” I answered as Mac smirked.
“And who is this pretty young lady?” Ana asked, studying Mac with her typical eagle eye.
“This is Mac.” Mac shifted slightly now that the attention was on her.
“Mac? That is not a name suitable for such a lovely girl.”
“Ana,” I warned. Ana had an uncomfortable habit of saying whatever was on her mind.
“It’s short for Mackenzie,” Mac answered. Her gaze was unwavering, though her voice shook slightly. It pained me to see her uncomfortable. Her shyness was what had initially drawn me in and now I felt protective because of it.
“Mackenzie,” Ana said aloud, like she was testing it out. “Now that is a beautiful name. I will call you Mackenzie. Mac is some disgusting hamburger you get at fake restaurants.”
“Ana, fast-food restaurants are not fake. And Mackenzie prefers Mac.”
“Don’t you sass me. If I say they’re fake, then they are. And if I want to call your new girl by her given name, I will.” She placed her hands on her plump hips, daring Mac or me to argue. She took our drink orders and stomped off toward the kitchen to complain to Pedro.
“Sorry about that. Ana’s pretty old-school. Arguing with her is about as much fun as letting seagulls poke your eyes out.”
Mac flashed me a weak smile, but shrugged her shoulders. “That’s fine. My mom still insists on calling me Mackenzie, too. She pretends it’s because she forgets, but I know that’s just her stubborn way of keeping me in my place.”
“Can I ask why you changed it?” It seemed like a good opportunity to get a little insight into her family life.
She took a steadying breath before answering. “It was just easier after the accident. I don’t know how to really explain it. Everything changed so drastically. I didn’t feel like the same person anymore. I was so sick of the sadness and the depression. I wanted to sha
ke it all off.”
She paused while Ana placed our drinks and a basket of chips and a bowl of fresh salsa on the table. We gave her our dinner orders and I waited for Mac to continue. I dipped a chip in salsa, waiting for her to finish without pressuring her.
After a few moments, she continued, “Anyway, it got to the point that I wanted to shed everything from my old life. That’s why I transferred to the dorms this year. While I was at home, I was the victim who had lost everything. I would go to classes and then come home every night to the same questions about how I was doing or how I was feeling. If it wasn’t that, we were always talking about the case. I just needed a change. During the summer, I broke it to my parents that I wanted to live on campus, and shortened my name. Needless to say, neither made them happy. They tried to fight my decisions, but in the end I played the ‘I’m an adult now’ card.” She sat back in her chair looking like she had just confessed to a crime.
“I can understand that,” I told her, dunking another chip into the salsa. “I bet deep down your parents do, too.”
“I think my dad does. He’s always been the go-with-the-flow kind of guy. Mom, not so much. It’s usually her way or the highway. She works as a business executive in a marketing firm, so she’s used to getting her way. In the beginning, she tried to fix me like she does problems that arise at work, but she realized I’m unfixable.”
“Mac, you’re not broken.” I reached across the table and placed my hand on top of hers.