“THERE YOU GO, Sam. Need anything else?”
“No ma’am, that looks perfect.” Sam, one of Abby’s Place’s regulars, smiles at me from where he sits on his counter stool. He unwraps his silverware with shaking fingers. I resist the urge to offer him the salt before he knocks it over again. Like small town diners everywhere, the same people come into ours almost every day for breakfast and lunch, and a lot of them are older people who don’t want to, or can’t, cook anymore. Sam’s a widower. His wife used to take care of the cooking, but now that she’s passed, he comes here for his morning eggs.
I smile before clearing the place setting next to him. I scoop up the tip, but instead of tucking it into my own pocket, I stuff it into the communal jar. Stacy and Christina need the money more than me right now. Christina catches me doing it and shakes her head, but I don’t miss the grateful look in her eye. She’s a single mom and her son’s dad is an asshole. She’s taken him to court over child support, but it’s not resolved yet.
I grab my mug of coffee and take a deep sip. The morning rush has emptied, leaving behind a couple of older folks like Sam. Lunches are busy, thanks to our location in downtown Pine Ridge, and we keep things open a couple evenings a week because we sell pie and ice cream to the teenagers hanging out in town at night. Since I started at McKee, I haven’t been able to take every weekend shift, but I try when I can, since the weekdays are harder for me.
Maybe someone coming in here casually wouldn’t see what I see. They’d see the photography I took and carefully framed on the walls, or the polished metal buffer that wraps around the counter, or the shiplap over the booths that I painted white two summers ago. I have a deal with the florist two doors down to keep fresh flowers out front and on all the tables. But all I can focus on is the stains on the ceiling, the hole in the wall we’re covering up with a photograph, and the finicky refrigerator in the back. Abby’s Place is a popular spot, but like all restaurants, it bleeds money. Just getting the food to cook costs an astronomical amount, especially with my mother changing the menu every other week. People like Sam just want their eggs the way they always have them. They don’t need avocado crema on the side, even if it’s delicious.
The bell over the door rings, and a couple walks in. They’re young, probably just a couple years older than me, and honestly, they look a lot like my classmates at McKee. She’s wearing Lululemon and a gold necklace that could probably pay to replace all the appliances in the kitchen, and the guy looks just as put together in a button down and slacks. I don’t know the brand, but I’m sure it’s expensive. It’s probably the sort of thing James would wear out to a restaurant.
The thought of James runs through me like a bolt of lightning.
I still can’t believe that he hasn’t given up on trying to convince me to tutor him. It’s been a week, and his offers are getting more and more ridiculous. Last night, he told me he’d do my laundry for a year. That just made me think about him seeing my underwear, which wasn’t helpful in the slightest.
I need to get him out of my mind.
“Table for two?” I say, coming over with menus tucked under my arm.
“Can we sit at that booth back there?” the woman says. “This place is so charming.”
I smile as I lead them to the back, by the picture window. “Thank you. It’s my mother’s.”
“I told Jackson that we had to check out the local flavor before moving here.” She sits, accepting the menus for them both. “Well, not quite here, of course.”
My smile stiffens. “Of course.”
Pine Ridge isn’t a bad area by any means, but I’m sure someone like her, with money, is looking in one of Hudson Valley’s more expensive areas. I’d bet that he works in finance or something in the city, and she wants a nice big McMansion for him to come home to in the evenings.
“Can I grab you some coffees?”
“Yes,” the guy says. “Waters too. But only if it’s purified.”
As I’m fetching the coffees, the door opens again. I look up automatically… and immediately wish I hadn’t.
“What the hell are you doing here?” I hiss as I meet Darryl at the door.
He leans down and kisses me on the cheek. “What a way to greet me, babe.”
I back up two big steps. My hands are trembling, so I shove them into my apron’s pockets, hoping my glare helps him get the goddamn message. “Babe? I’m not your babe anymore, Darryl. What’s going on?”
The door behind the counter opens. It’s built right into the wall, so most of the time it blends in; if you go through, you’re immediately met with a cramped flight of stairs that leads to an upstairs apartment. That’s where I grew up. First with both my parents, then just with my mother.
I sense the moment Mom walks into the diner. She smells like smoke and flowery perfume. When I arrived early this morning to open, she was still asleep. I’d been hoping against hope she’d just stay upstairs for the day so that we wouldn’t have to talk, but she’s always had impeccable timing.
“Darryl!” she says warmly, pulling him into a hug. “I thought I saw your car out front. Bexy hasn’t brought you home in ages.”
“That’s because we’re not dating anymore.”
She tuts at me. “Don’t be rude to the nice boy. He drove all this way on game day just to see you, isn’t that sweet?”
“I have tables.” I put the coffees on a tray along with cream and sugar and head over to the couple. Maybe if I keep ignoring Darryl, he’ll get the message and go away.
Wasn’t me kissing James in front of him enough?
Mom’s right, it’s Saturday, they have a home game. Darryl should be with James, getting ready to go. For all his other faults, he’s a good player, that should be his focus today. Not… whatever this is. Embarrassing me in front of a room full of people. Drawing my mother downstairs so she can add fuel to the inevitable fire.
“Sorry for the wait,” I tell the couple. “What can I get you?”
“Is that your boyfriend?” the woman says, leaning in with a conspiratorial smile. “He’s handsome.”
“He’s familiar,” the man says. “McKee?”
“Football,” I admit.
“Hey, man! Kill it today!”
Darryl raises his hand in a wave. I grit my teeth and smile, hoping like hell the heat I’m feeling isn’t showing on my face. “Um, your orders?”
I don’t need to scribble it down, I’ve been holding orders in my head for as long as I can remember, but I make a show of doing it anyway. Anything’s better than having to talk to Darryl.
In the kitchen, I hand the ticket to Tony, the head cook. He peers around me, a worried look on his lined face. “Do I need to get him out of here for you?”
“Nah.” I give him a smile. “Thanks, though. I can handle it.”
“Damn straight you can.” He barks out the order to the line cooks. I stand there for a long moment, just watching them move around the cramped kitchen with fluidity.
Darryl obviously took the kiss as flirtation, not a goodbye. He’s not just ignoring what I’m saying—he’s ignoring what he’s seeing, too.
As I walk back out, I pull Stacy aside. “Can you handle my table in the back? I need to deal with this.”
“Sure.” Stacy is my mother’s age. She traded off with my Aunt Nicole, Mom’s sister, when it came to spending time with me when I was younger, after my dad left and my mom ceased to function. She tugs on my ponytail, giving me a sad sort of smile. “I’ll try and get her upstairs, too.”
“Thanks.”
My mom has Darryl at the counter and is plying him with coffee and a slice of pie. I watch as she lights a cigarette, blowing out the smoke expertly. She laughs at something he says, her hand on his forearm, squeezing.
Jesus.
“Darryl, let’s talk.”
He leans back. “Finally. Bexy, don’t worry, I forgive you for kissing Callahan.”
“Outside.” I yank the front door open, trying to ignore the interested look Mom gives me. I’m sure she’s just dying to know who “Callahan” is.
Darryl doesn’t protest when I drag him around to the back of the building. “You look pretty playing waitress, baby.”
“I’m not playing,” I mutter. “That’s the reason you cheated on me, remember? I was always here.”
“Those girls didn’t mean shit to me.”
“So? That doesn’t make it not cheating.”
“Says who?”
“Says me!” I burst out. I bite the inside of my cheek to stave off the tears that are threatening to make an appearance. “Darryl, come on. You know what you did. We’re over. Just leave me alone.”
“I don’t think so.” He takes a step closer, reaching out to entwine our hands together. “Sweetheart, come on. I don’t know what you were playing at, kissing Callahan, but he told me he’s not interested in you, so there’s no problem. We can go back to the way things were.”
He told Darryl he’s not interested? That stings more than it should. “You talked about me?”
He drags me even closer. “Sure we did. I had to know if I needed to fight him for making a move on my girl, after all.”
He slides his hand up, circling my wrist, and does the same with my other arm too. I freeze.
“Bex,” he says, “just give in and let yourself be happy. Being with me can open so many doors for you. Once I’m in the league, we’ll sell this shitty place, and you can just take care of me. That’s what you wanted last year, so why ruin things now? Not like your life would amount to much otherwise.”
His grip tightens as he leans in to kiss me. I’m still frozen, too stunned to move as his lips graze mine. I always knew he was possessive, but this is a whole different level. This scares me.
“Darryl,” I whisper.
“Yeah, baby?”
“Fuck off.” I yank myself out of his grip, rubbing my wrists, and shove past him. “Go play your game. And if you bother me again, especially here, I’ll call the cops.”
He clenches his fists. I stare at him, terrified for the moment the swing connects with my face. My father hit my mother exactly once, shortly before he left for good, and she had a black eye for weeks. Not that it mattered much, because she was in bed mourning her marriage and the miscarriage triggered by heartbreak, but eleven-year-old me saw it every day when I crawled into bed beside her.
If you asked me while we were dating, I’d have said Darryl would never truly hurt me.
But then again, I never thought my father would hurt my mother, and he destroyed her.
He steps so close my heart jumps into my throat, a flat look in his eyes I absolutely hate to see, and pulls me in again, his fingers gripping my wrists so tightly I cry out. “You’re going to wish you didn’t say that, sweetheart.”
I swallow hard, trying to ignore the burning of my eyes.
After a handful of seconds that stretch out into what feels like an eternity, he shoves me backward. I stumble, watching as he stalks away. I clasp a shaking hand over my mouth, trying to swallow down the shock and hurt.
I should go back inside, get back to work, but I can’t make myself move. A tear makes its way down my cheek, and I wipe it away roughly.
No crying, even though my wrists are aching.
Two things are clear. One, I can’t believe I ever had feelings for that asshole. And two, I need a new plan, because obviously he’s not going away.
I need James.
