Can I tie your shoes?
’Cause I don’t want you to fall for anyone else.
—ELENA S.
Somehow, I managed to survive the next few months. Iris went to the prom with Aidan. He reported later that she’d danced several times and had even smiled in the pictures. She also graduated high school and, while Dad was smart enough not to show up, he did send her a postcard to say congratulations.
Mama got stronger and, with her medical bills paid off, it helped make paying for more therapy manageable. So much so, I dropped down to two nights a week at Chicky’s and allowed myself one whole day of rest. Which was mostly spent doing chores and laundry.
As for Chris? I began texting him each night even though he never replied. I understood why. I’d hurt him. He’d been willing to figure out a way and I’d been… scared, just as he’d said. It was the only word that made the most sense. I thought time would make it easier to move on. Heck, I’d moved on from Peter in roughly twenty-three seconds, the amount of time it took me to walk in on him with another girl, throw a crystal ashtray at him, and slam the door.
Chris, though? He wasn’t so easy to get over. I tried to cover it up, but others could see it. They spoke gently and patted me on the back or gave me unsolicited hugs. For three weeks straight, one of several sweet elderly women would stop by at the library and leave me a sugary treat—homemade cookies, cupcakes, a muffin.
Mrs. Katz informed me they’d all started a Break-up Dessert Train for me. “Because it’s a little easier to get through with something sweet.”
I didn’t argue.
One summer day, I traipsed over to the Sit-n-Eat to meet up with Ali. Ollie shuffled over to me a few minutes after I sat down. “Is the other one coming?”
I laughed. “Every time, Ollie. Yes, she’ll be here.”
A shadow of a smile flashed on his face. “Alright then. Two orders.”
“Thanks.”
This was the part of the conversation where Ollie always shuffled himself off to the kitchen and magically reappeared with food. But he didn’t move. Instead, he peered at me from under his bushy eyebrows.
“How you doing?” he asked.
I don’t know which of us was more surprised he’d asked me such a question.
Maybe because it was so very surprising, I found myself giving him an honest answer. “Lonely, sad, wondering if I made a terrible mistake.”
Ollie nodded like he understood. “I was in love once. Long time ago.”
Again, we stared at each other in disbelief.
He shrugged and continued. “It wasn’t an easy love. Some people think being in love has to feel good all the time. If you ain’t happy, then it can’t be real. I thought that too back then. But that is not how life works, is it? We can’t be happy all the time. If we were, we wouldn’t appreciate it when we are.”
This was the most I’d ever heard Ollie say in a week, maybe a month, maybe my entire life. “What happened?”
His eyes seemed to be looking somewhere else. “We split and she left. That was close to sixty years ago. Never, not one day, have I not thought of her and wondered what would have happened if I’d gone after her. Instead, I stayed around here and took over the restaurant.”
“I’m so sorry. That must have been awful.”
His dark eyes narrowed. “Do you get what I’m saying here?”
“I— No.” But maybe I did.
“Don’t let it get away from you too.” Then he shuffled off to his kitchen-cave without a glance back at me.
A few minutes later, Ali slid in next to me at the counter. “What’s that look on your face?”
I blinked. “I just had the strangest conversation with Ollie.”
Ali laughed. “A conversation? Like an actual back-and-forth with words?”
“Like I said, it was strange.”
“About what?”
“Nothing.” Ollie’s story was his own and not for me to share.
Ali cheered when Ollie brought the food around and wasted no time digging in. But all I could do was stare at my food and replay Ollie’s story.
“What’s up?” Ali nudged me with her shoulder. “You aren’t hungry?”
“I think I made a mistake,” I whispered.
Slowly, Ali set her fork down and turned toward me. “About?”
“Chris. I miss him.”
Ali wrapped an arm around my shoulders. “I know you do, honey.”
“I’ve been texting him. Every night. Just little things about what’s going on around here. A photo of Iris at graduation. Keeping him up to date on Mrs. Katz and Horace’s love life.” I straightened and tried on a small smile. “He’s never written back. Not once. He told me that he’d wait for me. Do you think maybe he’s finally figured out we aren’t meant to be?”
Eyes narrowed, Ali flattened her mouth into a thin line. When she finally spoke, it was not with her inside voice. “Are you kidding me right now?”
“Why are you yelling at me?”
“Maebell Sampson, you sent him a text? A text to tell him you missed him? Come on. That man has not given up on you. No way. You’ve read how many romance novels?”
My mouth dropped. “How do you know about that?”
She rolled her eyes. “Hello, dummy. We’ve known each other since we were ten. You’re good at keeping secrets but not that good. You should know from reading them that you’re going to have to put a lot more effort into making things right. Way more than a text.”
“You think?”
“Uh, no. I know.” She picked her fork up and resumed eating. “You better make it good too. He deserves it.”
“Excuse me,” I sputtered. “Whose side are you on, anyway?”
“Chris’s side,” she pointed her knife at me, “and your side. Because you’re both on the same side. We all know that. We’re just waiting for you to figure that out too.”
Later that night, when I couldn’t sleep, I texted Chris:
Me: I sent the check back AGAIN yesterday. Please stop. I don’t want it.
Me: Ollie told me a story today.
Me: The most words I’ve ever heard him say.
Me: Do you really think everyone gets a happily ever after?
