Is that all you need from me?
No. I miss you.
Come on, just one night.
Everyone’s gonna be there. Your niece, Gracie, Ronnie, the whole gang. You can bring Wilder.
As your husband should know, my car’s in the shop and I’m not squeezing onto Wilder’s bike
Borrow my SUV. It’s in the west lot, Wyatt can pick me up.
Then you can fit whatever extra food is left from the restaurant and bring us a feast.
Out of ways to say no, I stop answering her, putting my phone in the top drawer of my desk so it stops staring at me.
A knock on the door forces me to perk up, try to pretend like the world isn’t crumbling around me, and go see who needs me.
“Yeah?” I say, pulling the door in toward me.
Billie, a woman nearing sixty, sleek gray bob and fine bones like her daughter, is on the other side.
“I’m taking off for the day,” she says, eyes kinder than I’d expect for someone who’s been through what she has.
The fact that I might destroy this new chance at happiness she’s just found eats at my insides.
I hope this place gets new owners and they keep her on.
“Have a good weekend,” I tell her. I might not have put myself together today, but at least I remember today is Saturday. That means she has tomorrow off for family dinner, and we’re closed Monday.
“Take care,” she says, in that motherly way that says she knows more is going on but won’t press.
My mom would’ve pressed.
Shuffling down the stairs, I putz around the dining room, doing side work, cleaning up, and counting the till as the slow afternoon ticks by.
Every day lately has been slow, but these periods in between the lunch and dinner rushes are extra brutal. When lots is happening, I can disappear, falling into the hectic busy-ness that drowns out the voice in my head that shouts I’m a failure.
Tonight’s a night I’d rather lose myself in Wilder’s massive form, his dark energy that likes to come out and play when it’s just the two of us. He does the same thing for me—pushes my mind to that place where everything goes quiet, where all I can focus on is the present, the past not pulling me under.
A place that grief can’t reach.
If that’s what drugs are like, I think I get the appeal.
To not be reminded of what you’ve fucked up, what you lost, and what you’ll never have. To feel good in the here and now, without worrying about the consequences.
I need that escape right now.
Heading back into the kitchen, Charlie’s laughter squeezes something inside of me and I tune him out.
My eyes find Wilder’s, and with one look, he knows.
“Take over for me, Charlie,” he calls over to him, and he does a turnover in just a few words, before stepping away to the back door behind the dish station, where I’m waiting for him.
“You gonna tell me what’s going on with you?”
I glare him down, arms crossed over my overalls. “You first.”
“I’m not the one who’s acting like Chicken Little,” he says, dark eyes narrowing on me.
