Reaching forward, I swipe one of her french fries before popping it into my mouth. “I’d make it about ten minutes into a movie right now. I’m fucking exhausted.”
Maisie’s eyes widen. “Wilder, let’s go home. Seriously, I can’t imagine how tired you must be after the game and traveling all weekend with the team.”
I shake my head. “I’m good. Not too tired to be with you, baby.” I give her a small grin and steal another french fry.
She smiles at that. Sweet and soft. Beautiful.
Then she slides out of the booth across from me and walks over, lowering herself onto the seat beside me, her hips wiggling to give herself space.
All while wearing that smile.
And I realize that it might be the best part of my life, seeing her smile.
“The best, huh?” she says, and my head is so wrapped up in her that I almost miss the fact that she’s talking about the french fries. “Told you so.”
“Yeah. They are. But… the shakes are better.”
“You’ve been here before?”
Reaching up, I run my hand along my jaw, along the too-long stubble that I haven’t bothered to shave in days now. There’s a knot in the pit of my stomach that pulls tight when I think of bringing Maisie into that fucked-up mess of my what my life was.
Is.
I don’t know how to give her anything that isn’t tainted because every single part of me is. No matter how small or insignificant it may seem.
Finally, I nod. “A long time ago. My…” I trail off, trying to force the words out of me. “My mother brought me here, a long time ago. I just remember the milkshakes.”
It’s not the entire truth, but it’s all I can give.
Maisie leans into my side, giving me a sense of security that she doesn’t even realize that I need right now.
Grounding me in the present so the past doesn’t swallow me whole.
“Can I ask you something?”
A weight presses down on my chest, but I nod anyway. “Yeah.”
“When you told me about the group home and how it’s really hard for you. That means you were in foster care?” she asks softly, tentatively.
I knew the question would come eventually; it was just a matter of when.
The door was opened; it was simply when she was going to walk through it and ask the right things.
Before I can put together some version of the truth, our waitress returns with a pitcher.
“Here you go, sweetheart,” Doris, I read from her name tag, tells Maisie with a smile, refilling her cup for the third time, voice rough and hoarse, likely from years of yelling out orders over a counter and a cigarette break every hour. She looks like she’s probably been a part of this place as long as it’s stood here. Her bleached hair is stiff from hairspray piled onto the top of her hair, the makeup on her face thick and cakey, bright red lipstick smeared at the corners. “I love me some sweet tea too.”
Maisie gives her a bright, warm smile that has her blue eyes shining. “It’s my favorite, and I think this one might be the best I’ve ever had. Could we order a chocolate milkshake too? With extra whip cream? Thank you so much, Doris. You’ve been so wonderful.”
Doris waves her hand through the air. “Oh, honey, please, it’s my job. I’ll put that shake in and bring it over soon as it’s ready. Let me know if y’all need anything else in the meantime.”
She’s gone in a cloud of cheap perfume, and I look down at the girl tucked against my side in this old, shitty little diner, whose warmth and kindness spills onto everyone she meets.
A literal ray of goddamn sunshine.
It never ceases to blow my mind that someone can be so fuckinggoodall the time.
To be so full of pure light that they bleed it out.
