Chapter 10 - Becca - Greasy Breakfasts and Good Friends
Johnny-Hey. How are you feeling this morning? Did you end up with the old lady hangover or the young lady hangover?
Me -Is there such a thing as a middle-aged lady hangover? If so, that’s what I have. I was up early and didn’t feel too bad, but I do have a headache and I’m feeling slightly nauseated.
Johnny -Have you eaten yet? Want to meet up and get some breakfast? Bring Alex, too. I’m sure she could use some food.
Me -Oh, yeah. Greasy breakfast sounds perfect. Alex is still sleeping and I don’t want to wake her. She cried a lot last night, so I’m sure she’s exhausted.
Me -Meet me at Maggie’s. You know where that is?
Johnny -Sure do. See you soon.
Shit.
Now I have to shower and actually get moving. I make quick work of it, dressing in baggy joggers and a loose long-sleeved t-shirt with my favourite hoodie over top. I need to find myself a new comfort sweater one of these days. This one is nearly see through because it’s so worn out. That makes sense, though. I’ve had it for years.
On my way out, I notice another rock holding open the main door of my building. Seems like the landlord has better things to do than fix the buzzer properly, so that people will finally stop doing this. It shouldn’t be that hard to leave a door closed. Everyone has cell phones now. Just send a text when you arrive and the buzzer doesn’t work. Why would you just leave the building open to anyone walking by?
Some days, I really hate people.
It’s not quite noon and traffic is light, making my drive to Maggie’s nice and easy. I pull into a spot near the door and make my way inside.
I find Johnny sitting in a booth by the window. Not that he could have sat anywhere else, really. This place is made of an old train car with windows all along one side and a counter and the kitchen on the other. All the booths are by the window.
“Hey,” I say, sliding in the seat across from Johnny, taking in the way his shirt stretches across his chest muscles. “Sorry I’m late.”
He waves me off, swallowing something. Coffee, if I had to go by the looks of what’s on the table. “I just got here. I had to drop off a few boxes of cookies to Aiden.”
“Okay, good. I still had to shower and stuff when you messaged me.” I pick up the menu, pretending to look at it so I don’t have to look at Johnny. I remember very well how I tried to drag him into my bed last night, and how he turned me down. Again. I appreciate that he did it, I guess, since we’re trying to be friends, but rejection always stings.
The server shows up and asks for my drink order.
“Water and coffee,” I say with desperation in my voice. “Two waters and lots of coffee refills, please.”
She chuckles and looks over at Johnny with a little smile. He’s focusing solely on me, though, so he doesn’t even notice. I doubt he’s even noticed the phone number written on the napkin under his coffee cup.
“What are you getting?” he asks. “I can’t decide between waffles and french toast.”
“The answer is always waffles. French toast is soggy and gross.” The server returns with two enormous glasses of ice water and a nice, big mug of steamy coffee for me. “Thank you so much, Ivy,” I say, reading her name tag. “Now I will love you forever. You’re a lifesaver.”
She laughs. “Well, that’s certainly the first time anyone has ever called me that while working this job. I gotta say, I like it much better than any of the other names I’ve heard.”
“Hey, waiting tables is hard,” I tell her. “Constantly running around, taking orders from people with no manners, on your feet all day, just trying to feed people? It’s a tough way to make a living. Never mind that people are never crankier than when they’re trying to eat. The word ‘hangry’ exists for a reason, right?”
She chuckles politely, probably not wanting to effect her tips from the tables on either side of us. I wasn’t lying. Waiting tables is a tough way to make a living. I’ve done enough of it in my life to know that.
“Are you all decided? Or do you need a few minutes?” Ivy asks, turning on her server charm again.
“We are ready,” I say, gathering up the menus. “I will have the full breakfast, with scrambled eggs, fried potatoes, extra sausage and extra bacon, and multigrain toast, please. And I think my friend here is having the waffles. Is that right, Johnny?”
His mouth is hanging open as he studies me. “Where are you putting all that? I thought you said you weren’t feeling great?”
I laugh. “I said a greasy diner breakfast was just what I needed. For optimal grease, you need extra breakfast meat. Isn’t that right, Ivy?” I look at her for confirmation and she nods. “Now, tell the nice lady what you want to eat so she can put in our order and get onto something else that she needs to do.”
“Oh, yeah. Sorry,” Johnny apologizes to the server. “Waffles, please. And can I also get strawberries and whip cream on top? And a side of bacon?”
“Sure thing,” Ivy says. “I’ll be around with coffee refills shortly.”
