“I know,” I said again, irritated. I knew Gwen didn’t have a cruel bone in her body and I wasn’t mad at her. But the guys, my former friends and teammates, could be real assholes. They had placed their orders and watched from the booth as I read theticket.
All burgers, with everything on the side and on a separate plate, including all the condiments. Fresh fries without salt, with salt on the side. And the kicker was to make sure my dirty hands didn’t actually touch anything. They had requested I wear gloves while makingtheirfood.
Ididn’t.
My face burned from the memory. I was angry they had turned their backs so quickly. But I think I was angrier that I had ever called those guys my friends. The thought of being one of those guys embarrassedmenow.
They thought they were hurting me. And yeah, it pissed me off. But I stopped caring what people thought about me months ago, had embraced being the outcast. No, the person it had really hurt was Gwen. She was the one who had to take three trips just to bring the food out, despite the fact she had other tables to serve. Andshewas the one who had to bring the food back to be remade because they claimed it was overcooked. It wasn’t. All that running back and forth put her in the weeds and made the other tablessuffer.
“Look, Gwen.I’msor–”
“You know I couldn’t say anything to Mike.” Gwen interrupted my apology, looking toward theoffice.
“I know. Anything to make a buck,” I said mockingly about Mike. He was a tightwad in all thewrongways.
“Listen, I gotta go. I just wanted to say I was sorry for what happened tonight and make sure you gotyourcut.”
She slid a few bills across the table. Instantly, I knew it was way too much for the night we had. It had been busy, just notthatbusy. I started to push it back and tell her as much, but she was already rushing out of the booth like a bat out of hell. I briefly considered chasing after her to make her take it back, to tell her I didn’t want or need her charity. As I looked back down at the money sitting on the table, I knew how much I coulduseit.
I begrudgingly stuffed the bills in mypocket.
ChapterThree
Katie
Iwoketo the strong smell of bacon drifting into my room. My stomachgrowled.
I’d been staying with my dad for almost a month now, and not much had changed. I stayed mostly inside in my room. Sometimes, I would go outside and lay in my dad’s yard. And, very rarely, I would go for a run around the neighborhood. The problem was I was still the girl dealing with the loss of her mom, but now I was doing it in a city thatwasn’thome.
Everything feltwrong.
Sure, I had been born and raised here. But it had been years since I’d talked to anyone who lived here. It’s not like I could just call them up and say, “Hey, remember me? My mom just died and I’m really trying to work through it. Wanna hang out?”With summer being almost over, most of the friends from my childhood were getting ready to go to college. I was more lostthanever.
My dad hadn’t given up hope though. He still would try to talk to me, even though I brushed him off most of the time. He had also taken his role as father seriously. Meals were prepared for me every day, even though I was capable of cooking, thanks to my lessons before my mom’sdeath.
Breakfast was always made, but this was the first time it included bacon. It was enough to pique my interest. I grabbed my mom’s vintage Nirvana t-shirt and a pair of shorts and put them on before stealing a glance in themirror.
I hadn’t spent a lot of time looking at myself since I came to River Valley, my reflection startled me. I hadn’t realized just how much I looked like my mom until this moment, especially wearing hershirt.
Sure, we had different colored hair. Hers had been brown and mine was a strawberry blond. And while her complexion had been clear, my face was covered with a splatter of freckles over the bridge of my nose. But that nose was the same. Our green eyes were the same. Forcing a smile on my face, I could see even our smiles werethesame.
I leaned closer to the mirror and looked at the white scar that cut through my top lip and touched my tongue to it. It was barely noticeable unless I was smiling. With a little lipstick, I could easilycoverit.
Over the years, pressing against that scar had become a nervous tick to me. Something I did when I felt anxious. Eventually, I stopped thinking about how I got it, and simply did it because I did. Being back in Idaho, I remembered its originswerehere.
Another whiff of bacon filled my nostrils and a fresh wave of apprehension washed over me. What was my dad up to? I threw my hair up in a quick ponytail and headed down the hall to see what it was allabout.
“Good morning, Katie-bug,” my dad’s voice rang out, noticeably more cheerful than it had been every other morning. It seemed he was having a hard time breaking himself of thenickname.
“Dad,” I shot him an irritated look. “Please stop using that name. I’m not ten anymore. Need I remind you I’m an adult and actually have myownhome?”
“Sorry, Katie. I just see that little girl with her pigtails when I look at you and can’t helpmyself.”
“I never had pigtails,” I corrected, but he justchuckled.
“No, I guess you didn’t. But I really am so glad you’re here. It just keeps coming out. Go, make yourself a plate. There’s bacon, pancakes and some coffee in the pot. Then wecantalk”
I debated on whether or not to push for more details about what was going on, but hunger overruled and I fixed a plate instead. The bacon was perfectly crisp and the pancakes fluffy. After drowning them in butter and syrup, and grabbing a mug of coffee, I sat down. When was the last time I had a properbreakfast?
