“Umm… With both of them. Can I have two weeks?”
“One, and you have to be yourself.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Don’t lose track of yourself just to get back at Henry.”
“Seriously, this isn’t revenge. I should have ended things with Henry a while back.”
“Yeah, but you didn’t. Don’t let your pride get in the way. The only way you’ll know if your weird belly thing is something more than gas is if you’re honest with them.”
Chapter 7
Cecilia
The teenage boys who’ve kept the corner booth occupied for the last two hours finally leave. Maybe I’ll survive this late shift after all.
Past experiences have taught me to keep my expectations low regarding a tip. It’s not that they don’t tip a solid fifteen percent, it’s that they only order drinks, expect constant refills as if they’re pissing in their boots to make room for more, and stay for hours. They create the highest amount of work for the lowest payoff.
But they’re gone now. The diner is empty, and there’s little chance anyone else will come in. It’s just me, not even the cook.We offer a limited menu after ten—things I can warm up. That’s the good thing about this shift.
I clear the table, tuck the local real estate magazine they were looking at into my apron, and wipe down the booth. Their idea to buy property with a lake and turn it into their personal man camp was hysterical.
With everything finished, I make myself comfortable in a booth so I can rest my aching feet and back. Time to plot my adventure with the dad bods. I suppose only Lennox has a dad bod, but no need to overcomplicate things.
Remembering Trena’s insistence that I have a goal, and a plan for how to reach it, makes me chuckle. She keeps me grounded, and I keep a fire lit under her. We’re a good balance for each other.
Wiggling the real estate magazine out of my apron strings, I flip pages and stop on an elaborately painted Victorian with an equally decorated picket fence. I’m definitely not a white-picket-fence kind of girl, but this one catches my eye.
What the hell? Since when do I look at real estatein this town?I slam the magazine closed. That’s not enough. I push it across the table. Better. It teeters on the edge then falls onto the seat. Perfect.
Shifting to lie down, I bring my knees up and let my eyes fall shut. I pretend I’m Trena. Which steps would I take to get to my goal? What did I even tell her my goal was?
Well crap—no idea other than it has to do with Lennox, Blake, and fun. Trena would draw a line down the center of a piece of paper and list pros and cons.
With zero desire to grab a pen and paper even though they’re in the apron wrapped around my waist, my mind takes me a different direction.
Why did I let my relationship with Henry drag on? Why did he?
Sex.
The answer makes me cringe. I’m pretty sure he was convinced I would eventually want to because I love having fun. I didn’t and wouldn’t—not with him.
Henry had more than most people our age. I’m not saying I want my parents to die so I can get their life insurance. It’s so twisted. Now that I think about it, Henry would have been a lot less fun without the boat, the convertible, the parties.
Besides, he made it clear he didn’t want to be strapped down, and I was fairly certain he’d put his money where his mouth was if a serious commitment—like a baby—ever presented itself.
Sex carries a lot of risks.
The irony is that his very life without a father was my worst nightmare. His mom always seemed tired, angry, and broke—things I never want to become.
An extra serving of irony hits me as I sprawl in a diner booth,tired, or rather exhausted. Myangerover Henry cheating has dropped from a ten to an eight. And while I’m notbroke, paying to raise a human would take care of that.
Basically, Henry was a fun friend, not dad material.
Lennox on the other hand—wow, that’s fucked-up that the man who was never there for Henry strikes me as dad material. Blake does too, even though I have no idea if either of them are family men.
Neither were wearing wedding rings.
