Unfortunately for me, I don’t have that luxury.
I take up an entire corner booth and drag my laptop out of my bag, set it on the tabletop, and just stare at it. The server—whose name badge reads Sandra—returns with a fresh pot of coffee as if she can somehow read my mind. Or maybe she’s just good at reading body language. “You look like you need this,” she states, pouring a mug to the brim.
“You’re a lifesaver,” I breathe out, bringing the mug to my lips and blowing the steam off the top. “Is it always this empty at this time?” I ask.
Zeke’s was always quiet on Friday afternoons. He said it’s because most truckers try to be home for the weekend, and most other people like to dine out somewhere a little fancier on Friday nights. It usually picks up after nine, once football games are over, and it doesn’t really stop until two in the morning, when all the drunks and the stoners come in needing something fatty and greasy to soak up the high or the alcohol.
“You just missed the lunch rush,” she states, grabbing a menu from the napkin dispenser. “It gets a little busier later.” She taps on the back of the menu. “The Wi-Fi password is there. I’ll come back for your order?”
“Thanks,” I reply, nodding.
I quickly browse the menu and decide what I want before opening my laptop. It’s been days since I’ve even checked my work email, let alone gotten any actual work done.
When Sandra returns a few minutes later, I give her my order, but she doesn’t leave right away. Given any other circumstance, I’d be happy to sit and chat, but deadlines are deadlines, and there are only so many excuses or apologies I can send out before I start losing clients.
“I take it you’re here for work?” Sandra asks, motioning to the laptop.
“No.” I shake my head. “Just... passing through.”
“Right,” she says, and then she’s gone again.
I check my emails and attempt to start work, but my brain’s fried, and my fingers refuse to type anything coherent.
Frustrated, I shut my laptop and look for Sandra, only to find her sitting on a stool at the counter, already watching me. When she smiles, I find myself doing the same. And I wonder, just for a moment, if my mother would’ve been like her had she laid off the alcohol long enough to keep her job at Zeke’s. “Miss Sandra,” I sing-song. “Would you like to join me?”
She gasps in mock horror. “Why, I’m working, Miss...?”
“Jamie.”
“Miss Jamie,” she echoes, sliding off her stool. She shuffles toward me, her shoulders to her ears, and I don’t know if she’s excited to see someone new or just... curious about the “someone new.” My question is answered the moment she slides into the booth opposite me and leans forward. “Tell me why you’re really here,” she whispers, then leans back, straightening her spine. “Never mind. I’m being nosey. My kids always tell me that, and I never listen. I’m not a gossip,” she rushes out. “But I am nosey.”
I giggle, pushing my laptop to the side. “I came to see a friend...”
“A boy?”
I nod. “It didn’t exactly go to plan.”
She hisses a breath between her teeth. “I’m sorry.”
I shrug. “It is what it is.”
“It sucks, though. I assume you came a long way?”
“Tennessee.”
“Yikes. And, so... what are you going to do now?”
“Travel,” I say, pointing to the RV. “That’s my permanent address. And I work.” I pat my laptop. “So, I’ll probably just continue with that.”
“What do you do for work?” she asks and then leans back when the cook brings me my order, along with a slice of apple pie for her.
Miss Sandra’s cheeks bloom pink as if being caught doing something she shouldn’t.
“There are a lot of jobs you can do remotely,” I tell her. “For example, I’m a virtual assistant for a few offices, and I manage social media accounts for some small to mid-size companies. I do data entry, and audio transcriptions, and... basically anything I can do with a laptop and Wi-Fi, I’m doing it.”
“Fascinating,” Miss Sandra whispers, and I have a feeling this is who she is—a woman stuck in a small town legitimately thrilled with the outside world. That’s why she’s nosey. I respect it. “You must see and do so many exciting things.”
“Sometimes.”
Her eyes narrow, just a tad. “Does it get lonely, though?”
The dull ache in my chest is so sudden; it surprises me. “Sometimes,” I repeat, and it’s only a half-truth. It’s lonely most of the time, and the only real reprieve I have is these conversations with random strangers. “What about you?” I ask, changing the subject. “What’s it like living here?”
“Pfff,” she scoffs, waving her hand between us. “I’m a bore-fest, darlin’. Your life is far more exciting than mine.”
“Not necessarily.” I shake my head. “It’s human nature to be intrigued by what we don’t have, but at our cores, we all want different things. And I’m not saying that intrigue equates to lack of happiness, because you could be completely happy and satisfied living in a small town and working here, but... so could someone like me.”
Miss Sandra tilts her head, her eyes right on mine as she stares, and stares, and stares some more. I smile to one side as I let my own words replay in my mind.
So could someone like me.
Five years ago, what she might believe to be a mundane life was my fantasy.
“You’re right,” she says. “I have three children. Two girls and a boy.” She pulls out her phone, shows me her lock-screen—three beautiful kids ranging from, I’d say, six to ten, all with megawatt smiles and eyes lit with pure joy. “They’re my entire universe.”
I smile when I look up at her. “I can tell.” Then I pull out a notepad and pen from my bag, saying, “Can I ask you something, Miss Sandra?”
“Anything you want, honey. I’m an open book.”
“What’s your favorite childhood memory?”
9
Holden
Headlights shine through the closed curtains of my living room, and my eyes drift shut, irritation swarming through my veins, crawling across my flesh.
I hate that I feel like I can still smell her around me.
On me.
Inside me.
It’s insane, really, especially since I was never even close enough to get a sniff.
A text comes through on my phone, and I don’t bother checking it. Instead, I simply lower my feet from the coffee table and force myself to get the hell up. Besides showering and changing, I don’t think I’ve moved since I finished work.
After grabbing a six-pack from the fridge, I slip on my shoes by the front door and make my way to the car sitting idle in my driveway.
It’s a Friday night, and while the entertainment choices around here are slim pickings compared to my old life in Boston or NYC, whatever we do tonight will hopefully be enough to pull me out of my mood.
It was one thing to be face to face with Jamie on even ground, but seeing her here, standing in the driveway of my home... I wanted to destroy her. Annihilate her. So that’s what I did.