but the resolute nod that he directed at me across the parking lot was my cue that whatever maybes existed on that night that he kissed me, were dead and buried.
Absolutely refusing to go back to that dark place where I resided after Bryan and I broke up, and completely loathing the girl I was before that, I made a promise to myself to hold my head high. I waved at them as they pulled away and whispered “I love you,” to him even though he would never hear it.
I’d like to say that with everything else that happened over the end of the summer, I didn’t think about Bryan much, but I’d be lying. When Maddy and Reid’s baby was born, I cried more tears of joy than I thought possible. And when Evan moved into the house, it instantly felt like more of a home than it had ever been. Mom is the happiest I’ve ever known her to be and that makes me feel freer than ever.
Even now, as the cool fall air breezes through my open window, I feel at home. That’s what this place has become for me. What started out as a dusty and dirty place to live, quickly transformed into home filled with laughter and tons of happy memories. I know that when Cammie and Lia graduate at the end of the year I’ll be sad. More than sad actually.
But I also know that I’ll survive. Hey, maybe even Peyton will stay in Ithaca after her grad-program ends, but who knows. What I do know is that I’ve found happiness in the moments of quiet, and for the first time in my entire life, I am really and truly happy with who I am. I’ve made peace with my mistake and with the insecure girl I used to be. Those feelings of guilt and unworthiness have been replaced by ones of pride and love.
As I step out onto the front porch, I fix the Jack-o-Lantern that we carved the other night. It’s lumpy and bumpy, not perfectly round, so it never stays upright for long. Maybe that’s why I picked it. It reminded me of myself in some ways. Picking up a few stray candy wrappers from last night’s eager trick-or-treaters, I walk across the street to Bella’s and get ready for my Friday night shift.
Bella was right when she hired me. I haven’t run into Bryan once since starting here back in July. The thought saddens me more than a little. But it also reminds me that he’s moved on as well. I hope for his sake, and for Emmie’s too, that things have worked out with his mom. I imagine that the divorce is finalized and things are hopefully back to normal.
Whatever the hell “normal” means, anyways.
As I’m setting up the wait station, Laurie, the hostess, comes up and hands me a ticket for a table she just seated in my section. “He’s really cute too.” She winks before walking away. Cute, huh? Okay, I could go for some cute in my life. I haven’t had much of any cuteness since Will took me out on our one-and-only date. It was at the end of the summer after I knew Bryan and I were definitely done. I couldn’t help it. Will was sweet and persistent as hell. It was an
Dismissing thoughts of how pathetic my love life has been since Bryan, I focus my attention back to the hottie who Laurie just seated at one of my tables. Knowing my luck, he’s probably with his girlfriend. The cute ones don’t come here with their grandmothers.
I peek out from behind the wall that separates the wait station from the dining room and when I see Bryan sitting at the table I was just assigned, I laugh inwardly at Laurie’s “cute” description. He’s not cute.
He’s freaking gorgeous.
And he’s with a girl – a girl who is most definitely not his grandmother.
From where I’m standing, or spying, depending on how you want to look at it, I can see them, but they can’t see me. Bryan’s wearing a pale blue, fitted, polo that pulls oh-so-nicely across his muscled chest. If he were standing up, I’d be able to comment on how fine his ass looks in the charcoal grey dress pants he’s wearing, but since he’s not, I’ll just have to use my imagination. His hair looks longer than usual, but it still has that styled-yet- unstyled look to it. My fingers twitch at the thought of running through the silky strands.
And of course the girl he’s with is gorgeous too. Petite with shiny brown hair that sways gently at her shoulders when she laughs, she looks like a model. When she brings her glass up to her plump red lips, I ghost the pad of my thumb over mine and try to recall what it felt like to have Bryan’s lips pressed there.
The feeling is fleeting though.
He hasn’t been mine for months, and watching the two of them share a laugh across the candle lit table, it’s clear that he’ll never be mine.
Deep breath. Head high. Big-girl panties on.
I step out into the dining room and immediately trip over the leg of a chair that hasn’t been pushed in all the way. Quickly recovering, I hope that no one has seen me, but of course I can’t be that lucky. When the “oh shit,” slips out of my mouth, Bryan looks up at me from his table. I wave shyly from behind his girlfriend and the most adorable and sexy grin splits his face.
I take that as my cue to approach them even though my heart is hammering in my chest at the thought of speaking to him again. Add in the minor complication that he’s on a freaking date and well, you can just imagine my current pulse rate.
Swallowing back my nervousness, and my pride for that matter, I stand before them. “Hi, Bryan. It’s so good to see you again.” Wow, that sounded cheesy even to my own ears.
“Hey, Melanie. Yeah, you too.” A spell of awkward silence falls in our little bubble as we just stare at each other for a moment. The silence is broken by a throat being cleared.
“Hi, I’m Abbey.” Of course she has a cute as a button southern drawl. I don’t want to be rude, well I do, but I won’t. Extending my hand to her, we shake politely.
“So how do you guys know each other?” She gestures her hand in between me and Bryan. Quickly gauging his inability to speak, I answer for him.
“We used to work together when he was at Ithaca.” She nods at my answer as Bryan busies himself with taking a sip of water. In desperate need to get away from the awkwardness, I pull out my notepad and pen. “So what can I get you tonight?”
They place their orders and I try my best to maintain the composure I thought I had. But, watching them talk and laugh with each other, wears on me. Every now and then, I catch Bryan looking over at the wait station, or his eyes track me as I serve the other tables. By the end of their meal, I feel trampled on. It’s one thing to feel like you’ve moved on, but to see the other person actually moving on right in front of you, well, it forces you to take a few steps back.
Their conversation draws on well past the “finished with dessert” portion of their date, so when I drop the check on their table, I let them know that there’s no rush before abruptly turning away. My words and my eyes do not conceal my pain though. It’s crazy how I thought I was doing well, how I thought I had moved on.
So much for that.
Collecting their bill, and rather generous tip, about twenty minutes later, I say “thank you” with as much politeness as I can muster. But the other table that has been busting my non-existent balls all night has frayed my nerves. Add that to my crushed-to-a-million pieces heart from Bryan’s table, and I’m just glad that I’m the first to be cut tonight. It’s slow anyway so it’s not like I’ll be losing out on that much money.
Sometime around ten, I step out into the autumn night. The air is cool and crisp, and if I had to walk further than just across the street, I would need much more than my thin white button up waitress shirt. Taking a few minutes to regain my composure, I lean against the back of the building and pinch the bridge of my nose. On a deep inhale and a shaky sigh, I push off of the beat-up wood siding and nearly scream when Bryan appears before me.
Out of pure instinct, I punch him lamely on the arm in self-defense. “Holy fucking shit! You scared the crap out of me.” I am practically panting as the fear recedes.
Feigning injury as he rubs the spot on his arm that I just punched, Bryan’s face contorts into a knot of faux pain. Calling his bluff, I smirk at him – once I realize it’s him – and laugh at his antics. “Oh, stop it. I barely even got you.”
“I don’t know. There might be some bruising,” he jokes as he lifts the short sleeve of his polo shirt up over his bicep. When I see the small, red welt that I’ve caused, I reach out to soothe it and then realize that touching his muscled and goose bump-covered flesh would not be a good idea.
So instead of doing what my fingers feel compelled to do, I shove my hands into my pockets and rock on my heels. “Sorry ‘bout that.” While both of us sober from our momentary burst of playfulness born from my inner scaredy-cat, Bella steps out of the back door with an over-stuffed bag of trash in tow.
