I had been here quite a few times over the two years I had been in Ashford, spending a fair amount of time going through the entire menu, and hadn’t had a bad dish yet. It was simple, greasy diner food, but that’s what made it great.
There were already signs plastered around indicating that the diner was ready to shut down soon. And when the blizzard decides to hit, they will close up shop and wait until the storm passes. But as soon as the snow stops falling and the main streets are cleared, they will definitely be the first people open back up.
Brett was in a corner booth at the back of the restaurant, underneath a giant Christmas wreath that had been hung and decorated with lights. He looked up over his coffee and waved, smiling brightly. I liked Brett a lot. He reminded me of the guys in my battalion. Self-sufficient and strong, except he still maintained that boyish humor and energy. He was a good old boy, as they called them—indulging in the simple things. One of those simple things was Dina’s diner.
“Hey, man,” I said as I approached the booth and slipped into the opposite side of Brett.
“Hey, Aiden. I’ve got a menu if you need one. I haven’t ordered yet. Figured I’d wait on you to get here so I wasn’t rude.”
“You could have ordered.” I picked the menu up. “I wouldn’t have minded.”
“I know,” he said. “But if my Mama ever caught wind, she’d smack me a good one.”
I laughed.
“Well, I have ordered just about everything on this menu at some point over the last two years. Do you have a suggestion?”
“Since we’re about to get hit with a blizzard? I’d go with the burger,” he said. “No matter how many times I try to make one at home, I can never make a Dina’s burger and fries, especially when shit gets crazy and the weather goes nuts.”
“Not a bad idea,” I said.
“Nothing like a good burger.” Brett picked up the tiny drink menu. “And a beer to go with it. Dina’s the only diner I know of with a whole three-page beer menu.”
“Good point. I don’t know if I’ve ever been to a diner with a beer menu, period.”
“I can’t imagine,” Brett said. “Beer and a brew, man. Beer, a brew, and a mountain view. Best things in life.”
“They should put that on a T-shirt,” I joked. “New slogan of Ashford.”
“Hey,” he said, laughing, “look at me! I’m an ad executive now.”
We joked for a bit longer before the waitress came by, and we both ordered the burger-and-fry combo. I went with a porter to drink, and Brett went with an ale. We sat back to shoot the shit until the food came. I enjoyed hanging out with Brett more and more but always kept myself from really letting myself enjoy it fully. I was mistrustful to a fault. Not so much of other people, but of myself.
I didn’t want to get attached to people. I didn’t want to open myself up to them. Like what happens if they decide to leave me or their opinion of me changes? This was the main reason I hadn’t even bothered with dating since I got out of the military. There were plenty of women who got all weak in the knees when they found out I was in the service, but I wasn’t interested in the manufactured-picket-fence life that so many of my fellow leathernecks had jumped into.
“So, you think this storm is going to be as bad as the one you were telling me about the other day?” I asked.
“Hell, I don’t know,” he said, chomping on a fry. “I never know anymore with the weather folks out in Knoxville always changing their minds.” He stuffed another fry in his mouth contemplatively and then picked up another, using it to point at me. “What I do know is this, always be ready for the shitstorm. You can always cook your food and burn your wood anyway. But being stuck without it when you can’t get off the mountain is how people die.”
I nodded.
“Hey,” he said. “I just wanted to say thanks for thinking of me.”
“Of course. I always look out for a friend.”
“Well, no one has ever done that for me before,” he said. “So, I really appreciate it.”
“Anytime.” We were dangerously close to having a moment of real, meaningful friendship, and my brain was screaming to go do something else. Change the subject. Anything other than let someone else too deep into my life.
“So, you got plans for Christmas?” I asked him.
He looked almost sad for a moment before shaking his head. “Nah, no one to celebrate it with anymore. I don’t even put up a tree. Just another day.”
I nodded but felt troubled. I’d spent Christmas alone the year before, and it hadn’t bothered me one bit. I was prepared to do it again this year too, but the thought of my friend also being alone touched something in my gut I wasn’t used to. Damn, was I getting soft in retirement?