I return to the kitchen and get a plate, then put a regular bagel on it, cutting it open for her. Regular, no cream cheese. I don’t know why, but Matilda doesn’t like cream cheese. Maybe it’s old age, I don’t know. I don’t question it.
I sit it down in front of her, but there are no more questions for me. By this time, she’s brought out whatever current book she’s reading and has her nose buried in it. It’s habitual for her to do so, and I don’t dare bug her. When Matilda’s into a book, that’s where her attention is.
I step away from her and pull my phone out when it buzzes in my pocket again. The new text message is from Landon. He’s really the only one to text me these days. My parents haven’t spoken, texted, called, or anything else in nearly five weeks. Zero words. Complete silence. My sister and brother have texted a few times, but they’re distant for the most part. It doesn’t help they both still live with our parents. They must be distant to keep our parents off their radars. Then, there are the few friends who check in now and again. They aren’t really interested in me, just find it hilarious I’m suspended and won’t be returning to school come fall.
So, for the most part, it’s just Landon I text. I don’t mind that much. At least we have our guys' night out every other weekend while he’s on summer break. So that’s a plus.
Landon:Set the rezes. Dinner is at 6 2mrw. Meet us at Steakhouse then.
I click off the screen and jam the phone into my pocket, looking at Matilda again. She’s nibbling on her bagel, obsessed with her book. I take a seat back on the stool behind the counter, my eyes returning to the front door. I know there really aren’t going to be many others coming in. Days can be so fucking slow sometimes. I hate it.
But part of me wants it to stay slow. From what grandpa has said, Gracie only comes in during the slow hours. She avoids the onslaught, where there’s nothing but people in and out. Grandpa has said it's because of her anxiety and that she’s going through a lot. Exactly what, he doesn’t tell me. But having finally met her the other night, I’m starting to get it. She doesn’t seem like a big people person, which is okay.
To answer my grandfather, I do like her. She’s pretty, a little skinnier than I’m used to, but still pretty. If it wasn’t for the fact that she lives with her exes, whatever the hell that situation is all about, I would’ve asked her out the night I met her. I didn’t, though, and grandpa said it was a good thing. Apparently, she’s just got a lot of shit going on, and messing with her now isn’t a good idea. She seems to have a good head on her shoulders, though, so I don’t know what the issue is. He won’t tell me, no matter how many times I ask. He just says it’s her business, and if she wants me to know, she’ll tell me eventually.
How the hell am I supposed to ask her, though, if I can’t even get to know her?
The buzzing of my phone makes me withdraw it again, but Landon’s new text makes me stop in my tracks.
Landon:Marcy’s friend is sober. Not even a year. If it isn’t too much to ask, don’t order booze while we’re out.
An alcoholic. Was he really setting me up with an alcoholic? I purse my lips together, eyeing the text and reading it over at least another three times to ensure I hadn’t read it wrong. I didn’t. He was fucking setting me up with an alcoholic. That’s just great.
I look up as the bell jingles, alerting me to a new customer, who I wave at to sit down and grab a menu, leaving my phone on the counter.
I guess beggars can’t really be choosers, can they? And who knows, maybe without trying to suckle a drink all night long, she can actually be some fun.
Chapter11
Owen
The cup is empty, and the sucking of the straw tells me so. Still, I milk it, staring out the windshield of the car as I do so. After a moment, my partner snatches the cup and tosses it into the bag of trash, glaring at me.
“That’s annoying. Seriously, man, you’ve been off target all day. What the hell is on your mind?”
I shrug, shaking my head, and pull out my phone, bringing up the last text message from Devon. I show it to Drake, annoyed by it all over again. I don’t need to read it to know what it says. I have memorized it too well.
Drake skims over the text and looks back up at me with an arched eyebrow in question. “What’s your point?”
I scowl and drop the phone into the console between us and pick up my container of fries, plucking a couple near the bottom and shoving them into my mouth. I chew for a long moment, but I’m pretty sure he has a good idea of what I want to say. Drake and I have been partners since day one after graduating from the academy. He’s half a decade older than me, and more of an older brother than my biological ones ever were when they were in my life. Devon’s my best friend, and Drake’s my brother; it’s that simple.
“Isn’t she supposed to stay sober?” I finally question after swallowing the fries, chewed up as much as possible.
“She can go on a date and stay sober, Owen. She’s a grown-ass woman, and she can make her own choices. Besides, you aren’t dating her anymore. You’re with Donna, remember? You can’t really get mad about her going on a date.”
He’s right. I fucking hate when he’s right. I also hate that over the years, I’ve told him, well, pretty much everything. Drake knows things that I can’t tell Devon. Devon and I are close friends, but there is a limit to the secrets we tell one another, which includes those about Gracie. Dreams, desires, the works. Things we don’t dare tell one another out of worry that it’ll jeopardize our friendship, the one thing we don’t want to do. So, I’m fine with telling Drake those things. It helps he doesn’t know Devon and can’t tell him shit, not that I think he would even if he knew Devon.
Drake drums his fingers on the steering wheel as I shove the now-empty fry container into the trash bag.
“You should tell her.”
I freeze at his words and don’t look up at him. “Tell who what?” I ask in a low voice but have a pretty good idea what the hell he’s talking about.
“Gracie. You should tell her how you feel. Everything. How she’s made you feel over the years, all of it. I’m sure she’s got a good idea, but you should talk to her. You can’t live forever holding onto these feelings. They’re going to eat you alive.”
I turn to glare at him. He’s right, and I can’t deny it. I know I will eventually have to sit down and tell her everything, or it will kill me. Figuratively, of course. I’m just going to stay sour if I keep it locked up for the rest of my life. That or it’s just going to stress me out to the point I have a fucking heart attack. Considering I’m only twenty-three, I’m not ready to have a heart attack.
“I told Donna we’d go on a couple’s retreat. A double couple’s retreat, with Devon and Kate.”