by Bailey B
I’m not.
Every minute we're apart is a lifetime in itself. I fight the urge to text him because I don't want to come across as needy, and we don't text or talk when we aren't together. I have his number, but he hasn't opened that door, and I don't want to go first because I'm scared that if I seem clingy, he'll catch on to how I'm feeling and call this quits.
Despite all of my fears and insecurities, I’m parked in front of Lindy’s Diner at seven-thirty on a Tuesday night, debating whether or not to go inside. Lindy’s sits in a not so great part of town, but still on the good side of the tracks. It’s the kind of place that draws in locals, but tourists or islanders wouldn’t be caught dead here.
I watch Asher through the large paned window. It’s him, a waitress, and an elderly couple inside. My stomach churns with nervous energy. I place my hand over my belly in a vain attempt to settle it. I shouldn’t be nervous. After all, I spent most of my free time with Asher these days, but I’m crossing into his space. Uninvited.
My phone pings beside me, a new text message begging to be read.
Maggie: Get out of your car.
Me: I don’t know what you're talking about.
Maggie: You told me thirty minutes ago you were going to Lindy’s. Which means you got there ten minutes ago and since you’re texting me back, you haven't gone in yet.
Maggie: Stop being a chicken and GO!
I roll my eyes and laugh.
Me: You know me too well.
Maggie: Duh. I’m your best friend.
Maggie: Seriously tho, Asher will be excited to see you.
Maggie: We both know no girl has ever surprised him like this before.
That’s what I’m worried about. I take a deep breath and force myself out of the car. Maggie is right. I wanted to see Asher. I need to stop being a coward.
An over-the-door bell jingles as I step inside. I freeze on the welcome mat, my nerves finally getting the best of me.
“Welcome to…” Asher’s words fall off when he sees me, and I begin to panic. I shouldn’t have come. Showing up, unexpected like this, probably crosses some weird real-world-fake-dating line. “Ellie? What are you doing here?”
“I… uh…” My gaze darts around the room. My heart beats faster. Another panic attack is looming around the corner, and there are only two ways through it. Calm myself down and wait it out, or run. Right now, I really, really want to run.
Asher's lips lift into a heartbreakingly beautiful grin. He steps around the counter and pulls me into a hug and the tension in my chest fades away. “Are you hungry?”
“Sure,” I answer as he ushers me onto a swivel stool at the counter. Lindy's Diner has a retro feel with its black and white tiles and baby blue vinyl booths. It's cute. Not something I'd want to see every day, but nice in a nostalgic kind of way. “What’s good?”
“Everything.” Asher slides a plastic menu over to me. He leans one arm on the counter and runs a hand through his hair. “The cook here is the best in town.”
“Cool.” I close the menu and lay it on the counter beside me. “Tell him to surprise me then.”
"You got it, babe." Asher winks then walks through the swinging double doors. I wait a minute, expecting him to come back, but he stays hidden back there.
After five minutes with nothing to do, because I purposefully left my phone in the car, I start to feel anxious. My mind runs rampant with questions like, Why hasn’t he come back out? Is he hiding from me? And the thought, I shouldn’t have come, runs on a broken record.
The waitress I saw through the window taps the only other patron left, an old man, on the hand and walks over to me. “Hey there, sugar.” She leans against the back counter, the one that has a nineties model fountain drink display on it, and tucks her hands into the pockets of her white apron. “Did Asher take your order already?”
“Yes, ma’am.” I wish I had my phone to play with or a magazine to read, or something. Being left alone with my thoughts is never a good thing. They used to fixate on Liam, thinking about the future we’ll never have or over analyzing our conversations. Now it seems my thoughts want to berate me for coming here. Despite Asher’s smile, I can’t help but feel like I’ve crossed some invisible line with us.
“That boy,” the woman says with a smirk, shaking her head in amusement. “I’ve never seen him jump so fast to get behind the grill. You must be somethin’ special.”
“Wait, Asher is the cook?” The pressure in my chest decreases to where I can breathe without feeling my pulse race. I smile, feeling stupid having thought he was avoiding me. Asher isn’t Liam. I should have known better.
“Yup,” the woman says, stepping forward, “and he’s the best one I’ve had in three years.” She extends her hand across the counter. “The name's June Bell, but most people call me June-B.”
“Ellie.” I surprise myself, choosing the name Asher’s given me over Lainey. I shake June-B’s hand and her grin stretches wider.
“The infamous girlfriend.” She reaches under the counter and pulls out a tall glass. “Strawberry or vanilla?”
“Uh…” I have no clue what she’s asking for, but if I have to choose then, “Strawberry.”
“A girl after my own heart.” June-B winks then shuffles over to the ice cream bin and slides the glass top open. “I thought Asher was pulling my leg when he said he’d finally settled down, but here you are.”
“Settled down?” I ask, my mind whirling. Asher told someone about me. About us. Does that mean he's having fun fake dating? Might he, maybe, want to take the fake part out of our arrangement? I squirm with excitement then take a breath. I have to calm down or I'm going to blow my cover.
“Oh, heavens.” June-B stands upright and dumps the strawberry ice cream into the blender. She reaches for some milk, pours that in with a dash of sugar, and then tops her whittling machine. “You’re not her, are you?”
June-B frowns, then flips a switch, bringing the blender to life. Once it’s all mixed, she pours the shake into a glass, adds a touch of whipped cream, then tops it off with a cherry. She sets the milkshake in front of me and says, “on the house.”
“Who did you think I was?” I pull the paper off my straw, then take a sip. It’s perfect, not too sweet but still heavenly.
Asher pushes through the swinging double doors with a plate in his head. He beams at me as he sets it on the paper placemat in front of me. “One cold, black train. A cheese-stuffed patty topped with lettuce, tomato, a hearty onion ring, ketchup, and spicy mayo. No mustard because you hate the stuff.”
My cheeks blush, amused that once again he knows something about my food preferences I haven't told him. And then I see the burger and my eyes 'bout bulge out of my head. “That burger is freaking huge!”
“Don’t be intimidated, El. We both know it’s not the biggest thing you’ve had in your mouth this week.” He winks and I throw an onion ring at him. I hated giving Liam blow jobs. It was a chore that took a lifetime and he’d have a fit if I didn’t swallow. But the idea of taking Asher in my mouth isn’t as unappealing as I originally thought it would be. Maybe one day. I smirk and look down at my plate again.
“This looks amazing.” I pick the burger up with both hands and sink my teeth in it. Warm and juicy, with a hint of spice but not so hot that it’s unenjoyable.
Asher’s grin stretches as he watches grease drip down my chin. “So, what kind of trouble were you stirring up, June-B?”
“Oh, you know.” She flicks her wrist in my direction, then grabs a stack of napkins to refill the containers. “I was just about to ask this pretty thing if she was your girlfriend, or could at least tell me if the little lady exists.”
Asher’s cheeks flush. I’ve never seen him look so boyish and vulnerable. He tucks his lips between his teeth and I have the sudden urge to kiss them. We haven’t kissed since the party. That was twelve long days ago. Sure, he’s dropped sweet nothings against my cheek or shoulder at school, but those kisses are nothing compared
to what we shared that night.
“And?” Asher asks expectantly. “What’s it gonna be? Are you my girl, Ellie?”
The bite of burger in my mouth sticks in my throat. I chase it with a swallow of milkshake, then wipe my chin with a napkin. “Didn’t we have this conversation a few weeks ago?”
Asher rests his elbows on the counter. He leans in close. So close that I can smell the mint gum in his mouth. “I'm making sure you haven't changed your mind.”
I smile back at him feeling my heart flutter. "Never."
“You’re late,” Clint hollers from the couch as I stride through the doors of our twenty-year-old double wide. Mom and I, we’ve lived here my whole life, and each year something else in our home decides to break. It's not worth the cost to fix it, but it's also not our responsibility. We have a landlord, but all he's good for is collecting rent.
Clint, my mom’s pathetic excuse for a boyfriend the last ten years, contributes by paying for the beer in his cooler. That’s it. Mom, she busts her ass at the same diner I work at, day in and day out, just to keep us on our feet. She handles the rent and electricity. I help with the water and cable as well as pay for my cellphone and gas. Food is an afterthought, if there’s any money left.
“I said,” Clint huffs, a cloud of smoke seeping from the couch to the kitchen, “you're late.”
Our trailer has two bedrooms, two bathrooms, and the rest is open space. The kitchen, dining room, and living room are all one area, separated by the change from carpet to fake tile. A long time ago, they matched: white to white. Now the vinyl has faded to tan and the carpet is brown from the dirt dragged in.
I like to think that at one time this was a nice home. If we had the money, it could be again, but priorities take place and as long as the leaks in the roof don’t spread to the TV or over our beds, repairs stay at the bottom of the list. Besides, I'd have to hustle to get the money, and I try to stay out of the neighborhood’s business.
“Work.” I shut the fridge, wishing I had taken June-B up on her offer for a free meal. Every night she reminds me to eat before shift change and nine out of ten times, I refuse. I’d rather go to bed hungry than take a handout because I’ve learned nothing in life is free.
“That’s no excuse, boy. Your curfew is eleven-thirty and it's after midnight. You were with that whore again. Weren't you?” Clint pushes himself out of his recliner.
When Mom and him first started dating, he seemed to have it all. A steady job working in construction, a new truck, strong hands, and motivation. He was everything my mother wanted: a partner, a role model, but most importantly, financial stability. It wasn’t long before his true colors began to show.
I grit my teeth. Ellie is not a whore, but I'm too tired to fight. She left the dinner around nine, just in time, because Bane McCarron and his crew showed up fifteen minutes later. They claim they're not a gang, instead calling themselves vigilantes, but when you come into a restaurant, eat for two hours, and don't have to pay, you're no Robin Hood.
“I’m not your boy,” I remind Clint, like I do every time he says it. “Thank God for that.”
Last month, after getting fired from the only construction company within fifty miles willing to give him a chance, Clint found a job as a long distance truck driver. Best fucking job ever, and I’m counting down the days until he leaves again.
I take a step forward to walk around Clint’s large frame and go to my room. He extends his arm, pushing me back that step and then some. “Where’s this week’s rent money?”
I grit my teeth and dig into my back pocket for my wallet. Mom doesn’t know I pay seventy-five dollars a week to live in this shithole. I could take the three-hundred a month and find myself an efficiency in one of the apartment complexes a few blocks over, but that would leave her alone with this monster. A day or two is fine, but if I’m gone too much more, he gets lazy and doesn’t care where he hits her. The last time they kicked me out, it took four days before Mom had a black eye. She, of course, refused to press charges so there wasn’t much I could do.
I pull the tips I’ve been saving the past three days out and hand the cash over. Clint smirks and turns his back to me without so much as a thank you. I wait until he’s planted himself into his chair, so worn that it molds to his body, before moving. After a solid minute, I shut myself in my room.
I turn the handle lock, my deadbolt, and then slide the chain into its holder on the door. One day I’m going to get out of this shithole town and take Mom with me.
Glass shatters in the kitchen, jolting me awake before my alarms go off. I sit upright, waiting, wondering if I’d dreamed it. A moment later something else breaks and Mom screams. I throw my blanket off and run across the room. My fingers brush across the locks, opening each one in less than a second.
Adrenaline pumps through my veins when I see Clint bent over my mother in the kitchen. I fist the back of his shirt as he draws back to hit Mom again and he elbows me in the face. I ignore the pain radiating from my eye, down my cheek, and throw Clint into the living room. He crashes against the recliner, knocking it on its side.
I turn to face him, squaring my shoulders, ready to fight. I’ve waited years to kick Clint’s ass. He’s the scum of the earth. The gum stuck on the bottom of my shoe, and I can’t for the life of me figure out why my mother is still with the guy.
Mom rushes past me to be at his side. She places her hands on him, like he’s a hurt child, assessing him for bumps and bruises. Clint presses his palm against Mom’s chest and shoves her aside. “Get off me, woman.”
“I swear to god, Clint, if you touch my mamma like that again, I’ll fucking kill you.” I ball my fists, ready for an attack. All I need is for him to purposely strike first. Then, when he calls the cops, I can claim everything was self-defense. He hurt Mom and attacked me. I’ll press charges and he’ll get locked up for domestic abuse for a few weeks. That’ll be enough time to convince Mom to move and that we don’t need Clint sucking the life out of us.
Clint stares me down. “What did you say, boy?”
Mom steps between us, her arms out wide. “Enough!”
“Get out of the way, Mom.”
“No.” She looks at me, one eye swollen shut and turning purple. I hate seeing her like this. Broken and beaten down. My mother is a shell of the woman she used to be because of this man. “You have school. Go before you’re late.”
“Mom!” I glare at her in disbelief. She can’t be serious. I can’t leave her alone with this monster. What if he hurts her again? What would happen if I’m not here to stop him? “You can’t be serious.”
Mom turns and cradles my cheeks in her hands. This close, I can see every tired line on her face. The purple hue spreading further down her cheek. Most importantly, I see her love, and it kills me. “You’ll never get out of here if you don’t go to school. I don’t want this life for you.”
I close my eyes, my shoulders hunching forward in defeat. I’ve heard the story my whole life, how if she had gone to college, things would have been different. How I’m her second chance. I would happily go to jail if it meant Clint would be out of our lives forever, but I know Mom. She would find a way to blame herself and fall back into depression. This last round nearly killed her. As much as I don’t want to leave, I don’t want her slipping down that slope again.
I open my eyes and stare into her tired browns. I don’t look anything like her. All of my features, except for my nose, belong to Derek. I know it kills her to look at me, to live with a reminder of every mistake she’s ever made, but she tries hard to hide the pain. “Okay, Mom. I’ll go, but if he touches you, you call me.”
She smiles, wordlessly telling me that she’ll be alright. A lie neither of us believe, but we pretend to, for each other.
The beach is my second home. The dugout underneath the boardwalk, my hidden bed. I learned a long time ago that my mother was always going to choose her boyfriend over me. I was twelve the first time she told me to find somewhere else t
o stay. On our side of the tracks, I knew better than to ask someone if I could sleep on their couch. Favors asked mean favors given, and I don’t want to owe anybody anything over there. I already took a debt out with Bane McCarron once to help my neighbor, but he warned me. My next favor won’t be as cheap, and getting rid of Clint isn’t as easy as calling him, or I would have done it already.
I’m deep under the wooden planks, hidden behind a mound of sand I built to shield me from prying eyes. There aren’t a lot of homeless people on this side of town. Someone sleeping out in the open would attract attention, but it's the safest place I've found. Unfortunately, even with all of my precautions in place, someone saw me crawl into my hideaway tonight and reported me. I raise my hand to shield my eyes from the bright light assaulting them.
“You can’t be here,” an authoritative voice says. Six years of sleeping in my hole, and now I get caught, when I’m eighteen and can be brought in. Figures.
I yawn, trying to catch a glimpse at my watch, and hold up my hands. I’m not a threat, just a tired kid with nowhere to go, and I want this guy to know as much. “I’m leaving.”
I crawl out of my hole and slide down the sandy slope. The only thing I have with me is my helmet. My jacket is tucked into the compartment under the seat of my bike and it is parked in the Horizon Hotel’s parking lot. I don’t have to worry about someone stealing it there because they have security.
The officer tilts his light out of my face and down to my waist. “How old are you?”
I stare at the sand, waiting for my eyes to adjust to the darkness. When I can see again, I look up at him and say, “Eighteen.”
“Fuck,” the cop mumbles. He runs a hand through his hair then sets it on his hip. The man is quiet for a few minutes, probably deciding whether to fine me, bring me in, or let me go. I hope it’s the latter. I can’t afford the fine or bail, but a decent bed and breakfast would be nice.
