by Hart, Rye
“Well that was rude,” I mutter.
“What?” He looks up from his menu to meet my gaze.
“I haven't seen her in years, and you didn't even give me a chance to introduce you.”
“The waitress, you mean?” he asks, sounding genuinely puzzled.
My face falls. “Never mind.”
It's not worth the trouble. Somehow, he missed out on the entire conversation, likely deep in his own thoughts. He often did that when the subject didn't interest him. Yet, he gets upset at others who do the same thing to him.
Daisy brings back two glasses of ice water, and I order a coffee.
“This late at night?” Peter asks.
“Their coffee is to die for,” I say. “It's French roasted and – ”
“It's coffee,” he laughs, “at a diner. How incredible can it be?”
“Just humor me, okay?”
Peter shrugs and goes back to the menu, flipping it over a few times before setting it down on the table in front of him. I glance around the diner and suddenly realize that we're so out of place here. Glancing at the other tables, there's a cute couple next to us all snuggled up in a booth. A young couple who are obviously in love. They're about the same age as us, but they look at each other with such adoration in their eyes and I feel a physical pain in my chest. It hurts me to see that. It reminds me of what Peter and I lack. What we'll never have, because truthfully, I never got my heart back from the one person I gave it to so long ago in this same diner.
Daisy sets my mug of coffee down and hovers a moment, until Peter side-eyes her.
“I don't think we're ready to order yet,” he says gruffly.
Daisy isn't looking at him, she's looking at me. Her face is tight, and she looks like she wants to tell me something. Maybe I'm imagining it, but seeing her standing there, I'm overcome with such a wave of nostalgia and happiness, that I stand up and wrap my arms around the older woman, hugging her tight. She's about five inches shorter than me, so I try not to put her face in my boobs as we embrace. It's a little awkward, but I make it work.
“I'm so glad to see you again, Daisy,” I say, feeling tears welling in my eyes. “It's been too long.”
“It has, dear,” she says. “Far too long.”
Her voice is as warm as the hands she wraps around my shoulders. She lowers her voice, rising on her tip-toes to whisper into my ear.
“When you get a chance, you might want to head toward the back,” she says. “There's someone here who'd love to see you.”
My body tenses up as we pull away, though she keeps hold of my hands. Daisy is smiling until her eyes, once again, land on my date. The smile fades and she scowls at him. It's how a lot of people in the service industry tend to respond to Peter. “I'll be right back to take your order,” Daisy says, scurrying away to the kitchen once more.
I can't see the back of the restaurant since there's a partition in the way, but my mind is buzzing, and my pulse is racing. Who would want to see me? I'm overcome by a wave of thought and emotion and none of it makes any sense. It couldn't be him. No, it simply couldn't be. The odds of him being here on the same night I am – after all these years – it defies logic and rationality. I think I'd stand a better chance of getting hit by lightning.
I bite my lip as I try to decide whether or not I should walk back there, or just sit down with Peter again.
“Sydney?” Peter asks.
I hardly hear his voice. As if I have no control over my body, my feet are moving before I can stop myself. I mutter to Peter over my shoulder.
“I'm going to use the restroom,” I say.
The bathroom is located back there, but that's not where I'm going. After what Daisy said, I find myself drawn to the back of the restaurant. It’s like I'm being pulled by some magnetic field that I can't break free from. Not that I'm trying very hard. Part of me wants to see if it could be him.
My heart is hammering inside of me and I'm curious, perhaps even excited, but also nervous at the same time. I walk slowly, almost too slowly. People stare, or maybe it's my imagination. I don't know. I reach the partition and step around it, and right away, our eyes meet, and I feel a powerful jolt of electricity tear through my body.
His blue eyes were always the best part about him, and even now with a scruffy beard and a chiseled jaw line, I can't stop staring into those painfully familiar baby blues. My heart skips a beat, and my knees are weak. Feeling faint and like I might fall, I grab onto the partition to hold myself up. Seeing that I'm about to topple over, he stands up and walks toward me.
Damn. He got hot. Not that he was homely before, but as he comes toward me, I can see that his body is toned and ripped now. He's obviously someone who still works out. His dark brown hair is cut short to his head – as opposed to when he was younger and kept it long and wild. The beard is rugged and unexpected but is kind of nice. I can't explain it, but it somehow suits him, sort of softening up his face a bit.
He strolls toward me in tight jeans and a black t-shirt, and then I notice the shadow behind him. A chocolate lab follows closely behind, and I can't help but smile. Jack always did have a soft spot for dogs.
“Sydney, is that really you?” his voice is deep and gravely, lower than I remember it to be.
“It is,” I say, still feeling dumbstruck – I mean, what are the odds? A smile pulls at the corners of my mouth that's so wide, it almost makes my face hurt. I can't help it, even though I know happiness is the last thing I should feel right now. A pit forms in my stomach as we stand, in silence, staring at one another in the restaurant that's as familiar and comforting as Jack's blue eyes.
“I thought I'd never see you again, Jack.”
Running a hand through his short hair, he looks away. Briefly. “Didn't you get the letter I sent you?” he asks. “Back about five years ago?”
“I never got a letter. I never got anything,” I say.
My heart hammers in my chest harder as the memories flood back into me. My stomach churns and I taste a sour bitterness in my throat as the anger rises inside of me. My blood begins to boil as I remember the countless nights I spent crying myself to sleep, thinking I'd lost the love of my life – and for what?
He never even said goodbye or offered an explanation. Like a puff of smoke on the breeze, he was just gone. Vanished. Like he'd never been. I'd heard he enlisted in the Marines, but even that came through rumors that spawned countless hours of research on the internet. No one I asked knew anything about him, or what happened to him, and that killed me. For years, I wondered why – and now, I might finally get my answer.
“I was worried your parents might not give it you,” he says quietly.
“My parents? What do you – ”
We're interrupted by a voice from behind me. I cringe, realizing it's Peter's voice.
“Get lost on your way to the bathroom?” Peter asks as he comes up behind me, slipping his arm around my waist.
The two men share a look and in just that one, brief glance, the tension between them is palpable, and it's growing thicker by the second “Uhh, no, Peter,” I say, shaking myself out of my daze, “This is Jack. He's an old – friend – of mine. Jack, this is Peter.”
Peter reaches his hand out, and Jack takes it. The two men shake, and when they release their grip, Peter grabs hold of my hand, giving it a tight squeeze. He might as well have pissed on my leg right then and there, claiming me as his, given the way he pulled me into him. My hand aches from the tight hold, but I don't say a thing. I do my best to keep my face neutral and even. Best to not cause a scene. Not here. Not now.
“Seems like we're running into a lot of old friends tonight, aren't we, dear?” Peter kisses the top of my head.
“That happens when you take me to a place I practically grew up in,” I say, trying to keep my voice cheery and bright.
Jack looks to Peter then to me, and then back to Peter again. I know Jack well enough to know that he doesn't like what he sees in the man holding my hand. But
, if he has an issue with it, he bites it back. It's not like he has any sort of claim on me. He's the one who ghosted me, not the other way around.
“Yeah, she introduced me to this place actually. A long time ago,” Jack says. His jaw is clenched tight and I can hear the strain in his words. “Jack – ”
“Listen, I have to run,” Jack says. “But you two lovebirds have a good time, ya hear?”
“Jack, wait, I want to talk to you.”
Jack pushes past me, the dog in tow offering me sympathetic eyes as they pass us by. I try to pull my hand free from Peter's, but he doesn't let go. If anything, he only tightens his grip. I fight it, and still, he holds me tightly. I try dragging him with me, but it's no use. He weighs twice what I do. I can't move him or pull my hand from his grip even if I want to.
I'm stuck and can only call out to Jack from the back of the restaurant, barely seeing around the partition as he walks out the front door.
“Jack, please!”
Tears fill my eyes, but he doesn't even turn to look me. He's gone in a second. Vanished into the night once more. Yeah, that's a familiar feeling. The entire restaurant is watching us now, and Peter still has hold of my hand. Daisy is standing behind the counter, her hands on her hips as she looks at us, shaking her head. Her eyes look about as sad as I feel.
Peter grimaces, a disgusted look on his face. “I can't believe they let dogs in here,” he says. “That can't be sanitary. That has to be some kind of a health code violation or something.”
Slack-jawed, I stare at him. He's completely oblivious, or so it seems. Not that I'm entirely surprised by it. He turns to me and smiles, kissing my hand again as he guides me back to our table. Suddenly, I'm not very hungry, my appetite is gone. The idea of food actually starts to turn my stomach.
Peter calls out to Daisy, “Come, come,” he says. “We'd like to order now.”
No please. Nothing that would signal it was a request – or that he had any manners. Just a demand. I sit, quietly, in my seat as Peter orders an omelet with ham and cheese.
“Sydney, what can I get you, dear?” Daisy asks.
I look up and see that her eyes are sad – which is probably what she sees in mine. It's obvious that Daisy pities me – but why? With my nice clothes and my obviously wealthy boyfriend, I bet most people would assume I had it good. A handsome man sitting across from me. Money in the bank. A limo waiting out front to drive us to some fancy lodge in Aspen. By all accounts, I had it good. It's a life I know some people would kill for.
If that's the case though, I think to myself, why am I not happy?
I glance back toward the front door, staring out the window. I strained my eyes, trying to see through the dying light of the day, desperately searching, trying to catch one last look at Jack again. He's nowhere to be seen though and I feel a sharp pain lance me through the heart. I turn back around, clear my throat and order chocolate chip pancakes. Peter raises an eyebrow at my choice, but I smile and give him a small shrug.
“It's what I always used to get as a child,” I say. “Since we're taking the nostalgia tour, you can humor me.”
He shrugs and sips his water, not saying a word. Yet, I get the distinct feeling he's judging me for it. Just wait until I get Daisy's world-famous pie for dessert too, I think. Maybe I'll get two slices just to piss him off.
No, that never ends well. Peter has a temper. It's one side of him that my folks never see. Even if they ever did though, I'm not sure it would make much difference.
They love him. They expect me to love him too.
If only it were that easy.
When she sets my plate down in front of me, Daisy catches my eye and I see that she's discreetly slipping a folded piece of paper to me underneath my plate. Thankfully, Peter's not paying attention – he's busy looking at something on his phone, not even looking up to acknowledge that Daisy is dropping off our food. She smiles wide and gives me a wink, placing her fingers to her lips as if to tell me to be quiet about it. Not that she has anything to worry about, I have no desire to upset Peter further. I slip the note into my purse, pretending to reach for lip balm.
As I slip the note into my bag, I notice my name written on the front and feel my heart skip a beat. That feeling of electricity running along my every nerve ending returns as I look at the note. The handwriting is familiar.
It's Jack's chicken scratch.
ooo000ooo
“Well that was certainly different.”
The way Peter enunciates “different”, means it's obviously not a good thing. The air is only growing colder as we walk to the limo. When we reach the car, he holds the door open for me. I climb inside, welcoming the warmth until the door closes me in and I feel Peter pressed close to my body. I suddenly feel claustrophobic and look at the door, yearning to open it back up and step out. Before I can do anything other than think about it though, the car is moving again. There's no escape now.
I sit back and focus on my breathing as Peter looks over at me.
“You okay?” he asks.
“Yeah, fine,” I lie.
My cheeks are flushed even though it's not hot, I just need to breathe. Try to calm my racing heart and relax.
“You sure?” he asks. “That Jack fella didn't upset you, did he?”
Peter is looking down at me with his brows drawn together in a straight line. His jaw is tight and he's staring daggers at me. It's Peter's all too familiar disappointed, bordering on upset look – it's an expression I've seen more times than I can count over the last few months we've been together.
“Oh no, he's just an old – friend.”
I try to laugh it off and minimize what Jack meant to me at one time, long ago. I can't keep all of the emotion out of my voice though, and it cracks at the end of my sentence.
“Well, I didn't like the way he looked at you,” he says sternly. “You don't look at friends that way. I don't think I like that guy.”
Now that Peter mentions it, I did notice the way Jack's eyes lit up when he saw me. For a brief moment, the look on his face made me feel nineteen all over again. Jack had always had that effect on me, making me feel like I was the only woman in the room and the most beautiful woman in the world. It's a feeling I've never felt with any other guy before. It's certainly never something I've ever felt with Peter.
“You have nothing to worry about,” I mutter.
“You sure about that?”
“Peter, are you honestly accusing me of cheating – or at least thinking about cheating – on you?”
My voice rises. There it is. No more cracking or crying. You don't accuse me of cheating, you just don't. I've never given him a reason to not trust me and, the implication I hear in his tone makes my blood boil.
This time, it's my turn to stare daggers at him.
“I can't help but feel jealous, Sydney,” he says. “You're a beautiful woman. I know you turn heads when you walk into a room. It's only natural for me to feel a little – protective.”
“Even if Jack was looking at me like you seem to think he was, it's not like we're ever going to see each other again.”
My heart drops for a second when the words come out of my mouth. I honestly never thought I'd see Jack again in the first place, so to run into him like we had tonight – it turned my whole world upside down. Though, the realization that it's probably a one-time coincidence sets in and I start to feel sad. At least, until I remember the note Daisy gave me. The note with Jack's handwriting on the I remember the way he used to write my name in his notebook, joking about getting it tattooed somewhere on his body. So maybe I just lied to my boyfriend. Maybe there is some small spark of hope that I'm going to see Jack again. But, would it be smart? Given everything that happened between us, is seeing him again the smartest thing I can do to myself? Or will I just be subjecting myself to more heartbreak and frustration?
Peter continues studying my face, as if looking for any chink in my armor. Like he's looking for some opportunity to doubt me. I kee
p my face as neutral as I can, and when he sees none, he leans in and places a soft kiss upon my lips.
“I'm sorry, love. You just make me crazy sometimes,” he says. “I can't lose you. I don't know what I'd do without you.”
His attachment to me freaks me out. We've only been together a few short months, I think, but I don't bother to point that out. No need to give him any more reason to doubt me. Not when I have to spend a few days locked in a cabin with him. Deep down though, I worry that if he's like this after only a few months, what he'll be like after a year, or longer.
“In fact,” he purrs, “I was going to wait for the right time, but with everything going on, I don't think I can wait any longer.”
My heart skips a beat, and I swallow a lump forming in my throat. A noose of dread wraps itself around my throat as I fear what's coming next. I say a silent word, praying that what I fear he's about to do isn't what I'm thinking.
“W - what are you talking about?” I ask slowly.
Peter continues, “I've already spoken to your parents and asked for their approval – ”
“Approval for what?” My stomach churns as we take one step closer to what I fear he's doing.
Peter reaches into a hidden compartment of the limo and pulls out a sleek, black box. I gasp, but not for the reason he thinks I am.
Peter drops to his knee as best he can in the back of the limo.
God, I'll do anything to make this stop. My parents just adore him though, and I don't want to let them down. They already claim I'm too picky and I thought they were right, but this? No, this I'm not ready for. This is too soon. Way too soon.
Before he can even ask, I take his hands in mine and keep him from opening Pandora's Box. If I let him open it, all manner of dark devils will come flying out and I don't know that they can be put back in again. “Peter, are you – ”
“I'm asking you to marry me, yes,” he says, a slight tremor in his voice.
His gray eyes darken, and the question comes out more as a demand than a proposal. As if he expects me to fall over, thank my lucky stars that such a man came into my life, and agree to be his wife.
