Love Me Broken

by Lily Jenkins

  And I looked like crap when he saw me. Whatever my memories of him, his memories of me will be completely different. If I never see him again, his memories of me will always be of me sweaty, in pajamas, chasing after a cat that hates me.

  My mood sours and I don’t bother to blow-dry my hair. The same indifference to the way I present myself to the world returns. I go to my room and slip on the first pair of clean underwear that I find, and give even less attention to the jeans and blouse I tug on after that. I rummage for some socks, then tie my hair into a ponytail. I don’t even need a mirror to do this anymore; I’ve done it so much that it’s habit. I put on some flats and walk back downstairs.

  The coffee is cold in the kitchen. I dump it out and rinse out the pitcher. I toss the grinds into the trash and stare at their black mess on top of crumpled bills and old wine bottles.

  Suddenly, I cannot be in this house a moment longer. I have to get out, get away. I can’t breathe.

  I rush out the door, giving a half-glance to my mother on the porch, storm down the steps to the sidewalk, and make my way downtown to the coffee shop. I need to be around people. I need Nicole to talk and talk and talk, and block out whatever noise I have going on in my own head. I need to forget about this guy—

  (Adam. His name is Adam. And again his name brings his face up in my mind.)

  —forget about him and move out of this town and forget everything that ever happened here.

  The door dings when I enter the coffee shop, and there are five people in line at the counter. Nicole is the only one working, which is strange for the morning rush. Someone must have called in sick. She’s rushing around, pulling croissants from the pastry case, tamping down espresso and pulling shots, and taking cash and counting back change. I get in line and try not to think of anything—

  (him)

  —until it’s my turn.

  Nicole gives me a big smile when I reach her, and if this counter weren’t between us I know she’d give me a big hug. She’s wearing a tight shirt that says “Baristas do it better” and a skirt with red and white flowers. She has matching red clips in her hair and matching red lipstick.

  “Cute outfit,” I say.

  “Thanks,” she says, and means it. “Chad’s coming by a little later.”

  “Ah. Now I get it.” I look down at the pastries, not seeing them.

  “What would you like?” she says. “I keep smelling the blueberry scones and drooling onto people’s food.” Nicole used to get free snacks, until the owner realized she was abusing the privilege and getting all her meals from the dessert tray.

  I smile. “All right. One blueberry scone. And a bran muffin and a latte for myself.”

  She starts to make my drink, and I get out some cash to pay. I leave a two-dollar tip when I do.

  “You don’t have to do that,” she says with a smile. She says that every time.

  “Happy to.”

  She leans over a bit. “Are you staying a while?” she asks. The way she asks it makes me pay attention.

  “Yeah?”

  “Because Chad is coming by.”

  “So you’ve mentioned.”

  “I just—well, usually he’s easier to deal with when there’s an audience. Besides the customers, I mean.”

  The smile is glued to my face. I hate Chad. I really do. I hate the way he makes Nicole, who is otherwise so strong and outspoken, into a quivering mess. I am just counting down the days until she drops him and finds someone new.

  Although, chances are, the next guy will be about the same. They always are with her.

  “I’ll be here,” I say, and her eyes show relief.

  Our conversation is interrupted by a screeching voice from behind. “Excuuuuse me.”

  I turn and see a hobbled old woman with white hair and a pinched, angry expression. She’s one of the shop’s regulars.

  “I’ve been waiting,” she whines.

  I catch Nicole’s eye and she gives me a look. I try not to giggle and I make my way to a seat by the window. I set Nicole’s scone on the other side of the table and pick at my bran muffin. For a moment I’m lost in the bustle and humor of the setting, but then my mind quiets and my thoughts return to Adam.

  I picture the way his lip curled up. This sends a yearning tug deep inside me, and it’s so strong that I stop drinking altogether and set down my cup. I sit in a daze, replaying the whole conversation of the morning in my head. I picture him sitting on the curb, and that moment when he first stood, and looked so tall and… strong.

  “Hey,” Nicole says at my side, and I jump. She smiles and slips into the chair across from me. “Sorry that took so long.”

  I look at her and I have to hide my confusion. It felt like just a moment for me. But I look up and see the entire line that was behind me is gone. Even the light outside has shifted a little, become brighter and the shadows shorter. I look back at Nicole and smile to hide my disorientation.

  She’s looking down at my cup. “Did I make it wrong?” she asks.

  I look down at my full latte, the foam dissolved into nothingness. “No,” I say quickly and pick it up to take a sip. It’s cold. “It’s fine. I was just thinking.”

  Her eyes fill with a look of pity, and I realize what she assumes I was thinking about.

  “No,” I say, “not—just about something this morning. This guy I met.”

  She sits up straighter in her chair, and her eyes go wide. Her greedy smile makes me roll my eyes.

  “It’s nothing,” I say. “It’s stupid, really.” And I tell her about how yesterday, when I came home, I found the cat in the rain. And then this morning, how he got out and I had to chase him through the streets. “In my pajamas!”

  And then, about him. Adam. How he walked all the way to my house and helped me get the cat into the garage.

  When I’m done, she’s looking at me in expectation. “Yeah? And? Then what happened?”

  I shrug. “Nothing. We said good-bye and he walked away.”

  Nicole slams both hands on the table. “What? Walked away!” A few customers turn in our direction. I shrink down but Nicole doesn’t give a damn. “How could you let him just walk away? Did you get his number at least?”

  I shake my head, feeling stupid. “No. I didn’t think I’d see him again.”

  Nicole lets out a rush of air from her nostrils and pulls at her hair. “And you’re sure you don’t know him? You haven’t seen him around school?”

  “I’ve never seen him before.” This I am sure of. I would have remembered Adam. “He’s not staying permanently, he said. That’s why he couldn’t keep the cat himself.”

  Nicole’s hands leave her hair. “What else did he say? You said you saw him outside his house? Where did he live? Did he say where he worked?”

  I laugh and put out my hands. “Calm down. I think you’re more excited about this than I am.” Then I realize saying that means I’ve admitted that I’m excited too. I wish I had phrased that differently.

  “Of course I’m excited!” she says. “It’s not every day you even notice all the men around you, let alone talk to them, and have them talk back.”

  “But I was in my pajamas,” I protest.

  “Pfff! Like guys give a damn. You could be walking around in a straightjacket, and as long as you looked halfway decent they’d probably still be interested.”

  My lips pinch in a skeptical expression. Then I realize, “He did mention where he worked.”

  Nicole turns to me in rapt attention.

  “Some place called Watson’s. He said he fixes motorcycles. Or at least that he works there.”

  “That’s hot,” Nicole interrupts. “Does he have tattoos?”

  She’s practically drooling. She hasn’t touched her scone. I push it toward her, and she picks it up but doesn’t take a bite. “I couldn’t see any,” I say.

  “That doesn’t mean he doesn’t have any,” she says. Looking down, she notices the scone. Her brow wrinkles in confusion, as if she doesn
’t remember why it’s in her hand. Then she takes a big bite and her expression grows thoughtful. “Well,” she says, her words mumbled by food, “there’s only one thing to do.”

  “What?” I ask.

  She swallows. “You gotta go find him. Set up a date or something.”

  The idea of seeing him again fills me with electricity. Then I dismiss it. “But he’s leaving town.”

  “Doesn’t matter.”

  “But so am I! I can’t have a relationship.”

  “Even better! You can have a summer romance. It’s just what you need.” She rubs her hands together. “Okay, so here’s what you’ll do: You figure out where this shop is. Then, what you do is, you go bring him some muffins or something. As a thank you. You don’t even have to bake them. I’ll get you some from here.”

  I blink. “Right now?”

  “NO!” she shouts, and more heads turn in our direction. “Tomorrow. Definitely tomorrow. You don’t want to appear too desperate.”

  I nod, but I’m still filled with doubt. “But what if—”

  My question is cut off by the ding of the door. Nicole stands up immediately, and I turn to see Chad has entered. He’s a big guy with dark hair and a permanent grimace. He looks like any rich kid at the country club—only much dumber. And he’s not actually rich.

  “I thought you’d be done by now?” he says as greeting. His tone is accusatory.

  “I was, baby,” she tells him, and the note of weakness in her voice puts a bad taste in my mouth. “But Stacey didn’t show up this morning, and I have to stay a little later for Thom to start his shift.”

  “You always do this!” he pouts, and I lean away from him and start to collect my things. I can tell they’re about to have one of their very loud, very public arguments, and I have no desire to witness Nicole submit herself to him.

  “I’ll call you later,” I whisper as I stand up, and Nicole nods but doesn’t look at me. I feel bad for my friend, but I know there’s not much I can do in this situation. In a week they’ll break up, and she’ll say I was right all along and that she’s sworn off men. Then the next week she’ll find someone new, and the cycle will start all over again.

  I exit hastily, dumping my mug into the dish bucket on the way out, and push open the door into the warm noon air. I walk down toward the water, toward the pier where there won’t be any cars to bother me.

  Muffins. Tomorrow I will bring him muffins.

  And I feel myself lifting inside at the thought. I picture his face, his eyes, and my heart fills with expectation.

  I will see Adam tomorrow.

  Levi lends me light blue work pants and a matching jacket. I don’t button up the jacket—it’s too warm for that—and I roll up the sleeves. I’ve got my work boots on, and they add another inch or so to my height. Levi is forced to look up at me as we walk around the shop.

  It’s a small mom-and-pop operation in a corner building near the pier. A large garage door is open, letting in the fresh breeze, but it still smells like motor oil and masculinity. Levi shows me the work area in the center of the shop. There are a few bikes that look almost like show pieces in various stages of repair and assembly. Then he shows me the shelves of stock, explaining how to inventory parts.

  Even though I want to make a good first impression, my mind starts to wander. It starts drifting back to that girl and her cat. And how she lived in that cold and sterile house.

  Levi laughs at one of his own jokes, and I laugh along with him, even though I wasn’t paying attention to what he said. We move on to where the tools are stored, and I notice a bulletin board on the back wall. It’s crammed with bright neon postcards, poking over the sides, and looks out of place in the otherwise monochrome workshop. There’s a small desk under it, and I go closer and lean against it, taking in the postcards. Levi quiets, letting me look.

  Hawaii. Miami. The Bahamas.

  Flamingos, beaches, and bikini girls.

  As I’m looking I hear footsteps behind me, working their way down a creaking wooden staircase. I turn and see an older man with a sizable gut and a patchy gray beard. He’s taking the stairs slow and gripping the banister tightly.

  When he reaches the bottom, Levi introduces me.

  “This is Adam. He’s the one who’ll be giving me a hand through the summer.”

  The older man fixes his surprisingly gentle blue eyes on me, and reaches out his hand. I shake it, and he says, “Nice to meet you, Adam. If Levi gives you any trouble, you be sure to let me know.” He chuckles, and I give a polite chuckle back.

  “I really appreciate this job, Mr. Watson,” I say.

  He waves a hand. “Call me Henry. Well,” he says, and puts a hand on his back, “I’d love to stay and chat, but my old bones are killing me today.” He turns to Levi. “You got a handle on things?”

  Levi gives a smirk, like he’s the master of handling things. “Yeah. Pretty light workload. Just a few tune-ups, and Burnside rescheduled for tomorrow, so it should be a good day for training.”

  Mr. Watson nods. “You be sure to let me know when Burnside comes in. Although something tells me I’ll hear about it anyway from the General.” He and Levi exchange a look of understanding, and I’m left out of the loop. Then the old man catches me looking back at the board of postcards and he asks, “You ever been to Miami?”

  I shake my head. “No, sir.”

  “Me neither,” he says. “Can you believe it? Almost seventy years old and I’ve never seen the sun!” He starts to work his way back up the stairs. “My old bones are freezing. Freezing!”

  I turn back to Levi with a grin, and I find him looking uncharacteristically serious.

  “What was all that about?” I whisper once the upstairs door is closed.

  “Old Man Watson’s ready to retire,” Levi explains. He looks at the postcards. “He can’t work on bikes anymore like he used to, you know? Arthritis. So he’s got his heart set on moving to someplace tropical. Thinks he’ll like it hot better.”

  “Some do,” I say.

  Levi quiets, not getting my pun, and starts walking me back to the middle of the floor.

  “So why doesn’t he just go?” I ask.

  Levi hesitates. “Because of the shop.”

  I don’t ask anything more, and Levi starts fumbling with the gaskets and tubes of a bike propped up in the middle of the shop. “Hand me that, would you?” he says, gesturing toward a wrench on the ground. I lift up the heavy metal tool and hand it to him. He starts twisting off a bolt, his eyes on it, but I can tell his mind is elsewhere.

  Then, with the bolt half-off, he sets down the wrench and sits back, shaking his head. “It’s not fair,” he says.

  I’m very careful not to talk. I tilt my head slightly, showing I don’t understand, and he continues.

  “He wants to sell the place, and I want to buy it. It’d be perfect—I’ve been working here since I was fourteen. I know all the customers. I know the routine. And I can fix anything.” He grows silent, looking at his hands, blackened from grease.

  “Then what’s the problem?” I ask.

  He looks up at me and gives his typical grin. It doesn’t reach his eyes. “I don’t have any money,” he says. “Mr. Watson likes me, almost like a son, but if he just outright gives me this place, what’ll happen to him? He can’t stay here—he’ll die early. Just look at him. He’s got to have some cash upfront to move south, and I just don’t have it.”

  “There’s bank loans,” I suggest, and Levi lets out a pained moan.

  “I tried, man. Banks don’t want to loan to guys like me. And this shop only makes enough to get by. I’d never convince them I could pay it all off. It’d only get repo-ed and turned into a Starbucks.”

  He lets out a long sigh, and then he picks up the wrench. He begins to explain what he’s doing, the differences between a cheap mutt of a bike like mine and a fine creature like this Harley.

  I laugh and pay attention, but there’s a nagging part of me that really feels for
Levi. That wants to help him.

  The other part, the reasonable part, knows it’s like it was with the girl: I’m leaving, and it’s safer not to get involved.

  I stop off at the pet store after I leave Nicole at the coffee shop. I pick up a few kinds of cat food, kitty litter, some jerky treats for cats, and a little mouse filled with catnip. I drop these off at home, making sure Pete has his feeding station set up and everything he might need. He doesn’t come out from his hiding place, and I don’t really feel like being home, so I head out again.

  It feels good to be out and moving when my thoughts are so restless. I follow the slant of the town to the waterfront and spend the rest of the afternoon walking along the river, watching the seagulls pitch and dive, staring at the immense shipping boats on the water, and just people watching. Astoria isn’t a huge tourist town, but we get our fair share of invaders during the summer months, and most of them are drawn to the water. There’s a red trolley that runs along the river, and its windows are filled with old couples with outdated cameras and little kids who wave at everyone that goes by.

  The shadows are lengthening when I decide I’d better start heading home. The air has chilled and my stomach is starting to gurgle. I’m in no rush though, and I decide to stop at the grocery store on the way. There are a few things I need for tomorrow.

  I grab a cart and fill it with eggs, blueberries, and granulated sugar—muffin supplies. Nicole offered to “lend” me a batch from the coffee shop, but to be honest, while their muffins are tasty enough, they are obviously manufactured. I’d feel embarrassed giving such a thoughtless thank-you gift to my mailman, let alone to Adam. Plus I figure I’ll need something to keep me busy at home. I already know I’ll be too high-strung to read or concentrate on a movie, and Nicole has a date tonight with the incomparable Chad. I still don’t know what she sees in him, but maybe that’s the point? Maybe she likes being with him because she doesn’t have to care about him too much. Nicole can be surprisingly contradictory for someone who color coordinates like it’s a religion.

  With all the muffin ingredients in my cart, I linger in the pet food aisle and pick out a few more toys for Pete: feathers on strings, flashing balls, even a little laser pointer.