My phone buzzes in my back pocket, so I wipe my hands on the blue checkered towel hanging over the rod in the window and pull it out.
As if she knows I'm thinking of her, Cathy has texted me. Twice in the last hour. How did I miss the last message?
You can start when you like
See you soon
Maybe tomorrow morning is soon enough.
Sydney brings a stack of three plates to me and I slide them into the water.
"Why don't we ever use forks when we eat Sloppy Joes?"
She wonders this aloud, and I shake my head while she dips her hands into the stream of water before picking up the towel from the counter where I left it.
I tuck my phone away and allow myself to fall into an easy, meaningless conversation with my sister as I wash the few dishes and she dries them. Our parents talk together at the table, smiling up at us as we return to take napkins and glasses away from them.
"Movie night? Or are you too tired, Jenny?"
My dad puts an arm around my shoulders, and I want to lean into him like Sydney has done with me several times since I've been home. I hold back though. I'm a big girl, and I don't need my parents to worry about me.
"Not tired at all. Just nothing with car crashes. Some of those highway drivers are unnerving, you know?"
Interstate 71 gets a little crazy with traffic, especially with the trucks, and since I've only driven it alone a few times, I was shaken up more than once on the way home.
"13 Going on 30!"
Sydney yells this with her hands in the air in touchdown formation, and our dad, to his credit, doesn't make a sound. How many times have we subjected him to our favorite chick flick?
"Whatever you girls want," he promises, returning the kiss on the cheek I gave him earlier when he was unloading my car.
"Thanks," I whisper, hoping it's loud enough for him to hear.
The three of them start to leave the kitchen, and a memory of a time when Michael and I stood right here, alone in my kitchen rises in my thoughts.
"When we have our own house, you can burn all the Christmas cookies you like."
Sydney and I had made tins of cookies for our friends that year, and it was a good thing that I only had one tin to fill because about a third of my cookies were burnt. But Michael didn't care. He always said that he loved me exactly as I was, my skills in the kitchen notwithstanding.
So why had he kissed someone else?
Chapter Six
The diner is exactly as it was the last time I saw it last summer.
Exactly as it's been my entire life.
"I'm so glad you wanted to start working sooner than later!"
Cathy gushes as the maintenance man, who comes in long before any customers arrive so there are no vacuums running or mops pushing along the tile sections of the floor while they are enjoying their food, smiles and waves at me.
How many times had he cleaned up after my mistakes, a kid just hanging out and helping to be close to her boyfriend, with nothing more than a shake of his head or a patient smile?
I return his gestures, happy to see him still here. Since I'll be working early, I'm sure I'll see him regularly, so maybe there is something I can do to make up for all the times I made extra work for him.
"You haven't been here this early very often, but it's calm and quiet for the most part, and a lot of the work we do is relaxing."
Baking at my house has never been relaxing, so I'm going to have to take Cathy's word for it.
"Good to see you home, Jenny."
Steve, who is a tall man in a grubby white uniform, nods to me as he steps past us, mop in hand. I smile and nod back, suddenly recognizing him from somewhere else but not sure why.
"Steve Davis. His son graduated with you and Michael."
Cathy reminds me of this, as if she's read my mind. I wonder why I’ve never made the connection before.
Parker Davis's dad. Parker and I aren't exactly friends, but it's not like I have any close friends anyway. Not when all my time and attention were focused on Michael since middle school.
That needs to change.
"So what's Parker up to these days?"
Steve turns around, startled. Is it so surprising that I would ask about Parker?
"He's at Kent State, studying architecture. They've got this incredible new building . . . but I've got to get my work done. Thanks for asking, Jenny."
I smile, glad that I could say something to please him but disappointed that it wasn't expected. Who wouldn't ask about their former classmates?
Me, I guess.
"Parker got a full scholarship, and is living on campus. I guess he did really well his first year, so Steve and Shelly are understandably proud of him."
Cathy continues to guide me through the Valley Vale social minefield, as she probably will the rest of the summer. She, more than anyone, knows that my awareness of anyone other than Michael and my little sister is severely limited.
And that there's no one to blame for that but me.
"We start with the bread each morning and make enough for the day. We'll freeze whatever is left over to use in some recipes, and sometimes if the food pantry is in need, we'll give them some, too."
The food pantry is housed at one of the churches in town, where anyone can stop in to pick up food to bring home. No questions asked. Every once in a while, one of the student groups from school will volunteer to hang out there with food they've made or purchased to give away. Sydney's done it with band and her majorette team before, and while I've helped her, it’s not as much as I could have.
"I can take whatever you need to the food pantry. Just let me know. Even if I'm not here, I can come out and pick it up."
Cathy squeezes my arm, and for some reason, I want to throw my other arm around her and hug her. She used to hug me all the time, and I was so used to her warmth and acceptance that I didn't realize how much it meant to me until it was gone.
"We usually wait until closing, and then Mark or I take it. But I'll definitely keep you in mind for any special trips."
I follow her around the kitchen as she points out utensils and products that are familiar to me, but since I've never actually cooked or baked here at the diner, I've never used them.
"So that's how we usually manage the morning prep when it comes to baking. Now, that's not to say that we don't have to make more later in the day, but we try to make enough to avoid that."
She tugs a little on my ponytail, as if I'm still thirteen years old and bouncing around the kitchen at her house, excited to help her, in any small way, make dinner for their family.
For Michael.
"But you know how busy the diner can get."
I do know, and am glad that I won't be around in the midst of that.
"Hey, Mom, do you think we need to order more of those cut-resistant gloves? Mary and Ellie both said they liked them better than the other ones, and if we have some extra on hand . . ."
Michael's voice trails from the dining room as he walks into the kitchen, growing louder as he continues and finally, until he stops talking when he sees me standing beside his mother. Her hand drops from the tips of my hair onto my shoulder.
It's almost protective, as if she knows what seeing Michael will do to me. Even if I don't, and if I'm not ready to find out.
He's a little taller than the last time I saw him, his hair a little longer. I always liked it cut short, clipped on the sides neatly, and he had always kept it that way.
Just for me? Apparently so.
But he looks so cute with it hanging unevenly around his face, curling just a little at the nape of his neck. I catch myself leaning back, as if I can get away from him this way, and force myself to stand up straight.
"Remember, I told you Jenny was helping in the kitchen with baking this summer?"
Cathy's voice is firm, her question not really a question but clearly some sort of directive. Is she warning him to be nice to me?
Or does she think I
might be the one who isn't nice to him?
There's no way she would be so open and kind to me if he told her what happened between us. Even if he admitted that he had kissed Annabelle, telling his mother that I kissed Jonah wouldn't endear me to her.
I've only told Sydney, and more recently Penny, but I have no idea who Michael has told.
His fiancée?
"Hi, Michael. How's it going?"
My smile is so false it's painful, so I let my cheeks relax and my lips fall back into an emotionless line as I wait for his response.
"Oh, yeah, Mom. Hey, Jenny."
There's a slight pause as Cathy slides her hand from my shoulder to my back, which she rubs in a quick circle before dropping it so she can turn around and point to a few things in the kitchen, filling in the empty space between our greetings.
"And then we can get a replacement for it, if Mary and Ellie think it's time."
Mary and Ellie are the head cooks. Cathy continues to talk about what they need and Michael takes notes on a pad of paper he was holding when he walked in, which gives him a way to avoid looking at me.
If he even wants to.
I wish I had something to do to keep my mind and hands occupied, too, but there's nothing I can do but wait patiently as they finish their discussion. With my hands folded together in front of me, I glance around the kitchen, comforted by all that's familiar.
When I waitressed here to fill in during busy shifts or when other staff were sick or on vacation, I would rush back here to ask for special requests from customers, or to let the cooks know about a large party that had just been seated. Our orders were picked up at a window cut into the wall that separates the kitchen from the ice cream and soda fountain, so we didn't really need to go into the kitchen for much.
"And Sydney is going to be helping, waitressing. She has so much energy and such an upbeat personality that she'll be a great addition to the diner."
I hear my sister's name and stop staring at the pots and pans that hang from the ceiling racks, dragging my focus back to Cathy.
But it lands on Michael, who is watching me with his big green eyes.
"We won't see each other too much, Jenny. You know I'm usually here later in the day."
He turns and takes a step away from us, but Cathy's voice stops him in his tracks.
"Michael Paul!"
I suck in a breath and realize that I'm shaking. This is it. It needs to happen, and then it will be done.
Won't it?
He doesn't turn around as his mother continues speaking.
"I don't know what happened between the two of you, but I can't imagine that Jenny deserves such rudeness from you, or from anyone. I expect everyone who works here to be respectful of each other, and that starts right this minute."
Michael's shoulders hunch, and I want to reach out and touch him, to ease the tension like I used to back when he bussed tables and labored over the dishes here. When he stopped over after work so we could cuddle on the sofa, watching some lame movie on TV in silence, enjoying each other's company without saying a word.
"Sorry, Mom."
His voice is soft, penitent.
A little sad.
"Sorry, Jenny."
I should say something, thank him, maybe, but I can't find the words as he pushes through the door into the dining room, leaving the two of us alone again.
"Why don't we go ahead and get started? I'll grab you an apron. If you wear jeans and a t-shirt, you should be fine, although it gets pretty warm in here with the ovens on."
I rub my stomach a little, feeling the muscles under my hand clench, and follow her to the other side of the kitchen, where a locker full of aprons, both for kitchen staff and waitresses, hang in a neat line. They are sparkling white, as if they've just been pulled from a fresh box.
"Everyone gets a clean apron every day, as you know. Oh, that reminds me, I need to have Michael add bleach to today's order."
She leaves me standing at the locker as I touch one of the aprons. It's soft from use, contrary to the purity of its color. I know that Cathy washes them all every day herself, so there's always a batch ready for the next day's staff to wear.
"Okay, sorry about that. I'm always forgetting something!"
She laughs at this when she returns, but it's not true. She and Mark are always on top of every detail, after years of running the diner. Michael is the same, his attention to each aspect of everything he does apparent in the outcome.
It's one of the things I've always admired about him.
"Jenny."
I look away from the fabric I'm holding between my fingers and find Cathy frowning at me.
"Don't worry about Michael. What's done is done, and I love you no matter what. You're like my own daughter, you know."
Tears rush behind my eyes and I blink hard to keep them from falling. There's no reason to start off on an emotional level with Cathy, not when I want to put this behind me instead of making her think I want her sympathy.
I don't want it, or deserve it.
How could Michael not tell his parents? They had to have asked him, and what sort of response would have made them let it go?
Mine just chalked it up to growing pains or something similar, whatever that meant, but they've never been as involved in my personal life like Michael's are in his.
My personal life - which has only consisted of Michael.
"I know. I love you, too, and I promise I won't make you sorry that you asked me to work with you."
She kisses the top of my head, like I do with Sydney, and I wonder if I can keep that promise.
Chapter Seven
"Sydney Nicole!"
When I get home from the diner, my sister is in the midst of apologizing for the gazillionth time for her abuse of the living room ceiling, but she offers me a conspiratorial grin as she waves her baton in front of her.
Our mom rolls her eyes and shakes her head before sighing.
"So how did it go?"
My phone hums in my pocket but I ignore it so I can answer her without seeming rude.
"Fine. I need to be there at five tomorrow morning, so no more late nights for me."
Sydney still has school for a few more weeks, but that hasn't kept her from sneaking into my bedroom with her laptop so we can watch random old chick flicks on Netflix after our parents go to bed.
"That will be better for Sydney, too. She has exams coming up."
My sister moans from the hallway in disagreement, and I hear her footsteps head towards her bedroom. Once she's finished with school, she'll be working too, but not as early as I will be. It'll be hard to turn her away when she wants to stream Legally Blonde at one in the morning.
Next year, she'll be a senior, and the idea of it makes me shake my head.
"What's wrong?"
I laugh at my mom's question and shake my head again.
"Just thinking about how much Sydney's grown. I can't believe she's going to graduate in a year."
My mom wipes down the kitchen counter, and I notice a row of cookies lined up on wire racks. How had I not smelled them when I came in?
When I step closer to her, I see that they are oatmeal raisin, my favorite, and grab a couple before she can stop me.
"You're a little thinner than you were at Christmas, so you should take more than that. Whatever happened to the idea of the Freshman Fifteen?"
I shrug and stuff a cookie in my mouth. It's crispy but soft inside, and still warm.
I wonder if there's any coffee left.
My mom's hand stops me as she grips my elbow, and I halt in my effort to turn away and look in the corner by the stove, where our coffee pot sits.
"Are you really okay?"
When I take a breath, I inhale the cookie in my mouth and start to choke. She hits me hard between my shoulder blades and I cough, covering my mouth so I don't spew bits of oatmeal and raisins all over the place.
She surprises me by pulling me close to her once I'm breathing norm
ally, laughing a little at my display.
"Dad and I are worried, you know. Staying away most of the school year, refusing to talk to us about whatever happened between you and . . ."
I pull away and shake my head, my smile big but real. This is not how my summer break is going to start, with my parents hovering and concerned. They've always let me do my own thing, with little interference or suggestion.
"Michael has been such a good influence on you. I'm afraid we always assumed that the two of you would get married. Not by now, of course, but later, once you were both settled in your careers."
Valley Vale as a whole predicted that, and I counted on it since the day Michael first kissed me in seventh grade. It might have been a quick kiss in the school hall when no one was watching, but it meant everything to me.
"Maybe we've been too hands-off when it came to asking you about how you were, because you've been so content. And now, maybe you aren't."
Content? Hadn't I been happy with Michael? Wasn't it obvious, all those years?
"I'm fine, Mom. It's been months, and I've been busy with school. You know, I haven't told you much about my roommate, Penny, have I?"
After the usual joke about our rhyming name, which reminds me of Denny, left behind with my lame excuses and poor manners, I share everything I've learned over the past few weeks about Penny with my mother, effectively redirecting her thoughts until we decide to head to the grocery store to get cinnamon rolls for my dad. He's not a morning person, and it looks like tomorrow morning might not be manageable with only one cinnamon roll left in the plastic container on top of the refrigerator.
Sydney is in the midst of her workout routine in her room, which she does along with a YouTube video posted by a college majorette who looks like an impossibly perfect model, so she waves at us as we explain that we're leaving.
If we get to the store at the right time, any leftover rolls will be half off. If we get there too late, they'll be gone, and I've told my mom that I can run out and get them when I take a break at work the next morning.
"I'm sure Cathy won't mind, although she might prefer that I buy something from the diner to bring home instead."
We talk about inviting Penny to visit over the summer, although she lives in Maryland and it wouldn't be a quick trip for her if she did.
When You Were Mine Page 4
