There are no new notifications, not since Sydney and my parents have me home, and Penny texted this morning to tell me she was excited to visit sometime. She also mentioned that she was enjoying a break from men, since she couldn't bring them home randomly at her parents' house like she did in our dorm.
I'm hoping this is something she can continue doing without when we start school in August.
I stare at Michael's message, bringing it up so it's all I can see on the screen, feeling like an eighth grader again.
We used to hold hands every second we could, at school, at each other's houses, whenever we were together. I still miss the warmth of his hand in mine, the security of knowing that he was always there.
Was that love, or some kind of dependence?
I've been thinking too much. We had a sweet, young love that didn't work out. That's all. I don't need to read anything else into it.
It's all good
Not very personal, but to the point, and without encouraging him to respond.
I send it, and stare at the screen for a few seconds before rolling over and reaching with my fingers to find the cord, plugging my phone back in and turning away again, so I won't see if he's answered.
It's not that late, but I know he gets up early. I know that he likes two slices of toast heavily buttered and a black cup of coffee for breakfast, sometimes a small glass of orange juice with no pulp if he has a taste for something sweet, which isn't too often.
He always said that my lips were sweet enough for him. Corny, but adorable.
How could I not love him?
I take a deep breath and close my eyes against the dark, all the years of memories we shared threatening to leave me in tears. I'm past this, and dwelling on it won't change how either of us behaved that night last summer.
Sydney, who has never had a steady boyfriend or cried over a lost love, told me that if Michael and I were meant to be together, then we would be. It was just that simple in her mind.
I hold onto that thought now, sure that it's all behind me, but a flicker of hope rises in the back of my mind, warming my heart as I slowly fade into sleep.
Everyone else is still asleep as I back out of our driveway the next morning. It's dark, but I don't turn on my headlights until I'm on the street and they won't shine into anyone's windows.
Cathy and the first shift cook, Ellie, are already at the diner, and I stop to say hi to Steve, who is taking a bag of trash out to the dumpster, which is housed within a locked rectangular fence at the far end of the parking lot.
"How's Parker?"
Steve smiles brightly, clearly a proud father.
"Good. He was hoping to get an internship this summer but there was a lot of competition. I think he'll find something here in town to keep him busy, maybe take an online class. Thanks for asking."
I wave and back away, wondering if I should reconsider taking a class. Parker has his act together, why can I get mine on track?
A destination would be a good way to start.
I shake my head at my own thoughts, then straighten my shoulders.
The most I'm going to do right now as far as figuring out my life plans is walking into the diner and helping Cathy bake.
"Hey, Cathy," I smile when I find her washing her hands at the sink, keeping my voice low so I don't startle her. I'm a little tired after having trouble falling asleep, so I'm not ready to be too loud myself.
"Good morning. I'm so glad you're here, Jenny."
She wipes her hands dry on paper towels that hang from a roll above the sink, and grabs a pair of thin plastic gloves from a box as she nods to me.
I never wore gloves at the diner before, but I never prepared food like this. Back when I scooped ice cream, I just washed my hands and arms often because of all the drips that ran down them.
I'm quiet as I follow her lead and she explains everything she's doing, from measuring ingredients to preheating the ovens, and I'm glad there's a fan screwed into the corner above us because after an hour or so I'm sweating, my hair, pulled back tight into a braid and tucked into a hair net, is damp.
Ellie walks over to see how I'm doing.
"You're so focused and quiet. I wondered if you were sleeping standing up!"
She pats my back, and I'm laughing at her assessment of me when Michael’s familiar voice catches my attention, although it's not directed toward me and is relatively quiet in the midst of all the movement that has brought the kitchen to life.
"We can get more of this brand but can try others if necessary. I'll ask Ellie what she thinks, and Mary when she comes in later."
When Ellie turns away from me, I keep my focus on the mixer in front of me, full of all the ingredients for the blueberry muffins I'll slide into the oven soon. I'm not saying we only use mixes at home, but we do a lot, so while Cathy has been telling me what to add and pointing to a laminated sheet with the recipe, she's also explaining the science behind it, and how the muffins come out the way they do because of how the ingredients interact with each other.
It's easy for me to keep my eyes on the industrial sized mixer, scraping down the sides as I see the batter creep up, so I don't hear anyone walk up behind me until Michael's voice interrupts my work.
"She's already got you trained, hasn't she?"
He's close enough for me to feel his breath on the back of my neck, and I stop myself from stepping away from him.
"Yeah. It's not too difficult, so even I can do it."
His hand is suddenly on mine, stopping me from moving it so I can slip the spatula it holds into the bowl.
"Don't do that."
Everything goes silent around us, but I don't look away from where his fingers wrap around the back of mine. I hope no one is watching, and if they are, they won't say anything, to me or anyone else.
Maybe I'm just being paranoid, and the quiet is between the two of us, like an invisible blanket that hovers around us and creates a place for the two of us to interact without any interference from the outside world.
If that doesn't sound crazy, I don't know what does, but my mind fills with all sorts of dramatic ideas as I try to come up with a response.
"I'm supposed to."
After all, it's what Cathy instructed me to do, and I have no clue what he's talking about.
He releases my hand, and I lean forward a little so I can look into the huge bowl as I slip the batter chunks back into the deeper well of it.
"Put yourself down. You used to do it every once in a while, and I was hoping you had stopped."
I still have no idea what he's talking about. I have zero direction in my life and at this point, am trying to keep busy so I don't think about the fact that I have zero direction in my life. It's not something I can or want to explain to him, when he's so serious and adult right now.
Would he have even wanted to stay with me, after how much he's changed and how I haven't? Or has he really not changed that much and I never noticed how different we were?
"I didn't realize I was doing that."
This is true. I don't even remember what I said that made him tell me this, and I didn't mean to put myself down.
At least I don't think so.
"Thanks for texting me, but you know, I'm fine."
Do I even dare to ask?
Yes, I do.
"I hear you're doing well, too."
The words are out, and I hold back a sigh of relief. If I don't bring it up now, it's going to be there, hovering between us, and even if he's not uncomfortable about it, the way my heart races as I wait for his response reminds me that I most definitely am.
I tap the side of the spatula against the bowl gently, then wait a few moments before turning the mixer off. As the blades slow, I stare at them as I feel Michael lean in a little closer. When I look at him, though, he's looking at the recipe card hovering in front of us like it's the most interesting thing he's ever seen.
Is this as awkward for him as it is for me? He's the one with a fiancée an
d perfect life ahead of him, and while I've just finished a year of college, I don't know much of it will do me any good in the long run.
"Yeah, I am. Thanks for asking."
With those words, he steps away, and I stand watching him leave, wondering why such a simple question would make him react like that.
"Everything okay?"
Ellie is back, and she takes a peek into the bowl as she asks, her voice more nonchalant than concerned, as if she doesn't want to upset me.
"Sure. Where did Cathy go?"
I peek around Ellie and notice that my employer isn't in the kitchen anymore, and I don't want to continue with the muffins and make a mistake without her.
Ellie's gaze slips over to me before she glances at the door that leads into the dining room.
"She's probably taking a few minutes to be a mom."
I close my eyes and shake my head. Causing trouble for Michael is the last thing I want to do.
Well, maybe not the last thing. I don't want to screw up this job and have more free time on my hands. Something about the repetitiveness of what I've been doing all morning is soothing and clears my head, and I wonder if clarity will help me pull together some ideas for the future.
"Don't look so worried! Cathy doesn't want you to feel uncomfortable here, and I'm sure she doesn't want Michael to feel that way, either. He did look a little upset when he left the kitchen just now."
She watches me as I turn my gaze back to the batch of muffin batter, sure that she must be mistaken but not daring to contradict her.
What if he was?
Chapter Ten
I used to love going to weddings.
Obviously this is not the case now, but I can't not go. Everyone goes to everyone's wedding in town, and it would be way too conspicuous for me to avoid it. Besides, it isn't about me, it's about the couple getting married.
I'm not particularly close to either the bride or groom, but everyone would notice if I stayed home.
Does it matter what everyone thinks?
It matters that I would have to deal with the questions and looks afterwards, the whispers that no one even bothers to hide behind a cupped hand.
"Do you think it will be hot later? Should I leave my hair down, or braid it?"
Sydney's concerns are much more immediate than mine, and I wish my own thoughts were along the same lines.
"If I know you two, you'll be jumping around and dancing at the reception, so no matter what the weather is like, you'll work up a sweat."
Our dad ruffles my hair like I'm still a little kid as he passes us in the kitchen, and I smile benignly at him.
"I'll do yours, you do mine, okay?"
I grab at Sydney's hair, which is hanging over her shoulders, and she giggles, ducking out of my reach to race to the coffee pot. Our mom must have made a fresh pot after I left for work this morning, because it's full and hot.
My own hair is still tightly bound in an elastic against my head, although I freed it from the hair net on the drive home. Cathy and Mark's gift to the bride and groom is a cake, as there is no bakery in town except for the one at the grocery store, so she was spending most of her time last night and this morning working on that while I prepared our regular items for the day's customers.
"I'm not sure how many we'll get for dinner, since most people will be eating at the wedding reception. Mark and I will be there for the wedding, of course, but we'll come back here after. We don't want to keep anyone from enjoying the party, so the rest of the staff is off for the afternoon and evening."
I was wiping my face with a paper towel when Cathy revealed that she wasn't going to be at the reception, and immediately thought this was an opportunity for me to avoid going.
"What if I come in? I know how to work the register and wait tables, so I can help."
She shook her head, her smile revealing that she knew what I was up to, even if she was too nice to accuse me directly.
"No, you go and have fun. I'm sure your sister would be upset if you didn't go with her."
"Sydney has her own friends, so she'll be fine."
I had been eager to leave and head home for a shower, but Cathy stopped me as I turned away from her to toss my grubby apron into the laundry bin at the back of the kitchen.
"But I think she's closer to you than any of them."
It was sweet of her to say, and as I tackle my sister, hugging her close from behind as she laughs at my efforts to keep her away from the coffee, I know in my heart that Cathy is right.
"How was work? Ready to take over the baking here?"
Our mom walks by the two of us as we are huddled together, and I shake my head.
"Not unless we need fifty muffins and ten loaves of bread at a time."
She continues as she walks over to the refrigerator and pulls out a carton of orange juice.
"Your dad would be happy to dispose of fifty muffins a day. Then I wouldn't have to cook dinner, either."
I sigh and release Sydney, who takes two coffee mugs from the cabinet and pours coffee for us both.
"We should probably leave around twelve thirty, since the ceremony starts at one."
It takes all of five minutes to get to the church, so I'm not sure why we have to go so early, but I don't argue. This will be social time as everyone gets settled, and anyone who hasn't seen me since I've been back will want to ask me questions and give me the once over to see if I look depressed or if I’ve gained weight.
There's nothing this small town likes more than something to gossip about.
I'd rather that something was not me.
By the time my sister and I watch an episode of some reality show she loves and I have a newfound appreciation of my own simple life, we've fixed our hair and it should only take a few minutes to slip into dresses we only wear for these occasions.
We're both blonde, although her hair is darker than mine, with brown eyes so light they are nearly yellow, which sounds creepier than it is, and know that we look good in green, so that's what we're wearing.
Her pastel green dress is short and flirty, but the one that's been sitting in my closet since last summer feels young to me. I'm sure I wore it last year several times, but it doesn't feel like me anymore.
Sydney is dressed and waiting at the kitchen table, tapping her close-clipped nails on it. Baton twirling does not lend itself to long nails or fancy manicures. I decide not to ask her about the dress, and instead wander around until I find our mom, in a thin bathrobe and slippers, who is in the garage talking to our dad.
"Hey, do you have a dress I could wear?"
They weren't talking when I approached them, but I feel like I'm interrupting something when they turn away from each other and face me. Neither one of them looks happy to see me, and I take a step back, confused.
"Oh, yeah, sure. Give me a minute."
My mom's smile seems forced, and I'm tempted to ask what's wrong, but before I can, my dad takes her hand and they walk away from me.
It's only a few feet, but my heart flutters in my chest. Did I do something to make them angry?
Maybe this isn't about me, I remind myself as I head back into the house.
Not everything is.
Sydney looks excited and beautiful, her face flushed as if she is going to her own wedding instead of someone else's. I shake my head at her.
"I'm not even sure what I'm wearing yet."
She frowns and crosses her arms over her chest, glancing behind me at the door that leads to the garage.
"What's going on?"
When I walk by her, I grab her hand and pull her from the chair, leading her into the living room.
"Old people talk. I need to borrow one of Mom's dresses, but I don't really know which one. Any ideas?"
We sit side by side on the sofa, and when I lean back, a baton rolls off the top of it, where it must have been settled into the dip where the cushion was sewn into the frame.
"Hey, that's where that one was! I've been looking for it!"<
br />
As much as my sister is starting to look grown up, she's still so much like a little kid. She grabs the baton from my shoulders, where it rolled to rest a moment ago, and stands up, threading it through her fingers as she starts to spin it.
"Hold on with that."
I reach out to take it from her and she steps away. I've never told her not to twirl in the house, and it surprises us both.
Our mom's concerned expression appears in my memory, as does our father's equally worried look. Maybe I just don't want the two of us to do anything to upset either of them right now.
"Not today, okay?"
Sydney shrugs, and with a sigh, she puts the baton down in a corner, standing it up on one of its grubby ends. She'll probably forget that she's put it there and I'll have to remind her later.
"Okay, Jenny, what's this about borrowing a dress?"
I'm relieved that our mom didn't see Sydney twirling, although it's never been a point of true contention between them, and jump up from the sofa with a big smile. She raises her eyebrows at me but doesn't comment.
"Yeah, though I'm not sure which one."
We head into my parents’ bedroom and go through the motions of searching through her dresses, although I'm not paying all that much attention. She can pick one for me, for all I care, since I'm now distracted by whatever was going on between my parents in the garage.
"Jenny? Something wrong?"
She's holding a dress up to me and nodding at what she sees, and her tone is both upbeat and interested. Am I imagining that she's trying too hard to sound positive?
"No, I'm fine. Maybe a little tired from work."
I take the dress on its hanger from her and slide out of my robe, pulling the dress over my head and straightening the fabric around my body as she wanders back into her closet and takes another dress out for herself.
"I know I've never really asked you much about what happened between you and Michael, but I don't want you to think I'm not interested or that I don't care."
This is way out of left field, and as I'm walking across the room to the door, I stumble a little and lean over to catch myself on my parents' bed.
When You Were Mine Page 6
