Monachopsis

Chapter 3: Butterflies

I have not seen Riley since she walked out of the diner two weeks ago. Every time the bell to the door goes off, I anticipate her to walk in, but she doesn't. The night after she left, I had never smiled so much. Every time I close my eyes, the memories of her start replaying like a broken record. If all I get is that night of her playful comments, I want to cherish the butterflies in my stomach before the feeling fades.

The note she left sits on my bedroom side table. I must've read it over 30 times by now. The whole encounter has me captivated but equally confused. Maybe she is naturally flirtatious. That would explain why she never left a number or tried to come back to the diner. My mind keeps circling back to the fact that she introduced herself. Why make a point to tell me your name if you have no plans of seeing me again?

There is a third option. What if I was the butt of the joke to Riley and her friends? I could've been the pathetic waitress bewitched by her charm making a fool of myself. I cringe at the thought of their laughs being about my terrible attempts of flirting.

I have been acting a little pathetic since seeing her. Amelia probably thinks I am finally becoming more of a party girl recently. I've joined her for three parties in the last couple of weeks. I thought going was lonely before, but pitifully searching a crowd for hours desperate to lay eyes upon the girl who won't leave my head is far worse. Some days I get so angry that I am so desperate for attention that I quickly become attached to a person I hardly know.

She has probably forgotten about me by now. Why would I expect her to take an interest in me? There could be numerous girls throwing themselves at her everywhere she walks—girls who are far prettier and remarkable. I should be grateful for the crumb of attention she gave me.

Amelia and I sit on our couch, rewatching Buffy the Vampire Slayer. She doesn't have any classes on Sundays, and typically, I don't work weekends, so this has become our weekly ritual. On ordinary Sundays, we load up on snacks and pick a show or movies to binge-watch through the night. Today, however, I have to cut things short.

"Are you sure you want to go, Elle?" Amelia's voice is soft, tiptoeing around the level of her concern.

"You know I don't want to," I groaned, letting my head fall back against the cushion, "But I've run out of excuses not to go."

Today I finally gave in to visit my parents.

She snaps her finger as if a lightbulb turned on over her head, "Tell her you're sick!"

"That was last weekend's excuse." I chuckle. I wish I could only see my dad today. Growing up, my dad was always there to cheer me up, to love and support me no matter what. My mom, on the other hand, seemed to forget the fundamentals of being a parent.

***

The drive is never long enough, my childhood home coming into view quicker than I wish it would. As I pull into the driveway, I spot my mom knelt in the front yard, tending to her flowers. The sound of my car catching her attention, she stands and walks towards me with her hands on her hips.

I can do this.

"Well, finally." She smiles, "I was starting to think you were avoiding us!"

Only you.

"Hi, mom." She wraps her arms around me for a hug, pulling back still holding my shoulders. I watch her scrutinize me, letting out a big huff. Confused, I ask, "What?"

"I just thought you would've put a little more effort in your appearance to leave the house, that's all." She drops her hands off of me.

"What's wrong with my appearance?" I'm puzzled, looking down at the outfit I decided to wear. A maroon shirt with a small pocket on the left and blue denim shorts with the ends slightly rolled, an everyday look for a casual visit. What did she expect me to show up wearing? A ballgown?