Monster

Seventeen

The next morning, Steve and I had coffee together in the kitchen. We hadn't spoken since the evening before, and my nightmare-free sleep kept us apart for the rest of the night. I woke up to find that he'd slept on the futon and was already showered and getting the coffee started by the time I wandered downstairs. We served ourselves, and I stood against the counter while he sat at the table. It seemed to be our regular positioning. Probably a reflection of us not wanting to be too close.

"I forgot to tell you that I have something for you," he said, digging into one of his coat pockets. He took out a piece of paper and slid it across the table in my direction. I lifted the check and glanced at the numbers. But it made nausea roll through my empty stomach.

"I can't take this," I decided, setting it back down on the table.

"Why not? I agreed to make up the difference. It was in the contract."

"Because I don't want it."

"How are you going to pay your bills?"

"I'll find a way." I always did. I turned and dumped my coffee in the sink. If the diner was good for anything, it was that I had free access to coffee all day long.

"Why?" he asked when I reached for my phone and tucked it into my back pocket.

"I'm not doing this for you anymore. Or for the money."

"You're doing it for him."

I left without another word.

The morning at the diner was uneventful. The breakfast shift was my favorite to work because customers tended to be quieter. Most of them came for coffee, simple meals, or pre-function breakfasts. The only real issues I had were from picky elders and bright-eyed children. It was the lunch and dinner shifts I hated, but thankfully, I never got scheduled for the dinner rush. However, lunch was the favorite time of day for those damned milkshakes, and it was challenging to find a moment to sit down and breathe.

I was in the middle of refilling salt and pepper shakers when Megan/Morgan alerted me to another visit. She found me at a back table and groaned as she took her seat in the booth.

"God, I hate these shoes," she said. I glanced at her.

"Then why do you wear them?"

"Because they're cute. Obviously." I refrained from rolling my eyes and focused on not spilling salt all over the table. "Speaking of cute. Your friend is back." She leaned forward on her elbows and batted her pretty brown eyes up at me.

"Wilson?" She shrugged.

"You never told me his name. But he wanted to talk and asked if you could make him a peanut butter cup shake." Now I groaned, and she smiled. "I'm kidding. He asked for a Coke. Want me to get it?"

"I'd appreciate it. And can you bring him some fries? He likes them even though he doesn't ask." I stood and took the bottles back behind the counter.

"You ever going to tell me his name, or is it just Wilson?"

"Sam." She nodded and peeked over my shoulder to where he was leaning against the other end of the bar, poking at a jukebox selector.

"He's cute. Is he the occasional guy friend?"

"A friend of the occasional guy friend."

"So he's single then?"

I didn't answer. I got rid of my box of supplies and went to let the manager know I was taking a break. When I returned from the kitchen, soda in hand, Sam was waiting for me in the back booth. I set the drink down on the table and took my place before him. I was so grateful for the chance to be off my feet that I could have hugged him for that alone.