Sugar McKenzie and August Wakefield couldn't be more different - Sugar, a meticulous, caring, but lonely paramedic and August, a charming former reality star still chasing his dream. But they've both closed themselves off emotionally from others...t...
"Some of us think holding on makes us strong, but sometimes it is letting go."
- Herman Hesse
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I stared.
My hands rubbed up and down my arms. Legs crossed, gaze looking anywhere besides who was positioned in front of me.
Cassidy rotated a pinkie ring. A second smaller circle was in the middle where it twirled as the rest stayed firmly on. Butterflies etched into the gray metal.
We waited thirty minutes for Papa to arrive.
With the back and forth, squeezing, twisting out all three schedules, picking a day and time to meet up, it became a challenge. The clouds created a gray aurora, the light shined above the clouds, our window seat made it accessible and easy to spot his truck.
Bendable plastic menus laid flat on the booth's table. Fork and knife wrapped up in a white napkin, turquoise paper tied and kept them all together. The dessert and wine menu flattened.
Where is he? Early afternoon traffic would be clear.
This was my full day off.
My mental checklist counted to twenty-seven activities and "things" that needed to get done. Clean Amadeus's home. Buy cat litter. Sweep the living room. Trim my fingernails; my thumbs, which were the ones left with reasonable length, but I needed to maintain the symmetry. And many, many more. All were higher in priority compared to this meeting or as I liked to categorize it: an intervention.
I made a promise.
A twisted, drag feet on cemented floor kind of promise.
The waitress eyed our two waters with lemon, she had refilled our drinks twice, even though by now the water seemed to spill over the brim. Each visit, she did something different: delivered straws from her black apron pockets, asked three times if we wanted an appetizer to start them off, and what the third person would most likely drink. Cassidy and I answered differently.
"Sweet tea."
"Water."
We didn't look at each other.
The waitress brought out both.
The water and sweet tea claimed Papa's seat. Condensation pooled on the table, the two small puddles combined together as time went on.
I hope Papa is okay.
We couldn't call him. He turned off his phone whenever he drove. It's less of a distraction. Usually though, he'd contact me when he left his home.
Pulling my phone out, there was no new voicemail.
"We can reschedule," Cassidy declared. She pulled her hands off the table, placing them on her lap. "I-If you like."
