To Have and To Hold

Chapitre Douze

It was Friday night, and I was sitting in the same torn booth as I'd been perched at the week before. It was crazy to think that it had been nearly a week already. An entire week of a barrage of constant thoughts, of a guy with glasses and cameras, of a guy with braids and a hand-me-down suit.

I'd come to the diner with the stupid expectation that I'd find him already here, waiting. As if he'd come back a week later in hopes that I'd show up. But no guy in a gray suit was sitting in this booth, nor a girl in a bridesmaid gown. I had on a sweatshirt and leggings, a thick novel to keep me company, my eyelids drooping lower and lower with each passing minute. Once I felt my eyelashes brush my cheeks, they'd flash open, rapidly blinking. I'm awake, I'd think, trying to focus on the last line I had been reading.

"Would you like a refill, dear?"

My eyes were tugged to the waitress, a young girl with a terribly pregnant belly. She had a nose ring that glinted in the low lights, a blue stone set into the septum's metal. She had a friendly smile. I glanced down at my cola, the ice mostly filling my glass. I hadn't gotten coffee. It had been hard enough to get my sleeping back on track last time. "Yes, please."

I'd been so tired that I didn't even realize she already held the cup in her hand until she placed it in front of me, wiping it on her clean apron. "Can I get you anything else, or would you like the check?"

"I'll take it," I replied, setting my novel down to dig out my wallet from my purse. And then something hit me. "Have you ever seen a boy come in here? Dark skin, braids, has a laptop?"

The girl didn't even need a minute to think about who I was referencing; her head immediately started nodded. "Orders a coffee, leaves good tips. Yeah, you know him?"

So she did know him. I didn't know how to respond. "He's a friend of mine."

"Well, when you see him, tell him I appreciated the cash he leaves. Seriously. It's gotten me through my many eviction notices."

A part of me was curious about that story, but my mind was too focused on something else, something that wasn't exactly a warm and fuzzy feeling. "So he hasn't been in lately?"

The girl shook her head, and her hand moved to rest absently on her stomach. "Haven't seen him all week."

Dang it. I set the bills down on the table, reaching for my drink. "He's very good at hiding," I told her grudgingly, taking a long sip of my soda.

"Well, if he comes in, I can tell him to call you?" Her tone was so helpful and offering, I was wondering why I hadn't asked her before.

I perked. "Oh, would you? I—uh—" Think of a good cover story, I told myself. Think, think— "Got a new phone. Lost his number. And he's real anti-social media, so I had no way to contact him. Can you tell him it's Alice Trenton?"

To give her credit, the girl pulled out her pen and notepad, writing it down.

I was a bad liar. I started stuttering fast, my heart pounding. "H-He should have my, uh, number. But if he doesn't, tell him Derek Sinclair has it." However, even that was a reach. It wouldn't surprise me if he'd deleted it from his contact list. But I didn't really trust giving my phone number to this random girl, even if she seemed friendly.

I watched her lips move. "Sinclair," she mouthed. Her eyes went back to mine, her thumb clicking the pen. "Are you his girlfriend?"

"Derek's? No."

"I meant Coffee Boy."

Coffee Boy. She had a nickname for him? "Uh, no. Not exactly."

But I'm sure she could read my exhausted face as clear as a book, because one singular black eyebrow rose up on her forehead, and one corner of her lip tipped up as well. That was the thing about us girls; we were intuitive about each other. "I'll let him know to call you."