I smile. Is it wrong to be so happy making someone uncomfortable? I’m sure he doesn’t experience the feeling often.
After the world’s second most awkward pause, I ask, “Is there something I can help you with?”
Nick shifts his weight from one foot to the other, then back again, looking across the street at the old Methodist church with stained glass and a ‘Love is Love’ sign out front. The light is fading quickly, shadows growing longer as the sun is swallowed by the Blue Ridges. The magic of Hester evaporated the moment Nick opened his fat mouth.
“Good talk,” I say finally, turning my back on him to head home.
“Sorry,” Nick interjects. “Spaced out there for a minute.” He matches my stride, walking beside me like we’re the best of friends. His shoulder brushes against mine for the slightest second and I ignore the trill of electricity that shoots down my arm. “Do you ever do that? My brother used to tease me about it. Called me a space cadet through most of middle school. I guess there’s worse things you could be called, but I didn’t like it. We used to fight about it a lot. But now he’s dead, so I kind of miss the fighting, you know?”
“Wait, what did he say?”
I blink, thoughts screeching to a halt. He starts rambling again, hands finding his pockets.
“Whoa, sorry. That was a lot, wasn’t it? My bad. I have an oversharing problem. At least that’s what they say. By they, I mean my family. Well, really my parents. I don’t talk to my other family that often. I think I have an aunt in Florida somewhere, but I could be imagining that. I’ve got this theory that half the people I know are actually made up. How crazy would that be, right?”
“Right. Is there a point to this conversation?” I ask.
Move it along, buddy. I’ve got things to do and I don’t have time for your word-vomit.
“Man, I’m starving. Are you hungry? Where can a guy get something to eat around here? Do you know a place?”
“The only thing open this late is Tom’s Diner.”
“Where’s that?”
“About half a mile that way,” I point. “I live across the street.”
Oh shit. I cringe in anticipation of the inevitable.
“Oh, awesome! I’ll walk with you, then.”
I sigh a “Whatever,” and start down the sidewalk. The traffic at this point has all but disappeared. Hester is the type of town that shuts down after dark. Your only option in the evenings are to catch the eight o’clock movie or go eat a greasy dinner at Tom’s.
I’m walking as fast as I can, but Nick doesn’t struggle to keep up. Then again, he’s got more than three inches on me, so that’s not surprising. You were the only person who made me feel tall.
He sheds his apron, draping it over his shoulder. He’s wearing plaid like yesterday, the sleeves rolled tight half way up his arm. It looks new. No threads fraying or elbows wearing thin. None of his buttons have flown the coup either. Must be nice.
“So, you live here like, year-round?”
Even the sound of his voice sets me on edge.
“Yep.”
Maybe if I keep my answers short, he’ll stop asking questions. It worked with your dad all the time.
“That must be boring.”
“Not really, no.”
“Seriously? I’m bored to tears and I’ve only been here a week. My dad says it’s good to get away from the city, but I don’t see it. If the cabin didn’t have Wi-Fi, I’d be dead right now.”
“What a tragedy that would be.”
I cough to cover your slip up.
“At least this job will keep me somewhat entertained. Joke’s on him I suppose.”
“Why did you get this job, exactly?” I ask, my curiosity getting the better of me. “Just assuming here, but you don’t look like you need the money.”
Nick lets out a nasally laugh. “That’s a great question. I’m not really sure. But it beats sitting around all summer, until either me or Ma snap and kill one another.”
The sun sinks low enough for the street lights to flicker to life. Countless strands of bulbs hang over Main Street, weaving from one building to the other, creating a web of wires. If you don’t focus too closely, the lights almost look like stars.
“What about you?” Nick asks as we cross over Main. “Why are you brewing your summer away at Claudine’s?”
“College,” I confess. Talking will make the time go faster. “I want to actually attend one. Unfortunately, they require exorbitant amounts of money. And Claudine was the only person in town that would hire me. Well, that’s not exactly true. I almost had a job down at the bait and tackle off Maddison, but I decided that really wasn’t an environment I would feel comfortable in.”
Nick nods. “I totally get it. Fish freak me out too. Those dead eyes…”
“Fish are fine. I grew up fishing. I can thread a worm on a hook blindfolded. It was the casual racism and homophobia I had a problem with. The owner is a beer-bellied nincompoop with a hard-on for Fox News and more toes than he has teeth. And he lost three toes in Vietnam.”
Nick’s laugh is high pitched and grating, and he sucks in a breath that reminds me of a rubber band caught in a vacuum. “Not trying to be a dick, but isn’t that everyone around here? Hester doesn’t strike me as the most progressive of towns.”
We cross over River Street and I can see the glow of Tom’s neon sign in the distance, beckoning me closer. Almost home.
“We’ve got our share of bible-thumpers. One of the four churches in town is problematic from time to time. But other than that, everyone’s fairly chill. Just don’t go wandering around the woods at night or you may interrupt our local coven’s cannibalistic rituals.”
Nick’s laugh continues. I just look at him, deadpan, until it subsides. We reach the parking lot of Tom’s without another word. Three old, battered cars sit along the back row—employee parking—while the rest of the lot is filled by your daily assorted mix of luxury models. I can see my reflection perfectly in every hubcap.
“You know, you’re actually pretty funny, Not Tina.”
“And this is where the hilarity ends, I’m afraid. Here you go.” I motion toward the door with both hands so maybe he’ll leave faster.
“Wow.” Nick stares up at the flickering sign. “Why do I feel like I’m going to be murdered here?”
“Just order all of your meat well done and don’t risk the specials.”
Nick chuckles but his smile quickly fades. He’s looking at me now. I mean really looking at me, his hazel eyes reflecting the neon colors from Tom’s. “You’re not coming in with me?” He sounds disappointed. “At this point, I thought you’d feel a certain obligation for my safety.”
It’s my turn to laugh, though mine sounds far more cynical, not carefree and cloying like his.
“Oh really? Is that what you think?” I scoff, no longer hiding the annoyance in my voice. “Listen up dude, I have no obligation to you, or anyone else for that matter.”
He takes a step back, like I’ve lashed him. “I was kidding, Tommy.”
My cheeks burn. “Enjoy your dinner.”
I don’t wait for his response before fleeing from Nick. The air has taken a sudden chill as I cross the street to my apartment complex. He calls after me once, but I keep on until I’m turning the key to unlock the door and retreating into the dark apartment.
Who the hell does that guy think he is?
“Everything okay?” Mom asks me from the kitchen table, putting her work on pause like she always does for me.
“Peachy.”
My anger towards Nick has fizzled at this point and exhaustion seeps in to take its place, draining the heat from my cheeks. All I want to do is go to bed and forget about that asshole.
But now I’m thinking about how I’m going to have work in the morning, and he’s going to be there too. My stomach tightens, twisting itself into knots.
“Come here, Tommy.”
I look to Mom, who’s set aside her laptop and removed h
er reading glasses. She’s still in her work clothes—a striped pant-suit and heels—and doesn’t look like she’s in a hurry to change. The jacket hangs off her, but that’s true of all of her clothes since her surgery.
I sit down across the table, folding my arms to try to quell the tells of my anxiety. Her hair still catches me off-guard. Short and spiky, not curly like mine. It won’t be like that forever. I have to keep reminding myself of that. Hair grows, but there are things her cancer took from her that won’t come back no matter how hard you wish them.
I know that feeling, too.
“What’s up?” I ask. My pulse races in my ears. No matter how tired I am, I doubt I’ll be able to get to sleep. The anxious urgency in my veins will see to that.
“I miss your face,” Mom says, scrunching her nose. She does that when she’s trying not to laugh. “How’s the caffeinated carnival?”
“Fine,” I lie. Nice try, Mom. I’m not giving you any ammunition to guilt me into quitting. She’s been hounding me ever since I started looking for a job. Always going on about how it should be her responsibility to take care of everything.
I’m not sacrificing my future for her pride.
“Claudine is quite a character, isn’t she? I remember when she opened that place back in the nineties. She would host these incredible slam poetry sessions that your father and I used to openly mock, but secretly love. Does she still spend a lot of time in the shop?”
“I’ve literally not even seen her yet.”
Mom nods, feigning satisfaction, then pulls her hands into her lap. I’m about to get up when she says, “The Senator called me into his office today.”
Tighten another notch on my nausea belt.
I grab a stack of papers from the table, straightening them. “What did he want?”
Mom stares at her hands, totally transfixed.
“Mom?”
This is bad. Despite the stress and the hellish commute, this is a really great job with amazing benefits and we can’t go back to living on—
“Ha!” She bangs a fist on the table and I shoot out of my chair. “Got you!”
“Are you trying to kill me?!” I claw at my chest. My heart has become the kick drum at a metal concert and some brute named Sven is pounding away.
Mom is bent over the table, snorting with laughter. She tries to speak between gasps for breath, “You… your… face!”
“Not laughing, Mom.”
She wipes a tear from her cheek. “Oh, come on, Tommy. A good laugh doesn’t cost a dime.”
“Tell that to my therapist, you psycho.”
“I know you are but what am I?”
“Jesus, you’re ridiculous.” I lower myself slowly back into the chair, just waiting for something else to pop out at me. Mom’s sense of humor has gotten a little warped over the last year.
“In all seriousness, he did call me into his office.”
“And what did the good Senator want? Did he need your help burning down an orphanage?”
“That was last Tuesday,” Mom rebuts, rolling her eyes at me. “This week we’re punching nuns in the face. It was my thirty-day review, silly. Full bennies kick in now, which means it’s time for you to go see Dr. Paxton.”
I ignore her statement. “Has it been that long already? Man, time really does fly when you’ve sold your soul to the Devil himself.”
Mom sighs, “Tommy, I don’t want to go through this again. This job saved our asses. Is he the world’s greatest guy? Eh. Doubtful. But he’s not the antichrist—no matter how many articles you send me from the deep web—nor is he out to destroy the world.” She rises from her seat, coming around behind me to wrap me up in a hug. “This job means that I can take care of everything and you can just worry about things a seventeen-year-old should worry about. So, maybe we should talk about you quitting that job you hate?”
I stand, breaking her hold. “I’m not quitting. And I don’t hate it.”
“But you have scholarships and with my full benefits, I should be able to lighten the load enough to really sock away some tuition this year—”
“And you can use it when you go back to school for the umpteenth time.”
Mom sighs, her shoulders collapsing in on themselves. She looks so brittle. “Why can’t you just let me take care of you, Thomas?”
I stand my ground. “Because I’ve been doing it for the last fourteen months. And I’m fairly decent at it. Did you think I was going to revert to a fifteen-year-old? There’s no magical realignment here, Mom. I’m going to take care of things myself from now on. I’m not going to be helpless.”
“Tommy, please just let—”
“I’m fine. I don’t need to go see Paxton.”
“And I’m not saying you’re not fine. I just think it’s a good idea to talk with her every now and again, just to ensure you’re okay. It’s been a year since—”
“Almost a year,” I correct her. “Not that I’m counting.”
“I’m not going to make you do this, Tommy.” She says it with a tone that means the exact opposite. “I just want you to have all the resources you need to thrive.”
Thrive. Ha. That’s a nice sentiment. Survival is the goal here. Survive until I learn how to deal with all this bullshit. But Mom is like a dog with a bone. So I have to cave.
“One session,” I say to appease her. “And if she tells you I’m fine, then we’re not having this conversation again.”
Mom nods in agreement and I don’t wait around for her to change her mind. Exhaustion follows me with every step down the hallway.
Side-stepping the piles of dirty clothes in the middle of my floor, I launch myself onto the bed, face first.
Fuck today.
Tommy storms across the street, away from me and Tom’s.
“Tommy, wait!” I call, but he doesn’t acknowledge me. The shadows of the parking lot swallow him up and I’m all alone.
What the hell did I do?
I catch a whiff of greasy food and my stomach rumbles. It’s been weeks since I’ve been able to escape Ma’s vindictive onslaught of vegetables. The doors of Tom’s open behind me as a couple exit and the smell gets stronger.
What Mom doesn’t know won’t hurt her.
I push open the double doors of Tom’s, the aroma of French fries washing over me like a wave of nostalgia. The place is exactly as I imagined it would be. Red pleather booths beat to hell and back and black table tops with chrome accents. A jukebox in the corner that’s blaring “Rockin’ Robin.” All that’s missing is some jerk in a leather jacket with a cigarette hanging out of his mouth and I’d be on the set of Grease Live!
An old woman sticks her head out from behind the cash register at the counter. “Take a seat, ‘hon. You’re blocking the door.”
I do as I’m told, sliding into the booth nearest to me. I peel the menu from the damp table, flipping it over to the lunch/dinner side. Everything sounds good and my stomach is practically eating itself at this point.
“Dot! Unless you’ve finally dropped dead, come get this food!”
I peer over my shoulder to watch the round-faced cook slide plates along the window. The stooped old server tosses a tray up on the counter, then climbs a dingy step-stool to collect the plates.
“You’re going to miss me when I’m gone, Brenda.” The older woman’s gravelly voice carries.
“Let’s test that theory, shall we? I’ve already got your grave dug out back.”
Dot grumbles as she heaves the heavy-looking tray onto her shoulder and trudges to the opposite side of the dining room.
Looks like I might be getting dinner and a show. Lucky me.
I pull my phone out, ready to catch another exchange between the two of them. I’ve got to share this with Reese. A notification pops up, so I clear it.
“What do you want, ‘hon?”
I jump, my phone falling onto the table. Dot taps her foot against the floor. How did she sneak up on me so fast? She’s like a geriatric ninja.
&
nbsp; “Sorry,” I say, pointing at the menu. “I’ll take the patty melt please. No onions. And a Coke.”
“Got it,” Dot says, even though she didn’t write any of it down. She snatches the menu off the table and disappears just as quickly as she came.
Shoot. I forgot to tell her well done. Meh. If it’s my time, it’s my time.
I retrieve my phone, opening it back up to Reese’s message.
Reese: How’s the job, Working Man?8:32 pm
Me: Surprisingly, not terrible. I’m actually sort of good at it. 8:40 pm
“Dot! You’re not having a stroke. The toast is actually burning!”
I look down and the Diner Ninja has snuck a glass of Coke onto the table. I take a swig and my phone vibrates.
Reese: Are we really surprised? You’re good at everything, Nick. 8:42 pm
Me: Not true. I’m quite terrible at a lot of things. 8:42 pm
Reese: Show me the receipts. 8:43 pm
Me: What about the time… Or maybe the… You’re right. I’m perfect. 8:44 pm
Reese: And you reek of humility. Or maybe that’s just the smell of that old hole in the wall you’re working at. Try not to bring that home with you. 8:45 pm
Me: It doesn’t smell. 8:45 pm
I give myself a quick sniff, just to double check.
Reese: You just sniffed yourself, didn’t you? 8:46 pm
Damn, she’s good.
I decide not to argue with her, so I flip over to Instagram. A few minutes of mind-numbing scrolling and my plate hits the table with enough force that I’m surprised it doesn’t shatter.
“Here ‘ya go.” Dot slams down a glass bottle of ketchup and some napkins. “Patty melt. Hold the onions.”
“Thanks,” I say, but she’s already moved on to the next table. She may look like she’s a thousand years old, but the lady can move.
I grab a bunch of the shoestring fries, holding them up to the light.
“To a great summer.”
Ghosting You Page 6