Ghosting You

by Alexander C. Eberhart

He grins again. “No problem.”

  “Don’t hold out on me, man.” Rod inserts himself between the two of us, grabbing his own cookie and shoving the entirety into his mouth. His eyes get wide as he tries to speak around the chocolate and dough sticking to his teeth, “’ucking delish, man.”

  I take a bite while Nick is distracted by Rod’s exuberant reaction.

  It’s saltier than I expect, but then a sweet patch of caramel hits my tongue and the flavors meld into a satisfying blend of salty and sweet.

  I don’t feel remotely self-conscious reaching for another one. Nick just beams as I do, that goofball smile that makes my palms sweat.

  It’s been a perfect day. Which is strange to say, because we’ve been absolutely slammed since about nine o’clock this morning. But in between the rushes of customers and the hauling trash and the wiping tables, Tommy and I have made some serious progress.

  He’s said, ‘thank you’ at least three times. He only laughed for like a second when I slipped on the puddle of chocolate milk some little terrorist left on the floor, and then he totally asked if I was okay. And the cherry on top? I made him chuckle with one of my coffee-puns. You could say we’re both in the espresso lane to something a little friendlier.

  I’ve finished mopping the café and decide to take a second when Mel plops down in the chair across from me. “Oh my god, I thought today was never going to end, but here we are. Hey! Do you have any of those cookies left?”

  “Sure do,” I say, grabbing the container from the chair beside me. I slide it across the table.

  “Hey, Rod! Tom-Tom!” Mel calls. Rod sticks his head out of the restroom and Tommy pops up from behind the counter. “Come join us. Bring milk and some mugs.”

  “Shouldn’t we finish closing up?” I ask.

  “In a minute,” Mel says, pulling the lid off the cookies. “After a day like today, we all deserve a little break.”

  Rod joins us at the table, placing a jug of almond milk in front of Mel, then a 2% carton in the middle.

  “Aw,” Mel says with a smile. “You remembered.”

  “It’s impossible to forget your dairy shits, Mel.”

  She smacks him on the shoulder, but he just laughs and takes the seat next to her.

  “Tommy!” Mel shouts over her shoulder, “Stop working and get over here!”

  “I’m almost done,” he replies, head down.

  “Nick, be a dear and go retrieve him, would you? If you’re both not back in one minute, I’m eating all of these myself.”

  “Hey, what about me?” Rod asks.

  Mel chews on her bottom lip, most likely mulling over the ideas of sharing. She points to the jug on the table and says, “By the saving grace of almond milk, I will allow you one cookie. Consider yourself lucky.”

  “So generous,” Rod mutters. He tips his hat forward to scratch the back of his head.

  “Tick-tock, Nick. Fifty seconds.”

  “I’m on it.” I groan as I rise from my seat. Tommy continues with his dishes, oblivious to my approach. I take a moment to reacquaint myself with the way he moves. He’s taller than I first thought, I realize, because he slouches something serious. His shoulders slump on either side. His eyelashes are crazy long, and they curl so much at the end they almost double back on themselves. From there my eyes drift down his arms, past the rolled sleeves of his black button up to the veins that run down his tanned forearms and disappear along spindly fingers. He mutters something to himself and for a split second, I think he’s caught me looking. But then he turns the other way and reaches for another coffee mug.

  “Twenty seconds until total confectionary destruction!” Mel threatens from her seat.

  “I can help you with those,” I say to Tommy, propping my hip on the counter beside him. “After a cookie, of course.”

  He looks up at me through those curly lashes. My heart skips a beat, then thunders to life. “Is she that impatient?”

  “Who, Mel?” I glance back at the table and she’s whispering something to Rod that makes him chuckle. “Nah. I mean, sure she’s impatient most of the time, but I think she’s trying to have like, a moment with all of us. It’s been a long day. Don’t we deserve a cookie?”

  Tommy looks back to the stack of dirty dishes.

  “Are you seriously going to pick scrubbing old coffee stains over my delicious, made from scratch, sea salt caramel cookies?” I ask, folding my arms and giving him my best sassy stare. “Because I gotta be honest, I’m feeling very attacked right now.”

  He cracks, his lips widening to a smile. “Well, when you put it that way…”

  “Great, grab four of those glasses.” He does as I ask, and I wrap an arm around his shoulder, pulling him under my arm. “Okay, Mel! Here we come! Save us some!”

  “Too late!” she teases, hiding the container under her baggy pink top.

  “Not fair!” I argue, guiding Tommy to the seat beside mine. He passes out the glasses and we take turns filling them. Mel can’t contain herself any longer and she rips the lid off the container. She holds it up to her nose, inhaling deeply.

  “Do you need us to give you a moment alone with the cookies?” Rod asks.

  “Only if you don’t want to watch.” Mel gives him a wink and Rod’s cheeks flush a scarlet red.

  I bust out laughing and even Tommy chuckles. It’s rare seeing Rod flustered. He grabs a cookie from the open container and pulls the brim of his hat down to cover his eyes before taking a bite.

  After we’ve all had our fill, and the pile of cookies have been reduced to a few sad crumbs at the bottom of the Pyrex, Mel drains the last of her almond milk and lets out a belch.

  “Nice,” I say, swirling the last sip of my own drink around until it’s a milky tornado.

  Mel leans over her empty glass, her icy blue eyes shining with inspiration. “I have a proposition for you, Nick.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “Bring me a dozen of these cookies once a week, and you can kiss Lottie the Latte goodbye.”

  Is she serious? I don’t get the chance to counteroffer before Tommy steps in.

  “Are you fucking kidding?”

  Rod and Mel exchange a look of shock. This must be the first time they’ve heard Tommy curse.

  “You should never have put him in that sweat suit to begin with. You’re lucky he didn’t fucking die out there!”

  “Tommy,” I say, placing a hand on his arm. “It’s okay—”

  He pulls away from my grip. “No, it’s not okay! I know you didn’t want me to say anything, but you don’t deserve to be treated like this. And don’t even get me started on the fucking wasp spray.”

  “Wasp spray?” Mel echoes, confusion twisting her features. “What are you talking about?”

  “Don’t play dumb,” Tommy continues, pointing at my arm. “You sent him out back with a can of sanitizer. What the fuck is wrong with you?”

  Mel puts her hands up in front of her, “Look, I admit that maybe putting Nick in the latte costume was a personal vendetta come to fruition, but I swear I thought I handed you the right can. I may be vindictive, but I’m not a psychopath.”

  “Then I think you owe someone an apology,” says Tommy. His lips press into a fine line.

  I’m sort of speechless as Mel turns to me. “I’m sorry about the wasps, Nick. And the cookie thing really was a joke. I kept getting complaints about the creepy latte guy out front, so I was going to scrap the mascot thing anyways.”

  “How kind of you.”

  “I try.” She looks at Tommy, “How was that?”

  He nods, a line of red running along his cheekbones.

  There are a few seconds of awkward silence before Rod stands and dusts the crumbs off the front of his shirt. “Guess we better get out of here.”

  “I’ve still got some dishes,” Tommy says, getting up. He takes a wide berth from Mel, then ducks under the counter.

  “I’ll stay and help him,” I tell Mel who nods.

  “I’ll
go ahead and lock the front.” She throws a thumb over her shoulder, “Y’all exit through the back door and it’ll lock behind you.”

  “Heard.”

  “Can I walk you out, Mel?” Rod asks, leaning on the back of a chair.

  “Why not? At least if I get mugged, you can watch while I beat the shit out of them. If there’s one thing Claudine’s taught me, it’s that it’s always nice to have witnesses.”

  The two of them continue to chatter as they grab their things and exit through the swinging door. The lock turns after they leave and then it’s just the sound of running water in the sink behind the counter.

  I take my time getting back to the sink, digesting what just happened. Tommy stood up for me. Not even that, he defended me. I can’t wrap my head around it. I mean, all I was expecting was a ‘thank you’ for the cookies. Guess he had other things on his mind.

  “I wasn’t expecting you to do that,” I say, grabbing a dry towel from the counter. I start drying the stack of clean dishes.

  “I wasn’t expecting me to do it either.” He doesn’t look at me but focuses on his work.

  “Thank you.”

  He nods, then reaches for another stack of saucers.

  We work in silence until the last mug shines.

  How was work??? 1:02pm

  Wow, I did not mean to send that many question marks. Just consider me emotionally invested in your workplace romance. 1:02pm

  Me: It was good, actually. Surprisingly good. I think… I think we may be making progress. 1:03pm

  That’s great! I’m so happy for you! 1:03pm

  Me: You’ll never believe what he did. 1:04pm

  Uh-oh, is this about to get X-rated? Did it happen in a supply closet? Was there a broom involved—okay sorry, getting ahead of myself. What happened? 1:05pm

  Me: He brought in fresh-baked cookies. 1:05pm

  You’ve gotta be shitting me. 1:06pm

  Two weeks ago, the thought of spilling my guts to a complete stranger would have brought me to my knees with panic. But here I am, sitting on a sun-drenched rock beside the babbling Chattahoochee on a beautiful Sunday afternoon, phone plugged into a charging brick because I’ve already blown through my first battery charge chatting with my Stranger.

  I really need to come up with a better name for him.

  The conversation has only paused overnight as we got some sleep, and I hate to admit it, but the first thing I did when I woke up was check my phone. Our conversation over my latest Nick drama has devolved into a getting-to-know-you conversation. My Stranger is great at coming up with new topics to keep things rolling.

  I’m about to answer the question of favorite movie—an impossible tie between The Princess Bride and The Birdcage—when a splash of water jolts me from my happy daze.

  “What the hell?” I peer over the edge of the rock.

  Nick stands ankle deep in the river with a grin plastered across his face.

  “Are you stalking me, or something?” I ask, but I can’t help the smile from creeping across my face. I wipe my arm across the leg of my shorts to dry it.

  Nick wades over to the edge of the bank, “My, my. Don’t we think highly of ourselves? And no, if I was stalking you, you’d never know. I’m very sneaky.”

  “Pfft. Being sneaky requires you to shut up for more than five seconds.”

  “Hey, that’s not—”

  “See what I mean?”

  He sets his boots on the ground then heaves himself up onto the rock beside me. “It really is a coincidence,” he says, leaning back on the palms of his hands. “My mom was supposed to come hiking with me, but she’s had a sudden breakthrough, so I decided to bolt before I got roped into helping her reenact a cross-examination.”

  “And here you are.” I try to keep the nerves out of my voice. “Lucky me.”

  “Yeah.” He closes his eyes, letting the warm glow of sunshine wash across his face. “Lucky you.”

  My stomach tightens. I can’t do this.

  I stow my phone back into my pocket, grabbing my backpack. “Well, I’ll leave you to it, then.”

  “Oh, come on, Tommy.” Nick sits up, “I’m the one that interrupted whatever it is you’re doing up here. I’ll leave.”

  “Or he could stay.”

  “Or you could stay.”

  Wait, what did I say that, or did you?

  “You sure?” He raises an eyebrow. “I don’t want to ruin your Sunday.”

  “You won’t ruin it.” I say, sinking back into my spot. “Well, maybe you could try your best not to ruin it.”

  “I make no promises.”

  He laughs and I manage another smile. The way the sun kisses the tops of his eyelashes make them look like strokes of a brush.

  “So, is this what doing nothing looks like in Hester?” Nick asks. His dangling feet swing back and forth to an unknown rhythm.

  “For some, I guess it is. The trails get crowded this time of year, so not many locals like to hike during the summer.”

  “Except you.”

  “Except me.” I lift my backpack into my lap, hugging it to my chest. “I’m the anomaly.”

  Nick is quiet.

  A pair of kids burst through the tree line on the opposite bank—as if to prove my point. They rush for the water, kicking off shoes and socks as they run. Their parents aren’t far behind, calling after them to wait and raising their voices to no avail.

  “Hurry up!” The little boy yells over his shoulder, splashing into the shallow water.

  “It’s freezing!” His sister shouts, hopping onto one of the rocks that juts from the river.

  The boy bends down to splash his sister and the two of them shriek with delight as they dart up and down the bank.

  Nick watches them, eyes half-lidded. “They look like they’re having fun.”

  “Sure do.”

  “Isn’t that the lady that yelled at you yesterday for not putting whipped cream on her dairy-free latte?”

  I squint against the sun, the details of the woman on the opposite bank coming into focus. “I think it is. Jesus, I can see her scowl from over here.”

  Nick chuckles, a low sound compared to his normal, tinny guffaw.

  “Are they always this terrible?” he asks, motioning toward the family of Outsiders. “The tourists, I mean.”

  “This is my first summer working for Claudine,” I say, leaning back against the warm rock to mimic Nick. I’m careful not to brush my hand against his. No matter how much I want to. “But Mom’s dealt with them at the diner for years. They can be worse, if you believe it.”

  “God. People suck. I’m sorry she’s had to deal with it. Hell, I’m sorry we have to deal with it.”

  “Why are you sorry? I didn’t realize you were the spokesperson for the Rich Asshole Party.”

  “Don’t you mean Republicans?” Nick quips.

  I snort a laugh and that makes his smile widen.

  “See?” He cocks one shoulder back so that he’s angled towards me, “We’ve got more in common than you might think.”

  Maybe he’s right.

  “Ahem. Maybe who’s right?”

  I crack another smile.

  “Hey, Nick?”

  His eyes open wide. “What’s up?”

  “I just wanted to apologize,” I say, looking back to shrieking kids splashing in the river. “I was a major dick to you the other night. I was kinda going through something, but I shouldn’t have taken it out on you.”

  “I think what you did last night more than made up for it.”

  “Either way, I wanted to make sure you knew it wasn’t personal.”

  “Sure thing.”

  “I told you he was nice. And hot.”

  “Shut up,” I mutter. If Nick notices, he doesn’t say anything, which is cool.

  “Two chef specials, extra special.”

  Dot winks at me, sending a wave of creepy-crawlies across my skin.

  Tommy comes to my rescue. “Easy there, Dot. You don’t want Bre
nda to have to jump start your pacemaker with the toaster and a fork again.”

  Dot grumbles something that sounds vaguely Yiddish, but maybe it’s just because she seems to have forgotten her dentures this morning. She scurries to the next table and I sink back into the plush cushion of the booth. The plate Dot delivered is piled with a steaming mess of browns and grays. I look to Tommy for reassurance.

  He holds his fork, poised to strike, but his hesitation is disheartening.

  “I’m sure it’s good,” he says. I can’t tell if he’s trying to convince himself or me at this point. “Brenda made it. Everything she makes is delicious.”

  I follow his lead, picking up my fork and hovering above the slop.

  Tommy glances back to the stainless-steel porthole of the kitchen, but Brenda is MIA. His eyes narrow and he mutters something I don’t catch under his breath. With one swift motion he scoops the top layer of goop and steers it straight for his mouth.

  “No!”

  Tommy freezes, the heinous looking gruel half a second away from his tongue.

  Brenda’s thunderous shuffling fills the diner. The surface of my Coke ripples with each step as she draws closer.

  “Don’t... eat… it.”

  Brenda leans on the back of the booth behind me, wheezing.

  “What the hell, Brenda?” Tommy asks, letting his fork fall back to the plate.

  “I’ve… been… on break.” Brenda’s hand rattles as she shakes it, then lifts an inhaler to her lips, taking a puff. She holds it in for a few seconds, then wheezes out a little tuft of vapor.

  “Then who made this?” I point at the rapidly-congealing plate of… food?

  “Carl.” Brenda spits his name like it’s bitter to the taste. “The dishwasher. He’s been vying for my job for years now.” Her chubby fists clench at her side.

  I look to Tommy for some context. He nods along, knowingly.

  “I take it we don’t like this Carl character?”

  “He’s my ex-fiancé,” Brenda explains, butchering the French language with her drawl. “To think, I actually considered co-adopting a ferret with that man.”