by Sam Mariano
As it should’ve with an accusation like that being thrown out, Ethan’s guard rose. “Hey, I didn’t say that…”
“Your face did.”
“My face is pretty talkative today,” he shot back. “That isn’t what I’m saying. I’m just worried… all these opportunities are coming up and I don’t want you choosing me over a bunch of different things…”
Nodding her head, she finished, “In case this doesn’t work out.”
Heaving a sigh and roughly rubbing his face with both hands, Ethan said, “Can we please not have this conversation right now?”
Throwing back the blankets, she pushed her legs off the side of the bed and stood, grabbing her clothing off the floor. “I wouldn’t call random college dicks missed opportunities anyway.”
“Willow… I’m not just talking about that. New York?”
“I haven’t made a decision about New York yet.” Violently tugging her black pants up and buttoning them, she went on, “And when I do, it won’t be all about you. And if our relationship does end, I’m not going to regret any of my choices, because I’m going to be true to what I want. I’m not an idiot, I know what kind of opportunity this is and I know it seems like a no-brainer. But I get to decide what holds the most value in my life. And if it’s you, don’t treat me like I’m some dumb kid for the choice I made. I’m not going to make some half-baked decision about my future—and if I did, you know what, that’s my responsibility anyway, not yours, so don’t worry about it.”
Ethan hauled his legs over the bed, but he looked tired. “Don’t go.”
“Answer this one question for me.” She paused, shirt in hand, and met his gaze.
His face was already dripping with tired resignation, since there was no way that lead-in was heading toward anything good.
“If Amanda called you right now, right this very second,” she said, her gaze jerking toward his phone and then back to him, “if she said she wanted you to come back, she wanted to work through things, she’d finally been given enough time or space or whatever-the-fuck—she was finally ready to take you back… you’d leave me in a minute, wouldn’t you?”
Eyes darkening, he shook his head. “Don’t say it like that.”
“But you would,” she said, quietly, without hope.
Dropping his head into his hands, he murmured, “Please get back in bed.”
She shook her head, pulling the shirt on and turning away as she buttoned it.
Ethan stood and followed her. “Willow, I don’t know what I would do in that scenario. I’m not going to lie to you, I don’t. But it wouldn’t be that easy, I wouldn’t just…. You’re not some disposable placeholder; I care about you, I…”
She braced herself, tried not to hope “love” would follow, but it seemed like the time to say it if that’s how he felt. Say it, she thought. Tell me you love me.
But he didn’t finish the sentence, and the words he didn’t say felt like a fist to Willow’s gut.
For a minute there was a charged silence, heavy with the guilt of unmet expectations. So accustomed was he to Willow playing things off and keeping her cool, when Ethan finally looked at her and saw tears swimming in her narrowed gray eyes, he felt momentarily stunned. Then his stomach dropped as she nodded, dipping to yank her purse off the floor.
Sighing, he attempted to reach out physically, since he wasn’t ready to make the emotional reach. “Hey, come on. I didn’t… why don’t you just come back to bed, please? Can’t we just—”
“No,” she interrupted, shaking her head mildly, but the cool anger in her glistening eyes contradicted her tone. “Not this time.”
His blue eyes begged her to stay—but for probably the first time, it wasn’t hard to deny him. She fished around in her purse for her keys, preparing to head for the door.
He stood before her, all sad and disappointed. “Don’t go, Willow. Not like this.”
Smiling a sad, cynical little smile, she said, “I wish I had a reason to stay.”
"Hey, come here," he said, lightly grabbing her side and trying to tug her closer.
"Stop."
There was no hesitation or indecisiveness in her tone, just steely, fed-the-fuck-up resolve.
Ethan froze, then let out a breath. "That's not fair, Willow. You know I have to stop when you—"
"That's why I said it," she stated, her eyes drifting toward the floor. "I'm not doing this anymore."
He couldn’t blame her one bit, but he couldn’t help wanting to talk her out of it. Sighing as she turned her back to him, he shoved a hand through his hair. “Willow,” he called, taking a step closer, but not moving to touch her.
She paused on her way to the door, waiting for him to go on, but she didn’t turn to look at him.
“Please. I need you here.”
Her head dropped for a few wordless seconds, then she lifted it with a tiny sigh. “No, you don’t.”
He couldn’t seem to drag his eyes away from her as she walked out the door, letting it close quietly behind her.
And then he was alone.
The next day began without communication on either end.
Willow spent half of that day curled up at her desk with a mug of hot tea and her laptop, poring over articles and websites, drafting letter after letter with notations about who to send them to and links to pages in case she forgot.
She never sent them though.
The first of her many open tabs, far to the left, was Celine Holland’s website. Since she first checked it out, she hadn’t been able to bring herself to close it.
More than ever before, it seemed crucial that she consider it. Since she got together with Ethan, things had been up and down like a rollercoaster ride—and not the fun kind, where you couldn’t wait to get back in line, but the kind where you throw up all over your shoes afterward because you can’t even make it to a garbage can.
If they were going to break up—which she hated to even consider, but she needed to be realistic—then she wanted to go to New York. It was a win-win; run away from her problems and adopt a shiny new life.
She didn’t want that, though. It made her stomach ache just to think about it. What she wanted was Ethan, but it was beginning to feel like he might never be really, truly hers—regardless of who slept in his arms at night and texted with him all through the day. Regardless of how much she loved him.
The thought crossed her mind that maybe he just needed more time. If she could wait out the adjustment period, he would be wonderful like she knew he could be. But with a two week deadline on the internship, she didn’t have the time to give him.
After hours of agonizing over her future, it was time for a long closing shift at the restaurant, made even longer by the lack of Ethan’s texts to check between tables.
It was going to be a long night, she thought a couple hours into her shift, as she checked her phone yet again and saw nothing to get excited about.
“You got another table,” Kendra stated, flashing Willow a vague look of annoyance.
Frowning, Willow slid her phone back into her pocket and replied, “I thought it was back to you.”
“It was supposed to be, but they’re in your section,” she stated, pushing past Willow to go check on her one, single table.
Willow sighed, rolling her eyes. The hostess was new, and she never understood why the other girls got so wound up about getting sat twice in a row—they always caught up. There were still many hours left in both of their shifts, so it wasn’t like she wasn’t going to get more tips for the rest of the night. Kendra could be so dramatic.
Grabbing her order pad and pen, Willow hastily made her way around the corner toward her new table to get their drink order.
She stopped dead in her tracks, her stomach doing a flip-flop, when she saw Ethan sitting at the table. He was facing her direction, but he hadn’t noticed her; he was too busy smiling at the raven-haired woman sitting across from him.
Ducking back behind the divider, Willow placed a
hand over her heart and didn’t move.
Kendra came hurtling past the server area, holding plates of food.
“Kendra, wait,” Willow said, keeping her voice low, remaining hidden.
The other girl looked at her and frowned, but said, “Hold on, I’ve gotta run this food.”
Willow felt sick.
Creeping toward the divider, she stole another brief look at his table. He wasn’t looking at Amanda anymore, but at the little girl sitting in the seat next to his. Her eyes quickly took in the sight of his other two kids, one coloring on the kids’ menu, the younger brother curiously looking around the restaurant.
Back behind the relative safety of the divider, she pressed herself up against the surface, closing her eyes.
This could not be happening. Out of all the restaurants in Chicago, there was no way they could be at hers.
Muttering several uncharitable curses under her breath, she waited for Kendra to come back.
“I need you to take that table,” Willow requested when she did. “You don’t even have to switch, she can sit you again next, I just… I don’t want that table.”
“Why?” Kendra asked, frowning and taking a step back. Rolling her eyes, she said, “Ugh, kids. Nope, the mess is yours. Why do people feel the need to bring kids to restaurants?”
“I’ll bus the table after they leave,” Willow promised. “You won’t have to deal with the clean-up, just… come on, please?”
Kendra’s scowl deepened. “Why do you wanna get rid of this table so badly? They don’t tip, do they?” she asked, her suspicions rising.
“They tip,” Willow said irritably. “If they don’t tip you at least $20, I’ll give you the money out of my freaking tips, okay? Will you just do this for me? I’ll take your next table and you can keep their tip, too.”
Slicing a suspicious glance at Willow, Kendra took off toward the hostess stand.
Willow followed a bit hesitantly, hoping she was going to switch the table to her section.
Kendra approached first, so by the time Willow got there, Kendra had a hand perched on her hip, her penciled on eyebrow rising. “I can’t take your table. They requested your section. What’s going on?”
Overcome with a mixture of shock and dread, she tried to come up with any reason that could possibly make sense for Ethan’s family to request her table. Things may have gone badly last time they saw each other, but there was no way Ethan would do that. No way.
Since they were all gathered around the hostess stand and not taking care of their customers, it shouldn’t have been a surprise when Willow’s frowning boss approached.
“What’s going on up here? Did someone forget to invite me to the staff meeting?” he asked, eyebrows rising.
Quick to tattle, Kendra offered, “Willow’s trying to get rid of her table.”
Willow sighed, feeling like her whole being was weighed down. “It’s nothing. It’s fine.”
Refusing service to a table when the owner was there… probably not the wisest move she could make.
But for all that he could sometimes be gruff, he was watching Willow with a funny expression. “Did the table give you trouble? Is it guys? I can go over there.”
Forcing a little smile and a shake of her head, she said, “No, no, it’s… it’s fine. I just got double sat, I was trying… I should go get their drink order.”
“If you want me to take it, I will,” Aaron stated. “You can take a break or something.”
Oh, God, how tempting.
“They requested her,” Kendra added, not at all helpfully.
The owner glanced at Kendra, not appearing amused with her tattling.
Kendra immediately remembered she had something to do and flitted away.
“Thanks anyway,” Willow murmured, attempting a smile and heading back to her section.
She paused at the server station to gather up her courage, but she saw Aaron following closely behind, so she pulled herself up and forced her legs to carry her around the corner, toward the table. She even tried not to look like she was marching to her doom.
Her stomach dropped when Ethan glanced up as she approached the table, and she saw a brief look of horror on his face that matched her feelings well. His eyes widened as she clutched her order pad, glancing at it instead of them and jotting the table number down on the paper. Her hand trembled so badly, it was barely legible.
Amanda had the baby sitting on her lap and she was digging through her bag on the ground. Upon spotting Willow, she threw her long dark hair over her shoulder and sat up, holding a pair of socks out in Ethan’s directions with a familiar smile.
“You left your socks at the house, by the way.”
Ethan stared at the socks for what felt like 3 years before reaching across the table to take them.
Willow molded her face into what she hoped was a smile and willed herself not to throw up. “Hello, welcome to Flavor. My name’s Willow and I’ll be your server this evening; would you like to hear our specials?”
Amanda glanced up at her, eyebrows raised, and said, “Yes, please.”
Willow didn’t look her in the eye as she rattled off the specials.
“Can I get you guys started with something to drink?” she added, unsure where to look, but desperately wanting to get away from the table. She didn’t want to look at Ethan, so she looked at Amanda instead.
“Iced tea for me, our daughter will have the fruit punch, and do you have chocolate milk for our son? I didn’t see it on the menu.”
Her fingers tightened on the order pad but she forced herself to keep a cordial expression. “We don’t, technically, but the owner does usually keep some in the back. I can check and see.”
“That would be great, thanks.” Amanda smiled, but it didn’t reach her chilly blue eyes.
Willow’s eyes narrowed slightly on the other woman’s, but she caught herself and turned her head—with effort—to face Ethan. “And for you, sir?”
He was not playing it as cool as she was. He never had, so she shouldn’t be surprised. Asshole.
He shook his head, averting his gaze to the table. “I’m okay.”
“You don’t want anything to drink?” she asked, more sharply than she intended.
Pressing his lips together, his eyes flashed to hers. “Got whiskey?”
Smiling sweetly, she said, “We do, but I’m underage, so I’ll have to have someone else get that for you.”
She heard him release a breath as he broke her gaze, looking at the table again, and Willow—realizing she hadn’t written a single thing on her order pad—spun on her heel and headed back to her station.
Seeing her boss lingering by the server station, staring right at her, took a little wind out of her sails and she slowed down.
She hoped he hadn’t overheard that last part. It had been a little bitchy. If Ethan and his stupid wife got her fired, she was going to be pissed.
Cautiously glancing at Aaron as she approached the computer, she waited for him to say something, but he just stood there with his arms crossed, appraising the unwanted table.
Her heart palpitated. Her palms felt clammy. Her stomach—well, she wasn’t going to need a lunch break, to put it that way.
She wanted to go home.
“What are you doing, Willow?” Aaron finally asked, quietly.
His tone threw her and she glanced at him, eyes widening slightly. “What do you mean? I’m putting in a drink order. I need a whiskey for my table.”
“Did you check ID?” he asked lazily.
“He’s 33.”
The owner sighed heavily. “How old are you again?”
“Nineteen,” she replied briskly, inputting the last beverage and grabbing some cups.
“What are you doing, Willow?” he repeated.
Ignoring him—since she didn’t know what he was getting at—she asked, “Do you have chocolate milk in the back?”
He nodded, pushing off the stand. “Kid’s cup?”
Willo
w nodded jerkily.
He headed off to get her drinks and Willow quickly filled the drinks for the two girls, taking them over to the table and announcing the other drinks would be right out.
When the owner came back with a kid’s cup and a tumbler of whiskey, she started to offer to take it, but he just shook his head at her. “I got it. I assume the whiskey’s for him?”
“Yep,” she murmured, thanking him and going back to her stand, pretending she had something to do.
Remembering her other table, she ran back to see if their appetizer was done.
It wasn’t like the owner to hang around the server stand and harass the girls—at all—but after she delivered the appetizer to her other table, he was still standing there. Kendra glanced at him curiously, but she already had another table, so she didn’t linger, since everyone wanted to look busy when the owner was around.
Willow wasn’t sure she had the stamina to do that. He knew she was usually a great worker, so she thought he might be able to overlook her lack of energy for one evening.
Then the owner leaned in toward her, and Willow was too stunned to even jump back when he murmured, “I know it’s not my business, but you deserve a hell of a lot better than that.”
Her face flushed and she avoided eye contact, nervously straightening the straws in the box next to the computer. “I don’t know what you mean.”
He merely quirked a dark eyebrow. “Really?”
She forced a casual shrug. “It’s just a table. I’m just tired.”
“Bullshit.”
Her gaze jerked to his—he had never sworn at her before.
“I’m your boyfriend’s age—you think I haven’t seen this shit before?” he asked, shaking his head. He looked disgusted and though she rarely felt bad about being with Ethan, suddenly she was flush with embarrassment.
“It’s not what you think,” she offered, since he already seemed to have a pretty good guess about the situation.
“It never is,” he replied sarcastically. “Parading his wife in front of you—classy. He’s a keeper.”