The Reason I Stay

by Patty Maximini

  As a result, I miss and think of him a bit more every day, which is exhausting. I push through my obligations and all the wedding things because I don’t give myself another option, but aside from that, I honestly can’t find the energy to do much else. I especially can’t find the energy to go out with Tanie and friends, as she keeps inviting me to.

  Although I know that she understands my reasons, I also know that those reasons are the very things that make her think I’m inching closer to Cuckoo Land. In all honesty, there’s not an hour that goes by in which I don’t wonder the same thing.

  On the Thursday the week before Tanie’s wedding, I start my last hour of work rolling napkins around sets of silverware with Jen sprawled over the station counter and yawning nonstop. This is the third day in a row that Jen has been sleepy during work, and after five years working together every day, I know that can only mean one thing.

  “You should take a test?” She looks at me through squinty eyes that make me chuckle—or at least, make me make the throaty, choking sound that passes for one of my chuckles these days. “A pregnancy test, nerd. You’re probably pregnant again.”

  She grunts. “Ya think?”

  “Hmm . . . yeah. Last time you were this sleepy was when Scotty happened.”

  Jen looks out in the distance for a while, and I return my eyes to my boring task. Suddenly, she scares the life out of me with squeal as her back straightens, lifting her from the counter. “I’m pregnant!” Before I get to congratulate her, the grin on her face vanishes, and she collapses back over the counter. “I’m too tired to be happy.”

  I let out a weak laugh. “Then go take a nap. I’ll wake you in an hour when my shift is over.”

  “I can’t just go nap, we’re working.”

  I lift a brow at her, and do a slow once-over of the deserted diner before returning my gaze to her face. “I really don’t think that the zero people here will mind your absence much, or at all.”

  “You really don’t mind?”

  As much as I love having Jen around, my reply to that question is a big, fat NO. Since you need way less energy to be by yourself than to be around others, alone time has become somewhat of an addiction of mine lately.

  “Nope. Go enjoy sleep while you still can.”

  She laughs, kisses my cheek, and drags her feet toward the corridor leading to the back room. Finally alone, I take a deep breath and busy myself with every mechanical prepping task we hate to do. I’ve found out that the busier I am, the less crazy thoughts and memories of him I have, which means that keeping busy has become another addiction of mine.

  For the next twenty-something minutes, I finish the silverware, marry condiments, and do inventory of the bar. The last task on my list, and hopefully my day, is to restock the freezer with beers. When I come back to the front of the house, pushing the cart with three cases of beer bottles from the stock room, the completely empty diner is no longer empty.

  Frozen in place, I gasp as I stare into a face so gorgeous it makes everything else in the world seem ugly in comparison. I look from deep-blue eyes with silver sparks that make me think of stars, to those perfect smirking lips that were made to fit around mine. I look from the red plaid shirt that clings to the chest and arms that feel like home, to shaggy blond hair, which is currently being tucked behind an ear, and my hands tighten around the cart handles, offering support for my weakening knees.

  My heart pounds franticly inside my chest as I squint, and I tell myself this isn’t happening, that him being here is nothing but a dream. I take a deep calming breath through my nose, and slowly open my eyes.

  My eyes fill with pathetic tears as I see him still sitting there, staring at me and looking like the most perfect ghost I’ll ever see. The smirk on his lips is gone, and he’s fussing with his hair, but he’s still there. At booth nine. Looking right at me with an expression that seems just as overwhelmed and awed as I feel. Oh, God!

  I have no idea of what to do with myself. On one hand, I know that I should run over to the back room to get Jen. Heaven knows I can’t be alone with him; I’ll probably end up doing something incredibly stupid, like kissing him, or telling him I still love him. On the other hand, I can’t find the strength—or the will—to move or stop looking at him, or stop feeling an overwhelming joy that he’s here.

  As if he’s feeling the exact same emotions as I am, he stares unblinkingly at me and in silence, we hold each other’s gaze for a few moments. And then, out of the blue, he lets his head fall down to the tabletop a couple of times. For the first time in four months, I let out a real, normal-sounding laugh that makes him lift his head from the wood just long enough to look at me with his signature smirk in place before resuming the head banging.

  I laugh again at the ridiculousness of it as my feet move toward him. As soon as I’m standing at the side of the booth, an avalanche of memories, good and bad, floods my brain, making me feel strangely inadequate in my own skin. I try to push that feeling aside with a deep breath.

  “Welcome to The Jukebox.”

  He straightens his back in the chair, and gives me a face-splitting grin that makes my limbs feel like overcooked spaghetti. I place a hand over the table for support. He looks at it and tucks his hair behind his ear. It takes a herculean effort on my part to keep my index finger from tapping in reply, but I manage it.

  His grin falls a bit. “Hi, Lexie. How are you?”

  I take a deep breath through my mouth. “I’m okay. You?”

  “I’m good. What happened to all the people?”

  “I dunno.” I shrug. “It’s been like a graveyard here all day.”

  He nods attentively, as if I just told him the secrets of the universe. I wonder if he’s also feeling like this is probably the most awkward conversation we’ve ever had, and then he tucks his hair yet again and I know he does. I try to give him a smile to lighten some of strangeness away, but it comes out completely stiff, and only makes things worse.

  He fidgets a little. “You look good.”

  I let out a single chuckle, and lift a brow. “Thanks, but I really don’t. I look like a mess.”

  “Not to me,” he says without a drop of humor as his eyes hold mine. “To me you’re as gorgeous as always. It’s really good seeing you. I miss—”

  “Would you like to hear the specials?” I cut him off with the most pathetic shaky voice in the word.

  My breathing quickens to the point where I’m almost panting, and I know that’s extremely rude, but I can’t allow him to finish that sentence. I know that if he does then I’ll say that I miss him too, and I can’t do that. I can’t allow myself to open to him again.

  The light I just saw on his face vanishes. In its place there’s a tinge of sadness, but his smile stays in place. I’m so thankful for it.

  “Yes, please.”

  With a tiny nod, I recite the two specials of the day. He orders the chicken stake, fried okra and sweet potato option, and a beer. My hand shakes a bit as I write down his order, but I don’t think he notices. Although I don’t look at him, I can feel his eyes watching my face.

  “Anything else?”

  He doesn’t reply right away, which makes me lift my eyes to him. He’s got his right arm bent over the tabletop, and his chin propped on his hand. His index finger rubs his clean shaved chin as he continues to study me. His gaze is different than it used to be, hotter and softer all at once. Because my body is stupid for him, its instant reaction is to straighten my spine and dilate my pupils.

  He runs a hand through his hair, and clears his throat. “Do you think I could have some boiled peanuts? I’ve been dreaming about those suckers for days.”

  “Of course. I’ll be right back.”

  “Thanks, Lexie.”

  I turn away and walk to the kitchen window to place his order.

  As I wait for the portion of peanuts, I keep my eyes on the kitchen, and congratulate myself for keeping my shit together. I remind myself that even though my heart aches and my
body craves him, there are good reasons why we didn’t work. I remind myself of the secrets, and the grief, and the crushing pain I’ve felt every day since he has left.

  Fueled by the pain of those memories, I give myself a pep talk about not letting my stupid emotions get in the way of my reason. By the time I have the peanuts in my tray, I feel confident that I’ll be able to go through his meal without embarrassing myself or falling into temptation, but as I walk to the bar to get his beer my confidence wavers. From the corner of my eye I see his gaze following me, and I get so flustered by it I almost trip on my own two feet. With both items on the tray and no way to escape, I walk back to booth nine.

  “Here you go.” I place the bowl of peanuts and the beer in front of him.

  He gives me a lopsided smile. “Thanks. Would you sit with me for a while, and share the peanuts?”

  Oh, God. “I can’t. I’m working.”

  Like I did earlier to Jen, he looks around the completely empty diner, making sure we both know that what I just said is complete bullshit. When his eyes return to mine, we hold each other’s gaze for a second. His eyes are pleading, and mine are as hard as I can make them.

  He sighs, and gives me a smile I don’t deserve. “Okay.”

  Embarrassed and feeling like an asshole, I turn on my heels and almost sprint away. I spend the next few minutes avoiding him, and trying hard to look busy. Unfortunately, with no other orders waiting, his dish gets ready in record time, forcing me to go deliver it with the most uncomfortable smile on my lips.

  He thanks me, and asks why I’m working alone. I tell him about Jen being on a break, and that starts a little conversation. He makes a few of his silly comments and I laugh, which makes his face relax and soften. For some reason, it makes me feel like my old me again.

  After a couple of minutes, he looks from me to the booth seat in front of him. The message is loud and clear, and my willingness to accept scares the living crap out of me. It also brings back all the memories I can’t run away from, and all the hate I feel for the lack of hate I feel for him.

  Once more I fidget from one foot to the other, and am unable to meet his eyes.

  I’m looking into the distance, when he asks, “Do you need to go do something else?”

  I steal a quick glance at him, and despite the anguish on his face I nod.

  “Okay.”

  Without another word, I turn around and walk away toward the freezer behind the bar. I start to restock those beers, one bottle at the time, and like that first day he came in to the diner, I do everything I can to avoid looking at him. It’s hard, really freaking hard, but I manage it.

  The next time I look at him, he’s slouching on his seat with his eyes closed, listening to the song by The Henningsens playing in the background. It’s hard to pinpoint what, but there’s something different about him. It’s almost like seeing a child after spending a long time away from them; they look the same, but you can tell they’ve grown.

  I close the freezer, and walk to him. He opens his eyes and smiles when I reach his side. “Was the food good?”

  “Yes, it was amazing, as always. I missed this food.”

  “Anything else?”

  He clears his throat and nods. “Yes, five minutes to talk to you.”

  A cold chill runs down my spine.

  “Matt . . .” His name leaves my mouth like a breath. It’s the first time I’ve said his name since I told him goodbye, and it feels like ice cream and poison on my tongue all at once.

  He continues to look expectantly at me, the hope that I’ll agree screaming in those breathtaking eyes. It makes me want to say yes, more than I’ve ever wanted anything else. It makes me want to jump on his lap, and kiss him until we’re both blue in the face. But also, it makes me want to die, because I know I can’t allow myself to do either of those things.

  I look away from his eyes. “I can’t.”

  “C’mon, Lex. It’s just five minutes. There’s no one here.”

  I shake my head. “I’m sorry, but I can’t. It’s . . .”

  I swallow a lump in my throat, and look away as I try to think of a way to explain how I feel without being a bitch, but I have no words.

  An audible breath makes me look at him again. I see his chest puffed with air, and I remember the day I broke my arm. I was in so much pain that just the thought of the doctor holding my arm to set the bone straight sent me into a fit of hysterics. Seeing my agony, Dacle Greg told me to take in the largest breath I could manage, and hold it in my chest. He’d said it would make the pain more bearable.

  I wonder if that’s what he’s doing now.

  When he speaks, I know it is. “I’ll just need the check, then.”

  With tears forming in my eyes, I nod and go to the register to get his bill. In just a few minutes, I’m back with my heart in my hand. I place the strip of paper in front of him, but he doesn’t look at me.

  “I’m sorry.” The words feel extremely inadequate, but it’s all I have.

  His right arm moves across the table to take the check. A blur of color on his forearm calls my attention, but before I get a look at it he pulls his arm back and under the table.

  “Don’t worry about it,” he says, calling my attention back to his face. My heart aches at the sight of the forced smile on his lips. “I thought that no was a possibility, but I had to try. Despite it, it was really good seeing you again. Really good.”

  Air. I need air.

  I don’t know how, but I manage to say, “You too.”

  From the corner of my eyes, I see a few old ladies from one of the church’s many prayer groups enter the diner for their afternoon tea, but I don’t take my eyes from Matt. He winks, causing tears to form under my lids. I swallow them before they can fall, point at the group of women, and walk away.

  I try not to look at him as I seat the elderly ladies, but I obviously fail. I’ve always failed in keeping a distance from him.

  From my current position I only see the back of him as he stays seated, with tensed shoulders and a bowed head, in his booth for a while longer. When he gets up, he walks to the jukebox without stealing a single glance at me. I feel frozen, and scared, and broken, because I know this is it. He tried and I said no, and therefore we’re over.

  As he leans against the jukebox, I completely ignore the women trying to place their order, and go through the catalogue of songs in my mind looking for one that says goodbye, the one I think he’ll chose. I steal myself to see our fate sealed when he presses the buttons, and still without looking at me, walks away.

  At the exact moment he opens the door to leave the opening accords of Blake Shelton’s “Mine Would Be You” echo inside the diner, and I honestly forget how to breathe.

  In a haze of emotions brought by perfect lyrics, I walk to his booth. I sit down and look at the money placed over the check, and my heart beats so fast I feel it’ll run away from my chest. A single tear rolls down my cheek as I sing along with Blake Shelton, and with shaky hands, push the money aside, revealing the white paper beneath.

  My hand shoots up to cover my lips as I read the simple line he left for me.

  More tears spill from my eyes as I look out the window, and see him walking to the parking lot. As if he can feel my gaze, he turns his face to me, his eyes instantly connecting with mine. A sad smile curls his lips as he takes his right hand from his pocket, and raises his arm up to wave me goodbye. Before I get a chance to organize my thoughts or react in some way that doesn’t involve eye moisture, he lowers his arm and walks away.

  I stay in that booth alone and look out the window at the empty street as, inch by inch, despair fills me. The only thought I can formulate is, what the hell did I just do?

  In the following days, maddening, nonsensical, overanalyzing thoughts about my encounter with Matt flood my brain. As the paradox requires, I go back and forth between thinking that not giving him the five minutes he wanted was the right thing, and panicking about how that was my worst decisio
n to date.

  I keep seeing his face looking at me through the window, and the tattoo on his forearm, and the note written on his check. I spend my work shifts staring at the door of the diner, hoping that he’ll come in to give me a do-over, and fearing it at the same time. I spend my time at home lying on the couch with tears in my eyes as I listen to Blake Shelton and dream of him.

  My life, which for the past four months had been difficult to take, finally turns unbearable. In order to avoid committing myself to the loony bin, on Sunday, as Tanie and I sit alone on my back porch filling tiny heart-shaped tins with candy, and gluing stickers on their lids, I decide to do something I haven’t tried since he left: I reach out for help.

  “Matt came by the diner on Thursday.”

  The hint of a smile curls on Tanie’s lips. “I know.”

  I tilt my head in confusion. Jolene is known for being a gossipy town, but this time we were completely alone. There was no one there to gossip. And then I think of the prayer group, and though I never took a bunch of eighty-something-year-old women for gossipers, I should have.

  “It wasn’t gossip,” she clarifies, causing a line to form between my brows. “He called me.”

  My eyes pop wide open. “What? Why?”

  “He wanted me to convince Eric to get another best man. Apparently he thinks you’re uncomfortable around him, and that his presence will ruin the wedding for you.”

  Shock, and fear, and the realization of how badly I screwed up fill my heart, causing it to feel like it was thrown into a blender while still beating. Yeah . . . painful yikes. Overwhelmed, I bow my head, bring both hands up to cover my face and focus on taking deep breaths of the warm, beachy air. Tears prickle my lids, but I don’t let them fall.

  After a moment of silence, Tanie says, “Don’t worry, dork. I told him that if he bails on me the week before my wedding, I’ll cut off Pedro, and feed it to stray dogs.”

  I lower my fingers down my face, uncovering my eyes, and see a closed-lipped smirk on her face. “So he’s still the best man?” The words come from behind my fingers.