by Dee Palmer
She looks around the room, still tapping, and when her gaze falls back to me, I get the feeling she’s going to burst if one of us doesn’t break the silence.
“You look like you wanna say something.”
“I do, I really do,” she gushes. A nervous little laugh escapes with the release of tension from her body. “But I really don’t want you to say”—she air quotes—“‘I don’t care’ again, and I get the feeling anything I say is gonna make you say just that.” Her cold impression of my response is savage and makes me feel ashamed.
“How about I promise not to say that, and you just feel free to say whatever you want?”
“Oh, that would be wonderful.” She claps, genuinely excited, and her eyes seem to sparkle with life.
“One condition.” When I hold up my finger, she snaps her lips together and nods, the smile still shines through as she struggles to look serious. I have to wonder why this is a deal at all. Surely she has friends to talk to. I can’t be the only person in the world prepared to hear her story.
“Of course.”
“I’ll listen, but I’m not getting involved. I’m just a pair of ears.”
“You’re more than that.” She drops her head to the side and sighs.
“I’m not.” My finger is now millimeters from her noise, and her eyes cross comically, trying to keep it in focus. “I’m not here to fix your problems, Buttercup.”
“I know that, and that’s not what I meant. I understand, and I don’t want you to get involved. It’s just I honestly have no one I can talk to.”
“No one?” My tone is more incredulous than curious.
“No one.” She blinks, sadness dulling the edges of her smile.
“You don’t strike me as the sort of person that would have no friends, Buttercup. What are you, a serial killer?”
“Hardly.” She scoffs. “I wouldn’t hurt a fly, which is part of the problem, and I have lots of friends. I’m the loneliest most popular girl in town.” Her voice drops, and she sips her drink. I don’t get it. It doesn’t make sense, bright, beautiful, and popular. Yeah, this pity party isn’t ringing true on any level.
“My heart’s breaking right here.” When I slap my hand over the center of my chest, she jolts in her seat. Her jaw drops, and the color drains from her face. Shit.
“You know what, forget it.” Pulling herself to the edge of the booth, she grimaces when she stands on her feet. Gritting her teeth and wincing with every tiny step she tries to take, she faces me, her eyes glossy with unshed tears. “I’m sorry I can’t pay for the meal I just ordered, maybe you can sell the dress to cover the cost.”
I’m quick to block her, taking one of her hands and using my other one to lift her chin so she can look into my eyes. I’m such a fucking ass, and I rightly feel like shit.
Who am I to judge if someone’s lonely?
“Buttercup, I’m sorry, truly. It was an asshole thing to say. Please sit down, and if you still want to tell me, I’m listening.”
She doesn’t move, but her eyes flit back to her seat, and it only takes a little tug of her hand to guide her back into her seat.
“You’re not an A-hole,” she mutters when she finally looks up at me. Her eyes are so wide and raw with feeling I just want to pull her back up from her seat and wrap her in my arms.
Yeah, that would help the situation, Pink. Don’t get involved. Don’t be a dick, but don’t get involved.
“I was, and I’m sorry.”
“I’m not normally like this.” She snatches a handful of napkins and squishes them against her eyes, blows her nose, and drops her head on the table with a thump.
“Maybe you’re—” My jaw clenches as my brain catches up with my mouth.
“What? What were you going to say? Maybe I’m what?”
“Nothing.” Shaking my head, I internally kick my ass all over the state of Texas.
“Pink,” she pleads, desperation in her eyes.
“Look, I’m jumping to conclusions today, so maybe I’m not the best person to ask.”
“But you’re the only one here. What’s wrong with me?” Her eyes search mine, and as much as I try, I can’t look away. She’s in pain, and I want to help.
“Are you pregnant?” She holds my gaze and then throws her head back, howling with belly laughs that fill the entire café, parking lot, and county. Tears stream down her face, and it takes a good few minutes of her struggling to suck in air and failing to control the hysterics before she is able to speak.
“Bahahaha, me? Um, no.” Spluttering, she takes a sip of her sweet tea.
“You’re sure? Because a shotgun wedding is a thing, and you were, in fact, on the run, wearing a wedding dress.” I’m confused by her reaction, it’s not like my assumption is totally out of the ballpark. She waves me off, dries her eyes with the back of her hand, and fails to contain the second bout of manic laughter.
“Bahahahahaha,”
“Okay, you can stop laughing now. It was just a suggestion.” It really wasn’t that ridiculous.
“Actually, that felt good.” She sucks in a long, steady breath. “I needed a good laugh and to maybe have an image of something that puts this pitiable situation into perspective. At least I’m not pregnant.” She settles back in her seat, and when I feel the moment is completely safe from further hysterical laughter, I venture another question.
“So what is your situation? I mean apart from having your car stolen, which you should report to the police, by the way.”
“Oh, lord, I hadn’t even thought about that.”
“You want my phone?” Reaching into my back pocket, I hand her my phone.
“Yes, please.” She swipes the screen and dials a much longer number than 911. “Oh hey, Loretta. Is Marlon there? … Thanks … Oh, hey, Marlon … Yeah, I’m fine. I’ve had a little problem with my car … No, no, I don’t need a tow. It was stolen this morning, last seen heading west on the Interstate … Yes … I’m fine … No, no, you don’t need to do that … I don’t need picking up … No, I’m still out…with, um, a friend … If you insist then, sure, I’ll be back later. Come over then …There’s not much detail to add, Marlon … No, I haven’t called him, I don’t want him worried, and I’d rather … Oh, he’s there? … Hello, darling, I’m fine … No, please don’t. I’m coming over tonight for dinner with your folks. I’ll see you then … You want me to bake what? … Oh, yes, of course, pecan pie … Sure I’ll bring it with me … Yes, I love you, too … Bye … Marlon? Marlon?” She looks at the phone as if she wasn’t expecting the call to end so abruptly. Pinching out a tight and tired smile, she hands the phone back to me.
“You okay?”
“Sure, I’m fine.”
“Sure you are.” I dip my line of sight to keep the contact she’s so keen to break. Sighing, she runs a hand through her long dark hair, pulling it through her fingertips and then scrunching it up into fists against her head as if she’s about to tear it right out.
“You ever see those silent movies where the heroine is strapped to the front of a runaway train and you have to read the word ‘screaming’ when it’s so darn obvious she is; only since no one can hear or seems to understand, they have to be told.” She releases her hair and looks right through me with empty eyes and the saddest smile I’ve ever seen. “Well, my movie has no subtitles.”
I reach across the table. She jumps when I squeeze her hand. “Maybe you need to scream louder.”
“It’s not that simple.” Blinking away the tears pooling in her eyes, she snaps her hand away at the sound of footsteps approaching.
Willow returns with two plates piled high with mouth-watering food and places them in front of me and Buttercup. She makes this trip three times, each time delivering more delicious looking dishes; fried okra, salad, loaded fries and corn bread. She refills our drinks and asks if there’s anything else we need. A wheelbarrow for my stomach maybe?
Buttercup licks her lips and my balls tighten. Fuck. She clasps her hands and m
utters a quick prayer, and now I’m thinking double fuck. She smiles and takes her knife and fork, enthusiastically digging into her mountain of food. I do the same. The food is fresh and so good I’ve eaten half of it before I pause to draw breath, I’m so damn hungry. When I look up, Buttercup is patting her mouth with a napkin and pushing her plate away. I’m struggling to see what she’s eaten.
“You finished?” Waving my knife in an arc indicating the seemingly untouched pile of food on her plate.
“I know, I feel bad for all that waste, but I can’t eat another bite. I think the adrenaline is suppressing my appetite.” She rolls back into her seat, rubbing her stomach. My t-shirt falls a little further off of her shoulder, and I’m completely distracted by her collarbone. Her skin seems to glow, smooth and golden over delicate bone. My fingers twitch to trace the sensual curves, and my mouth waters with the desire to kiss that little dip at the center. Clearing my throat and trying to not make it obvious when I shift in my seat to ease the agony in my jeans, I down a full glass of water.
Reaching for her plate, I slide her food onto mine. There’s just enough room. “It won’t go to waste, so don’t worry about that.” I wiggle my brow, and she comically drops her jaw; her eyes are like saucers.
“You’re never gonna eat all that.”
“Watch me.” I wink and load my fork high to happily make my point. “So, that was the police you called? You know them personally, yet you hardly look the jailbird type.”
“He’s Kurt’s Uncle. Kurt’s my fiancé; he was there too. I spoke to him, but I guess you got that from the ‘I love you’ part.”
“It was a bit of a give-away.”
“But that’s the thing, I don’t. Love him, I mean.” She swallows and looks both shocked and relieved at her own revelation.
“Ah…” Keeping my tone judgment free, I tilt my head, encouraging her to continue. I’m intrigued even if I’m not sure how much I want to hear. I find I don’t want to shut the conversation down quite so much anymore.
“They call us childhood sweethearts, my only boyfriend. He’s a great guy, patient, I mean. Not many guys would be so patient.” Her smile is apologetic, and I’m not sure what she’s referring to, but my understanding nod seems enough for her to continue without clarifying. “Anyway, I love him, but I love a lot of people, and that’s how I love him. I love him like I love my best friend, like my first teacher or my neighbor Sherri who looks after Grampa when I’m away working. It’s how I love everyone that’s close to me. It freaked me out when Grampa gave me my grandmother’s dress to try on. Kurt’s mother said she would adapt it, make it more modern for me, but I couldn’t tell Gramps that. He looked so… Oh no! What’s wrong with me? Why don’t I want this? Every girl in high school would’ve killed to be Kurt’s girl.”
“You’re not in high school anymore.”
“I know, but he’s a good man. He loves me. He’ll provide very well, and the farm will be safe.”
“Sounds perfect.” My flat response is as compelling as her list of her fiancé’s attributes.
“I think, if any of it was my choice, I’d be…well, I wouldn’t be running for the hills, that’s for sure.”
“Why isn’t it your choice? You didn’t have to say yes when he asked.” I’m still making my way through the mountain of food, and she is now picking off small chunks of cornbread from her side plate to nibble on. I’m sure she’s not still hungry; she just seems to have to keep her hands busy at all times.
“I didn’t…and then I did. After high school, I tried to break up with Kurt. He was going to college, and I knew I wasn’t. We didn’t have the money. I thought it was for the best. I guess I had my doubts back then. Anyway, Grampa up and told me that my momma had insurance money to cover my college tuition all along. It was the only reason I agreed to go. Even then, I argued I was needed at home, but he wouldn’t hear of it. Gramps reduced our livestock to a more manageable herd and promised to hire extra help while I was away. He told me it was my momma’s dying wish that I go to college, and who was I to say no to that?
“I studied at Colorado State to be a veterinarian. I love it and thought at the very least Gramps wouldn’t need to be paying someone else to fix our animals when they got sick.” She looks wistfully out the window, takes a slow sip of her tea. “Kurt and I dated all through college and when I qualified, he paid for me to become a junior partner in his other uncle’s practice in town. It was an engagement present. I knew then that I didn’t really love him, not like a wife should. I didn’t feel right saying yes. Surely everyone deserves to be with someone, oh I don’t know, to be with someone that makes your heart stop and ache the moment they leave the room. Kurt deserves that, and I told him as much. I told him no.
“He wouldn’t hear it. It’s the only time he’s ever gotten really mad. I hated hurting him like that, but I thought in the long run… Anyway, he started yelling at me. Told me I was selfish and that I was risking everything. What he meant was, I was risking the farm. I didn’t know my Grampa had mortgaged the farm way beyond its value and much more than we could ever repay.” She pauses. Her gaze drops from mine, and she seems to have to force it back up. “Kurt’s father owns the bank. He owns our farm. I couldn’t even be mad with Gramps. He was only doing what he thought was right to give me the best future. Besides, to everyone we’re a perfect couple. Gramps thinks I love him, and I do, just not like I should. I guess it doesn’t really matter; there are worse problems. It’s not like he beats me.”
“Setting the bar quite low there, princess, if you don’t mind me saying. No man should beat a woman.”
“You know what I mean.”
“There’s different levels of love and you want ‘more’. I get that.” I really do.
“Yes, that’s it exactly.”
“So what are you going to do?”
“Nothing.” She shrugs, brushes her palms together and holds them up, utter defeat and resignation draining the life from her face and the sparkle from her beautiful blue eyes.
“Nothing?”
“I just had a wobble. I’ll be fine tomorrow.” The fixed smile is back, and she straightens herself in her seat like she’s physically bolstering herself for battle.
“Those feelings don’t go away, Buttercup.”
“I won’t hurt the people I love because I don’t love Kurt like I should. I’ve at least been honest with him, and he doesn’t mind. Maybe I will learn to love him, over time.” Her argument is flimsy at best, and by the way she can’t maintain any eye contact, she knows it.
“Because time has helped so far?” I don’t know why I’m questioning her decision or motives. This has fuck all to do with me. Her slight frame looks frail, and it’s heartbreaking to see how hard she’s trying to convince herself that this is the right thing to do. The tattered wedding dress and torn up feet are evidence enough, but a person would only have to look into her eyes to see she’s already dying. Surely her friends can see this, or maybe they aren’t really looking. After all, I barely know the girl, and she’s hardly going to win a nomination for best actress.
“Not really, it’s fine. I’ll be fine.” She drinks the remainder of her drink and pats her lips with her napkin. “I’m sorry, I’m going to have to cut this day short though. I’ve got to get home. Seems I have some baking to do.” Her apologetic tone is wasted on me. This day was her idea. Not that I hadn’t come to like the idea; she’s nice company. However, we’re here because this is what she said she needed and, as far as I’m concerned, nothing’s changed in that regard.
“You always do what everyone tells you?”
“It’s not as bad as it sounds. I like making the people I love happy. It makes me happy.”
“You don’t look happy.”
“Let’s just say I was looking forward to a day off.” Her smile drops, dulling the brightness in her expression. Willow returns and starts to clear the plates.
“You guys want a slice of pie? It’s my favorite. They’ve just
come out the oven.” She draws in an appreciative sniff and winks at me.
“What flavor is it?”
“Pecan.” She’s impressively stacking plates along one arm, and without missing a beat,
“Do you do take-out?”
Buttercup’s brow furrows at my questions, and then she shakes her head.
“We do,” Willow replies brightly.
“You must have hollow legs,” Buttercup quips.
“It’s not for me,” I reply, then face Willow since she’s waiting for my decision. “And we’ll take the whole pie.”
PINK CARRIED ME RIGHT TO the restroom door and then out to his truck. He paid the bill and left a ridiculous tip. I mean, Willow was great and all, but seventy dollars for a thirty-dollar meal is crazy. The pie looks just like the ones I bake, smells good too, and is currently warming my lap and filling the truck with sweet sugary aromas.
“I can’t believe you did that,” drawing in an indulgent sniff and grinning with barely contained glee that he has effectively given back my much needed day.
“You said you needed a day off. It’s only a pie.” He winks, brushing off the very lovely gesture as if it’s nothing. It’s not nothing. No one has ever really listened to me before, listened and heard, I mean. I have friends that nod in all the right places, hug me when I need it, but no one has ever understood.
“I know, but—” I’m nibbling my bottom lip and scrunching up the hem of his t-shirt with agitation.
“You’re worried Kurt will know you didn’t bake it yourself?”
“Oh lord, no. He piles so much whipped cream on it he wouldn’t taste if I’d filled it with dirt.”
“Then what’s with the concerned face?”
“I thought you wanted to get rid of me.” Raising a curious brow, my shoulders lift and drop with confusion.
His instant response both clarifies and deflates. “I do.”