by Megan Green
Alex’s deep voice breaks through my reminiscing. “What kind of dog are you looking for?”
I shrug. “Don’t know yet. I’m good with goldens. But I’m thinking I might want something bigger. More intimidating. Got to protect my home from those punk-ass teenagers who like to egg cops’ houses.”
Alex laughs. “We used to be those punk-ass teenagers, you know. Remember when old Chief Tucker caught us in the act? Came out on his front porch with a fucking hunting rifle aimed right at us. I don’t think any of us had ever run so fast in our lives.”
I laugh at the memory. “He wouldn’t have shot us. Plus, when I got back to town, he admitted to me that it wasn’t even loaded. He just wanted to scare the shit out of us.”
“Well, it worked.” Alex laughs. “That was the last time we ever tried something stupid like that.”
“Only because we switched to toilet-papering teachers’ houses.”
He grins. “We were a bunch of little shits, weren’t we?”
I nod as I finish off the breadstick, looking around for a waiter. I need some water after inhaling all that garlic.
A dark-haired woman stands at a table a few over from ours, her back to me. But, from the apron I can see tied around her waist and the notepad in her hand, I surmise that she must work here. This is the first time I’ve seen her though, so Moretti must’ve hired someone new.
There’s something strangely familiar about her stance, her mannerisms, that triggers a sense of déjà vu. Before I’m able to place her though, she turns, saving me the trouble.
I’d recognize that profile anywhere. Quite frankly, I’m shocked I didn’t instantly know who she was the second she stepped into view. It only goes to show how much people change over the years, but also how much they don’t.
Nichole is a complete stranger to me now. Yet, still, my mind recognizes her on some level.
Nichole turns and faces me, her smile dropping as soon as her deep russet eyes lock with mine. She only falters for a moment though, and the smile is quickly plastered back on her face as she approaches our table. If it were anyone else, they likely wouldn’t have even noticed the change in her expression. But then most people don’t know Nichole on the level I do.
Knew, I remind myself. You knew Nichole. You don’t anymore.
Alex greets her when she arrives, “Hey, Nic. How’ve you been? Long time no see.”
She smiles warmly at him, the swelling in her face completely gone from the last time I saw her. Her wrist is still in a soft cast, but she doesn’t seem to be letting that slow her down. She props her hand on her hip, shifting her weight as she smirks down at Alex, her stance radiating the sassy Nichole I used to know…and love.
“I’m good, A-hole,” she tells him, using the nickname we all gave him in high school.
“Ha!” I burst out, unable to hold in my laughter. “A-hole. How in the hell did I forget about that? Most fitting nickname in history, if you ask me.”
“Good thing nobody asked you, J-Dog,” he replies, rolling his eyes at me.
“See? Mine just doesn’t have the same oomph yours does. J-Dog,” I scoff, chucking a piece of breadstick at him from across the table. “How unoriginal can you be?”
A feminine giggle fills the room, and just like that, I’m transported back ten years. Back to nights spent around bonfires after football games. Days spent hiking the mountain trails nearby. Every moment spent in pursuit of hearing that tinkling sound as often as possible. I never grew tired of her laugh. It was magical. And, even after all these years, hearing it once already has me falling right back under her spell.
As if sensing the shift in my thoughts, Nichole straightens, getting back to business. “What can I get you, guys?”
My eyes don’t leave her body even though she’s looking everywhere she can but at me. Her hair is pulled back in a low bun, and red sauce stains a small spot on her shirt. Her jean-clad legs are as long as I remember, if not a little thicker. But it’s a good thicker. Gone are the skinny chicken legs she used to hate and the slender hips she used to despise. In their place are curves. Lots and lots of gorgeous curves.
She’s no longer the young girl I remember.
No, this version of Nichole is all woman.
She crosses her arms across her chest, her lips pursing in annoyance at my obvious perusal and lack of response to her question. And, with the movement, her breasts press together ever so slightly, the fabric of her shirt pulling tighter as she squares her shoulders.
My jaw slackens as I watch her, unable to stop the thoughts that pass through my mind. The remembrance of how those breasts used to feel in my hands and against my tongue. And the rumination of how much better they would feel now that they’d filled out, their soft fullness rounded with motherhood and years.
Alex coughs uncomfortably as I continue to stare. “We’ll both have the spaghetti and meatballs. And two beers. Thanks, Nic.”
She curtly nods at him, throwing me a dirty look, and then she spins on her heel and heads to the kitchen. I watch her the entire way, not taking my eyes from her, until she shoves through the swinging door.
Alex doesn’t waste a second before calling me out on my shit, “What the fuck was that about, man?”
“I don’t know. It was like I lost my damn mind. All these memories came rushing back. My brain couldn’t keep up.”
“So, you short-circuited and decided that staring at her tits was a better plan?”
I grit my teeth. “Don’t talk about her like that. I mean it.”
“Like what? She’s a woman. She has tits. And you were staring at them.”
I lean forward, smacking him upside the head. “Don’t fucking talk about her tits. Don’t fucking look at her tits. Fuck, as far as you’re concerned, Nichole has no tits, got it?”
Alex rubs the back of his head. “Got it. Fuck, man, I thought you were over Nichole. I mean, I know you were asking all those questions about her a few weeks ago, but I thought it was more of a concerned friend thing. A cop thing. I had no clue you were still so hung up on her.”
“I’m not hung up on her,” I say, my voice clipped and stern.
Just then, Nichole pushes back through the door, both of our beers in hand. She places them on the table without a word before moving on to the next table.
My eyes follow her around the room, but she doesn’t look at me. After several hopeless moments, she moves back into the kitchen. I sigh, turning to face Alex, who’s raising his eyebrow as he regards me with a smug smile.
“Yep, you’re clearly not hung up on that woman. It’s obvious in the way you don’t even notice when she enters the room.”
“Fuck off, man,” I say, popping the top off my beer and bringing the bottle to my lips.
He laughs softly but I don’t even notice. Nichole steps back into the room, and all thoughts of Alex are forgotten.
Out of the millions of Italian joints in the world, he had to walk into mine.
I rest my hands on the counter in front of me. I inhale deeply, the smell of garlic and Parmesan flooding my senses. Sure, this might be the only Italian restaurant in town. But who told Joey he could like Italian food, huh? This would be a whole lot easier if he’d just gone for Mexican.
I sigh dejectedly, moving over to Moretti to give him Joey’s and Alex’s orders. He greets me with a warm smile.
“What’s the matter, topolino?” he asks before I can even open my mouth, his gentle voice soothing my frazzled nerves.
When I showed up here a few weeks ago, my face still bruised and my eyes glistening with defeated tears, all but ready to beg Mario Moretti for a job washing dishes, he pulled me into his arms before I could even get the words out.
“What’s mine is yours, topolino. Anything you need.”
The childhood nickname – meaning baby mouse – all but broke me.
Mario had been a dear friend of my parents for as long as I could remember. There aren’t many significant childhood memories that don’t feat
ure him in some capacity. He’d always been there. He’s a sort of godfather to me—minus all the mob bosses, cement shoes, and offers you can’t refuse.
But, after I married James, my contact with my friends and family slowly dwindled down to nothing. James is controlling and jealous, to say the very least. He didn’t like me spending time away from home. It eventually got to the point where it was just easier to stay home.
The day I showed up here, I was so nervous that Mario would turn me away. Family was the most important thing on earth to him. And my parents and I had always been included in his. I’d turned my back on him, cutting him out completely. I wasn’t sure if he’d be able to forgive me, regardless of whether the decision had been mine or not.
But one look at him completely eased any fears I’d had. Mario accepted me back into his life as if I’d never left. And he welcomed Cade with open and extremely eager arms. Mario’s kids had all moved away in their older years, taking his beloved grandchildren with them, so I can tell he loves having Cade around. The two of them have become inseparable during the evening hours after the dinner rush dies down.
After he gave me the job, Mario insisted the two of us stay in the tiny apartment above the restaurant. Well, apartment is a more generous term for the small space. It is more like a single room with a bed. The bathroom is more of a closet with a tiny shower and a toilet. And our kitchen consists of a mini fridge in the corner. All my cooking has to be done down here in the kitchen. But I absolutely love every square inch of the place because it is mine. And it signifies the start of Cade’s and my future.
Mario puts his arm around my shoulders, squeezing me into his side as we stand in the kitchen.
“Do you ever feel like your mistakes are always coming back to haunt you? That, no matter how hard you try, you just can’t seem to escape the past?” I ask when he releases me, watching as he scoops pasta into two dishes.
“Oh, mi bella, you cannot escape the past. It simply is not possible. But, even if you could, you should not want to. Your past makes you the beautiful woman you are today. Without your past, you would not be you. You would not have that precious boy. And that would be molto triste.”
I look over to the table in the rear corner of the kitchen where Cade is sitting quietly, his attention fully engulfed in the picture he’s drawing. Mario set up the little area for him for the times I have to work the evening shift. Cade absolutely adores it. He’s always liked drawing. But he’s thrown himself into it since our move here, and he’s thriving. Mario hangs every single picture he draws on the wall behind the cash register out front. Cade adores seeing them up there. His little chest puffs out with pride each time Mario pins a new one up, and my own heart swells with love every time I see that look on his little face.
I lean my head on Mario’s shoulder, relishing in his comfort. “You’re right. But, still, it’s a hell of a lot harder when those mistakes come waltzing in the front door and stare you down like they don’t know whether to kill you or kiss you.”
“Oh, bella, believe me, it is always the latter. He loves you, even still.”
I open my mouth to protest, shocked that he even knows what I’m talking about. He hasn’t been out front all evening. There’s no way he could possibly know that Joey is out there. Yet, before I can counter his argument, he shoves the two plates of spaghetti and meatballs into my hands.
“Now, go give those boys their food before they go on that terrible Interweb and write bad things about us. I cannot have people thinking Moretti’s doesn’t care about its customers,” he says, hurrying me out of the kitchen.
He doesn’t stop guiding me until I’m back through the kitchen door. Joey and Alex are exactly where I left them. It’s not until that moment when I realize I never even gave Mario their order. He just knew what to make.
Huh, I think to myself, that sly little man is much more observant than I took him for. What else does he keep under his watchful gaze?
I look back at the small circular window in the kitchen door, catching just a brief glimpse of Mario, and he winks at me, a cunning smile on his face.
I laugh under my breath, slightly shaking my head, and I make my way over to my two old friends.
“Hey,” Alex greets me when I reach them, “I was starting to think you’d forgotten about us.”
“Sorry,” I say, feeling my face flush under Joey’s gaze. “The meatballs took a few minutes to cook.”
The lie rolls easily off my tongue, and judging by the look on their faces, they know it for what it really is. Mario always makes sure he has plenty of meatballs at the ready, ensuring nobody has to wait for one of his delicious dishes.
But neither of them calls me on my dishonesty. Instead, they both grab their forks before shoveling in mouthfuls of pasta. Then, they sit back in their chairs, mouths chewing, and their attention turns back to me.
Joey smiles at me through a mouthful of food. It’s oddly sweet, despite the fact that he has tomato sauce on the corner of his lips. His eyes are softer than they were before. More friendly. Less…hungry.
“Well, enjoy your meal. Let me know if I can get you anything else,” I say.
I begin to move on to the next table. I see empty water glasses everywhere. I’ve seriously been slacking in my duties, thanks to my mini breakdown in the kitchen. I need to get my hustle on.
Alex reaches out and grabs my arm before I can move away from the table.
“Wah-ay,” he says around the mouthful of noodles and meat.
I’m assuming that meant wait, so I pause for a moment, watching him as he chews.
He finishes, clearing his throat. “Do you still have that friend, the one who breeds dogs?”
“Amber?” I question. She’s the only person I know who even owns a dog, let alone breeds them.
“Yeah, her. What kind are they again?”
“Great Danes, I think. The big ones. Look like little horses with dog faces.”
Alex smiles at Joey. “That big enough for ya?”
Joey nods. “A Dane would be awesome. Do you know when she’s breeding next?”
I shake my head. “I think she said her girl was pregnant not too long ago. I’m not sure how long dogs are pregnant for though, so they could all be gone.”
As I say the words, I realize how terrible of a friend that makes me sound. Who doesn’t know something like that about the person who’s supposed to be her best friend? Especially since Amber’s dogs are like her kids. She and her husband aren’t able to have children. So, instead, they spoil their dogs rotten.
“Could you get me her number? I’d like to get in touch with her and maybe see if she has a wait-list or something.” Joey smiles at me, his tone filled with excitement.
I can’t help but smile back at him. “Sure. Let me just take care of these few customers, and I’ll run and grab it for you. I’ll be back in a few.”
I quickly move around the room, apologizing profusely to everyone for my absence. Nobody seems too terribly upset by it though. I give Joey Amber’s number when I bring them their check, and the two of them leave with just a small wave in my direction on their way out.
I hustle over to clear their table even though traffic is dying down, and no one is waiting to be seated. The tip they left me is ridiculous, more than triple what it should be. I briefly consider going after them, insisting they take some of this back. But, instead, I pocket the money, knowing Cade and I can use every penny we can get. And, if there’s one thing I know about Joey, it’s that he doesn’t like to be told no. Me going after him and trying to return money would just end in embarrassment for the both of us.
The rest of my shift flies by, and before I know it, it’s time to lock up. After pulling the blinds, wiping the tables, and double checking the door, I head to the kitchen to try to help Mario clean up a little, but he’s quick to shoo me away, insisting he has it covered. Cade fell asleep on the bench a little while ago, so I gather him into my arms and make my way up the stairs to our room
.
I settle him on the bed. For tonight, I decide I’ll practice bad parenting and let him sleep in the Iron Man costume he’s wearing and forego brushing his teeth for the night. He curls around the pillow, his little hand reaching out and feeling for me in his sleep. His fingers grip my hand when he finds it, and his breathing evens out once more. A sleep-filled heavy sigh escapes his lips. He looks happy, content even, and that makes me feel like everything we’re going through is worth it.
Leaving James was hard. He threw the mother of all fits when I told him I was leaving. The only reason I escaped injury was the fact that Amber and her husband were there with me. I knew James would never willingly let me leave. But, if there’s one thing James Reynolds is concerned about, it’s his image. He’d never touch me with anyone around to witness it. And, as much as I wish I could’ve done it on my own, I had known having the support of my friend and her husband would give me the strength I needed to finally go.
I snuggle in next to my boy, pulling his little body into mine. With the stress of the day catching up to me, my eyelids are heavy. Sleep is right on the horizon, and I welcome it with open arms.
Just as I drift off to sleep, Joey’s excited smile when he asked about the puppies fills my head.
For the first time in forever, I have sweet dreams that night.
Seventeen Years Ago
The cool water feels awesome in this heat.
School ended a few weeks ago, and the dog days of summer are just around the corner. I can feel it in the air every time I step outside. Luckily, Nichole, Alex, and I were able to bribe our parents into buying us season passes to the city pool.
About ten million people are here today, but Alex and I managed to secure a spot in one of the corners. We’ve had to run off a few pesky elementary kids, but these things must be done when you’re going to be in the eighth grade next year. We can’t risk someone from school seeing us swimming next to a bunch of kids and think that we’re playing with them or something. So uncool.