by Sarah Ockler
“Howdy,” the man says with a cheesy wink. “I’ll do the usual.”
“Sounds good. Um, what is it?”
He looks me up and down and sighs loudly through his nose. “Large orange juice, hot coffee, black, two sugars, side-a home fries, and a westerner omelet, with extra cowboys and Indians, if you please.”
Folks, we’ve got a live one here.
“OJ, coffee, home fries, western. Got it.” I scoot back toward the kitchen to put in the order, but frat house central snags me before I clear the floor.
“Can we get some more nog, please?” One of them points to his empty glass. Mom really needs to reconsider the bottomless eggnog deal. I’ve spilled so much of it on my Hurley Girl dress, the bacon grease stains are jealous. Besides, I hate that word. Nog. Ugh.
“More nog, coming right up.” I try to smile, but my cheeks hurt.
“And some ketchup,” another says.
“Sure thing.” I turn back to the kitchen.
“Oh, miss? Can I get a take-out box for this?”
“Take-out box, you got it.”
“More coffee, too.”
“Okay.” By the time I make it behind the beautiful, protective doors of the kitchen, I’m just one nod-and-smile away from stripping off the Hurley’s dress and running out onto the train tracks.
“Looks like a good crowd,” Mom says, zipping around the kitchen. “Maybe I shouldn’t take off just yet.”
“Ma, you can’t ditch Bug.” Mom’s supposed to leave early today—taking my little bro to the McKinley Mall to see Santa. Bug and I have conversed at length on mythical creatures, particularly after Santa missed our house the first Christmas after the divorce, but he lets Mom go on thinking he’s a big believer in all that naughty or nice crap. Probably because it’s one of the few occasions Mom takes off an entire afternoon just for him.
“Don’t worry about us,” I say. “We’ve got it all under control.”
“Okay, you’re right.” Mom scrapes a dried splotch of frosting from my apron with her thumbnail. “You’ve really taken to this, Hud. When things calm down after New Year’s, I’ll show you how to do inventory and food orders. Sound good?”
“Cool, Ma.” Mental notes: One, add cowboys and Indians to inventory list. Two, jab icicle into eye.
“Thanks, baby. For everything.” She leans in to kiss my cheek, and I inhale the scent of her grapefruit shampoo, mixed with the bacon-and-onions smell of the diner. Then I slip my arms around her waist and return her hug. But just for a second, because I have tables waiting, and those Peachy Keen cupcakes aren’t going to frost themselves.
“How’s it going at the O.K. Corral?” Dani asks at the prep counter.
“I’d rather be at Baylor’s falling on my ass in front of the Wolves.” I spread a generous pile of buttercream on a cupcake.
“Still crushing on the hockey boy, then?”
I flick a gob of frosting at her boob. “Shut up!”
She scrapes it off with her finger and points it at my chest. “You’re into him. I can tell—your vibe is totally different when you’re into someone.”
“How would you know what my ‘into someone’ vibe is? I haven’t had a boyfriend the whole time I’ve known you. Not to mention ever.”
“What about—”
“If you bring up Will and that party again, I’ll kill you with this spatula and make it look like an accident. And before you say another word, making out with a cardboard Johnny Depp at the movie theater on a dare doesn’t count, either.”
“I’ve got the Johnny pictures to prove it. Remember that.” Dani laughs as her gaze shifts to the window over the grill. “Hold up—isn’t that Josh Blackthorn?”
“Where?” I whip my head around as my icing-smudged hands rapidly smooth out my dress. But Josh isn’t there—just Cowboy reading the paper at table seven and frat guys pointing at their empty eggnog glasses again.
“Wow,” Dani says. “You walked right into that one.”
I pour a fresh round of nogs and arrange them on a serving tray. “I hate you.”
“I’m just saying you shouldn’t rule out any possibilities. You never know when love might find you.”
“Yeah, in between the pages of The Swashbuckling Adventures of Naked Pirates. Speaking of Johnny Depp.”
“Waffles up, Danicakes,” Trick says.
“Laugh it up, go ahead.” Dani grabs two plates of blueberry Belgian waffles and a side of bacon and nudges the kitchen doors with her foot.
“See, hon,” Trick says, “guys are like … well, take this here.” He grabs a peeled white onion, pointing at it with his giant knife. “Lots of layers, and—”
“How’s my omelet working, Dr. Ruth?”
Trick smiles, chopping up the onion into fine little bits. “Five minutes. Hey, we’re out of the ham quiche. Change the specials board to broccoli and cheese—we gotta move these greens before they die.”
“You got it.” One less pork product in the atmosphere is always a good thing.
After I deliver those nogs, Dani drags me behind the dining room counter. “You’re not gonna believe this, but Josh is here for real. I saw him in the parking lot.”
“That so?” I grab the whiteboard from the wall at the end of the counter and redo the quiche. “What a fascinating coincidence.”
“I’m not kidding. He’s already at the front door.”
“Danielle Bozeman, you are high-larious.” I crouch down to shove the dry-erase markers back under the counter. “Like Josh doesn’t have anything better to do than check me out in my bangin’ Hurley Girl dress.”
“Apparently not, because he’s headed right for you,” she singsongs.
“Oh yeah?” No one is seated at the counter, so I bend down a little farther and shake-shake-shake it. “How do I look? Think Josh has a good view of the show?”
“Perfect. I didn’t even have to buy tickets.”
Um … why does Dani suddenly sound like a dude?
“He’s really here, isn’t he?” I whisper out of the corner of my mouth. Dani nods, barely keeping it together as she slips back into the kitchen. Deserter!
I reach for a mug from the coffee station over my head. In a single swoop, I stand, grab the pot, and turn around, offering it to Josh with a bright, wide grin. “Hi, Josh! Coffee?”
He smiles. “Love some.”
“How do you take it?”
“Hot. I mean, cream. No sugar.” He parks himself at one of the counter stools and strips off his hat and scarf, hair sticking out funny in all the usual places. “So, was that little dance part of the two-two-two breakfast special?”
“Hudson!” Trick shouts through the window over the grill, just in time. “Bug’s here. I’m sending him out with your western.”
Bug pushes his way through the doors and passes me the hot plate. “Order up!”
“Thanks, kiddo.” I smile at Josh. “Josh? Bug. Bug? Josh. Be right back.”
Over at table seven, Cowboy’s got his fork in the eggs before I’ve even set the plate down. Through a mouthful of breakfast, he scowls at me and rolls his eyes.
“Darlin’,” he says, swallowing after the fact. “I know you’re new round here. But I ordered a bacon and cheese omelet, and you brought me a westernized omelet.” He hooks his arm around my waist, the food-coated fork still dangling from his fingers.
“But you ordered the western, sir.”
“Miss, can we get some coffees?” A woman calls from the next-door booth. “We’ve been here five minutes already.”
“Be right with you, ma’am.”
“I certainly hope so.”
“What I wanted,” Cowboy drawls on, “was the bacon and cheese.”
“We’ll remake it for you.” I reach over to take the western plate, but he grabs it out of my hands, fingers lingering on my skin. Gross.
“No use letting it go to waste,” he says. “Just take it off my bill. I’m gonna need a regular coffee, too.” He swirls his empty mug. “The
one you gave me was decaf.”
I look at him dubiously. You know the old saying—never trust a man wearing assless leather chaps in the snowbelt. Still, no point in arguing. “I’ll take care of it.”
“Thank you much, sweet thing.” He winks at me and clicks his tongue. Dani was so not kidding about this guy. And for a lousy one-dollar tip? Speaking of tips, here’s a hot one, Cowboy: Don’t piss off the girl responsible for serving your food. A lot can happen on that long, lonely stretch of road from the kitchen to your cozy little booth by the window. Just saying.
“My pleasure, sir.” I smile and refill his mug with leaded coffee, pour some for the cranky booth lady, then scoot back to the front counter, where Bug is laughing it up with the hockey boy.
“I see you like my friend,” I say to Bug.
“Friend?” Bug leans across the counter and squinches up his face. “Or friend with benefits?”
“Bug! Where did you—”
“Mrs. Ferris has cable.”
“Now you know why we don’t.” I top off Josh’s coffee and snag a cupcake from the bakery case for my brother.
“Because they took away the box when Mom didn’t pay the—”
“Look, a Cookies-N-Creamcake,” I say. “Yum!”
He jams a bite in. “Anyway,” he says through a chocolaty mouthful, “if someone was my friend with benefits, I could get them free fries. And you make the best cupcakes ever, so I definitely see that as a benefit.”
“Got a point there, man.” Josh gives him a fist-bump. My brother. Josh. Together. Joking around. I think the planet is seriously falling out of orbit.
“Don’t encourage him,” I say. “It’s bad enough he—”
“Waitress? Can we get some more coffee?” Cranky booth lady again.
“Gotta go.” I kiss Bug on the forehead and zip over to refill those mugs as Dani seats three more tables. On my way back, Cowboy waves me over.
“Can I get a little more water, toots?” His hand slips out from beneath the table and makes a beeline for my ass. I lean forward instinctively, still rockin’ that happy-to-serve-you grin, water pitcher balanced precariously over his lap—the parts those fashionable leather chaps don’t cover. Tricky thing, this balancing stuff.
“Oops! Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry about that! Here’s a few extra napkins.” Before he can demand help cleaning up his pants, I run back to the kitchen with the empty water pitcher, nearly crashing into Mom.
“Whoa, what’s going on?” she asks.
The pitcher hits the counter with a crash. “Cowboy out there is one grab away from a restraining order. And why are people so impatient around here? Can’t they see we’re busy? Like I was just put on this earth to fetch drinks, you dumb—”
“It’s the diner biz, hon. Difficult customers are just part of the deal.” Mom sighs. “Better get used to it.”
Get used to it. There’s that word again—used.
“That guy probably wants his whole check comped.”
“He’s in here all the time. Just give him a coupon. And if he touches you again, send Trick out for a little chat.” Mom smooths her hand over my cheek. “Sure you don’t want me to stay?”
Through the window over the grill, I see Bug licking frosting off his fingers, laughing at something Josh said. “I’m fine. You guys have a good time.”
Mom smiles. “All right, we’re off to the North Pole. Assuming your brother doesn’t engage Santa in another hour-long debate about the physics of flying reindeer, we’ll see you after dinner. Take some of the turkey and potatoes home so you don’t have to fix anything.” She zips up her coat and digs the keys from her pocket, scooping up my chocolate-smudged little brother on the way out.
“Do you like it? Working here, I mean?” Josh inspects one of the new flyers Dani and I put together for my cupcakes, all pink and yellow and creamy-looking.
“It has its moments.”
“Seems like there’s tons of little stuff to keep track of.”
“It’s the little stuff that makes it so special.” I laugh, thinking of that perpetual issue with the third toilet. And the joy of clearing away a table and accidentally dipping your boob in a bowl of cold gravy. And the particular inner peace one finds whilst kneeling under a table, scraping at old gum with a butter knife.
“Anyway, enough about my exotic life. Here.” I pass him one of the Peachy Keens from the case. “You’re the inaugural taster. Tell me what you think.”
“Okay, but first, the real reason I’m here today.”
“It wasn’t for the award-winning coffee?”
“Not even for the show.” Josh winks. “Not that it wasn’t highly entertaining.”
I turn away to rearrange the salt and pepper shakers on the counter, secretly cursing Bug for not being genius enough to invent a time machine. I’ve seen enough sci-fi movies to know you’re not supposed to mess around with the past, but erasing one humiliating event from the last hour of our lives can’t hurt, can it?
“Will sent me,” Josh says, draining the last of his coffee. “He’s nervous about Friday’s game and wants to call an extra practice before Thursday. Can you meet Tuesday after school?”
“She’s working Tuesday,” Dani announces. I love how she just magically apparates at exactly the right moment.
“What?” she says when I shoot her the patented STFU glare. “Your mom posted the schedule.”
I grab the big sugar jar from under the counter and unscrew the caps on the dispensers that need refills. “I’ll get Nat to switch. Her last test is Monday—she’ll be looking to pick up shifts.”
“I thought you—”
I cut her off with another warning look. “It’s fine, Dani. Josh, it’s fine. Tell Will I’ll be there.”
A wave of frustration passes over Dani’s face, but it’s gone in a blink, replaced with something closer to mild annoyance.
“Nat needs the money,” I say. “It’s cool.”
“Just once a week, right Hudson?” She reaches behind me for the coffeepot, still grumbling under her breath. Fortunately, I don’t think Josh heard.
“You haven’t tried your cupcake yet,” I say once Dani goes back to her tables.
“Working my way up to it.” Josh makes a show of rolling up his sleeves, hefting the cupcake from the plate, and scarfing down the first bite. His eyes close and I sneak a covert glance, refilling the sugar dispensers as the smile rises on his face. I love that part. I mean, the part when people appreciate the cupcakes, not when Josh smiles. Not that I don’t love his smile, just that I was thinking more about the—
“Waitress?”
I drop the sugar jar, spilling a bunch on the counter. On the other side of the dining room, Cowboy holds up his empty plate.
“I didn’t like these eggs after all,” he shouts. “Can I get something else?”
“We’re all out of something else.” I grab a rag and sweep some of the sugar into my hand, making more of a mess.
“Ready for a few more tables?” Dani scoots behind me to restart the coffee. “Big party heading in. I think it’s that birthday group from last month.”
“The crazy one with all the Karens?”
“You guessed it. Hopefully we won’t get any noise complaints this time.”
She speeds back to the floor and I look for something to focus on—a stain on the wall, a chipped mug on the rack below the counter. Anything to keep my head from exploding all over my lavender Hurley Girl dress, right in front of Josh.
“Miss, why don’t you have the ham quiche today?” An elderly woman taps on the counter at the other end. “I always get quiche on Saturdays, and I bring some back to the senior center for Bess, and now I don’t know what to do, because broccoli gives her gas, and I—”
“Take your seat, ma’am. Your waitress will be right with you.” I close my eyes and try to disappear, but that trick never works.
“Hudson?” My name is close on the air, caressing my cheek. I open my eyes. Josh is leaning forward on
his elbows, his eyes bright and clear, his smile warm. Behind me, something crashes in the kitchen. Trick swears. The birthday group ladies blow through the front door like a blizzard, bearing presents and balloons and big, cackling laughs. Dani rushes to greet them with an armload of menus and they cheer. The other customers raise their voices to compensate. Cowboy rings the silver bell at the register again and again. Ding ding ding dingdingdingdingding …
“You okay?” Josh asks. “You look like you’re about to—”
“I can handle it.” I have to. I swore I could. “Did you like the cupcake?”
“Not really.” He smiles again. “Love is a better word. But I should go—you’re slammed.”
He digs into his pocket and drops a five on the counter, then bundles into his winter stuff. “Hang in there, Hud. Text me later about Tuesday.”
He disappears out the front door, and reality rushes over me like an avalanche. I tighten my apron again, stick a fresh order pad in the front pocket, and swipe the just-brewed coffee from the warmer, armed and ready for the birthday group.
Hudson Avery, ladies and gentlemen! Fresh from the frigid shores of Lake Erie in the biggest comeback of the century!
“Whoa!” Dani jumps out of the way right before I sideswipe her. “Watch it!”
“Ow!” I shake a splash of hot coffee from my hand, recoiling from the sudden sting. “Sorry. Didn’t see you.”
“You’re not paying attention.”
“I’m busy!” I reach behind her and grab a clean towel from the shelf.
“Hud, listen to yourself.” She sets her tray down on the counter, louder than necessary, if you ask me. “You sure you know what you’re getting into with all this?”
“I said I can handle it.” I toss the towel over my shoulder and scoot around her, marching off to greet the Karens et al with my best birthday grin.
Two, three months tops.
Chapter Nine
Sticks and Stones May Break My Bones, but Falling Down Hurts Real Bad, Too, Cupcakes
Red velvet cupcakes with warm raspberry center and cream cheese icing, topped with mashed mixed berries and served on a chocolate-drizzled plate