Page 50 of The Art of Falling in Love with Your Enemy
Steve walks over and stands in front of me, watching me. I pull my eyes to his, and I swear I can still see stormy weather circling. But if it is, one thing’s for sure: it’s not my problem anymore.
“Well.” He shoves his hands in his pockets and inclines his chin toward his car. “I’m gonna get going. I had to let you know my decision and I really wanted to say I’m sorry one more time. It was screwed up, controlling, and immature of me to do. All because I wanted things to go my way.”
“It takes a big person to admit something like that, Steve.” I stand as well, crossing my arms in front of me like a wall. I walk with him to his car, my stomach still rumbling. “Thanks for being man enough to tell me all of this to my face. If you had texted me about this…”
“…you’d have killed me.” He chuckles, his head down as he climbs behind the wheel of his rental car. “Take care of yourself, Etta, okay?”
“Drive safe.” I start the walk back up to my porch, but then turn around and flag Steve to stop before he pulls all the way out of the drive. I motion for him to roll down his window. “Also, for the record, I won’t sue you for malicious anything, Steve. Let’s just leave it here, okay?”
With that, he smiles, looking away at the road in front of him before he pulls his eyes back to mine. With a flick of his wrist, he waves as he puts his car in drive and disappears out of sight.
Taking a moment in my yard, I stretch my body out, reaching to the sky, then dropping my hands to the ground, folding my body over and feeling it stretch and pull and tug the tension away. Mental note: I need to hit a yoga class this week, especially before that dance next weekend.
Thinking of the dance makes me think of Zac, which makes me smile. I whistle for the dogs and we head up the steps back into the house. I’m in my head wondering about what to wear next week when my stomach rumbles so loudly, Thor barks which sets off Hercules.
At this moment, I remember I have no groceries, and therefore nothing to eat. So, opening the door, I let them back in and shut it behind them. My purse is still in the car, so I lock the door, again, and jog to my car. A quick trip to the local burger joint would do me good tonight, or at least tide me over until I can run to the store tomorrow.
Unfortunately, Sunday night around Sweetkiss Creek means almost everything is closed up. I point my car toward the interstate, knowing that the closer I get to it, the more options I’ll find for food. In ten minutes, I’m not disappointed; I pull up outside an old highway truck stop that has it all. There’s a small grocery store, a diner that flashes an “Open twenty-four hours, seven days a week!” sign, a pizza place, and two fast food joints. Gauging the options, I pick the pizza place figuring I can have dinner and breakfast, all with one pizza.
I wander inside and place my order and am told to wait in the lobby until they call my name. The pizza place is an interesting setup with the lobby being in a side room with a television and a couple of sofas.
The teenager working behind the cash register must have seen the look on my face. “It used to be a room for truckers to take naps in when they were on the road.”
“They’d order food, then sleep it off?”
The kid nods, arranging his baseball cap on his head so it sits better. “You can hang there until your food’s ready. There’s a remote for the TV, too.”
Left to my own devices, and all alone in the lobby, I opt to mute the television and sit and relax. There’s been enough going on the last few weeks; I don’t need any more distractions.
Just on the other side from where I’m perched, I can hear a low murmur of conversation. I settled back in my chair, a fan of eavesdropping. I know…it’s a terrible habit, but I see it as a hobby. I can listen to someone I don’t know talk and then make up stories about them in my mind. If you’ve never done it, I’m going to highly suggest that you do it at least once. It’s so much fun.
From what I can tell, it sounds like there’s two tables on the other side of the wall from me. One could be a mother and son—it sounds like she’s encouraging him to try out for the school football team, but if I’m not mistaken, he’s trying to get her to wrap her head around the fact he wants to do theater. Clutching my heart, I lean closer to the wall, hoping the faceless kid I’ve never met will get a chance to fulfill his dream of starring in the high school version ofSouth Pacificand singing“Some Enchanted Evening”with his friends. Theater kids are the best.
The other table sounds like a couple of guys. When I overhear one challenging the other in a race to eat the hottest chicken wings, I get really curious. I find myself scooting over closer to the other end of the wall so I can hear more of this particular conversation. Not that I don’t like a good musical, but a couple of dudes challenging each other to do stupid things like eating the hottest wings can only end one way: hilariously.
“Excuse me,” a guy we’ll call Man A says, who must be flagging down a waitress, because the next thing I hear is, “Can you bring us each one dozen of your hottest wings?”
Man B groans. “Are you serious with this? I thought you were joking.”
“If there’s one thing I won’t do, it’s joke when it comes to competition. You can ask anyone.”
Man A sounds like a pain, but he’s also the livewire of these two. You know how every now and then you’ll be scrolling social media and World’s Stupidest Moments pops up as a post from some random account? You know the one: you see things like people not paying attention to where they’re walking cause they’re on their phone, so they fall in a pool or run into a pole and hit their head.
Well, I get the feeling that Man A is one of these types, and much like a good train wreck, well…I gotta stay and see it, yeah?
“I’d love to ask someone you know about how your mind works,” Man B chortles. “Cause it’s a mystery to most of us at work.”
“I’m in a zone when I look at things as a competition.” A’s voice sounds like he’s quite proud of himself. “My brother and I have always been like this. It’s our biggest weakness and our greatest strength.”
I roll my eyes. Yeah, dude. Being uber-competitive is a fabulous strength, I bet the ladies love it. I catch my sarcastic thought and give myself a gentle rattle, laughing at my crankiness. That’s not who I want to be. I’m sure Man A isn’t all that bad…even if it is fun to laugh at him from the other side of a wall.
“You call the way you act when we have team building events a strength?” Man B howls with laughter. “You’re crazy! Our supervisor wanted you off the team because your participation level is so extra.”
Man A is quiet; I can imagine he’s the kind of guy who needs to walk back statements most of his life. So, I scoot closer to the wall so I can hear what’s next.
“It’s not extra when you want to win! Plus, it’s ingrained in me, I can’t get away from it. It’s like an addiction.”
Man B is still cracking up. “Tuck,” he says with a snort, “you just told me that you made a bet with your brother for a baseball card. Who does that?”
