Page 19 of I Do, You Don't
As we drive, I notice the tension in Calvin’s posture, the way his hand grips the wheel a little too tightly. The car is spotless, sterile, as if it’s hiding something dangerous beneath the surface. But I don’t mind the quiet intensity that surrounds him. If anything, it makes me feel safe.
“You know,” he says, breaking the silence, “soon everyone will know about us. I’ll tell the world we’re siblings. I should’ve done it sooner. I feel guilty for keeping it from you.”
His words carry the weight of regret but also something steadier: the truth.
I swallow hard. “It’s not your fault, Calvin. It’s Delilah. She’s the one who twisted everything. She’s the one who manipulated it all.”
His jaw tightens. “I’m disgusted by her, Lara. You deserve better than this. I’m done with her. She’s on her own now.”
The anger in his voice is sharp, but beneath it, I hear the promise: he won’t let her win. And neither will I.
We reach the diner, and a familiar knot tightens in my stomach. Stepping out of the car feels like stepping into another kind of hell. The world is too bright, too loud, a reminder that everything has changed.
I glance at Calvin. His eyes stay on the road, but I know he’s just as worried as I am about what I’m walking into.
“Thanks,” I whisper, reaching for the door.
He doesn’t answer right away. He just nods. “I’ll call you an Uber when you’re done. And don’t let him get to you.”
I try to smile, but it barely holds. “I’ll be fine.”
Inside, the diner hums with low conversation and clinking silverware. But the moment I step behind the counter, I feel it, the shift. The pitying looks. The sidelong glances. Like I’m a story they’ve all heard but don’t know how to end.
Still, I keep moving. I need the money. I need to pay for the wedding that never happened.
My boss waves me over, and I barely have time to collect myself before the bell above the door chimes.
All at once, I’m pulled back to the day Gideon and I met.
The bell had jingled as I pushed open the door, the scent of fries and burnt coffee wrapping around me like something familiar. It was that slow, sleepy hour when the world felt far away, when life softened into something quieter.
Yes, I worked at the diner. But I ate there too, thanks to the employee discount: one free meal a day, half off anything more.
I slid into the booth near the back, beside the cracked vinyl that always squeaked. The waitress, older and kind, handed me a laminated menu, her hands trembling slightly as she passed it over. I ordered black coffee, like always, and settled into the hush of the afternoon. I wasn’t expecting anything. I never did.
And then he walked in.
Gideon.
At first, I thought he was just passing through. But when he sat at the counter, flipping through a notebook and scribbling with a mechanical pencil, I knew he wasn’t a stranger to this place. He had that quiet certainty about him, the kind that doesn’t need to announce itself.
His eyes met mine for a moment. Something shifted. A spark. A match struck in the dark. It didn’t make sense. We didn’t know each other, but somehow, I felt like I already did.
When I looked again, he was still watching. This time, he didn’t look away. There was a softness in his gaze, the kind that makes you feel seen without a single word.
I stood before I could talk myself out of it, my heart thudding as I walked toward him. He looked up, surprised, but not uneasy, just curious.
“Hey,” I said, my voice quiet but steady. “Studying for finals?”
He smiled, adjusting his glasses. “Yeah. Accounting.” His voice was warm, a little tired. “Not exactly thrilling, but it’s a path. What about you?”
“Budgeting,” I said, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “I’ve always wanted to understand how people save, what they cut when there’s not enough. I grew up wondering what would be sacrificed each month.”
His brow furrowed, interest flickering in his eyes. “Sorry, what?”
I leaned in slightly, the words coming easier than I expected. “My mind always settled on heat. We could still walk to work if we couldn’t afford gas. If the power went out, we could bundle up in blankets, building forts in the living room as if we were camping. But with no heat, the silence was cold, a feeling you could never shake.”
I paused, waiting for him to laugh. But he didn’t. He just listened.
