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“Secondly,” she continues, “Do you regret it?” That makes me pause.
“Regret what?”
“All of it. Moving to the city. Working here. Making the friends you did. James and the time you had together.”
“Well, no.”
“And do you think you did anything that was so unforgivable that your friends, who you’ve described to be all relatively level-headed people, won’t ever look past a fling?” Her brow is raised, as if daring me to refute her logic.
Which, I’ll admit, is sound.
“No,” I pout.
“But you think that you should move because one fight with your friends means that they don’t love you any more and you should move on to greener pastures?” I don’t answer, hating how right she is. She’s not done. “That is some of the dumbest shit I’ve ever heard in my life, and I’m eighty-nine years old.”
Holy crap. She’s spry for someone of that age! I would’ve pegged her for seventy at the most.
“Miriam, I totally get what you’re saying… I don’t know that you understand exactly how close those two are—"
“And that will be for them to figure out. You are not responsible for how they sort out their own relationship. You’ve done nothing wrong. Well, except for the lying.” She leans forward in her seat. “You seem to believe that everything and everyone in your life is temporary. I understand that, I do. You’ve been through and lost more than most have, especially at your age. You have to remember, though, your past does not always define your future. Not if you don’t let it.”
Her words cut deep, through all my layers of bullshit. She saw right through everything to exactly what was going on. I sit, trying to process everything that was just said. I’m still reeling when my phone timer goes off.
“Shoot, that’ll be the muffins,” I mutter, slowly getting up.
“That’s alright dear, I should get headed anyway.” Miriam smiles, back to her spitfire ways. “Grab me one to go? I’m going to see how much I can make your barista blush before I get out of here,” she says, waggling her eyebrows and slowly puttering off to the counter. Kyle sees her approaching and turns white. I canhear him stammering as I duck into the kitchen to take out the muffins.
Perfect, I think to myself.If nothing else, this is something I can always guarantee will work out.I smile to myself, putting one of the muffins in a paper bag and taking it out to Miriam. Kyle might be in a state of shock, judging by the way his mouth hangs open. I laugh at him as I pass Miriam the bag.
“Thanks dear, and don’t you worry, Kyle! You’ll grow into them eventually!” She salutes him as she walks out the door, a cold gust announcing her grand departure.
I turn to Kyle. “Grow into what?” I ask.
“I don’t wanna talk about it,” he mumbles, returning to the mop bucket, washing the floor in a daze. When I’m done for the day, I grab the baked leftovers as usual. I move to go out the back door, when it bursts open, all of Heartbreak Tuesdays pouring through the door.
Except for one of them.I refuse to meet their eye as I push past and out the door, fully intent on avoiding them, only to run tits first into Jill.
She stares at me awkwardly as I glare her down, daring her to say anything. She starts trying to speak, floundering until she gives up, scurrying away to get set up.
Coward.I’m not even sure if my judgment is directed at her or at myself.
I trudge through the back lanes, making my way to the bus stop. Unfortunately it’s that time of year where riding my bike is no longer an option. It may be freezing, but it’s better than walking.
I spend the majority of the ride reminding myself of what Miriam said earlier, that things aren’t nearly as bad as they seem right now. Maybe things just need time.
Chapter 37
James
“What’re you doing here, James?” Nessa snarks from the lineup to get into the restaurant.Chez Martinhas already caused a huge stir in the foodie community. They boast a unique experience of dinner and a show, except no one knows what the show is and it’s their opening night.
Nessa’s food blog was one of the few lucky people who were selected to appear tonight, not that anyone knows who she is. I don’t know why she keepsBeauty and the Feasta secret from her friends. It makes sense though, considering one of them owns an establishment. She wouldn’t want to be accused of any kind of favouritism.
“You invited me, remember?” She’s asked me to be her date to every new place she’s been invited to. It’s a tradition of ours, so when she mentioned this place opening before Christmas, the invitation, as always, was implied.
“Well, it’s been rescinded,” she says, looking down her nose at me, which is impressive given the foot of height I have on her.
“Seriously, Nessa, I’m coming in with you. We need to talk.”
