Page 32 of The One Who Won’t Get Away
“You don’t sugar-coat it,” I said.
“Sugar-coating it might help make it taste better.”Nadya dumped three packets in, then added some half-and-half before trying a sip.“Now it’s a sweet personality disorder.Much better than being bitter all the time.”
We snagged a table wedged between the window and the breakfast bar, half-hidden behind a decorative ficus.
Nadya picked at a muffin, peeled the wrapper, then shredded the top and left the rest.She kept her gaze on the window, but I could see her eyes flicking to the reflection—checking the room, clocking every stranger.I poured three creamers into my coffee, stirred with a plastic stick, and watched her.
"You sleep okay?"I asked, knowing the answer but needing to say something.
She shrugged."Yeah.Had some weird dreams, but nothing new."She didn't look at me, just kept tearing her muffin into smaller and smaller pieces.I considered saying sorry again, but it would make it worse.Instead, I tried to redirect."You ever play basketball?"
She blinked, surprised."Me?No.Hand-eye coordination isn't my thing.I'd end up murdering half my team with accidental headshots."
I smiled, pleased to see some of the old Nadya surface."Want to see if we can find better food somewhere?"I asked, already knowing there was a diner a block away.I had checked for these things before booking the hotel, so that we wouldn't have to drive anywhere.
"Hell, yeah."She smiled, a genuine one, and it did things to me l didn't want to examine too closely.
We wound our way through the busy lobby, past the front desk where the same kid from last night still held vigil.Outside, the morning air was cold and sharp, the sky the color of a TV tuned to a dead channel.Good thing Nadya dressed warm, or she'd get cold on a motorcycle with the wind blowing all the body heat away.
As we stepped onto the sidewalk, Nadya pulled her hoodie tighter around her face, then looked up at me."So, where to?"
I led her down the block, past the bakery with the empty cake stand.I could feel the tension evaporate as soon as we put distance between ourselves and the hotel.The diner sat on the corner, fronted with glass blocks that turned the morning light into a grid of blue and gold.
The sign said "Penny's," and the only thing older than the sign was the woman at the register, whose arms were tattooed with roses.
Inside, it was exactly what I had expected: battered red booths, chrome-edged Formica, faux wood paneling hung with black and white basketball team photos from the late 70s.Best of all, there were no screaming teens, just two old men in work shirts and a pair of hungover grad students picking at their pancakes.
Nadya slid into the booth and rested her chin on her fist as she scanned the menu, then looked up at me and said, “I’m getting the biggest, greasiest thing on here and if you judge me, I’ll find a way to sabotage your bike.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” I said, but she was already half gone into her phone, researching which breakfast meats had the highest sodium content, probably as a dare to her arteries.
I ordered coffee again— better than the hotels’, though that was a low bar— and Nadya ordered orange juice, which surprised me.
“Vera keeps bugging me about getting my vitamins,” she explained.
Right, she had told me about that.The older sister that seemed more like a mother.
With her vitamins taken care of, Nadya ordered the breakfast sandwich with triple bacon, extra cheese and a side of fries.I went with a ham and cheese omelet, and we both got another round of coffee.
The server took our order and winked at Nadya.“I like a girl who’s not afraid of grease.Does your boyfriend know what he’s getting himself into?”
Nadya smiled, not denying or correcting.“He’ll figure it out soon enough.”
I coughed into my fist, and the server cackled before heading off to the kitchen.
“Did you always want to be an artist?”I asked.It was a classic date question, but it was safer than "So, what brand of trauma would you like to sample today?"
Nadya gave me a long look, elbows braced on the table."No way," she said."When we got adopted, I was determined to be a pop star.Or a YouTube prankster with a million subscribers.The art thing happened because I needed to get all the ugliness out.Art therapy is probably the only good thing I took away from my one and only therapy session.”
“Just one session?”I asked.
Nadya nodded.“The therapist had more issues than I did, and apparently she was relatively okay with me.She told Ljuba her aura was all messed up.”
Oh, it was one of those.I hated when that happened, but unfortunately there were bad eggs in every profession.The problem with getting therapy was that it was hard to open up to someone about all that trauma, especially when it was as bad as Nadya’s situation.So, when the first person wasn’t good at their job, it could completely stall the entire process.
“I had to get therapy, and it was actually pretty good,” I offered.“Helped me learn to deal with some of what I’ve seen while I served.”
She shrugged it off.“Art helps enough.Besides, it’s not like there’s any therapy that can erase what happened.”
