The Reason I Stay (40 page)

He runs a hand through his hair, and clears his throat. “Do you think I could have some boiled peanuts? I’ve been dreaming about those suckers for days.”

“Of course. I’ll be right back.”

“Thanks, Lexie.”

I turn away and walk to the kitchen window to place his order.

As I wait for the portion of peanuts, I keep my eyes on the kitchen, and congratulate myself for keeping my shit together. I remind myself that even though my heart aches and my body craves him, there are good reasons why we didn’t work. I remind myself of the secrets, and the grief, and the crushing pain I’ve felt every day since he has left.

Fueled by the pain of those memories, I give myself a pep talk about not letting my stupid emotions get in the way of my reason. By the time I have the peanuts in my tray, I feel confident that I’ll be able to go through his meal without embarrassing myself or falling into temptation, but as I walk to the bar to get his beer my confidence wavers. From the corner of my eye I see his gaze following me, and I get so flustered by it I almost trip on my own two feet. With both items on the tray and no way to escape, I walk back to booth nine.

“Here you go.” I place the bowl of peanuts and the beer in front of him.

He gives me a lopsided smile. “Thanks. Would you sit with me for a while, and share the peanuts?”

Oh, God.
“I can’t. I’m working.”

Like I did earlier to Jen,
he
looks around the completely empty diner, making sure we both know that what I just said is complete bullshit. When his eyes return to mine, we hold each other’s gaze for a second.
His
eyes are pleading, and mine are as hard as I can make them.

He sighs, and gives me a smile I don’t deserve. “Okay.”

Embarrassed and feeling like an asshole, I turn on my heels and almost sprint away. I spend the next few minutes avoiding him, and trying hard to look busy. Unfortunately, with no other orders waiting, his dish gets ready in record time, forcing me to go deliver it with the most uncomfortable smile on my lips.

He
thanks me, and asks why I’m working alone. I tell him about Jen being on a break, and that starts a little conversation.
He
makes a few of his silly comments and I laugh, which makes his face relax and soften. For some reason, it makes me feel like my old me again.

After a couple of minutes,
he
looks from me to the booth seat in front of him. The message is loud and clear, and my willingness to accept scares the living crap out of me. It also brings back all the memories I can’t run away from, and all the hate I feel for the lack of hate I feel for him.

Once more I fidget from one foot to the other, and am unable to meet his eyes.

I’m looking into the distance, when he asks, “Do you need to go do something else?”

I steal a quick glance at him, and despite the anguish on his face I nod.

“Okay.”

Without another word, I turn around and walk away toward the freezer behind the bar. I start to restock those beers, one bottle at the time, and like that first day he came in to the diner, I do everything I can to avoid looking at him. It’s hard, really freaking hard, but I manage it.

The next time I look at him, he’s slouching on his seat with his eyes closed, listening to the song by The Henningsens playing in the background. It’s hard to pinpoint what, but there’s something different about him. It’s almost like seeing a child after spending a long time away from them; they look the same, but you can tell they’ve grown.

I close the freezer, and walk to him. He opens his eyes and smiles when I reach his side. “Was the food good?”

“Yes, it was amazing, as always. I missed this food.”

“Anything else?”

He clears his throat and nods. “Yes, five minutes to talk to you.”

A cold chill runs down my spine.

“Matt . . .” His name leaves my mouth like a breath. It’s the first time I’ve said his name since I told him goodbye, and it feels like ice cream and poison on my tongue all at once.

He continues to look expectantly at me, the hope that I’ll agree screaming in those breathtaking eyes. It makes me want to say yes, more than I’ve ever wanted anything else. It makes me want to jump on his lap, and kiss him until we’re both blue in the face. But also, it makes me want to die, because I know I can’t allow myself to do either of those things.

I look away from his eyes. “I can’t.”

“C’mon, Lex. It’s just five minutes. There’s no one here.”

I shake my head. “I’m sorry, but I can’t. It’s . . .”

I swallow a lump in my throat, and look away as I try to think of a way to explain how I feel without being a bitch, but I have no words.

An audible breath makes me look at him again. I see his chest puffed with air, and I remember the day I broke my arm. I was in so much pain that just the thought of the doctor holding my arm to set the bone straight sent me into a fit of hysterics. Seeing my agony, Dacle Greg told me to take in the largest breath I could manage, and hold it in my chest. He’d said it would make the pain more bearable.

I wonder if that’s what
he
’s doing now.

When he speaks, I know it is. “I’ll just need the check, then.”

With tears forming in my eyes, I nod and go to the register to get his bill. In just a few minutes, I’m back with my heart in my hand. I place the strip of paper in front of him, but he doesn’t look at me.

“I’m sorry.” The words feel extremely inadequate, but it’s all I have.

His right arm moves across the table to take the check. A blur of color on his forearm calls my attention, but before I get a look at it he pulls his arm back and under the table.

“Don’t worry about it,” he says, calling my attention back to his face. My heart aches at the sight of the forced smile on his lips. “I thought that no was a possibility, but I had to try. Despite it, it was really good seeing you again. Really good.”

Air. I need air.

I don’t know how, but I manage to say, “You too.”

From the corner of my eyes, I see a few old ladies from one of the church’s many prayer groups enter the diner for their afternoon tea, but I don’t take my eyes from Matt. He winks, causing tears to form under my lids. I swallow them before they can fall, point at the group of women, and walk away.

I try not to look at him as I seat the elderly ladies, but I obviously fail. I’ve always failed in keeping a distance from him.

From my current position I only see the back of him as he stays seated, with tensed shoulders and a bowed head, in his booth for a while longer. When he gets up, he walks to the jukebox without stealing a single glance at me. I feel frozen, and scared, and broken, because I know this is it. He tried and I said no, and therefore we’re over.

As he leans against the jukebox, I completely ignore the women trying to place their order, and go through the catalogue of songs in my mind looking for one that says goodbye, the one I think he’ll chose. I steal myself to see our fate sealed when he presses the buttons, and still without looking at me, walks away.

At the exact moment he opens the door to leave the opening accords of Blake Shelton’s “Mine Would Be You” echo inside the diner, and I honestly forget how to breathe.

In a haze of emotions brought by perfect lyrics, I walk to his booth. I sit down and look at the money placed over the check, and my heart beats so fast I feel it’ll run away from my chest. A single tear rolls down my cheek as I sing along with Blake Shelton, and with shaky hands, push the money aside, revealing the white paper beneath.

My hand shoots up to cover my lips as I read the simple line he left for me.

More tears spill from my eyes as I look out the window, and see him walking to the parking lot. As if he can feel my gaze, he turns his face to me, his eyes instantly connecting with mine. A sad smile curls his lips as he takes his right hand from his pocket, and raises his arm up to wave me goodbye. Before I get a chance to organize my thoughts or react in some way that doesn’t involve eye moisture, he lowers his arm and walks away.

I stay in that booth alone and look out the window at the empty street as, inch by inch, despair fills me. The only thought I can formulate is,
what the hell did I just do?

In the following days, maddening, nonsensical, overanalyzing thoughts about my encounter with Matt flood my brain. As the paradox requires, I go back and forth between thinking that not giving him the five minutes he wanted was the right thing, and panicking about how that was my worst decision to date.

I keep seeing his face looking at me through the window, and the tattoo on his forearm, and the note written on his check. I spend my work shifts staring at the door of the diner, hoping that he’ll come in to give me a do-over, and fearing it at the same time. I spend my time at home lying on the couch with tears in my eyes as I listen to Blake Shelton and dream of
him
.

My life, which for the past four months had been difficult to take, finally turns unbearable. In order to avoid committing myself to the loony bin, on Sunday, as Tanie and I sit alone on my back porch filling tiny heart-shaped tins with candy, and gluing stickers on their lids, I decide to do something I haven’t tried since he left: I reach out for help.

“Matt came by the diner on Thursday.”

The hint of a smile curls on Tanie’s lips. “I know.”

I tilt my head in confusion. Jolene is known for being a gossipy town, but this time we were completely alone. There was no one there to gossip. And then I think of the prayer group, and though I never took a bunch of eighty-something-year-old women for gossipers, I should have.

“It wasn’t gossip,” she clarifies, causing a line to form between my brows. “
He
called me.”

My eyes pop wide open. “What? Why?”

“He wanted me to convince Eric to get another best man. Apparently he thinks you’re uncomfortable around him, and that his presence will ruin the wedding for you.”

Shock, and fear, and the realization of how badly I screwed up fill my heart, causing it to feel like it was thrown into a blender while still beating. Yeah . . . painful yikes. Overwhelmed, I bow my head, bring both hands up to cover my face and focus on taking deep breaths of the warm, beachy air. Tears prickle my lids, but I don’t let them fall.

After a moment of silence, Tanie says, “Don’t worry, dork. I told him that if he bails on me the week before my wedding, I’ll cut off Pedro, and feed it to stray dogs.”

I lower my fingers down my face, uncovering my eyes, and see a closed-lipped smirk on her face. “So he’s still the best man?” The words come from behind my fingers.

She rolls her eyes. “Of course he is. They’re best friends.”

“They were, but then he left.”

“And a month later he came back, and resumed all his activities in town.”

My hands move from my mouth to massage my pounding temples. “Why didn’t I know this? You should have told me, Tanie.”

“You didn’t know because you’ve been a copse. It’s hard to know what’s happening in the world when you don’t stick your head out the door. As for telling you . . . no, I shouldn’t have. Up until right now, you’ve refused to talk about him since I found you sleeping on that porch swing. You’ve also vowed to kick my ax if I even mentioned his name. On top of that, he didn’t want anyone telling you about him unless you asked. So you see the debacle?”