Chapter 19
Chapter nineteen
Shattered
Marigold Belmore
“I think this is going to be a great article,” Jameson says while slicing off a bite of our shared pancake stack.
I nod my agreement. “I think so too.”
After the ice cream incident with Sue the waitress, Jameson moved right into the article, which surprised me. I was grateful, but I’m still waiting for him to bring it back up. There’s no way he leaves it alone.
I wish I wouldn’t have asked her about the drinks.
When I got in, it felt like I’d stepped back in time.
And not just because the restaurant looks like an old train station.
I remembered all of our good times at Kimmy’s and realized it had been so long since I’d had an ice cream float.
I wasn’t sure if I should get it, and the diner being out of ice cream made it feel as though fate told me no.
But then Sue brought it up in front of Jameson.
So it seems like fate is as indecisive as I am.
Now we’re done with our article aside from finishing touches, but my coffee is still warm and the booth is cozy.
Rain streams down the window next to us.
I don’t want to leave, which scares me. I should want to.
But it’s as if my soul knows the pieces of it that have been missing are within reach, and it doesn’t want to be parted from them again.
“What do you think of the place?” Jameson gestures with his fork.
I adjust to crisscross my legs in the booth, but my knee brushes Jameson’s leg.
“Sorry,” I say, and start to move, but he shakes his head.
“It’s no big deal. I’m invading your space.” His smile is soft and good-natured. He seems as relaxed as I feel.
I let my knee rest against his shin. My stomach turns into a butterfly exhibit.
There was a time when I wouldn’t question touching him.
I’d lean against his shoulder at the movies, grab his hand to drag him where I wanted to go, and push his chest when he was being obstinate.
Now, each brush feels charged, and I can’t tell if the energy is positive or negative.
“It’s good,” I answer in response to his earlier question. “Not as good as Kimmy’s, though that could be the nostalgia talking.”
I grab my coffee cup and cradle it between my hands, letting the ceramic warm my palms. The coffee is basic, and a touch burnt like all diner coffee seems to be, but paired with chocolate chip pancakes it’s perfect.
“I think I could be at a five-star restaurant and still wish I was in that corner booth, so I agree with you,” Jameson says.
I grip my mug a little tighter. Memories spring up like weeds in the garden of forgetfulness I’ve been carefully cultivating since last summer.
“Have you been back?” I ask him, though I know I shouldn’t. No matter how he answers, it’s bound to hurt.
He looks down at his own mug of coffee.
“No.”
I draw in a slow breath, trying—and failing—to not think about the implications of that.
“Have you?” he asks softly.
I shake my head, then take a sip of coffee to look casual, and not as though I just revealed a tender bruise on my heart.
“Do you think Amos is wondering where we went?” Jameson asks, and I can’t help but laugh.
“I think he’s thanking the Lord that we haven’t come back.”
Jameson chuckles. “He loved us.”
“We loved him, because he tolerated our antics,” I correct. “That grouch is definitely glad to be rid of us.”
“I don’t know, his wife sent me a—”
“Graduation card!” I interject. When I got it, my first instinct was to grab my phone to call Jameson. “Me too. But since it was from her, it didn’t feel like a big gesture to me.”
“We never met his wife. I think Amos wanted to send us something but didn’t want it to look like he cared that much.”
I scrunch my nose at his explanation. “Maybe you’re right, but it’s hard to believe he’d want to do that after years of us wasting so much of his time.”
We used to treat the diner like a coffee shop and work there for hours. We tipped well—as well as we could being high school students—but I can’t imagine Amos appreciated us taking up one of his tables for half a shift.
“There was also that time he brought out ice cream floats when we’d had that awful math test,” Jameson recalls.
“He brought out Grapico floats,” I say, my face screwing up at the memory. “We always got Coke floats, so he knew that wasn’t our favorite.”
“I’m telling you, he was being nice but not too nice,” Jameson tries to convince me. “Besides, you got him back for his choice.”
“All I did was kindly tell him that Grapico tastes like grape Benadryl and isn’t safe for human consumption.”
“After he told you it was his childhood favorite.”
We laugh in unison. My chest feels like the weight that’s been crushing it has been lifted. Deep down I know it’s hovering, waiting to land on me again, but for now, I take my first full breath of air in months with a smile.
“I thought he was going to force me to drink it like medicine,” I say through my laughter. “I was so glad when he took them away.”
“No, he took yours away. I never complained, so he left mine, and I had to choke it down so that he wouldn’t be offended.”
I fall into another fit of laughter.
“I forgot about that! You would chug it, then eat a bunch of fries to try and kill the taste. I thought you were going to throw up.”
Jameson shakes his head, beaming in that rare way I adore.
“I thought I was too. It was awful.”
I swipe at a stray tear beneath my eye.
“It was fantastic. Made that math test disappear from my mind.”
Our laughter softens. I take another sip of coffee, hiding my grin behind a mug. Jameson’s eyes are crinkled at the edges. The sight makes my chest ache with longing for more of this. More of him.
Stop it. Think of all that you’ve lost. All that you could lose.
“We should visit some time soon,” he suggests. “See how Amos reacts.”
My smile fades.
“I, uh, think I should get going,” I say instead of replying.
My coffee mug clinks on the faded tabletop. Worry sweeps away Jameson’s joyful expression.
“Did I say something wrong?”
I force a smile and shake my head.
“I just have a lot of homework to do. And my roommates are probably wondering where I am. Can you pay and I’ll send you my share later?” I ask as I slide out of the booth and grab my messenger bag.
“Goldie, hang on a second—”
I head to the door, lifting my hand in a quick wave to Sue, who’s wiping down the countertop that has a train going down the center of it.
She waves back, though her expression is confused.
I push out of the diner, the bell ringing with my exit.
Freezing cold rain is coming down in sheets, and I gasp at the shocking chill.
My heart thrashes in my chest, protesting my actions with each step I take toward my car. The more time I spend around Jameson, the more I fall back into my old patterns. I can’t let him in again. He’ll hurt me, just like he did before.
“Goldie!” Jameson calls out behind me, but I don’t look back. I jump in my car and start it. My hands tremble as I adjust the settings to blast the heat.
I’ll have to face him again, but by then I’ll have fortified my heart again. My vision blurs as I force myself to go through how I felt the day I found out about the internship. A painful but necessary task. Each recollection puts another brick in the wall.
Something smacks against my window, making me jump. Jameson is standing next to my car, soaked with rain and regret. I shake my head. It’s difficult to make out his expression through the rain, but I don’t need to see it. I need to leave.
“Go away, Jameson,” I shout through the glass, unsure if he can hear me.
He doesn’t move. Deep sadness clings to my bones the way that my wet clothes cling to my skin, but anger begins to heat my blood the longer he stands there. With a frustrated growl, I open my door, hitting him and forcing him to step back. I get out and cross my arms over my chest.
“What?” I demand. “What do you want from me now? You’ve got my internship, my cover page, and now a place beside my name in every article. I’m forced to spend even more time with you. Why can’t you just let me be?”
The words pour out. I’m not sure if they even make sense at this point, but I can’t think straight right now.
“Why did you run off?” he asks in return. “You were having a good time.”
I shake my head in denial.
“You were smiling and laughing,” Jameson accuses.
“Because for a second I forgot!” I shout over the rain. “You brought up the past, and I wanted to pretend I was back there and not this mess you put us in.”
I’m thankful for the rain, because it should mask the hot tears streaming down my face.
“Why can’t we go back to that?” he asks, his voice hoarse. “Why are you so set on hating me? I know I made a mistake—”
I cut him off. “You betrayed me. There are some things that can’t be undone.”
He rakes a hand through his drenched hair.
“I’m not trying to undo it. I just want to move past it.”
“Of course you don’t want to undo it, because you got the internship,” I say with a sardonic laugh. “You want to have it all. But you can’t.”
His expression turns severe.
“You know that isn’t what I meant. Stop twisting my words to suit your narrative.”
“I don’t have to twist anything,” I spit back. “You’re the one who stabbed me in the back.” I yank open my car door. “I’m done, Jameson. The sooner you come to terms with that, the better off we’ll be.”
I get in my car. Before I close the door, I hear a faint, “Please, Goldie.”
Every time I think I’ve glued the pieces of my heart back together, he takes a hammer to it. I’m forced to start over, cutting my hands on the jagged pieces and struggling to find the motivation to care enough to try at all.
I leave Jameson standing in the rain. The tears come faster the farther away I get. A thought bursts through my fragile defenses.
If this is for the best, why does it hurt so much?