Chapter 14 Rosie
ROSIE
Istood in my kitchen in a state of shock—a state of bamboozlement, really.
Wesley thinks I was dating someone? He’s mad because I’m not making an effort with Caitlin.
How can I? How can I when every time I see them together, it feels like someone is holding my head underwater, allowing me only to breathe when they allow—and it isn’t often.
How could I explain that giving him what he wanted, what he needed, made me wish I could disappear so I didn’t have to suffocate on it all? And that I was suffocating. I just needed to breathe, and I couldn’t when I was around them.
If I stayed what he wanted me to be, I’d lose myself, and that meant I had to lose him.
He’d fight me on it, he’d tell me that it was okay, and he’d feel guilty and bad because it had never been me.
Eventually, we would fade into nothing anyway, and at least now, I was walking away somewhat intact instead of completely broken.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
“Yes, my god. Okay! I don’t know what your issue is with doors.
” Lionel’s aversion to not being able to get somewhere was causing me to baby-proof my house.
Literally. I had plucked a nail out of his mouth the other day, and part of my sweater that he figured was the best snack he could conjure up since I was focused on putting his heat lamps together.
I slid the door open, and he shot me the dirtiest look I thought I’d ever received in my life. And I knew he would take it out on me somehow.
“Lionel, I have to go back to Orla’s this afternoon. Mr. Hansen is coming to keep you company and make sure you don’t eat anything inappropriate.”
A crash sounded as the tortoise rubbed the back of his shell on the coffee table, causing my fake plants to roll off and onto the floor, and a giggle to burst out of me.
“Orla will kill me if I don’t show up, and turn you into tortoise soup, so you have to behave for Mr. Hansen. No breaking doors or eating nails.”
Lionel stopped what he was doing, shot me another withering glare, and made his way to the sliding glass door, letting me know that he was done with me for the time being and wanted to go outside.
It was a work in progress. Carol and I had gotten as much done as we could the day before, and it was passable, but I had dreams of turning half of my backyard into an oasis for Lionel.
With my extra income from the diner, it would be doable.
A knock sounded, and I flinched, considering who had been the cause of the knocking before. Thankfully, when I opened it, it was the person I’d been expecting.
“Mr.—”
“Larry, please.”
“Sorry, Larry. Come in.” I ushered him inside.
When Carol and I had started to work well into the dark, we were using our phones’ flashlights because, apparently, I didn’t have ample lighting in my backyard.
We were arguing more than building, and Larry heard us and offered a hand.
When Lionel didn’t try to bite him, but kept going after Carol, I asked him if he wouldn’t mind looking after Lionel when I had to go back to fill out paperwork if the morning worked out well. He had agreed without second thought.
“Where is the reptile?” he asked, and I had to hold in my grin.
“Outside, pouting.”
“Ah. Already?” he asked.
“Locked him out when someone came by earlier,” I told him. He just nodded at me like he completely understood, which was odd, considering I barely knew Larry, and neither of us had known Lionel for more than a day.
Brought together by a tortoise. What was my life?
An alarm sounded from my phone. “If I don’t go now, I’m going to be late, and Orla will have my head.”
“Can’t have that. Go on. We will be fine.”
“He tried to eat a nail the other day…And he really does try to bite, so…”
“I think I can outrun him. Have a good afternoon.” Larry dismissed my qualms with a mere shake of his head, and I decided that I tried. I poked my head outside to see Lionel grazing on some romaine I had pulled apart earlier for him as a snack.
“I’m headed out. I’ll be back later. Do not injure the babysitter, Lionel. I mean it.”
He moved his head up to look at me, still chewing, but I thought that meant he understood me—at least, I hoped it did.
I had to go, or I was going to be late.
Thankfully, the traffic was light, due to it being barely 11 a.m. on a Sunday.
I was headed to Orla’s before the lunch rush.
Walking in, the scene was a bit different from the other morning when I swung by.
I showed up at 5:30 a.m., and she walked me through opening the place, how to start the coffee, how they numbered the tables and sections, as well as handing me a menu and telling me to memorize everything.
When it got busy, she told me to take off, and she’d see me in the afternoon to go over paperwork, to think about it if it was something I wanted to try.
Even though we were friends, she wasn’t putting the effort in to train me, only for me to decide it wasn’t for me a week later.
Even though I wasn’t sure that I’d be a good waitress, I was ready to try something new—no, I needed to try something new.
Especially now with Lionel; he was going to be expensive, and I honestly couldn’t wait to spoil him.
I had been looking into how to set up a bath station for him, and it was out of my scope, so I was going to have to hire someone for that.
I had the room in my backyard, so why not?
“You came back,” Orla stated as she saw me.
“I did,” I told her.
“You look tired.” She observed me. I felt tired, felt it all the way to my bones, but it had nothing to do with working there and everything to do with the confrontation I was still trying not to think about.
“It’s nothing.”
“Oh, it’s something. You just aren’t ready.” She eyed me up and down, then thrust some paperwork into my hands. “Fill these out.” She held out a pen, and I took it from her, ready to try anything to get rid of the feelings I was avoiding.