Chapter Twenty Three #2
“Yes,” you said. “That.”
She seemed calmer for a moment. The butter continued to move down the pancakes, and you couldn’t help but remember all the times she ate them in front of you, cutting up the stack like a tic-tac-toe board and eating three squares per bite, talking you through some astounding Serbian swear word.
You could probably count on two hands the number of times you came here, but already they felt so precious.
“You know what I think?” she said.
Your throat was so tight now, you weren’t even sure you’d be able to speak. But somehow you managed a word.
“What?”
“I think you’re really uncomfortable right now.”
Food, you thought then. You have food in front of you. You stabbed one of the eggs on your plate and cut a bite, but you didn’t bring it to your mouth.
“I’m going to ask you something,” she said. “And I want you to tell me the truth. Can you please do that?”
You had a clear thought then, and though you tried to keep it at bay, it wouldn’t stay down.
This is the last time you will ever sit in this booth, it said.
Because when she asked you about your feelings, you would not be able to lie. It would just be impossible.
“Yes,” you said.
You tried to remember a few last details. The smell of the cheap coffee. The row of cars across the street, stretching into the darkness of the car lot. The bad nineties song that was playing. I want something else … to get me through this semi-charmed kind of life …
“There are messages on Sean’s phone,” she said.
“What?”
She didn’t even blink at your question.
“From some girl named Echo. I know I shouldn’t be looking at his phone, but he just leaves it out all the time and he’s been acting so weird.”
Your mind scrambled to turn around. This was not about you and your feelings. It was about Sean. You started talking before you were ready and your voice wobbled.
“Sean texts with a lot of people. You wouldn’t believe what some of those dudes on the diving team say. I feel like they’re all—”
She grabbed her coffee cup and spilled a little on the table.
“Here’s what I think, Case,” she said. “I think that Sean told you something. Something that you don’t want to tell me. And I think I know what it is. But I can’t know for sure. And so, I’m sorry, but I need to ask you just to make sure I’m not crazy.”
“Diana,” you said. “Please.”
“Listen,” she said. “I still think Sean’s a good person, and it’s possible we can get past this. But I just need to know. Does the reason you’re not talking to me have something to do with him?”
You shut your eyes then. Eye contact felt impossible. You willed yourself to disappear from the booth, but it didn’t happen. Disassociation never seemed to kick in when you wanted it to.
“Case,” she said.
“Yes,” you said.
“Yes as in it has something to do with Sean?”
“Yes,” you said again.
“Okay. And does it have to do with a girl?”
You didn’t answer. But at this point you didn’t really have to because you felt a tear sliding down your cheek.
Which was the worst because you cried a lot when you were a kid and it was Sean himself who said it was okay.
You were playing baseball at the park with the older kids, and you got hit in the thigh with a hardball.
For a moment, you thought your leg was broken.
The pain was unimaginable. His friends laughed at you—they were in junior high and basically sociopaths—but he made sure you were okay, and he said you could cry if you wanted.
“It gets the hurt out,” he said. Why was he so nice to you?
And why was he so not-nice to the person in front of you?
“Does it have to do with the girl on his phone?”
You didn’t think.
“Maybe one named Echo?”
You didn’t speak.
But you thought of all his lies to Diana.
And you nodded.
Then you waited for the inevitable tears.
Or the drunken anger. You waited for her to lash out and shoot the messenger.
But when you turned back, you saw a completely blank expression.
She wasn’t going to have a meltdown. She didn’t even seem shocked.
It was simply a confirmation of everything she already knew.
She had been waiting for this, and now it was here.
But maybe that was a bigger disappointment, to have the world confirmed in its predictable ugliness.
Geoff walked past, and she reached out and touched him on the shoulder.
“Geoffrey,” she said. “I’m sorry, my man. But I’m gonna need this short stack to go.”
“No problem,” he said, and grabbed the plate to box it up.
There was silence then for a moment or two.
But eventually, she stood up and put her jacket back on.
Her little bottle of booze fell out of her pocket and clanked against the table as she fumbled with the snaps.
She left it there. Then she looked around at the restaurant, like maybe she’d just fully realized where she was.
She pulled something out of her pocket, and you saw it was a bus transfer.
You’d never even thought about how she got here.
But of course; you had the car. She’d taken the bus all the way here just to see you.
“Diana,” you said. “Please don’t go right now.”
“I’m not really in the mood to talk anymore tonight,” she said.
Her voice was so quiet, you could barely hear it. You took out your car keys and set them on the table.
“I can give you a ride…”
Geoff brought out the box and handed it to Diana.
She pulled her wallet out and threw a twenty down on the table.
Then she was gone, walking off through the restaurant, the eyes of all the regulars on her.
Even the claw machine guy interrupted his twentieth try for a prize and watched her go, flinching when the glass door rattled in its frame.
Geoff came by and just stared at the twenty. For some reason, he didn’t even pick it up. So it just sat there, and it was still there when you walked out of the place for the last time.