32. Kate
“Can I get you anything else?” Sam, the owner of Wafflin’s, voice cuts through the chatter of the diner as he sets down our orders—three towering stacks of waffles and one sad little pancake.
“No thanks,” Ellie answers without looking at him. Her eyes are glued to the waffle tower. I wish someone looked at me the way she is looking at the melted butter dripping into the squares of that Belgium waffle. Pure, unadulterated breakfast romance.
“Should we wa—” I cut my own words off at the sight of Ellie shoving a forkful of waffle into her mouth like it’s the source of all power. Clearly, asking if we should wait for her fiancé to start eating is a lost cause. If I were to ask Ellie to choose between Benny and these waffles, I would get a live reenactment of Sophie’s Choice right here in the middle of Wafflin’.
“So,” Ellie manages between mouthfuls, “do we have everything ready for tonight?” Her words are a bit muffled by the food being shoveled in like a conveyor belt, making her breathless and drooly.
“I, uh…I think so.” My eyes dip from her mouth to her almost empty plate then back up again. I’m torn between watching her obliterate the waffle or focusing on the conversation. It’s a struggle. “Have you checked with Emma?”
“Are you kidding me?” Another bite. “I haven’t spoken to her since yesterday morning—as instructed.” She points her fork at me, syrup dripping onto the table.
“Instructed?”
“Yes,” Benny says, sliding into the seat next to Ellie and planting a kiss on her forehead. “Emma kindly informed her sweet sister and her boss that if we didn’t have anything to contribute, then we should stay out of her way.” Benny chuckles, grabbing one of the untouched plates from the center of the table. “Apparently, our banner attempts got us banished from the decorating committee.”
Ellie scoffs at Benny’s remark, as if it’s a shock at how horrid her banner-making skills are. Surely she has some clue…surely.
“So, we’re just chaperoning now.” Benny shrugs, turning his attention to his food.
Ellie bristles at the notion, rolling her eyes and trying to stab at the pancake on the fourth plate. I swat her hand away, which earns me a pout. Benny, ever the gentleman, cuts his waffle in half and offers it to her. His eyes are soft and wistful as he gazes at her like there is no one else in this diner but her. It’s heartwarming and nauseating at the same time. The sight tugs my heart in two different directions: happiness and envy.
I want what they have so badly it’s starting to feel pathetic.
But I also wish they’d get a room.
Benny wraps his arm around her and toys with the engagement ring on her finger. Ellie reciprocates with a kiss on his temple, her unabashed smile growing as she looks at him. They’re in their own little love bubble, and I’m just here—a third wheel in my own life.
I poke at my waffle, trying to drown out the laughter and shared affection from across the table. Beyond Benny and Ellie, I scan the diner. It’s three in the afternoon, which is prime time for the early bird special. Other couples fill the space, lost in conversation and breakfast food bliss. One couple, the oldest of them all, sits on the same side of the booth, sharing a plate of waffles, and doing sudoku together. Even in the midst of company, the overwhelming weight of isolation crawls up my neck like a shiver. I try to physically shake it off.
Then, my mind goes back to seeing Mom yesterday, and it makes all of this feel a thousand times worse.
The absence of my mom’s presence is usually bearable. Aside from the lack of birthday calls, I have grown accustomed to not thinking about her. Essentially, living life without her has become my new norm. And being on my own the last few years had also. I was so content, I thought.
Until these two googly eyed buffoons across from me started flaunting what they have right in front of my face.
I don’t blame them, though. I would too. The empty space in my bed, the lack of shared moments with someone, being truly understood and loved by someone…these were things I didn’t realize I was missing. But now I can’t seem to shake away the weight it has on me. The longing for it. And seeing my mom yesterday was just a reminder that I’m nowhere close to getting past these feelings.
My phone dings with a notification, another score from Playing the Field, another pitiful chance for a happily ever after awaiting at my fingertips.
I greeted one of them “howdy doody” the other day.
Not my proudest moment.
My attempts are starting to feel desperate, but the ache to fill the void is shoving me deeper and deeper into the palms of other men—metaphorically, of course.
I’m aware that finding “the one” isn’t black and white. I know that love isn’t as easy as a swipe on a screen. Putting yourself out there and falling in love takes effort. And patience. And sometimes a lot of time. But these are things that don’t come to me naturally. Patience? I scald my tongue on hot French fries almost daily. Patience is not a Stanley trait.
My thumb lingers with hesitation above the notification from Hunter007 when another notification pops up, tingling my cheeks.
Malcolm: Will Emma fire me if I refuse to wear a tie?
A small laugh bubbles out of me at the image of Emma yelling at Malcolm over a tie. The tingling sensation moves across my body in an instant. Another episode. This time, it’s just at the thought of Malcolm. He’s nowhere in sight, and I feel his closeness as if he’s right next to me in this booth. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t feel his presence around me all the time. He’s always there, and when he’s not, my mind seems to always drift to him, like a security blanket.
“Aye, did you not save us some?” my Uncle Jerry’s voice booms across the diner as he storms over to our table with Lola on his heels.
“What are you doing?” I scold Lola. She dismisses me with a wave and takes the seat next to me without hesitation.
Uncle Jerry waves Sam over to order and pulls up a chair. “I had to get her out of the house. She was driving me crazy with the reely things.” He groans.
“It’s reels,” Benny corrects with a chuckle.
“I’m on house arrest. What else am I to do?” Lola snips.
“Stay. At. Home. That is the sole definition of house arrest,” I retort.
She shoots a glare at me, but I refuse to let her know how intimidating the look truly is and focus on the soggy pancake in the center of the table before responding to Malcolm.
She might try, but I think you can outrun her.
I ordered you a pancake btw!
Malcolm: No time, gotta finish this banner. See you tonight
Aw ok! See you later!
I cut a piece of pancake and smother it in syrup, watching as it drips slowly off the edge of my fork. The slow drag of maple is about the same speed that I analyze and contemplate my feelings as I watch my family around the table, exchanging loving glances and laughs. My mind drifts to picturing Malcolm here with us. My best friend, exchanging the same looks, fitting into the mix of it all like he always has. Like the Florida sun baking my face on that beach, Malcolm is a warm and steady feeling, clinging to me like rays of sunshine.
Have I lost that warm, steady feeling?
“What’s troubling you?” Lola whispers to me, munching on her tuna melt. She refuses waffles every time—another form of rebellion on her list of many.
“It’s nothing.” I turn my phone face down and force a smile.
Lola eyes me, my smile faltering under that look.
“We’re going to go get ready. We’ll see you in a bit,” Benny says, placing cash on the table for the way too many waffles his fiancée just inhaled. As they leave, Uncle Jerry finds himself interested in the group of elderly ladies playing cards in the back corner.
Lola shakes her head. “Aye, those poor women.” We both laugh at his failed flirting attempts from afar before he quickly diverts to sit at the bar and harass Sam. “Poor Sam.” Lola chuckles. She turns back to me and eyes me again. It gets exhausting how often she gives me that look. It’s even more exhausting that it’s had the same effect on me for thirty years.
“What?” I groan.
“How are your internet boyfriends?” she asks, pulling a mug of coffee up to her lips. Her smile lines deepen as she rolls her lips to fight the laugh trying to burst through.
“Aye, Lola,” I grumble, stretching her name out.
She shrugs innocently and sips on her decaf coffee. “Is Malcolm taking you tonight?”
“No.” I set my fork down and settle in for a long conversation. Anytime Lola talks to me about Malcolm, it’s never quick. She tends to linger on how amazing he is, yada, yada. “We’re chaperoning. It’s not like we’re actually going to prom.”
“But you’re dressing up?”
“Not really. Just dressy-er than our normal.” The orange number I have set out would beg to differ. I still can’t believe I let Ellie convince me to wear something other than black this year. For the last four years, I’ve worn the same dress pants and blazer with my sequin high-tops as the statement piece—a classy yet very practical choice.
“I bet Malcolm will enjoy it.” She gives me a wink. I throw my head back and groan, turning every head in the diner in our direction. Lola shrugs again, unfazed by my reaction. “I’m just saying, he will.”
“Will you let it go? It’s never going to happen.” Right?
The words left my mouth quicker than my brain could compute them. I white-knuckle the sides of my mug and gnaw on my lip. A million questions race through my head as my cheeks and neck flush with heat. There’s no hiding the redness that is now plastered to me. Lola continues to stare at me. Stare at me, like I’m a lunatic.
Questions and assumptions pang around in my head like a pinball machine.
Is something with Malcolm possible?
Does he even want that?
Why is it so hot in here?
Has this table always been this wobbly?
I let out a gush of air, which makes me feel lightheaded and sends stars swirling around my vision. Putting my head in my hands, I focus on the crumbs of the pancake and the blob of butter that has now melted into a puddle. Lola’s soft, fragile hands encircle her mug, now empty, with a small pink lip stain on the rim.
“Katherine,” she whispers, releasing the mug and reaching for my hand. “What are you so scared of?”
“What? No, I’m not scared of anything. It’s just annoying how much everyone loooooves Malcolm.” I wave a big circle in the air to emphasize that it is literally everyone.
Lola’s hand trembles weakly as she squeezes mine, showing her delicate age in a small motion.
On a quick breath, I say, “Just the thought of Malcolm, as more than my friend…it’s just, just…I don’t know. It’s crazy!”
“Why?” I look up to see Lola cross her arms, eyeing me defiantly. A duel in her mind—one she intends to win based on the purse of her lips and the tapping of her fingers against her arm. “Tell me why it’s crazy, Katherine. Why is it so crazy to be with a man who treats you the way you deserve to be treated? A man who is tall and handsome and fixes your elderly grandma’s squeaky floors? What is—”
“Wait, what?” I hold up a hand to pause her rant. “Malcolm has been fixing your house? Malcolm? He’s your secret handyman boyfriend?” The shock in my voice carries, drawing Uncle Jerry’s attention from the reels he’s showing Sam.
“Of course!” Lola says, as if this shouldn’t be a surprise.
“Wha— Why? How? Why would he do that for you?”
It’s a stupid question.
I know why. Because Malcolm is wonderful and would do anything for anyone, no matter how much they drive him crazy. Aunt Edna has a new shed for her romance-novel writing in her backyard because of Malcolm. I guess a small part of me assumed it could have been Malcolm who painted the door and fixed the sink, but another part of me didn’t want to believe that he was that good. Part of me didn’t want to admit that a man like Malcolm could give so much of himself to me and my crazy family. That he could love them so well.
Even when he wants to convince everybody he’s a loner who only worries about himself, I know the truth. He’s the good—the good feelings, the good parts of the day, the good you want to see in the world. He’s the brightness that creeps in through the curtains in the morning. He’s the sweetness in my nightly ice cream. He’s the fresh air that fills my lungs on the track. And he’s the one person that makes me feel seen, and wanted, and—
My thoughts screech to a halt. The realization feels like a nudge in the arm.
Whenever Malcolm is around, I don’t feel alone. Being with him fills the emptiness in ways I didn’t expect. Like a grizzly bear shimmying his way into a cold, dark cave for hibernation, Malcolm has made himself comfortable in the back of my mind.
The thought warms me from the inside out, chasing away that lingering chill of loneliness and filling me with something I’m unfamiliar with, something I don’t think I’ve ever felt.
“Why is it so crazy to think that you could be with your best friend for the rest of your life, Katherine?” Lola draws my attention back to her. “You deserve that. You deserve a life with someone who shows you a consistent type of love. Stable. Uncomplicated. Someone who is sure of you. Someone who shows up. Someone who fills that little hole inside you that you’ve wanted filled since you were a child.” She jabs her finger at me, swirling it around in the direction of my heart. As if her hand is pulling at a string attached to the beating organ, it flutters and pounds against my sternum. “How can you give your heart to some stranger on the internet when there is already a man out there waiting? A man who has shown you they’re worthy of a heart like yours?”
My throat feels thick with emotion. The loneliness I’ve felt, the loneliness I’ve been so fixated on, the hole she’s talking about…it’s felt so suffocating that I’ve overlooked what’s right in front of me.
Hell, it had to be thrown at me in a concussed-wrapped bow for me to see what I’ve been missing: a future where Malcolm is more than just a friend.
Is it possible that, for all this time, I really haven’t been that lonely? That maybe the constant tugging in my heart and longing for shared glances, and inside jokes, and lingering touches, could have been within reach this entire time?
Is this feeling love?
Do I love Malcolm?
Does he even love me?
More panging inside my head and chest. I have to physically shake it off and focus. I have to look at the facts. I’m basing my information on a seventy-five-year-old with a TikTok obsession. Now, yes, history has shown she’s never been wrong about this sort of thing. She knew the moment she met Ellie that she would end up with Benny.
“Love is easy,” she’d always tell us. And maybe she’s right.
But she could be wrong. As much as she denies it, Lola doesn’t know everything. It might not be as easy as she claims. Love hasn’t been easy for me—ever. Loving Eric wasn’t easy. Loving my mom sure as heck isn’t. How can I know loving Malcolm will be any different?
As we leave, Lola’s probing questions linger, and I start to wonder if she’s onto something. Maybe it’s time to stop searching for love and embrace the possibility that it’s been right in front of me all along.
Maybe.
But how am I supposed to tell Malcolm that?