The Reason I Stay (11 page)

I can’t help but to smile. “Is this hypothetically speaking?”

“Sure.”

“Okay . . . well, I don’t think said charming jerk would have to do anything.” His brows pull together in confusion, so I explain. “I mean, with her being a waitress, he was probably not the first nor will he be the last douchebag she waited on. If she held grudges against all of them, she’d be the bitterest person in the world. So no apologies or forgiveness is necessary in this case.”

I thought my words would put his mind, and frown, at ease, but they don’t. He’s still looking at me with uneasiness in his eyes. I want to ask him why. I really, really do, but I don’t.

“Did I mention she
really
doesn’t like him, and was awfully mad? Called him names and all,” he adds after—guess what—tucking his hair.

I smile at the nervous twitch. “He did say some pretty hurtful things to her.”

He exhales and nods, turning his eyes to the infinity of the ocean.

I look toward the beach. Not looking at him gives me the courage to say what I’ve tried to explain to Jen and Tanie, although they never understood. “And then there was the tip.”

“What about it?” he asks. His voice is hoarse.

“It was demeaning,” I deadpan.

“It was an apology.”

“Then yeah . . . you really suck at them.”

His silence lasts long enough for a forming wave to pass us. “I know, but still . . . I meant it.”

I don’t know what to reply, and apparently he’s got nothing else to say. He just keeps watching the sea while I look at the beach.

Kodee and Bras play with the ball, Tanie cuddles with Eric, and Jill and Larry bicker while holding hands. Looking at them makes me think of all the times they did something that upset me, and of all the times I hurt them. We have all managed forgiveness because the love we feel is bigger than any momentary animosity. Then I think of Leigh, and the last thing I ever said to her. I’ll never be able to erase it, even though I’d do anything and give everything to make that conversation different. I get wanting forgiveness for being a jerk. But Leigh was my best friend for nearly twenty years, and she meant the world and the stars and the universe to me. I’m just a waitress he met two days ago. How much could I possibly mean to him?

“Why are you so hell-bent of being forgiven?” I still don’t look at him.

His reply comes a couple of seconds later. “Because you were the first person to ever make me feel bad about being an asshole.” He looks back at me, and through the corner of my eye I see a shy yet honest smile.

Suddenly, my heart skips a beat. I look at him, and try to make my tone as mild and friendly as possible. “I get why you want to apologize, and I appreciate it. I really do. And if it helps, consider yourself forgiven. The only reason I said you didn’t needed to apologize is that, to me, forgiveness is meant for people that mean a whole lot to us; the ones we can’t simply forget just because they hurt you.

“All of them,” I say, pointing at the shore, and his eyes follow my hand before bouncing back to my face, “have forgiven me, and I’ve forgiven all of them, at one point or another. But they are people life would not be the same without. I could never forget them, not even if they died.”

Several expressions flash across his eyes and face, until disappointment finally settles in. “And I’m someone you can easily forget.”

I give him a ghost of a smile. “Aside from me, do you remember the face of any waitress who ever waited on you?”

He looks up towards the sky, lost in his memory, then looks back at me and shakes his head. “No, I don’t.” I shrug and he nods, finally understanding what I mean. We keep looking at each other, but we stay in absolute silence. This time, however, it’s neither loaded nor awkward. It’s peaceful.

After a while, Kodee’s yelling voice calls from the shore, and I’m forced to break our eye contact to look at her. She brings her closed fist close to her mouth, and pretends to be licking an invisible ice cream. I give her a thumps-up.

“Do you wanna join us for sundaes?”

He smiles “Sure. And thank you, Lexie.”

I
could easily find hundreds of reasons to justify my decision.

I’m tired of driving around aimlessly. I finally found a small town with a decent hotel room. Southern food is addictive. If I’m going to be stuck in a small town, I may as well stay somewhere with a gorgeous beach. Kodee asked me to help with soccer.
And so on.

However, I must admit that there was no logic or reason involved in making this decision. None whatsoever. The only thing involved was a desperate need not to be forgettable.

I’ve spent my entire life not giving two shits if people would remember me or not. Yes, due to an inflated ego I assumed they would, but it was never something I worried about. To me, life and people were momentary things.
All we have is the here and now, so let’s make the best and forget the rest.
Cheesy, I know, but I always believed in that, which is probably why I have a difficult time remembering the names and faces of girls I’ve been with. They mattered in that moment and after that, they didn’t, which is exactly what Lexie said about me yesterday.

I mattered to her when I was her customer—after that, I was just some guy with a bad attitude. Easily forgettable. And that’s how it should be. But it’s not with her. I hate that she can forget about me but I can’t do the same about her. Since I can’t go home yet—I asked Dennis again, and he said no—I’ve decided to stay, which is why I’m now standing by the hostess stand of The Jukebox with my heart beating like I downed a gallon of Red Bull, my eyes searching the room for Lexie.

The place is relatively full, yet, it takes me less than two seconds for me to locate her. She’s crouching behind the waiter’s station at the back of the restaurant, a position that allows me only a glimpse of the top of her blond locks. The chestnut-haired waitress who sat me on Saturday is standing next to her. Her face is lowered toward Lexie, and she’s laughing.

For a second I wonder what they’re laughing about, but then chestnut-hair girl sees me. A crease forms between her brows as she glares at me. With a quick movement of her wrist, she snaps the rag in her hand over the counter, her pursed lips moving to whisper something to Lexie.

I see Lexie’s head rising. My palms actually start to sweat in anxiety, wondering if her expression will be as unwelcoming as her friend’s. But before she’s in my line of sight, the old hag from Friday appears right in front of me. Yet another waitress unimpressed to see me. My mood takes a nosedive.

The woman repeats the same routine from the other day, welcoming me to the diner and asking if I’m a party of one. Her question is practically an invitation for sarcasm, so I shake my head and point to the empty space beside me. “No, I’m with these guys.”

“Funny.” Her grim expression contradicts the word.

With narrowed eyes that leave no room for doubt that she’s muttering curses inside her mind, she picks up a menu from the stack. But before she even turns around to lead me to a table, a voice tinged with amusement reaches us. “That’s okay, Judith, I got this one.”

Lexie steps out from behind the hag named Judith. Her lips have a hint of a smile.

Judith mumbles, “Lucky you,” to Lexie, whose shoulders shake with a chuckle. Once the woman is gone, Lexie turns to me. “That was pretty funny.”

“Glad someone was amused,” I whisper back. She smiles. I wink. She blushes. I smile.

“Follow me.”

And I do. We end up in the same booth I sat at on Friday.

Once I’m sitting down, Lexie taps a fingernail a few times on the tabletop. “You’re here again.”

“It’s dinner time,” I reply, matter-of-fact.

She gives me a single but long nod, which is followed by an even longer stare. I can see that her wheels are turning, and that makes me wonder if she’s connecting the dots between our moment in the water yesterday and my “dinner.” I’m not entirely comfortable with that, so I smirk, and add, “I also wanted to see Judith. The woman knows how to light up the world.”

She quirks a brow. “That she does, but I’m sorry to report she’s taken.”

“Damn it.” I hit my fist on the tabletop, and form my best devastated expression.

“Yep . . . bad luck, Romeo. Guess you’ll just have to settle for the meal, then.”

Still trying to look heartbroken, I ask for the specials. She recites them and recommends the fish dish, which I order, along with a beer. Before she leaves, her emerald eyes meet mine and, despite the hint of a smile on her lips, speaks sternly, “No knocking the noggin.”

I shake my head and chuckle. “No, not today.”

She nods and walks back to the back of the restaurant, where Chestnut Chick pulls up beside her and whispers something. The woman’s eyes dart a few times in my direction, and her expression is all but friendly. Lexie laughs, shakes her head, and kisses the woman’s cheek before going to get my beer.

I’m still looking at the other waitress when Lexie places the bottle in front of me. “That’s Jen, and she’s also taken.”

I peel my eyes from Jen, who’s still glaring at me from the other end of the room, and look at Lexie. “She really doesn’t like me.”

Lexie looks over her shoulder. She shrugs when she looks back at me. “True, but don’t we all?”

I can tell she’s teasing, but her words are like salt on an open wound.
This was a bad idea.

“But as far as I know, you’re pretty charming, and good at making people who really don’t like you not like you a little less.” She smiles a pretty little smile, and walks away.

I take that back. Not such a bad idea after all.

As much as I’d like her to come back to my table and talk to me a bit, the restaurant is full, and she’s busy. She doesn’t look my way once, but I look at her the whole time.

She walks a lot, sometimes carrying a big tray that seems way too heavy for a small woman like her, and sometimes holding only a pitcher of tea. She smiles at everyone, and sings quietly along with the non-stop country music blaring over the tinny speakers in the corners of the room. She seems happy in a way I’ve never been at work. Actually, I’ve never imagined that being that happy while working was even possible. It makes me wonder how nice it would be to actually enjoy your job.

By her third lap with the big tray, my beer is long gone. She’s quick with the deliveries, and within minutes a single plate and a bottle of beer remain. That’s when she finally lays eyes on me again.

“One fried fish dish, and a fresh beer. Sorry it took so long; we’re pretty swamped.”

She places the plate and the bottle in front of me, and retrieves my empty. The smell coming from the plate is mouth watering.

“Thank you, Lexie. And it wasn’t that long.”

She tilts her blushing face. “It was, like, twenty-five minutes for fried fish and greens.”

I shrug. “I guess I was distracted.” Her eyes narrow. Not willing to tell her I was watching her like a creep, I point my chin towards the jukebox at the center of the restaurant. “Does it work?”

She looks at it, and nods. “Sure it does. The music playing is coming from it. We keep it on random, but if it’s your birthday or you stick a quarter in it, you can pick your own song to play.”

“That’s cool.”

She smiles, her eyes taking turns between looking at her other patrons and me, while her index fingernail taps on the tabletop again. It makes me chuckle.