table, filling his empty cup. I’m about to walk away when the question I try to bite back climbs from my mouth. “What are you doing here, Adrian?”
His name strikes me for a second. This is Adrian. I’ve known his name for four years. My father killed a member of his family and now he’s sitting in front of me and his name is rolling off my lips. It’s strange and confusing and something I thought was a good thing, but then… why haven’t I told him? Why are we playing this back-and-forth game while I’m wearing this façade he knows nothing about?
“Now? I’m drinking coffee. Earlier I was eating pancakes. Have you ever had the pancakes here?”
I don’t know why his words make me smile. “I’m serious.”
He takes a drink of his coffee and I cringe. Yuck. He drinks it black with no sugar. Finally, he replies, “Trying to get in your pants.”
I know that’s partially true. He’s a guy and I’m a girl and he’s made it obvious what he wants, but there’s more to it. It turns me inside out, amps up the guilt until I feel like it’s frying my heart—I know he’s also here because in his way, he’s keeping me safe. I’m not stupid enough to believe it’s me specifically. I’m just a girl he tried to hit on, who he ran into again and later happened to be in the right place at the right time.
And now… well, maybe he’s a good guy. My brother would do something like this. He’d never admit it, but I could see him sitting in a restaurant keeping vigil for a girl. Thinking that it was somehow his job to keep her safe. Or to make her feel safe, even if she didn’t want to admit her fear.
“Thank you,” I tell him.
And when he studies me, looks at me like he’s working out a puzzle in his mind, I know that he understands what I’m saying. That he realizes I know what he’s doing too.
“You better get back to work.” Adrian nods and I look over my shoulder to see Hugo standing in the kitchen doorway watching.
Without another word, I top off his cup again and walk away.
* * *
All night my eyes find him. As I’m helping customers or serving food or filling up saltshakers. As people come and go, I’m always aware of Adrian. He pulls out his notebook and writes sometimes. Pulls out his book and reads. Every time I walk to the table, he’ll cover whatever he’s doing. I wonder if it’s the same book or if he moved on to something else. If reading is something he does often or if he’s passing hour after hour with whatever he can find.
He stopped drinking coffee for a while and ordered a piece of apple pie. Around four he asked for another cup and I wonder if he’s getting tired again. I should probably tell him he can go. The words play on my tongue, but I never let them free. I like watching him, trying to figure out who he is, because I’ve wondered for so long.
Hugo asked who he was and I lied and said a friend of my brother’s. That Maddox was nervous because of what happened last night, and he seemed to take that as a good excuse.
Hugo also falls asleep between customers, so I guess he figures Adrian being here lets him off the hook.
With each minute that ticks by, I tell myself we need to talk. That I should tell him who I am. That’s what I came here to do, so why not just get it done? But I can’t really do that while I’m working, and anyway, I’m not sure if I should. I doubt he’ll keep coming here and I can always go home and never see him again.
The thought of going home sits heavy in my stomach and I want to stick my finger down my throat as though purging will make it all go away.
When six rolls around, my relief comes. When we’re done going over the night, I go to the back to grab my purse, and when I come out, Adrian’s gone. Disappointment rolls through me. When I go outside, I see him leaning against a car. I should walk away. Or walk to him and tell him everything, but I know I won’t. Not the telling him part at least. It’s as though the words
Andrea Speed, A.B. Gayle, Jessie Blackwood, Katisha Moreish, J.J. Levesque