Page 75 of Boyfriend
And since I’m already a little depressed, I sink further into sadness.
This happens every winter. It’s hard to keep my head above water during this time of year, with my mother’s death looming so large in my mind. I’ll never be able to look at the half-melted snowbanks without thinking about the day Dalton called me, voice shaking. There’s been an accident.
I’m not very good company. But since the playoffs are coming, Weston is super busy. We’re exchanging frequent texts and we speak occasionally on the phone. But we don’t manage to spend time together before Weston heads out on another road trip to play Boston College.
I could really use a little distraction. Even my shifts at the Biscuit feel extra long.
“You look tired. Are you okay?” Carly keeps asking me.
“Sure,” I respond. Because I will be eventually. At least I hope I will.
“We’re overdue for a girls’ night out,” she insists. “Get out your phone. When’s the next time neither of us is on shift here?”
The answer to that question does not improve my mood. We discover that our next opportunity to see each other outside work is three weeks out. “Better late than never, right?” she says. And we make a plan that’s practically a lifetime away.
The following week, table seventeen comes in for dinner right after practice. Weston gives me a big, happy smile. Even though Carly has their section tonight, I feel my mood lift just from seeing his face.
An hour later, hockey players start trickling out the door again. And Weston waves me over. “Hey, girly. Should I study at the bar and then walk you home?”
I check the time, and realize I don’t get off work for another two hours. “Didn’t you tell me you have a paper due tomorrow?”
“Yeah.” He makes a face. “Sad but true.”
“Go home,” I decide. “Write in peace. I’ll catch up with you this weekend.”
“About that,” he says. “My family is driving up Saturday for the Merrimack game. We’re eating out first. Want to come?”
“Sure,” I say immediately. “I haven’t been to a game all season.”
“Better late than never! I’ll text you the details.” He looks over both shoulders, scanning the room. And then he leans in and kisses me quickly. “Oops, I slipped. But Kippy isn’t here. Bye, baby.”
“Bye, Westie,” I say in a dreamy voice I haven’t used in a week.
Pleased with himself, he strides out.
Sending him off to study was the right thing to do. I’m awfully tired. Even if he came home with me, I might not be any fun. My feet ache from waiting tables. And my heart aches, too. I don’t feel the least bit fun or sexy tonight. And I’d hate to let Weston down.
Forty minutes later, I’m waiting at the end of the bar when a hand slides across my ass.
I jump about a foot in the air and spin around to find Price grinning evilly at me. “Hey, Abbi. Where’s your boyfriend now?”
“Fuck you,” I spit. “What does it matter where he is? I’m not yours to touch. And it doesn’t matter what you ever do, or ever say, I will never be yours to touch.”
I hadn’t meant to react. Ignoring him is my usual strategy. And now Price has murder in his eyes. Suddenly I’m in a terrifying staring contest with my least favorite man in Burlington.
Until Kippy barks my name. “Abbi. Table eight needs their check.”
I whirl around and head for table eight, my heart in my mouth.
From now on I’d better watch my back.
* * *
I sleep terribly that night, and wake up Friday feeling light-headed and tired. But I head off to Vermont Tartan to help them sort out their social media accounts again.
But when I get there, the new intern doesn’t show up. “Where’s Margie?” I ask Taft after saying hello.
“She called in sick,” he says. “There’s some flu going around.”
