Page 9 of Tell Me Again

My heart does something a little funny in my chest, mixing with that nausea that’s still lingering.

“No chance, Mel,” I say, and my words are accompanied by somewhat of a twisted laugh. Her heart’s in the right place, but she’s just fucking wrong. Mom loved me. I know that. But she wouldn’t be proud now. She couldn’t be. I’d abandoned just about everything that she’d ever been proud of me for. I look down at my hands again, now clasped together in my lap. “My mom always had these huge dreams for me. Wanted me to go places. Do something important with my life. Then I didn’t even fucking graduate high school. And now I’m suddenly twenty-five years old, and I can’t even pay my fucking rent on time. There’s nothing there to be proud of.”

Mel laughs, though it’s wheezy and sounds a bit tired. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you say anything so fuckin’ wrong before, Coop. You must be more exhausted than I thought.”

Why she needs to bring this up tonight, I’m not sure. And I’m not really in the mood to argue about what my dead mother might or might not have been proud of.

“Mel—”

“No, you listen to me, Coop. I don’t know whatever’s been in your head today, but this is one thing I’m not gonna let slide.” She pauses just long enough for me to close my eyes and shake my head again. “I didn’t know your mama for that long before she passed, but she looked at you like you were just the only thing the sun shined on. And it wasn’t because you were book smart or anything else like that. It was because of the man you’d become—honest and hardworking and caring, even when things got real tough at the end.”

Fuck, she’s gonna make me cry. I don’t need this tonight.

“Mel . . .”

“Now, I’m not your mama, but I sure as hell know you. And I appreciate you, ’specially on days like today. And I’m proud of you. And fuck, now you’ve gone and got me all cryin’ too. Dammit, Coop.” She sniffles and wipes a tear from her eye and then waves a hand toward the door. “Get the hell outta here and get some rest, and I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”

I can’t speak—either to argue more or to accept what she’s trying to tell me. And I’m fighting this ridiculous urge to jump up and give her a hug. Mel doesn’t do hugs, and I’m pretty sure that wouldn’t go over well. So instead, I just nod and push myself stiffly to my feet.

“Good night, Mel.”

“Night, Coop.”

My chest feels tight as I turn to leave. I’m just at the doorway when she speaks up again.

“And Coop?”

“Yeah?” I pause and turn back toward her, but she’s looking down at her ledger again, scribbling away.

“If I catch you trying to pay me back for those broken plates, you’re—”

“—fuckin’ fired. Yeah. I know.”

***

My drive from the diner to home usually only takes about six or seven minutes, most of which is along Route 6, the main road that runs through town. Like all nights, it’s quiet, and I pull out onto the highway, heading west.

I’m starving—I think the last time I ate might have been on my much-too-short lunch break around two thirty. And I know I’ve got next to nothing at home. Maybe a bottle of ketchup in the fridge. Probably some expired milk. And that leftover pizza from a few days ago. I think it’s still sitting out on the coffee table.

Yeah. Totally got my shit together.

So, I take a short detour and pull into Amy’s Gas and General Store to grab something. Even this late, Amy will usually still have at least a few slices of pizza. Or I can grab a frozen burrito or something. Meal fit for a king.

Yup. Shit totally together.

I park my truck and head inside. Gerry, Amy’s husband, sits at the cash register, and he greets me with a short nod and a scowl before going back to his crossword puzzle. I head straight over to the display case where the pizza should be, but it’s empty.

“Some teenagers came through about a half hour ago and cleaned us out. Sorry, Coop.” Amy comes up behind me and then walks around to the other side of the counter.

“Oh, yeah, no problem. I’ll just grab something else,” I say, hooking a thumb toward the other side of the store, where the frozen foods and drinks are.

Amy smiles and nods, but then quickly offers, “You know, I can make you a sandwich if you want to wait just a few minutes. I’ve still got some roast beef in the fridge.”

Ahh, roast beef. She knows me just a little too well, and when I glance back up at her with a hopeful grin, she winks.

“I’ll be right back. Just give me about five minutes. ’Kay?”

“Yeah, thanks.”

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